“How?” Paul asked. “I’ll tell you how. You’re a regular Houdini—all you need is a cape and one of those funky black hats.”
“And a wand,” Sofia said as she began stirring her cauldron of blood-red sauce.
“He had a wand,” Paul said. “It was just broken.”
Tick’s spirits dampened a bit, his heart heavy at remembering the terror of that moment when the Barrier Wand hadn’t worked, when he’d pushed the button over and over again as hordes of screaming, sharp-toothed fangen rushed at them. Any reminder that such monsters existed in the world—or worlds—was enough to make a spaghetti feast not quite as appealing.
“He made it work somehow,” Sofia said, nodding at Tick as she stirred. “Magic Boy himself.”
Tick did his best to smile, but it didn’t last.
~
Two hours later, the homemade meal passed Sofia’s inspection—barely. She kept insisting the sauce needed to simmer the rest of the day to taste perfect, but finally gave in to the impatient hunger groans of Paul and Tick. It was worth every minute, Tick thought as he shoveled in the food, not caring that he’d already spilled sauce on his scarf once and his shirt twice. He felt much better about things now that he wasn’t starving.
“I’m not gonna lie to ya,” Paul said through a huge bite, a vampire-like drip of red sauce streaked on his chin. “This is the best thing I’ve eaten in my entire life.”
Sofia sat back in her chair, pressing a hand to her heart. “Did you, Paul Rogers from Florida—King Smarty Pants himself—just say something nice to me?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did. And I meant every word of it. Dee-lish.”
“It’s really good,” Tick chimed in. “I’ll never doubt you again about your family’s claim to fame.”
Several moments passed, everyone too busy eating to talk. Sofia slurped her spaghetti, sounding like a renegade octopus trying to climb a slippery metal pole. Tick almost made a joke, but didn’t want to waste any breath when there were still noodles on his plate.
Paul wiped a big swath of sauce from his plate with a piece of garlic bread and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. “Man,” he mumbled as he chewed, “I can’t wait to visit more Realities so I can check out the ladies.”
Tick almost choked on a laugh. “Yeah, right. You’d be lucky to get a date with Rutger’s little sister.” Tick’s friend Rutger was an incredibly short and fat man from the Eleventh Reality. And full of pranks.
Paul shrugged. “As long as she’s not quite so . . . bowling-ballish, I’m cool with that. Paul ain’t picky.”
“Good thing, too,” Sofia said. “No girl I know would give you a second glance.”
“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”
Sofia put down her fork and looked him square in the eyes, her face set in matter-of-fact stone. “Your ears are crooked.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your. Ears. Are. Crooked.” Sofia emphasized each word as if Paul spoke a foreign language, then folded her arms and raised her eyebrows.
“My ears are crooked,” Paul repeated, deadpan.
“Yes.”
“My ears are not crooked.”
“Yes, they are.”
“No, they’re not.”
“Crooked.”
Paul reached up and felt both of his ears, rubbing them between his thumbs and forefingers. “What does that even mean? How could they be crooked?”
Sofia pointed at Paul’s face. “Your left ear is almost half an inch lower than your right one. It looks ridiculous.”
“No way.” Paul looked to Tick for help. “No way.”
Tick leaned forward, studying Paul’s face. “Sorry, big guy. Crooked as bad lumber.”
“Where’s a mirror?” Paul half-yelled, standing up and running for the bathroom. A few seconds later, his shriek echoed down the hall: “Tick! My ears are crooked!”
Tick and Sofia looked at each other and burst out laughing.
A dejected Paul came slouching down the hall; he pulled back his chair and collapsed onto the table. Then he held up a finger, like he had a brilliant idea. “Fine, but I have beautiful toenails—here, let me show you—”
“No!” Sofia and Tick shouted together.
Thankfully, the low rumble of the garage door opening saved the day. Tick’s family was home.
~
“Well, if it’s not my three favorite heroes in the world,” Tick’s dad said as he stumbled through the door, both arms full of packages and bags—new school clothes, by the looks of it. “How’d the spaghetti experiment go? Smells great.” Tick knew what his dad was really thinking: Give me some. Now! The guy loved to eat, and his big belly showed it.
“The way these boys ate,” Sofia said, “I’d say it went pretty well.”
Paul moaned with pleasure, rubbing his belly. “Yes, sir, Mr. Higginbottom. The chef is a tyrant, but she can cook like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Best I’ve ever had,” Tick agreed, just as his mom entered from the garage. “Oh, sorry, Mom. Yours is good too.”