I kneeled at the coffee table in front of his recliner and moved a stack of old newspapers out of the way. Underneath them was the rope I’d misplaced. I set it on top of the papers. Sir closed the footrest and leaned forward, eagle-eyed, as I pulled the deck from my pocket. I spread the cards out in front of him, restacked them, cut the deck, and shuffled it with the ease of a Vegas dealer. I fanned the deck out in my hands, chose a card, and placed it facedown. I let him choose a card. He plucked the seven of hearts and put it faceup next to the first card. I chose a second card and handed him the deck to pick another. We repeated the process a second time. Six cards sat on the table in three pairs. Sir’s picks lay faceup, mine facedown.
By this point my mother was watching. I paused for a dramatic flourish, then started with the card next to the seven of hearts. I flipped it over to reveal the seven of diamonds. Next to the four of spades was a four of clubs. And next to the jack of hearts was a jack of diamonds. I had performed the entire trick in under two minutes without any fumbles or hesitation (+2). I resisted the urge to preen. Two months ago I had mastered the one-card prediction trick, and now I’d already graduated to three.
Mother clapped enthusiastically but Sir kept his cool. He ran a hand over his buzz cut and gave a single nod—“I’d call that good as mastered”—then inspected my notebook. I bit my lips to keep from grinning and gathered my deck back into its sleeve.
Sir pulled his glasses from his plaid shirt pocket and settled them on the crook of his nose. “We got some issues with the math here, though.”
I froze.
“Two points for going to school? Every nimrod on the block has to do that. That might’ve been well and good when you were in kindergarten and afraid to leave the house, but you’re, what, eleven now?”
“Ten,” I whispered.
“No more rewards for things you have to do. Like setting the table and cleaning up after dinner. We’re not charging you room and board here, are we? We expect you and your sister to pay your dues in other ways. What kind of father would I be if I raised two loafers? You’ll grow up expecting government handouts instead of making a good, honest living. And two points for making your bed? I don’t think so, sweetheart. By my count, this puts you at nine. What else you got?”
I stared blankly. He had never invalidated activities.
He raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t—I don’t have anything else. Sir.”
He sighed and glanced at his watch. “You’re going to have to do something big if you want to get to bed before midnight.”
I tried to recall the highest-value task I’d ever completed. I had once earned four points for sitting in the snow without a coat for an hour. Four for the time I’d held my breath for two minutes. Five for kneeling on broken glass. I waited for what he would conjure this time, wished fleetingly that my sister had come downstairs with me. Not that she’d ever stood up to Sir. Why would she start now?
His eyes searched the room, stopping on my dead grandmother’s serving platter. It was my mother’s most treasured possession, her only belonging of any value, made of fine bone china with English roses painted on it. We never actually used the platter; Mother didn’t want to risk any scratches. Though it clashed with the shag rug and tattered furniture, she had hung it on the wall as a decoration after my grandmother passed.
Panic filled me, but I kept my face neutral. Showing you were scared only made things worse, something Mother never understood. I channeled my inner Houdini. How would the master of escapes get himself out of this fix?
Sir rose from his chair and pulled the platter off the wall. He spun it around on his finger like pizza dough. Mother gasped. He silenced her with a warning stare.
“I’ve got a six-pointer, if you think you’re up for it,” he said.
I glanced from him to Mother, searching for a clue. She was too busy watching him twirl her plate to come up with a solution. She clutched the armrests of her chair, her face turning as white as her hair. She’d gone gray years before I was born.
“Don’t worry about her, sweetheart,” Sir said. “The Barbers were born with no guts. She don’t get it.”
“The Bible tells us to honor our mothers and fathers,” Mother said, eyes downcast. “That platter is a sacred family heirloom.”
He stopped spinning the plate. “Don’t start with your preaching bullshit.” He took two steps toward her. “Funny how God’s wants always line up with yours.”
I rose from my spot on the floor. “I’m up for it.”
Distracted, he turned away from her and winked at me. I was faint with relief. “Now, you know all this magician stuff you’re interested in needs a lot of stamina, the mental and physical kinds. These exercises’ll make you big and strong like I am now, so when you’re my age, you’ll be bigger and stronger than I ever was.”
I nodded. I’d heard this speech a thousand times.
“How’s about a balance challenge? You keep this plate on your head for forty minutes, I’ll give you six points, and we can both go to bed. How’s that sound?”
It was either do the challenge or he’d keep me awake all night. That was the rule: you needed fifteen points by the end of every day in order to go to sleep. I had a math test first thing in the morning.
I chewed my lip, thinking. “If I do it for an hour, can I also get one thing from the magic store tomorrow?” Sir favored boldness. If you agreed to his challenges too slowly, he’d strip you a point or two.
“When did you turn into a little wheeler and dealer?” He grinned. “All right, you’re on.”
I nodded. Mother screeched.
He left to riffle through a drawer in the kitchen, searching for God knew what. A minute later he returned with a roll of masking tape. A forgotten memory flared: half a day spent with my mouth taped shut. Had that been a five-pointer? Couldn’t have been six. Might’ve been four.
He saw the question on my face. “To guarantee no cheating. Barbers might cheat but we sure as heck don’t.”
I glanced at the rope on the newspaper stack and picked it up. I pulled it taut in front of him. “This would be sturdier.” He nodded, impressed.
Sir placed the platter on my head so I could get used to it. My mother fled upstairs to her bedroom. He watched her go, his lips curled in disgust. I set the platter down, wrapped the rope around my right wrist a few times, then let Sir tie both wrists together behind my back. He double knotted it, satisfied. At least I was standing on carpet. If the platter fell, there was a chance it wouldn’t break. I was only four feet two inches tall.
As if he could read my thoughts, Sir moved me to the tiled floor in the kitchen. He brought the platter, holding it solemnly before me, like a baby about to be baptized.
He steadied it on my head, watching me. “Nod when you’re ready,” he joked. “You all good, sweets?”
I steeled myself. “You can let go.”
He backed away and started the stopwatch. Ten minutes in, the lecture began. Sir circled me, a gunslinger ready for a duel. “What’s the only way you’re going to succeed?”
I wondered if the vibration of my voice would be enough to tip the platter, which, up to this point, I had kept steady. My neck was already beginning to ache.
“Through my willingness to endure.”