Bob: Chapters 4–7

“I’m not dead!” I insist, my face pushed straight into the rug.

I unscramble my legs and pick up the dictionary. It is not heavy for me.

Her lips quiver at the corners, but she keeps her word and does not laugh.

I hear her mother approaching the door. Uh-oh! With my super-hearing I should have known she was coming. I was too busy basking in the glow of hearing my name. The Great and Powerful Bob.

I sit upright.

I wouldn’t say this to his face, but Bob looks sort of creature-ish, as if he might scarf down his food like a dog or something, but from the sound of it, he’s actually a very neat eater. The problem is that he crinkles the bag a lot.

She smiles. "Didn’t think you’d be able to sleep through those magpies. Aren’t they amazing? They sound like that cute robot from the first Star Wars movie.”

"And what’s this?” I demonstrate again, still doing the crazy knees while also kind of lunging to the left and then to the right.

I can see him smile, even though he is still in full-on chicken mode.

I look at Bob and realize how crazy it was that we ever thought this could work. Because Bob is a green mystery creature covered in orange cloth, tape, and feathers, pecking—kind of desperately, now—in the dirt.

The man and the boy smile all the way to where we’re standing.
"Hi!” I say, jumping and waving, as if I can distract them from Bob by acting like a weirdo.

I don’t let my eyes look at Bob, still pecking furiously.

If I think back really hard I can still see the five-year-old Livy curled up on the straw, her long hair and orange pajamas matted with leaves, and a tiny frog stuck inside the hood.

A car door shuts. Livy jumps up and peers through the window. "Mom’s back! Stay in here until we’re out of the way, and then you can run back to the house. Okay?”

She ducks through the door before I can say that I don’t want her to go. Now I’m all alone with the real chickens, who look at me suspiciously.

I slump back down.

I scurry out into the sun.

Now everyone is laughing at how the pigs’ tails are like little curly question marks and how they would go boing if you unwound them.

"Look at the clouds!” she shouts, stabbing her finger upward a bit too frantically.

Rain! It’s a little weird. Not bad necessarily, just different. Not sure what all the fuss is about, frankly.

Rain! It’s a little weird. Not bad necessarily, just different. Not sure what all the fuss is about, frankly.

"I’ll set up the board!” Bob says, running to his closet. "I’ve been practicing by myself. I mean, technically, it has always been me against Mr. Monkey, but I make all his moves for him.”

He picks up a pawn and waves it at me. "Everyone underestimates the little guy. But the pawn is the key to the game.”

"No charge for those!” the lady says happily when I have all three pieces in my hand: the caramel, the sour cherry ball, and the dreaded licorice.

"Hey, do you like licorice?” I ask Sarah. I reach into my pocket and take out my loot.