Small Steps - Louis Sachar [4]
Fred handed her the plastic bag.
Kaira laughed when she saw the picture. “He looks like you!” The photograph was that of a very muscular man wearing no shirt. The only difference between him and Fred was that his hair was long and wavy, while Fred had a buzz cut.
“You ought to grow your hair out,” Kaira told him as she handed the plastic bag back to him.
Seven marriage proposals, and she’d never had a boyfriend.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” said X-Ray. “Here’s the deal. They just added Austin to her tour because of some kind of screwup in San Antonio. Tickets go on sale day after tomorrow. Fifty-five dollars a pop.”
“Fifty-five dollars for just one ticket? I don’t think so.”
“In Philadelphia two front-row seats sold for seven hundred fifty dollars. Each.”
Armpit couldn’t believe it. “Seven hundred and fifty—”
“Each,” X-Ray repeated.
“She’s got a nice voice,” said Armpit. “Kind of sassy, and playful, you know? You can always tell it’s her.”
X-Ray looked at him like he was crazy. “I don’t want a critique! I want six hundred dollars.” He spoke as if to somebody else. “He gives me a critique. Now he’s a critic.”
“Well, if I didn’t think she could sing, I wouldn’t give you six hundred dollars.”
“So you’re going to give me the money?”
He was considering it.
“See, here’s the deal,” X-Ray explained. “They only let you buy six tickets. So together we can buy twelve. Six hundred and sixty dollars. I’ve already got sixty, so I just need the rest from you. You won’t have to do a thing. I’ll do all the work. Then we’ll split the profits.”
Armpit slowly exhaled. “Six hundred dollars,” he said.
“You’ll make that back on one ticket,” said X-Ray.
“No one’s going to pay six hundred dollars for a ticket.”
“They paid seven hundred and fifty in Philadelphia.”
Armpit picked up his shovel and began filling in the dirt around the pipe.
“Okay, let’s say we only sell the tickets for two hundred,” said X-Ray. “After three tickets you get your money back. I won’t get any of that. Then I get my sixty back out of the next ticket, and we split the rest right down the middle. So really there’s no risk to you at all. You know we can sell three tickets.”
Armpit replaced the sod, stomping it down with his boot.
“Think of it this way. It’s like someone is offering to pay you to stand in line for him. What if your boss says to you, he says, ‘Armpit, instead of digging today, I want you to stand in line for me, and I’ll pay you a thousand bucks to do it.’ Wouldn’t you do it?”
“Of course.”
“Same thing!” X-Ray said. “Some dudes are going to pay us a thousand bucks to stand in line for them. We just don’t know who they are yet. See, you got to think outside the box.”
A siren blared over the radio.
“Oh! Oh!” X-Ray exclaimed as he fumbled for the cell phone attached to his belt.
The siren noise had been made by an electric guitar, which slowly wound down and transformed into a flurry of notes and chords. It was the intro to Kaira DeLeon’s biggest hit.
I hear a w-w-warning sound
Every time you c-c-come around.
Should you ch-chance to glance at me,
Threatens my security.
“C’mon, c’mon,” X-Ray said into his phone.
Red Alert!
My hands are sh-sh-shakin’.
Red Alert!
Stomach’s achin’.
Red Alert!
The earth beneath my f-f-feet is quakin’.
“Yeah—no, wait!” X-Ray said into the phone. “Just wait a sec—”
He scowled as he returned his phone to his belt. “Sixth,” he griped. “Can you believe it? Sixth! Fifth caller gets two free tickets. Man, I hate this phone. The speed dial is too slow. How you supposed to compete with those rich white kids who have newer phones?”
“Too bad,” said Armpit.
“That woulda been at least another four hundred for us,” X-Ray said.
“For us?”
“Sure man, we’re partners now, right?”
Armpit considered this question seriously. If he gave the money to X-Ray, at least he’d still have two hundred and fifty-seven dollars left.
“Right?” X-Ray asked again.
Red Alert!
My head is filled with a s-s-siren sound!
Red Alert!
All systems are shutting d-d-d-d-down!
“Yeah, we’re