Spoonbenders

It took Matty one day to become a criminal, three weeks to become a psionic superspy, and a short walk to the gas station to make him give up astral travel forever.

His life as a criminal began the day he borrowed the fifty dollars from Frankie. Matty carried the money in his fist as he slowly made his way down the basement stairs to Malice’s room, softly calling her name. Each step revealed a bit more of the basement. Malice lived in a pigsty. Clothes were not just scattered over the floor, they covered it, a foot-high mulch of flannel, denim, and T-shirt. There wasn’t much furniture—a bed, a bookcase, a green armchair, a milk crate that functioned as a bedside table, an old TV—but every flat surface was a Jenga of dirty Tupperware, food boxes, CDs, and cups. So, so many cups.

Finally he reached the bottom of the stairs. She sat on the rollaway bed, facing away from him, headphones on, a notebook balanced on her knees.

“Malice?” he called.

She pulled the headphones down and twisted to face him. “What the fuck?” Her arm knocked into a pile of books, atop which rested a plate with a half-eaten sandwich. The plate tipped and fell facedown into a pile of clothes. Malice made no move to pick it up. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I just—wow.” He lifted the sandwich by two fingers, instantly regretting it. This was no recent meal. “I just never knew girls could be such slobs.”

She climbed out of the bed. “You can leave now.” She was wearing a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt that said NO EMPATHY.

“I will.” He set the sandwich and plate back atop the stack of books. “I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“You can’t come out with me again.”

“Oh, I don’t want to—that’s not—” He shook his head. “That wasn’t my fault.”

“You have zero tolerance, dude. It was like you were on acid. You were totally zoned, and then you started yelling.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” he said. But of course he hadn’t been able to explain what had happened to him while he was high. And up until he came to with everyone looking at him, it had been one of the best nights of his life.

“So,” Malice said. “You get scared straight?”

“Not exactly. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

He looked around for a place to sit, but even the armchair was covered in crap.

“You’re not staying,” Malice said. “What’s the favor?”

“I want to buy more pot.”

She laughed. A bit harshly, he thought.

“From you,” he said.

“No,” she said. “No way.”

“I really need it,” he said.

“You need it? Okay, now I’m really not giving you any. You’re thirteen.”

“Fourteen.”

“I’m not getting my stepcousin addicted to pot. Plus, I don’t think you’re cut out for it, man. I mean—” She stuck out her arms and shimmied, bug-eyed. “Gaddiga-gaddiga-gaddiga.”

“I did not look like that.”

“Dude, it was much worse.”

He opened his fist, revealed the wad of cash. “Here.”

She eyed the bills, but didn’t touch them. “Where’d you get forty bucks?”

“Fifty.” He wasn’t about to tell her he’d borrowed it from her father. “You do this for me, and I can get you a lot more money. Later.”

Her eyes went wide. “You shit! You think you’re going to be a dealer?”

“What? No!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Matty.”

“I would not lie to you. I’m just going to get more money later. And I could pay you.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“No,” she said. Then: “How much are you getting later?”

That was a good question. How much money was in Mitzi’s safe? How much was his share? Grandpa Teddy would have been ashamed that he hadn’t made that clear in advance, family or no family. “I don’t know, exactly.”

“I want two hundred,” she said.

“Two hundred dollars?”

“Connection fee. Like paying a toll. Take it or leave it.”

He didn’t really have any choice. “Okay,” he said. “Two hundred—”

“Three,” she said.

“Oh come on!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Malice said. “I don’t believe you anyway.”

“Oh, I’m going to get the money.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is this part of the secret project?”

“Secret what now?”

She plucked the bills from his hand. “I’m so tired of this Amazing Telemachus shit,” she said. “You’re so fucking special, but whenever something goes wrong, you just blame it on some ‘psychokinetic accident.’ ” She tucked the money into the waistband of her shorts, a gesture with no sexual overtones—for her. “It’s hard enough with Cassie and Polly in the house, but now Frankie’s bringing you into it.”

“Pardon?” Matty really wasn’t following. What was up with the twins?

Malice lifted the head of a ceramic monkey and pulled out a plastic bag. “This is all I have on me, but I can get more. Do you know how to roll a joint?”

He shook his head.

“Consider this lesson part of my fee.”

—

The journey to psionic superspy began that night, in Frankie’s garage. It was a lot like Luke Skywalker’s training on Dagobah, except that Frankie was no Yoda, and had no idea what his apprentice was up to. The Jedi was going to have to train himself.