Sofia lowered her arms to her lap and eyed Tick up and down. “I looked at your clothes and I said to myself, he must live in a little house.” She winked, then punched Tick in the leg, hard.

“Ow!” he yelled, rubbing the spot. “What’s that for?”

“To let you know I’m kidding.”

Tick shook his head. “You are one weird kid.”

“Ah, yes. That’s the kettle calling the papa black.”

Tick burst out laughing, falling back on the couch holding his stomach.

“What’s so funny?”

“Well, for one thing, you said it backwards. And it’s pot, not papa.”

“Whatever. When I come to visit you, I will teach you Italian so we can talk like intelligent people.”

“I think spaghetti is just about the only Italian word I need to know, thank you very much. That, and pizza.”

Sofia tried to punch him again, but this time Tick was too fast; he jumped up and ran out of the room, the sounds of pursuit close behind. Luckily, dinner was ready in the kitchen—ramen noodles and peanut butter sandwiches.

~

The next day, Tick’s heart hurt when he had to say good-bye to Norbert, then Frupey and Sofia after they dropped him and his dad off at a car rental agency—the rich girl and her butler had a flight to catch. In just one day, they’d become like close family, and he hated to think he may never see them again. At least he knew he could expect an e-mail from Sofia, and he hoped she really would come visit him next summer.

Of course, by then, the magic day would have come and gone, and who knew what might change after that.

After another couple of fun-filled days being pampered by Aunt Mabel and having his life mapped out for him in detail, Tick and his dad headed back to Washington.

Once there, Tick began the longest three months of his life.

Part3: The Magic Words

Part

3

~

The Magic Words

Chapter

27

~

April Fool

Tick stared at his own reflection in the dark puddle of grimy water only inches away from his face, dismayed at how pitiful he looked. Like a scaredy-cat kid, eyes full of fear. Both ends of his scarf hung down, the flattened tips floating on the nasty sludge like dead fish. He winced when Billy “The Goat” Cooper yanked his arm behind him again, ratcheting it another notch higher along his back until the pain was almost unbearable.

Tick refused to say a word.

“Come on, Barf Scarf Man,” the Goat growled, digging his knee into Tick’s spine, wedging it below his twisted arm. “All you have to say is, ‘Happy April Fool’s Day. Please get me wet.’ You can do it, you’re a big boy.”