“No.” I girded myself for mockery. “It’s Troll.”

Tub let the medallion drop to my chest.

“It was nice knowing you, pal.”

“Tub!”

He threw down his towel.

“I’m serious, Jim. You need to put this crap away. You walk into school on Monday talking to me, or anyone else, about the city’s pesky troll problem, and you’re not exactly going to get a lot of people saying, ‘Gee, thanks for the warning.’ It’ll spread faster than mono. You think things are tough for us now? Jim, this will be the end. I’m sorry if you had a crazy nightmare. I really am. But I can’t let you ruin our lives.”

Cat #31 sidled up to his leg and he shook it off.

“Butterscotch chips make cookies extra special,” Grandma said from another time zone.

In frustration, I reached for another dirty dish and ended up pulling the plug on the sink. The water gurgled and the bubbles started sliding away. Not having to worry about Grandma overhearing, I cursed my best curse and leaned against the sink.

“All right,” I said. “I’ve got a proposal. Indulge me for one night. Just one night. You’ve still got that archery set, right?”

“Yeah, I got it, but—”

“And I know you have the nanny cam, right?”

“Well, sure. That thing wasn’t cheap. Grandma really thought she’d catch the babysitter stealing cookies. Didn’t have the heart to tell her it was me.”

“Okay, you find that stuff and bring it with you to the play tryouts at noon.”

“The play tryouts? Wait, Jim, no. I’m not doing any of this.”

“I’ll give you Dino-Mountain.”

That shut him up. Every kid dreams of unattainable gifts—expansive race-car sets, towering doll houses, futuristic clubhouses that cost more than your parent’s car—and one year I received exactly such a holy grail: Dino-Mountain, a plastic play set as high as my chest, complete with caves and tunnels from which one of ten different dino-troops could attack.

“I…” Tub started. The offer had caught him by surprise. “Come on. I’m too old for Dino-Mountain.” He did not sound entirely convinced of that.

“And a bag of sour worms. No, a case. A full case. Tub, that’s like eight bags.”

“Jim…”

“Anything you want. Just name it. It’s yours. I just want one night of help and then, tomorrow, I swear I’ll never mention it again.”

Tub looked at the floor, where Cat #40 and Cat #17 were swiping at each other’s tails. He knocked them aside with his ankle, though his heart was not in it. His cheeks were pink beneath the freckles. My offers had embarrassed him.

“A fiver,” he murmured. “Just a fiver. You know. For Steve.”

I reached out and gripped his shoulder.

“You got it, Tub. Noon at the school, okay?”

“Fine, whatever.”