STARSCAPE BOOKS(15)

He was also glad to be out of Edgeview. Now that he understood his talent, he was able to avoid trouble. Martin had shown him how. But his talents came with a price. Knowing what people thought—that was brutal. He still couldn’t believe how much the smart kids hated each other. It was like an undeclared war among a dozen small countries. They all wanted to see each other crash and burn. Even the nicest kids had terrible thoughts. Cheater admitted he wasn’t any different. Sometimes he’d think dreadful stuff, especially when the bigger kids pushed him around at school. But right now, the only thought in his mind was cleaning out these guys.

He got a nine and a three of spades. No help for his pair of kings, but it reduced the odds for the kid across the table who was probably trying for a spade flush. Things were looking good, even without another king. The player on his left was bluffing with queen high, and the player on his right was holding two jacks. The two guys farther away were harder to read—one kept thinking about spades, and the other had a high pair—but Cheater was pretty sure he had them beat.

Despite all his advantages, he knew he stunk at keeping his face from revealing his hand. He practiced every day, but it didn’t make a difference. His opponents always folded when he got good cards, until he discovered the obvious solution. If he couldn’t hide his excitement, he needed to be excited all the time. That was easy enough. He knew plenty of interesting facts. As long as he was enthusiastic about sharing them, he could conceal his reaction to his hand.

He pointed to a bowl of chips on the corner of the table. “Hey, did you know a Native American invented them? How’s that for a cool fact? George Crumb. At least, that’s what the stories say. Though the stories could be apocryphal. That’s a great word. It’s what you call a story that might not be true. Like Washington and the cherry tree. Anyhow, this one is probably true. It’s pretty interesting. The guy was a cook up in New York State.” Cheater chattered away about the origin of the potato chip while the dealer gathered the discards.

He was up enough to bet big. The bluffer folded, along with the player trying for a flush. The kid with jacks stayed in. So did the guy who was running the game—a senior named Fritz who’d somehow gotten a key to a room in a cheap motel where they could play all evening undisturbed. The place was only half a mile from Cheater’s home, but the run-down neighborhood seemed half a universe away.

Nice pot. Cheater met Fritz’s raise and bumped him the limit. If he won enough tonight, he’d be able to stake himself at one of the hold ‘em games he’d heard about over in Philly. He really wanted to go to Philly, one way or another. All afternoon, he’d been thinking about it. I could stay with Uncle Ray, he thought.

“Let’s see what you got,” the kid with the jacks said.

“Beat this.” Fritz laid out his hand. He had kings, too. But Cheater had kept an ace, which beat Fritz’s ten.

“Close one,” Cheater said as he reached for the pot.

“Too close.” Fritz clamped his hand around Cheater’s wrist.

“Hey, what are you talking about?”

“You’ve won every hand where you didn’t fold,” Fritz said.

Cheater shrugged. “Guess I’m lucky.”

“Guess I’m lucky,” Fritz said, mocking Cheater’s voice. “Nobody is that lucky. You marked these cards.”

Cheater’s pulse sped up as the players’ thoughts flooded his mind. They believed Fritz. None of them could accept the possibility of losing to a skinny little kid with glasses. Each person at the table knew he was the best poker player in the world.

“You brought the cards,” Cheater said. “And you dealt that hand.”

Fritz tightened his grip and yanked Cheater halfway across the table, scattering the neatly stacked piles of chips. “How’d you do it?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Cheater said. He picked up a clear thought from Fritz. It’s the glasses.

“These are just normal glasses.” As the words tumbled out, Cheater realized his mistake. Nobody had mentioned the glasses out loud. Now, he’d given them a reason to be suspicious. His only hope was to prove his innocence. He pulled the glasses from his face and held them out. “See for yourself.”

Fritz snatched the glasses from Cheater and stared through the lenses. “These aren’t any kind of prescription.” He dropped them on the floor. “You must be using them to cheat.”

“I have a mild astigmatism,” Cheater said. It was true—his glasses only made a tiny correction. But he felt he needed them. He used his eyes so much. He read constantly. His brother kidded him about it, calling him a book sucker. He wished his brother was here right now. Or his friends from Edgeview. He wished anybody was here besides these four angry poker players.