The Eyes of Kid Midas Page 4

  The glasses, which had gotten a bit warm when Kevin wished up their gluttonous feast, had cooled off. Now, in the moonlit sky, their tint seemed tohave disappeared, leaving the lenses completely clear.

  "This is just the beginning." Kevin took off his glasses and polished them against his shirt. "There's no limit to the things we can wish up!"

  "Yeah," said Josh. "But what if it's not all free?"

  "Like how?"

  "What if the glasses are like some . . . I don't know . . . like some intergalactic charge card, or something? And what if someone comes to collect the bill?"

  "They don't work like that," said Kevin.

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I do! When you wear the glasses, you just know things about them."

  "Like what?"

  Kevin cradled the glasses in his hands, running his fingers tenderly across the black-and-gold rim.

  "Like they were meant to be used," he said. "Like they're supposed to make everything a whole lot better. That they're more valuable than anything in the world."

  Josh reached out and gently took the glasses from Kevin, staring at them as if he held the world's most precious diamond in his hands. He seemed almost afraid to be touching them.

  "Would I feel all that if I wore them?" asked Josh.

  "Probably," said Kevin, grabbing the glasses back and slipping them on. "But you don't need towear them, as long as you've got me. I'll give you whatever you want."

  Josh seemed relieved, as if he really didn't want to test them himself, anyway.

  Kevin burped, then giggled as a thought occurred to him. "I guess I'm the master of the universe."

  "Ah, put a leash on it!" said Josh.

  "No way." Kevin's imagination had been strapped to a post long enough. He stood up, hungry for something more than fast food, and climbed on a high boulder, reaching a hand up to the heavens.

  Josh laughed. "Whatcha gonna do? Part the Red Sea?"

  "Something like that."

  Josh stopped laughing and watched as Kevin stared through his glasses at the infinite depths of the star-filled sky.

  "Clouds," he whispered to the night. The frame of the glasses began to get warm, the lenses went dark and then silver. Directly above them, a gray spot appeared, like a hole in the sky, and clouds began to unfold, growing high above their heads— dense gray clouds, but the glasses reflected them in rich, swirling hues.

  "Pretty intense," said Josh. "Now stop it."

  The clouds spread out and blackened. Now the entire mountain was covered by gray clouds, turning black. A billow shrouded the moon, and the forest became as dark as moonshadow. Kevin Held both hands up to the sky. "Wind!" he said. And the mountain breathed, sending a wind that rasped across the treetops, then swooped down, picking up leaves and pine needles, dragging them away.

  Josh labored against his full stomach to stand up. "Are you deaf? I said that's enough!"

  "Faster!" Kevin said. The wind began to groan and the trees bend to its voice.

  Back at the campsite, everyone must have been watching the dark threat of the sky. Kevin could imagine tents blowing away with the wind, his wind.

  "You see?" said Kevin. "All I have to do is say it, and it happens! Even if I just whisper it!" Far above, the clouds began to flash and rumble.

  "Kevin, you're scaring me!" yelled Josh. "Stop it!"

  "I'm not finished!" It was Christmas rolled up with the Fourth of July. The clouds began to swirl and change, their electricity moaning to be released.

  Now the smile was gone from Kevin's face, and although the glasses had gone as dark as dark could be, Kevin could see through them with an impossible clarity. He could see all the clouds, inside and out, swirling with color. The eyeglass frame was heating up around his ears and across his eyebrows. It glowed a dull red. "Now the fireworks!" He threw up his hands like the very small conductor of a very large orchestra.

  "Lightning," he said.

  "Kevin, no!"

  Lightning exploded all around them.

  Again Kevin threw up his hands and pulled down the lightning, much more violently than before. Now it was time for the grand finale. He pointed his finger at a tree directly in front of him. "There!" he said, and as he did, a fat, sizzling bolt shot down from the sky, hit the tree dead center, and split it in two with a deafening roar.

  The colors swirling before his eyes settled down as the glasses awaited their next command—but Kevin had had enough for now. He let the colors fade and the glasses wash clear once more. He took off the glasses and admired his masterpiece raging in the clouds all around them. "So, how did you like that?" Kevin asked. He turned to see Josh crumpled in a ball, shaking, with his hands over his head as if it were the end of the world.

  "Make it go away!" he wailed as the storm continued to build. "Please make it stop."

  "Ah, don't be so gutless." Kevin pushed the glasses farther up on his nose and reached up his hands. "No more lightning," he said.

  A moment later, lightning struck again.

  "I said make it stop!" yelled Josh.

  "I'm trying!" Kevin threw up his hands and called out in his most powerful voice, "No more storm!"

  But neither the glasses nor the sky seemed to listen. The wind blew, the lightning crashed, and the clouds kept bubbling slowly outward.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I don't know! I don't know, it's not working anymore!" Small drops of rain began to fall on them, and then the clouds ruptured like a water balloon, letting loose a downpour the likes of which the mountain had never seen.

  "Let's get out of here!" Josh yelled over the roar of thunder. They ran from the clearing just a moment before it was blasted by lightning.

  The camping trip was ruined. When the lightning started, everyone raced for the vans. Kevin and Josh were the last to arrive. For a half hour, everyone huddled in the vans, filled with a weird sort of excitement, as they wondered whether or not they were all going to die in a flash flood. The kids who had done the rain dance earlier that day proudly claimed responsibility.

  After an hour, it became clear that waiting out the storm was more dangerous than driving through it, and so the teachers ventured out to collect what was left of the tents. The rain was still coming down in sheets when the vans crawled out of the campsite.

  Kevin leaned his head against the cold window and wiped the fog off the glass. As they put more distance between them and the Divine Watch, the thunder began to chase the lightning, falling farther and farther behind with each flash. Kevin had to smile. To think that this was all his doing!

  "There's nothing funny about it," said Josh. And that's all he had to say. On Josh's video game, fighter jets bombed Godzilla. By his score, Kevin could tell Josh really wasn't concentrating.

  Only fifteen minutes after the bus had left the Divine Watch, they finally passed out of the storm, and the normal, comfortable chaos filled the van. Kevin was not a part of it. He felt far away. As numb as the chilling rain. As smooth as the surface of his glasses.

  "I know why I couldn't stop the storm," Kevin told Josh, when they were well away from the Divine Watch.

  "Why?"

  "I don't think the glasses can reverse what I've asked them to do; they can't uncreate anything they've created."

  "So is it going to rain there forever?"

  Kevin shrugged. "I guess."

  "You guess?" said Josh. "You turn a mountain into a rain forest, and all you can say is 'I guess' ?"

  Kevin didn't know what else to say to Josh, so instead he pushed the glasses up snugly on his face and reached out his hand. "Hey, Josh?"

  Josh turned to Kevin, and Kevin touched the piece of gauze on Josh's cheek that covered the cut he got when they fell from the mountain.

  "Heal," whispered Kevin. He imagined the cut on Josh's face gone and then slowly peeled off the bandage. There was no sign Josh had ever been cut at all.

  "See, Josh? The glasses can do good things, too. It just depends on how you want to use the
m." Josh still didn't say anything. "So, are we still friends?" asked Kevin.

  Josh looked at Kevin and thought for a moment. He reached out, took the glasses off Kevin's face, and put them in Kevin's jacket pocket, zipping the pocket completely closed.

  "Of course we're still friends," he said.

  Kevin felt the glasses bulging in his jacket, and for a moment he wanted to feel their weight on the bridge of his nose again—but his head was beginning to ache just a bit, and he figured they should stay in his pocket for a while.

  Behind them the storm faded on the horizon until it was out of sight and out of mind. Two girls in the front were glancing at Kevin and laughing about the way his face had gotten sunburned everywhere except around his eyes—but it was all right. It didn't matter what anyone said or did to him now. Because now, Kevin was finally in control.

  CHAPTER 6

  Better Homes and Headaches

  It was the usual Monday morning madhouse.

  Downstairs the TV blared, and the dog was barking nonstop. In the master bedroom, the electric razor buzzed as Patrick Midas, Kevin's father, made his magical transition from stubble-bearded bum into clean-shaven businessman. In the hall bathroom, Teri Midas, Kevin's fourteen-year-old sister, blasted a radio while blasting her wet head with hot air. And, as if all this noise wasn't enough, Monday was trash day.

  Kevin cringed in bed as a metal garbage can rang out like a broken bell. No doubt trash collectors' pay was based on how much noise they could make.

  "Avalanches!" said Donna Midas, Kevin's mom. "Avalanches and rainstorms!" She violently shook a thermometer and crammed it into Kevin's mouth. "Avalanches, rainstorms, and camping trips! You're going to kill me one of these days, Kevin, you know that?"

  Kevin knew he didn't have a fever, but he did have a splitting headache and no intention of going to school today.

  "I warned you not to overexert yourself," she said. "But does Kevin Brian Midas listen to anyone but himself? No!—and don't you dare talk! The last thing I need is for you to bite that thermometer and die of mercury poisoning."

  She glanced at her watch. "Late again," she muttered as she hurried out of the room.

  The second she was gone, Kevin ran over to his desk, grabbed his glasses out of the top drawer, and put them on.

  "Great shades," said Teri as she passed by with a toothbrush in her mouth. "Where'd you steal 'em?"

  "I didn't steal them, I found them," said Kevin, around his thermometer.

  Teri frothed at the mouth. "I'll tell you what. If you let me borrow them for a couple of days, I'll convince Mom that you're sick enough to stay home:"

  "No deal."

  Teri shrugged and sauntered off. "Suit yourself."

  Kevin heard her spit in the bathroom sink. Teri, by being the smallest yet toughest field-hockey goalie Ridgeline Middle School had ever seen, had developed a callous self-confidence, and she often used it to make Kevin feel uncomfortable. She would glance at him with a smirk, and the mere glance would make Kevin wonder if he had two different socks on or if his fly were open. She would say things like "Suit yourself' and saunter off as if she knew something Kevin didn't, causing Kevin to give in. Right now, she was probably counting the seconds until Kevin returned to the bargaining table. But this time, no deal meant no deal.

  With the glasses on, Kevin's headache was already subsiding, so he dressed quickly and went downstairs to make himself some breakfast.

  The TV in the living room blared the news, and the family dog, as was its peculiar custom, barked at the people on the screen as if they were strangers invading its home. Kevin took a detour through the living room because the news report was about the storm around the Divine Watch. Although the dog made it difficult to hear, Kevin did pick up some of it.

  "The storm (BARK, BARK) several power outages (BARK, BARK) flash floods throughout the entire (BARK) and is slowly spreading outward. (BARK, GROWL, BARK)"

  "Will somebody muzzle the Muffler?" yelled Teri from upstairs.

  "Shut up, Muffy," Kevin said to the beagle. The glasses flashed, and Muffy continued barking, but no sound came out.

  "There you are," said Mrs. Midas, plucking the thermometer out of Kevin's mouth. "Ninety-eight point six," she reported. "Perfectly normal."

  "Send him to school, he's not sick," said Teri, throwing Kevin a sideways glance as she came downstairs.

  Kevin pushed the glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "It says one hundred and one."

  Mrs. Midas glanced at the thermometer again. "That's strange—it does say a hundred and one. I must have misread it.

  Kevin gave Teri a smirk.

  "Score one for you," said Teri, genuinely surprised. "I hope you feel better, Kev."

  As Mrs. Midas shoved the thermometer back in Kevin's mouth to see if it would climb any higher, Mr. Midas flew down the stairs. He headed straight for the fridge, where he grabbed a box of chocolate doughnuts—his usual breakfast. Having already gone on his morning run, he had bought himself the light to all the poor eating habits the day offered.

  "Your son's got a fever," said Kevin's mom, who always referred to Kevin as "your son" when it was something bad and "my son" when it was something good.

  "I'll alert the media," said Mr. Midas, his mouth full of doughnut. He felt Kevin's head, pulled the thermometer from his mouth, examined it, and asked his wife why on earth she was using the rectal thermometer.

  As usual, Josh had waited patiently for Kevin to show up at his door, but he finally gave up and came by to see what was keeping him. Even before he arrived, Josh had a sneaking suspicion that school was not on Kevin's list of the day's activities.

  Kevin was wearing the glasses when he opened the door, and Josh could tell by the relative quiet that everyone else had gone.

  "I guess you didn't tell anyone about the glasses," said Josh.

  "Are you kidding me?" answered Kevin. "Why ruin a perfect day?"

  As he passed the living room, Josh noticed Muffy silently opening and closing her yap at the TV screen. "What's wrong with the Muffler?" asked Josh.

  "I told her to shut up," said Kevin.

  "Good dog!" commented Josh. "C'mon, hurry up, we're already late."

  "No school," said Kevin. "I'm staying home to conduct a science experiment today." He hurried off into the kitchen.

  The kitchen table was covered with the Sunday paper, dissected and examined for every single advertisement that seemed the slightest bit interesting, from grand openings of electronics stores to beef sales at the supermarket. Kevin had already begun circling the more promising ones with a red pen.

  "What sort of experiment?" As if Josh really needed to ask.

  "Sit down," said Kevin, "and start picking things you want." Josh didn't sit down just yet, but he did begin to examine the ads cautiously. There was a picture of a stereo system that must have stood a foot taller than he was. It was the sort of system Josh dreamed about.

  "You know," said Josh, "it's still raining . . . ."

  "I don't see any rain."

  "You know what I mean!"

  Kevin shrugged it off. "So? It's only a storm. How long can it last?"

  Josh examined the sleek digital stereo system that advertised sound reproduction of such superior quality that it actually reproduced sounds out of the range of human hearing. Its price was out of the range of human comprehension.

  "I've got to get to school," said Josh, although he didn't put down the ad.

  "C'mon." Kevin took a damp paper towel and gently cleaned his precious lenses. "Let's treat ourselves to something."

  "Okay," said Josh. "One thing."

  "Right."

  "One for you, and one for me."

  "Okay," said Kevin. "Two things."

  "Right," said Josh. "What are you getting?"

  Kevin pointed to the ad in Josh's hand. "That stereo right there."

  "Great. I want that, too."

  "But that's just two of the same thing," saidKevin. "It's just like one thing, and
we agreed we'd get two things."

  "Okay, one more thing then."

  "Fine," said Kevin.

  "One for you and one for me," added Josh.

  "And that's all."

  "Right. Just these four things, and that's all."

  "Okay."

  "Okay."

  Within five minutes the experiment was raging out of control, and neither of them got to school that day. The only limits to what could be dreamt up were the clarity of Kevin's thoughts and the speed at which he could speak them into existence.

  First came the stereo systems—a half dozen of them, because, with further browsing, they weren't quite sure which they wanted—the ones with multi-megawatt speakers so small they could fit in the palm of your hand or the ones so large they took up an entire wall. They kept ordering up televisions as they found bigger and better ones on each page.

  Eventually they ran out of electronics and went on to furniture, then to clothing. When they ran out of advertisements, they began scouring household magazines for pictures that would spark their imaginations.

  "Hey, Kevin, look at this!" Josh had dug up one of Mr. Midas's Playboys, which had always been kept hidden from Kevin. The very idea turned Kevin beet red, and he began to giggle. "No," said Kevin, "maybe not."

  "Maybe later?"

  "Yeah, maybe later."

  The magazine remained in the living room all day, but neither of them dared to go near it.

  By noon, Josh noticed that the temperature in the house had begun to drop, but he didn't say anything—he didn't think it meant much. Kevin, on the other hand, wouldn't have noticed if the sky were falling—his attention was elsewhere. Beneath it all, Kevin knew he had a headache again, but as long as the glasses stayed hot and he kept them active, every inch of his body and mind felt so tingly and electrified that he didn't care about how his head would feel when he stopped.

  They rode their bikes down to the mall and went on a window-shopping spree, duplicating half the things they saw and wishing them back to Kevin's house, including their favorite games in the video arcade.