Building Blocks by Cynthia Voigt Page A

smile—“It’s not OK at all, but I wouldn’t mind that much. What about you, though?”
    Where did the kid get that kind of courage? Brann was wondering. “I’m glad you’re here, anyway,” he said. “I was getting hysterical.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Kevin told him.
    â€œOh yeah? Crying like a baby. Cross my heart.” Brann crossed his heart.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Kevin said.
    â€œOh Kevin,” Brann said. “Look, it’s not your fault at all, it’s my fault. You warned me.” He felt the boy’s slight body beside him. “I feel terrible about this.” Boy was that inadequate. “I wish my father was here,” Brann said without thinking. Without even thinking why he would wish that even under ordinary circumstances.
    â€œMy mom says wishes aren’t good for anything.She says if wishes were horses beggars would ride.”
    â€œYeah,” Brann agreed. Then it struck him—his father was here, and that struck him as pretty funny. He began to laugh. “Well, maybe your mother doesn’t know everything,” he sputtered out, before he began to laugh again.
    The laughter restored some of the pride he’d lost, alone. Because if you could laugh then you weren’t entirely beaten down. The laughing, while Kevin stared at him as if he was crazy, washed away some of the shame. “Anyway,” he said.
    â€œWhat’s your father like?” Kevin asked him. Brann was seized by another fit of laughter. He had to wait to catch his breath to answer.
    â€œHe’s nothing special, really. He’s a nice guy, not successful, nothing special. Except—”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œExcept, down deep, he’s got a way of telling the truth. And that makes him pretty special. I mean, take most people, take me; if I can make people think what I want to have be true about me, then I’m satisfied—whether it’s really true or not.”
    â€œI don’t believe that,” Kevin said.
    â€œBut not him.” Brann grinned to himself, decidingwhether or not to say the next thing he thought of. He decided he would: “He’s a lot like you.”
    â€œOh,” Kevin said. Then, “I’m sorry.”
    â€œI’m not,” Brann answered, surprising himself. “But we’ve got this problem, we better get moving.”
    â€œMoving?”
    Brann answered sarcastically, “You want to sit here and die quietly?”
    â€œI didn’t mean that,” Kevin apologized. “It’s just—when you make something, you have to make it piece by piece and slowly. Putting it together from the bottom up. Maybe I didn’t understand what you meant by moving.”
    But he had, Brann realized. And he was right, because he wasn’t scared like Brann was. “OK,” he said. Then a question struck him, “Like with people too, relationships get made piece by piece, don’t they, that’s the way to make relationships.”
    Kevin shook his head. “Your relatives are born with you, you don’t get to do anything. I mean if we try to think about it first, about how we’re going to find the way out.”
    Kevin didn’t understand, but Brann did. Maybe just because he was older. Or maybe because he’d justlet his brain split apart so he could let some new ideas in. “We could do a circuit of the walls,” he suggested.
    â€œBut you already tried that, didn’t you?”
    â€œI guess so. And—everything I memorized I forgot as soon as I panicked. I thought I was being so smart. I didn’t mean to get you into this kind of trouble, Kevin.”
    â€œI know. It’s OK, really.”
    â€œCan you remember anything?”
    â€œI just followed your voice, until I could see the light, and where you were—you were like a silhouette, because you were shining it in the other direction. The echoes must