Building Blocks by Cynthia Voigt Page B

have confused you, do you think?”
    â€œI don’t think, I know. But listen, can you picture it? People who draw, artists—”
    â€œI’m not an artist,” Kevin interrupted.
    â€œYeah, but you must have a good visual memory. Don’t argue with me, I’m having an idea, it can’t hurt if I just have it. Can you remember where I was standing?”
    Kevin thought. Brann waited. While he waited he moved the light beam around walls. “There,” Kevin said.
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œWell, there was the shadow from a rock like a huge spear, and I remember that and that rock looks like it might cast that kind of shadow.”
    Brann got up to stand about as far from the wall as he thought he’d been. Kevin stayed behind him, directing him where to stand until it looked right. “Now,” Brann said. “Back off to where you might have come in.”
    â€œBut I can’t see barely anything.”
    â€œWe need to get a fix on the general area where you came in,” Brann explained patiently. “Until it looks, as much as you can remember, just like it did.”
    â€œDo I have to?”
    â€œIt’s the best way to try, I think. If you get too scared I can turn around and shine the light, but if you could just try it—I’ve been all around these walls seven times and I couldn’t’ see anything and I’m not sure even this will work. So if we can make it as close to how it was, that’ll be our best bet. Because your visual memory is what we’re banking on.”
    He heard the shuffling footsteps behind him. It took a long time, until Kevin finally said, “Here.”
    Brann turned around, shone the light in the direction of Kevin’s voice and crossed the room. “There’s aledge,” he said, his heart rising, “so far so good.” He put the flashlight into the narrow opening.
    The beam shone down an endless tunnel, reflecting back upon itself. Brann’s heart sank. Now he could see how the roof of the tunnel gradually sank down to meet the floor, closing it off. He drew his arm out of the opening.
    â€œI already tried that one, that’s not it.” His voice sounded hollow.
    â€œYou mean you went in it?”
    â€œNo, I looked down it, because it felt like about the right height. But it’s too long, see?” He stepped back to let Kevin look. “It wasn’t that long a tunnel and this one just closes down, narrows down. See?”
    Kevin peered in. “I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s an optical illusion, because the tunnel slanted down, remember?”
    Brann didn’t remember that. But he knew he couldn’t trust himself. “Shall we try? How long was it, do you remember?”
    â€œAwfully long.”
    â€œBut you were moving in the dark so that might make it seem longer. I don’t know. Why did you come down anyway?”
    â€œI thought maybe you’d hurt yourself or something. You’d been gone a long time.”
    â€œYou’re really something, kid, you know that?”
    â€œNo, I’m not. Do you want to try this?”
    â€œWe can always back out again. I guess. Let’s take a chance on your visual memory.”
    â€œI don’t know—”
    â€œIt’s OK,” Brann reassured him. “Do you want to go first, or me? We should hold onto ankles or something. So we don’t get separated.”
    â€œYou go first, please,” Kevin said.
    They clambered into the narrow tunnel. Brann, flashlight in his mouth again, his pace impaired by Kevin’s hand holding onto his left ankle, tried to remember how narrow it had seemed before, whether his shoulders had rubbed in the same way, how low he’d had to hold his head, whether it had taken this long, seemed this long a stretch . . .
    When he saw the darkness open up ahead, and dim daylight filtering through with false brightness from