The Eyes of Kid Midas by Neal Shusterman Page A

from underneath a perfectly set table. Everything looked fine, but something was missing.
    Josh couldn't remember, and neither could Kevin. If he tried really hard, he could remember Bertram's voice, or part of his face, or the smell of his gum, but the memories were fading, becoming harder and harder to find.
    "What did you do, Kevin? What the hell did you do?"
    "I think . . ." said Kevin, "I think I've changed the rules, somehow."
    Josh scowled at him, trying to understand.
    "It's like . . . you know, when you're dreaming; first you're in your house, then suddenly you're at school, then suddenly you're at the mall in your underwear, but no one notices—not even you— because while you're dreaming, you don't notice when things don't make sense. You don't notice when the rules change, you know?"
    Josh's lips started to quiver. He was breathing fast, too, and Kevin knew that he was beginning to understand.
    Kevin slipped the glasses out of his pocket and put them on. His whole body surged with warmth.
    "See, Josh, if I were to say something like 'two plus two equals three,' suddenly it would be true, and no one would know any better."
    Josh reached out and plucked the glasses from Kevin's face. They made a suction sound as they came off, like a snail being pulled off a window.
    "When I first got the glasses, Josh, they just made things—but now that I've had practice, and gotten better at it, the glasses are doing even more. Now the glasses are re-making the rules. They're re-imagining the universe!"
    They both glanced into Kevin's bedroom, where Nicole was bouncing on an eraser as if it were a miniature trampoline.
    "So no one's going to notice anything strange about Nicole being six inches tall?" asked Josh.
    "No one . . . they'll just look right past it, and not give it a second thought, like it's normal . . . and it's the same with Bertram. Pretty soon, Bertram's going to be completely gone. No one will remember he ever existed—-not even his own parents. . . . Nobody but you and me."
    "Why me?" asked Josh. "If you're the one changing the rules, how come I know something's wrong?" But Josh answered his own question. "It's because I was there with you when you found the glasses, isn't it?"
    Kevin nodded. "We're in this together."
    Josh looked at the glasses, which were still inhis hands. Kevin's tone changed. "I'd like them back, please," said Kevin.
    Josh's grip tightened on the lenses. "Maybe I should keep them for you . . . so there's no more trouble."
    Kevin reached out a hand, and his fingers closed around the glasses as well.
    "Let go, Josh."
    They stood there, facing off—neither of them letting go.
    "Jump ball," said Josh, with a nervous chuckle.
    "Let go, Josh."
    There was something in Kevin's voice-- something so commanding that Josh couldn't fight it. Josh let go, and his shoulders sagged. Kevin shoved the glasses back into his shirt pocket, and Josh rubbed his hands on his pants, as if trying to wipe off invisible blood.
    "I'm an accessory," said Josh, with bitter resignation. "An accessory to the crime."
    Kevin saw Nicole to the door. He offered to walk her home, but she wouldn't allow it.
    "I'm fine by myself," said Nicole. "Cats are stupid, anyway."
    As she stood on his palm, before Kevin let her down to the ground, she took a long look at him.
    "You know," said Nicole, "you should have waited."
    "Huh?"
    "You should have waited before you kissed me. It was a really dumb thing to do. You should have waited till we were, like, going out or something."
    Kevin set her gently down on the sidewalk. "But you'd never go out with me."
    Nicole shrugged. "You never asked me." Then she turned and began the long, long walk back to her house four blocks away.

 
     
     
    CHAPTER 10
    Specters in the Dark
    Kevin told himself he wouldn't use them again. No matter how miserable he felt without the glasses on his face, he swore he'd stop once and for all.
    Yet as he lay in bed that night, thoughts of the glasses pushed