The Secret Talent by Jo Whittemore Page A

and the chips from my hands. “Thanks!”
    â€œNooo,” I said. “Those were mine, and I hadn’t offered them to you.”
    â€œWell, that makes you a rude host, doesn’t it?” he replied.
    In response I snatched the soda back and after a brief struggle, the chips, too.
    â€œI didn’t want them anymore, anyway,” he said with a disdainful sniff at the wrinkled bag. “They’re all broken now.”
    â€œBetter the chips than your nose,” I mumbled.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œBetter be hip like the bros!” I said with a smile.
    Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Anyway . . . what’s next?”
    I opened the chip bag. “Would you like some Doritos?”
    Ryan peered in at the crumbled contents.“You mean Dorito dust?”
    I raised an eyebrow, but before I could say a word, he pasted on a smile.
    â€œI mean, I’d love some.”
    I tried to pour them into his palm, but Ryan plunged his entire fist into the bag. When he tried to withdraw his hand, his sleeve got caught. Instead of gently freeing himself from the bag, Ryan shook his arm up and down, pieces of tortilla chip flying everywhere.
    At least Berkeley’s party would have entertainment.
    After I cleaned up the snack debris, we tried more polite conversation.
    â€œPeople love to talk about themselves,” I said. “And they love to hear their own name. So ask them questions about their lives and try to use their name a lot.”
    Ryan nodded. “So, Tim, what’s Tim’s favorite sport, Tim?”
    I frowned. “That might be overkill.”
    â€œRyan is sorry,” he said.
    I closed my eyes. “Why are you using your own name?”
    â€œBecause you’re right. I like the sound of it.” He smiled.
    By the time Uncle Theo came to pick me up, I kind of wanted to shake Ryan like a bag of Doritos. Our last lesson for the evening was how to accept and give compliments.
    â€œI like your shirt,” I told him. “Now you say something nice about me.”
    â€œYou’re smart to like this shirt,” he replied.
    I stared at him. “Try again.”
    Ryan squinted and rubbed his temples. “Hmmm.”
    â€œIt is not that hard to come up with something nice about me,” I told him.
    Ryan snapped his fingers. “You’re overly optimistic!”
    I sighed and hung my head. I couldn’t get out to the car fast enough.
    â€œHow was your project?” asked Uncle Theo.
    â€œAll I’m gonna say is that the payoff had better be worth it,” I said, buckling myself into the backseat of his car. “How was practice?”
    â€œWe learned a new dance today!” Gabby said, glancing back at me from the front seat. “I think you’ll pick it up pretty quick, though.”
    Uncle Theo nodded. “If we need to, we can stay a little longer at practice tomorrow.”
    I winced. “Actually, I have to work on this project again.”
    â€œOh,” said Uncle Theo. Then he fell silent.
    â€œI don’t like it either, believe me,” I told him. “It’s just going to take more work than I expected.”
    A lot more work. On Tuesday, Ryan seemed to have forgotten everything I’d taught him the day before, so I spent half an hour reviewingit . . . this time with imaginary chips. Then we sat in the media room and I made him watch a video of some of the classiest, sophisticated TV and movie characters I could think of.
    â€œLook at the way James Bond moves,” I said. “He’s got confidence.”
    â€œHe’s got a watch that shoots laser beams,” said Ryan. “What guy wouldn’t be confident with something like that?”
    â€œOkay, so pretend you’re wearing that, then,” I said, nudging Ryan to his feet. “And walk across the room.”
    Ryan stood and instantly dropped into a squat, arm held straight out in front of him.
    â€œ What are you doing?”