13 Patter

Chapter 13 Patter patter (n) a soothing, repetitive sound; a magician's continuous talk during a performance that lulls an audience so they won't notice something that's happening onstage When Jessie woke up, it was raining—a soft patter on the roof—and the first thing she thought of was Professor Hoffmann. She wondered if he could hear the rain down in the basement and if the sound had made him nervous in the night. He seemed to be a very nervous rabbit to Jessie. The second thought that popped into her head was that today was the day her mother was coming home. Finally. Jessie couldn't wait. She slipped out of bed and straight into her slippers. She didn't like walking barefoot, even in

the house. Then she quickly made her bed. The window to her bedroom was open a couple of inches, and rain was blowing through and onto the floor. She slammed the window shut, then headed downstairs. In the basement, Professor Hoffmann was nervously circling inside his large box. Jessie squatted down and put her head close to the edge, hoping that the sight of a giant human head peering down on him wouldn't make him even more scared. "There's nothing to worry about," she said in a matter-of-fact voice. But Professor Hoffmann kept going around in circles. This was one of the things that Jessie didn't like about animals. You couldn't explain things to them. They just didn't understand. Especially rabbits. Still, she liked Professor Hoffmann. He was a good worker. He had practiced his tricks and learned to sit still and never kicked her when she put him in the rabbit box. She checked his food tray and refilled his bowl

with fresh water. Then she headed upstairs to the kitchen to wash her hands and get some breakfast. On the kitchen counter was an envelope, and on the outside of the envelope were the words "Evan and Jessie." Jessie frowned. The handwriting was her father's, all capital letters and a little sloppy. Why would he write them a note? Maybe he wanted to sleep in and was telling them not to wake him up until it was time to go to the airport and pick up their mom. Jessie quickly washed her hands, then picked up the note and hurried upstairs. Evan was still sleeping, but the note seemed important. She hesitated a moment outside his door. Now that Evan was almost eleven, he had started sleeping in on the weekends. When they were younger, he and Jessie had both gotten up early whether it was a school day or not. The Locked sign stared her right in the face, daring her to knock—and face the consequences. She knocked.

"Go away!" "But it's important!" "You always say that!" Jessie paused and thought about the last half dozen times she'd knocked on Evan's door. "But it is always important." She didn't knock without a good reason. "Ugh. Come in." Jessie hurried in and jumped onto Evan's bed, climbing over his stretched-out legs to position herself with her back against the wall. She liked being able to see everything that was going on, no matter where she was. Without a word, she handed Evan the note. When he saw the handwriting, he sat up quickly and tore open the envelope. He pulled out a piece of Mom's nice stationery, the kind she used for formal letters and thank-you notes. Jessie crowded next to Evan so they could read the letter at the same time. Jessie read the note twice. Then she read it again, just to make sure she hadn't missed anything. But

there was nothing to miss. "He's gone," she said at last. "Yep," said Evan, crumpling up the note and

throwing it into his trash can. "Just like always." Jessie pulled her knees up to her chin and thought for a minute. Evan was wrong. This time had been different. He had stayed a really long time. Days and days. But in the end, he still left. "Why?" Evan shrugged. "I don't know." Then he lay back down, as if the conversation were over. Jessie wondered if Evan was about to kick her out of his room, but he didn't say anything, so she figured she was allowed to stay. She looked at the rows of basketball trophies that Evan kept on the bookshelf above his desk. "Is it because he doesn't like us?" asked Jessie, but in her head she was wondering, Is it because he doesn't like me? Any dad would be happy to have a son like Evan—basketball star, most popular kid, talented magician. But she wasn't so sure what her dad thought of her. "He likes us okay," said Evan. "He just likes other things more." "What other things?"