The Catcher's Dreams (FEATURED)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - a mirrored rock

Drake stepped in his own footsteps, tracing the route he'd taken a few sunsets ago with Cassandra and her glow. Cassandra, whose crying was still gone when Drake had gone home to drop off his stuff. He hoped it would stay that way. Her glow, which was resting in pieces around her.

Drake peered upwards as he turned a corner, looking at the sign. Pine West.

Hers was 16. There were still a few houses to go.

The house of Wendy Fujimoto looked surprisingly ordinary. To Drake's shock, the lawn was unkempt and bursting with flowers and dog poop. He checked the number. Yes. 16. But still, dog poop. He made his way across the lawn, trying to avoid it. The owners of the bodily excretions rushed to the backyard gates to bark at him, crammed in the narrow space between the Fujimoto residence and the neighboring house. Now that Drake thought about it, Wendy did strike him as a dog person.

He jumped the last few steps to the door and pressed the doorbell. As it rang, the door creaked open. Two pairs of eyes looked out through the crack, along with two bluish glows.

"Hey, look, it's the creepy kid," the lower pair of eyes said.

"Wendy told us all about you," the upper pair said. "You're von Hirsch, aren't you?"

The lower pair snickered. "What is it? Draco von Hirsch? You sound like you'd wear fancy knickers."

"Stop," the upper pair said.

"My name's Drake," Drake said. "Drake Hirsch. No von, no knickers. Now, have I got the right house? Where's Wendy?"

One pair of eyes disappeared. "Can you fetch Wendy?"

Drake vaguely considered how many there were.

There was a series of loud footsteps and the two voices disappeared. The door was flung open. The two pairs of eyes belonged to two twig-like mousy girls, one slightly younger than Drake and one that looked about six. They had been pushed to the side.

"Wendy," Drake said. "Hi. Let's get this over with." He stepped in.

The house was, to put it simply, a mess. There were quite a few books and toys scattered around, and the TV was blaring solid Disney. The whole place smelled like burnt cookies. Wendy led him tiptoeing precariously through the books and toys. The two smaller girls – Wendy's sisters, he presumed – followed. Wendy whirled around irritably.

"Rosa! Mandy! Stop following me around or I'll tell on you," she said.

"Where're you going in such a rush?" one asked.

"Uncle," Wendy replied vaguely. "Where is he?"

"He's in his office," the other one replied, before widening her eyes at Drake. "Oh, he's one of Uncle's nutters, isn't he?" Both girls stepped away.

"It's not polite to call them 'nutters'. Come on," Wendy said, pulling at Drake's arm. They turned a corner and went down a hall boasting of countless photo frames featuring Wendy and her sisters. At last they reached an inconspicuous door peering out from its wedged spot in the wall.

Wendy stepped up to the door and knocked four times. "Uncle? It's me, Wendy."

The door opened and a man looked out. He was a rather unassuming kindly old man, fifty or so, the type you'd see shopping at an organic foods store for gummy bears for his kids – translucent hair fraying at the edges, a knitted sweater, and a pair of precarious spectacles balancing on the barely existent bridge of his nose. Drake also expected endearingly broken English.

But he had no glow.

"Uncle, this is Drake," Wendy said.

"I'm Drake," Drake said.