The Extraordinary Adventures of Alfred Kropp (Alfred Kropp #1)(67)

I held out my hand.

“This is nuts, Barry,” I said. “We’re both gonna get expelled.”

“That was just a lucky punch,” he gasped, and he slapped my hand away.

“The odds are against that,” I answered. “I’ve never had too much luck.”

I pulled him to his feet and he spat, “You’re a freak.”

But he didn’t shove me again or try to punch me, and after that nobody teased me about my size or the remark about my IQ. People left me alone. Even my teachers kept their distance and went out of their way to give me a break. Of course, it got all around school that I had admitted to killing someone, and the rumor about me being a terrorist persisted.

I spent most afternoons in the Old City, walking aimlessly or sitting in the Ye Olde Coffee Shop, where I had met Bennacio. I always took the last stool at the end of the counter and sipped lattes, staring at the people walking past the big window. Sometimes I took out the card Abigail Smith had given me in London and stared at it. Most of the time, though, I just stared out the window. And I always dreaded going home to the Tuttles.

Sitting in the coffee shop made me feel close to Bennacio, the nearest thing to a father I ever had, and sometimes I would hear his voice in my head: Do not concern yourself so much with guilt and grief, Alfred. No battle was ever won, no great deed ever accomplished by wallowing in guilt and grief.

I began to understand I had claimed more than the Sword of Kings in Merlin’s cave. I had claimed something even more powerful and scary.

I had claimed who I was.

One afternoon, after I finished my coffee, I looked at my watch and realized it was almost six o’clock. Dinner would be over by the time I got to the Tuttles’, and Betty would fuss at me and wonder where I wandered off to every afternoon instead of coming home and studying like a good boy. Horace would stomp and shout, and the thin walls of the little house would shake. I would eat the leftovers and retreat to the little room I shared with Lester and Dexter. The next morning I would go to school and that would be my life, the life of Alfred Kropp, Heir to Lancelot, Son of the Sacred Order, Master of the Sword of Kings, and Adventurer Extraordinaire.

I left the coffee house and turned on Central to Jackson, but instead of walking toward the bus stop I went straight to the pay phone half a block down and dialed the 800 number scrawled on the back of the card.

“This is Alfred Kropp, Abby . . . Abigail . . . Ms. Smith, Doctor Smith, ma’am,” I said. “I was wondering about what you said. About, um, needing fresh talent . . .”