Small Steps (Holes 2)

“They sold for seven hundred and fifty in Philly,” said X-Ray.

“Austin ain’t Philly,” said Felix. “And row M ain’t exactly the front row.”

“We were ahead of your guys in line,” said X-Ray. “Whatever we got has to be better than anything you got.”

“Look, I’m not saying you couldn’t make more than seventy-five dollars a ticket. I wouldn’t be talkin’ to you if I didn’t think so. But there’s risk, too. Right now, things are looking pretty good. Big demand. Short supply. The price can only go up. But there was a big demand when Dylan played here a few years back. So you know what they did? They added a second show. You’re the economist, Armpit. You know what happens when supply goes up?”

“The price goes down?”

“Like an elevator with a busted cable. I was lucky to unload my inventory. Or what do you think would happen if we learn that sweet little Miss Kaira is pregnant? Or say she burns the American flag in some kind of political protest? I can tell you what would happen. You wouldn’t be able to give your tickets away.”

“Yeah, well, if it’s so risky, then why do you want the tickets so badly?” asked X-Ray.

“This is my business. If I lose money on Kaira DeLeon, I’ll make it up next week on someone else. You’re going to have to put an ad in the paper. That costs money. Me, I already got a running ad. It costs me the same no matter how many tickets I’m selling.”

“A fixed cost,” Armpit said as it all suddenly made sense to him.

“And I got connections, too,” Felix went on. “Every hotel concierge knows who to call if some guest wants tickets. All I’m sayin’ is, it’s not as easy as you think for a couple of independents. I’m offering you a hundred and eighty dollars, pure profit, and no worries.”

“We ain’t worried,” said X-Ray.

“Armpit looks worried.”

“I’m cool,” said Armpit.

Felix smiled. “Then why are you sweating so much?”

“Don’t you worry. We’re going to make a lot more than ninety bucks apiece,” X-Ray assured him as they drove out of the parking lot. “A lot more. Felix wouldn’ta wanted to buy them if he didn’t think so. This is a great day! We’re on our way, partner! We are on our way!”

By the time they reached the high school, Armpit was already five minutes late for his test. As he was getting out of the car, X-Ray said, “By the way. I’m going to need thirty bucks to put an ad in the paper.”

6

He was walking home from school an hour later when a man coming the other way crossed to the other side of the street. It was no big deal, and maybe the guy really needed to cross the street, but that kind of thing happened a lot to Armpit. White people did it more, but African Americans did it too. He usually pretended not to notice, but sometimes he’d give the guy a menacing glare as if to say, “Yeah, you better stay out of my way!”

This time he just ignored it. He was in too good a mood to glare.

He’d gotten a ninety on his economics test, thanks to Felix. He’d learned more in the parking lot of the Lonestar Arena than he h

ad learned all year in class.

“It all just clicked,” he told Ginny as they took their daily walk. “Even the graphs! The questions were all about people buying and selling everything from gasoline to hula hoops, but in my own mind, I put it in terms of tickets.”

“Hula hoops,” Ginny said with a laugh. “That’s funny!”

After their walk, he asked her if he could borrow a stuffed animal for his ruler-of-the-world speech.

Ginny was amazed. Hula hoops, stuffed animals, ruler of the world—high school sounded a lot more fun than the fourth grade.

She led him into her room, where she had more than thirty stuffed animals.

“Just give me one you don’t like too much,” Armpit said.

“I love all of them,” Ginny said, but not in a selfish way. She definitely considered it an honor for one of her lovies to get to go to high school with Theodore, and she carefully considered who was most deserving.

“How about that one,” Armpit said, indicating a brown owl with huge eyes.

“That’s Hoo-Hooter,” said Ginny. “He can’t see.”