“Crazy news?” I asked, puzzled.
Steve pulled us off to one side of the yard, checked to make sure no one was around, then began speaking in a whisper.
“I got the money,” he said, “and sneaked out at seven o’clock, when Mom was on the phone. I hurried across town to the ticket booth, but do you know who was there when I arrived?”
“Who?” we asked.
“Mr. Dalton!” he said. “He was there with a couple of policemen. They were dragging a small guy out of the booth it was only a small shed, really when suddenly there was this huge bang and a big cloud of smoke covered them all. When it cleared, the small guy had disappeared.”
“What did Mr. Dalton and the police do?” Alan asked.
“Examined the shed, looked around a bit, then left.”
“They didn’t see you?” Tommy asked.
“No,” Steve said. “I was well hidden.”
“So you didn’t get the tickets,” I said sadly.
“I didn’t say that,” he contradicted me.
“You got them?” I gasped.
“I turned to leave,” he said, “and found the small guy behind me. He was tiny, and dressed in a long cloak that covered him from head to toe. He spotted the flyer in my hand, took it, and held out the tickets. I handed over the money and…”
“You got them!” we roared delightedly.
“Yes,” he beamed. Then his face fell. “But there was a catch. I told you there was bad news, remember?”
“What is it?” I asked, thinking he’d lost them.
“He only sold me two,” Steve said. “I had the money for four, but he wouldn’t take it. He didn’t say anything, just tapped the part on the flyer about ‘some restrictions, then handed me a card that said the Cirque Du Freak only sold two tickets per flyer. I offered him extra money I had almost a hundred dollars total but he wouldn’t accept it.”
“He only sold you two tickets?” Tommy asked, dismayed.
“But that means…” Alan began.
“…Only two of us can go,” Steve finished. He looked around at us grimly. “Two of us will have to stay at home.”
IT WAS FRIDAY AFTERNOON, the end of the school week, the start of the weekend, and everybody was laughing and running home as quickly as they could, delighted to be free. Except a certain miserable foursome who hung around the schoolyard, looking like the end of the world had arrived. Their names? Steve Leonard, Tommy Jones, Alan Morris, and me, Darren Shan.
“It’s not fair,” Alan moaned. “Who ever heard of a circus only letting you buy two tickets? It’s stupid!”
We all agreed with him, but there was nothing we could do about it but stand around kicking the ground with our feet, looking bummed out.
Finally, Alan asked the question that was on everybody’s mind.
“So, who gets the tickets?”
We looked at each other and shook our heads uncertainly.
“Well, Steve has to get one,” I said. “He put in more money than the rest of us, and he went to buy them, so he has to get one, agreed?”
“Agreed,” Tommy said.
“Agreed,” Alan said. I think he would have argued about it, except he knew he wouldn’t win.