"Vukcevich-TheFinger" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vukcevich Ray)

Bobby flipped off the Bright White Church on the corner, and it jumped into the
air then fell onto its side with a splintering crash and the sounds of breaking
glass. Flipping fast and furious now, Bobby turned the Little Red Schoolhouse
into a big pile of little red bricks.

Bobby flipped off the Court House, and smoke filled its windows. The mayor ran
out screaming, "Fire! Fire!"

Downtown was beginning to look war-torn, worse for wear, maybe tornado-struck.

"You're not being very nice, Bobby," said the West Witch, ugly as sin his father
called her, where she sat on the boardwalk with her plastic bag of empty
vegetable cans and bits of bright yarn and corked bottles of powders and
potions. Bobby flipped her off.

The witch's eyes got big then she grinned, and Bobby could see she had no teeth.
"Maybe you just need something sweet to suck on. A sweet tooth. Or two." She
wiggled her eyebrows up and down at him, and sweetness filled his mouth.
Chocolate. He backed away, sucking at his teeth. His front teeth. His chocolate
teeth, and they were getting smaller fast, dissolving.

The witch sat rocking and slapping her knees and laughing at him, and when he
zapped her with the finger again, all he was able to do was knock off her ragged
bonnet, and that just seemed to make her laugh harder.

Bobby swallowed the last of his chocolate and ran on down the street, tonguing
the space where his top front teeth had been. He stopped in front of the still
standing Hardware Store where he knew there was a mirror in the window. He was
so much older now, growing up before his very eyes. He watched in dismay as his
new teeth came in. He was a chipmunk. How could he be a gee man if he looked
like a big chipmunk? No, a beaver. Bobby the Beaver. There was something about
beavers, too, something that put a sly smile on Edward's face. He'd never figure
it out in time. You're always a day late and a dollar short, his father liked to
say. Bobby flipped off the Hardware Store, reducing it to piles of lumber and
nails, tools and electrical parts, pipes and toilet fixtures.

He let his shoulders slump, deliberate bad posture, and slouched on down the
smoky street, getting bigger, stumbling into adolescence, feeling mean and
shooting I-Meant-To-Do-That! glances around whenever he tripped over his own
feet, kicking the town's rubble out of his way, taking time to flip off the
county deputy and send his car tumbling with the tumble weeds. Stinking black
leather jacket and dirty jeans, torn basketball shoes, flattop, a cool fool,
coming up on Molly, the East Witch, as beautiful as the other one was ugly,
saying, hey baby. The once-over for this one in her tight purple skirt and lacy
white deep-vee blouse, brown and white shoes and bobby sox. Once-over was not
enough, so the twice-over. Her dog a blond lab, sat by her side giving Bobby the
eye, an Elvis sneer on its lips, and a little rumbling growl coming from
somewhere deep inside.

"Keep your eyes to yourself, Bobby B," Molly said.