The Power of Un Read Online Free

back and bet the other way. This was better than winning the lottery!
    My hands shook as I studied the unner in the twilight, turning it over and over, brushing the keypad with my fingers, touching the screen. It took me a minute to get up the courage to press one of the keys—the 9, because I’ve always liked that number.
    Nothing happened.
    No numbers appeared on the screen. No lights lit up. The little box made no sounds, ominous or otherwise.
    I pressed a bunch of different keys. Nothing. I pressed the colored buttons. Nothing. After a while I got so desperate I even squeezed my eyes shut and dared to punch the ORDER key. Still nothing. Maybe the old man was just a crazy vagrant after all, and the amazing machine was no more than what it seemed: a cobbled-up pile of junk that had never worked in the first place.
    Deep twilight had crept into the woods, and I could no longer see things clearly, not even my own hands on the unner. Luckily, my watch has a tiny, built-in light. A quick look confirmed what I already feared. I was late for dinner. My parents are fairly reasonable about a lot of things, but
late for dinner
isn’t one of them. If I didn’t get home soon, there was a major possibility they would ground me. In which case, abandon all hope—the carnival might as well be on Mars.
    I jumped up from the rock and started to run back along the path toward the house. There was no daylight left anymore, just the faint glow of moonlight wherever it could find its way between the branches. Confusing checkerboards of shadow dappled the ground. I thought I knew every inch of that path and could have run it blindfolded, but I was wrong. The toe of my shoe caught on something—I couldn’t tell what it was—and I sprawled facedown.
    I turned over and sat up, spitting leaves, and rubbed the tip of my nose, which burned. I’d scraped it on something. I forgot about that completely,though, when I realized the unner was no longer in my hands. I peered around but couldn’t see it anywhere in the chaos of leaf shadows.
    Stay cool
, I told myself.
You’ll find it
. But my stomach didn’t believe me. It felt suspended in midair, as if I were falling out of a tree. Still on hands and knees, I crawled all over the forest floor, scattering leaves and dirt like a maniac.
    I spent five precious minutes searching, knowing that every lost second moved me closer to being grounded. Finally I had to admit it was useless. I needed light. So I headed reluctantly for the house again, mumbling the worst words I could think of.
        By the time I ran up the walk, Mom was standing at the front door with her hands on her hips. A ruffly square-dance skirt mushroomed around her waist. I never would have told her so, but it looked all wrong on her. I’m used to seeing her in the clothes she wears at the hardware store: canvas carpenter pants and a green shirt with her name on it. The best plumbers in town listen with respect when she talks about the difference between copper and galvanized steel. Whenever she wears those frou-frou square-dance ruffles, it’s like looking at a kid’s puzzle: What’s Wrong with this Picture?
    “Gibson Finney, where have you been?” she said. She never calls me
Gibson
except when she’s mad. Andshe never calls me
Gibson Finney
unless she’s really,
really
mad.
    “Over in the woods, kicking rocks and, I dunno … dunking,” I said. Realizing how lame that must sound, I added, “I would have been home sooner, but there was this weird old guy in there and he … wanted to talk. Sorry.” I knew a second later that admitting I’d been talking to a stranger might not be the best way to convince her I shouldn’t be grounded. I stared at my shoes and tried to get myself ready for whatever would come next.
    “I ought to ground you! You were talking to a stranger? A man? In the woods at night?” She made it sound as if I’d decided to shake hands with a crocodile.
    “Well … I only said a couple of