Vanishing Act Read Free Page A

star yet only because her parents have kept her in school. She only plays during the summer, unlike most teenage prodigies, who play tennis first and foremost. They won’t even hire a coach to travel with her yet. They want everything low-key for her. She’s jumped sixty spots in the rankings in seven tournaments this summer.”
    â€œWhat’s her name?”
    â€œEvelyn Rubin. She’s fifteen, she’s from Chicago, and she can really play. This is her first major championship, so we’re all eager to see her do well.”
    â€œAnd,” Susan Carol added, “she’s very, very pretty.”
    â€œVery, very pretty, huh?” Stevie said. “Like Nadia Symanova very, very pretty?”
    â€œBetter than that,” Susan Carol said. “Symanova wears all that makeup like Anna Kournikova used to do. She’s too obvious. Evelyn doesn’t have flash and dash, but trust me, you’ll like her.”
    â€œWhen have you seen her?” Stevie said.
    â€œShe played an exhibition in Charlotte this summer that Uncle Brendan helped organize. I met her there.”
    â€œSo is she taller than I am?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Susan Carol laughed. “I’d say she’s about five five or five six.”
    â€œI’m taller than that,” Stevie said defensively, although anything over five six might be stretching it.
    â€œI know you are,” Susan Carol said. “Why, you’re just about as tall as I am, I think.”
    â€œSusan Carol, it’s me, Stevie,” he said.
    â€œOkay, okay,” she said. “But you are catching up—seriously.”
    â€œAnd how tall are you now?” he asked.
    â€œUm, maybe five nine.”
    â€œAnd still growing,” Brendan put in, causing his niece to blush.
    â€œI hope I’m not,” Susan Carol said, the red still in her cheeks.
    â€œMe too,” said Stevie, and they all laughed while Stevie reached for slice number four.

    Stevie went to bed with a stomachache but slept soundly anyway and was awakened at seven-thirty by Susan Carol peeking in the door to his room to say, “Rise and shine, there’s work to be done.”
    â€œWhy do I think that’s something your mom says to you in the morning?” Stevie said, suppressing a yawn and rubbing his eyes as he sat up.
    â€œClose,” she said. “My dad. Now come on!”
    She pulled the door closed. They left the apartment about an hour later. Susan Carol had told him that Bobby Kelleher had offered to give them a ride to the National Tennis Center as long as they got to the apartment he was staying in by nine o’clock. “It’s on Forty-eighth Street and Third Avenue,” she said. “Uncle Brendan says it’s too far to walk. He said if we walk over to West End Avenue, we’ll catch a cab.”
    Stevie was amazed at Susan Carol’s whistling ability. She spotted a cab turning the corner onto 78th Street and brought it to a halt with a whistle Stevie figured could be heard in Queens. “Where’d you learn that?” Stevie said as they climbed into the back of the cab.
    â€œMy swim coach,” she said.
    Stevie had a tendency to forget that his friend was a ranked age-group swimmer. Maybe he forgot because she’d had more success athletically than he had. He was hoping to make the freshman basketball team this fall but knew it was probably a long shot.
    The cab ride didn’t take long. The cabbie worked his way over to Central Park and then went right through the park on 66th Street, no doubt saving a lot of time. He kept going east until he reached Lexington Avenue. He turned right there and made every light until he turned left on 48th Street. He pulled up in front of the apartment building about ten minutes after he had picked them up. Stevie was a bit dizzy.
    â€œWelcome to New York,” Susan Carol said, laughing as she handed the cabbie a $10 bill for