Vanishing Acts Read Free

me.
    â€œYou guys, this is totally legit,” said Sonya as she unpacked her lunch. “I promise. I walked by Second Street on my way to school, and it’s already closed to regular traffic. This giant truck rolled up and unloaded six humongous trailers. You know—the kind movie stars use as dressing rooms. And then another truck came, and it was filled with giant lights and movie cameras.”
    This wasn’t hugely shocking. People film stuff in our neighborhood all the time. Especially on Second Street. In the past six months, they’d roped off the street for a Tom Cruise movie and a Trident gum commercial. But as for the rest of it? It seemed too good to be true.
    â€œIf they really needed extras, don’t you think they would’ve figured it out before today?” I asked.
    â€œThey had,” said Beatrix. “Or at least they thought they had. They were going to use a crowd in a box.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” asked Lucy.
    â€œIt’s an inflatable crowd,” Beatrix explained. “It’s when they use blow-up people to save money so they don’t have to deal with real extras.”
    â€œInflatable extras are much less complicated,” said Sonya. “Except on days with high winds.”
    â€œThey all blew away,” Beatrix said. “And there’s no time to get new plastic.”
    Suddenly everything clicked into place. “So thatexplains that puffy dude that plowed into me this morning.”
    â€œHuh?” asked my friends.
    I told them about my run-in with the blow-up doll. “We saw a few, but I had no idea they were part of a whole gang.”
    â€œThere were thirty, apparently,” said Beatrix. “Kind of an expensive mistake.”
    â€œSo where’s the doll?” asked Lucy.
    â€œWe stuffed him in a trash can on Garfield,” I explained. “Finn wanted to keep him, but I said no way.”
    â€œFinn is so funny,” said Lucy.
    My brother is a lot of things: quiet, smart, and good at soccer and video games and making omelets. Sweet when he wants to be, and, at times, slightly clueless. But funny? I don’t think so.
    â€œThink the dummy’s still there?” asked Sonya. “He’d be a cool addition to our collection of Seth Ryan memorabilia.”
    â€œI don’t think a blow-up doll would fit in the scrapbook,” said Beatrix.
    â€œI mean if we deflated him,” Sonya said. “Obviously.”
    â€œHe was huge,” I said. “Taller than me and probably as wide as Finn and me put together, so even flat and folded it would be a stretch.”
    â€œWe need to get a third scrapbook anyway,” Sonya said.
    â€œUnless we just move all of the existing stuff to a bigger binder,” said Beatrix. She turned to Lucy and me. “We can’t seem to agree.”
    Lucy and I grinned at each other, not at all surprised. It seemed like Beatrix and Sonya disagreed about everything relating to Seth Ryan: which movie was his best, how often they should e-mail him, where to hold their next fan club meeting, whether or not they should continue calling themselves a fan club, considering the fact that they were the only two members . . .
    â€œAnd it’s not like we can vote on it,” said Sonya. “We need a third person to break the tie, but there’s no way we’re going to try asking anyone at school again.”
    Last month, Beatrix and Sonya tried recruiting new kids to their club. Lucy and I were obvious choices, but we’re both too busy. So they put up a bunch of signs around campus. It seemed like a no-brainer, since every girl here, practically, is in love with Seth Ryan. Boys like him, too. They’d never say so out loud, but their hairstyles prove it.
    Of course, it didn’t work out so well. Within an hour, their signs got covered with mean graffiti. People drew funny mustaches and devil’s horns on his close-ups. They blacked out