The Card on the Shoe

Silas was fifteen, and on Saturdays he worked for a magician. The job was easy: carry the black case, wear the silly shirt, and hand things over at the right moment.

At a seventh birthday party in an apartment above a laundromat in Queens, the big trick was the card in the fancy blue box. The birthday boy picked a card. Silas took it behind the curtain, and there he was supposed to put it in the box.

He forgot. He stood with his hands empty and his head empty too, and then the magician called for the box.

The magician opened it. Nothing inside. Eleven children looked at Silas.

“The card is shy,” Silas said. “It ran away.”

“It’s on your shoe,” a girl at the front said.

It was. The card had fallen by the door and stuck to his wet shoe. The children screamed. Two of them fell off the sofa.

In the car the magician was quiet for a long time. “Every party,” he said at last. “Drop the card on your shoe. Every party.”

“I hate that trick,” Silas said.

“Fifty dollars a party.”

“Deal.”