Read In the Middle of the Night for Free Online Page B

Wickburg Regional High School, he was glad to lose himself among hundreds of other students while he adjusted to his new life.
    John Paul’s parents adjusted quickly to life in Wickburg. His father found a job immediately as a chef in a French restaurant downtown, and dreamed of the day when he would open his own place. His mother kept busy with the activities of St. Therese’s Church. She sold cards at the Friday night beano parties and visited the sick and the shut-ins.
    The restaurant where John Paul’s father worked was next to the Globe Theater. He struck up an acquaintance with Mr. Zarbor—they both loved foreign movies, especially French and Italian films—and this led to John Paul’s employment at the theater.
    Life, John Paul reflected, was good. As far as language was concerned, he would have to learn contractions. That was his biggest difficulty. Mr. Burns, his English teacher,said: “Your vocabulary is excellent but you have to learn to say
don’t
or
aren’t
or
doesn’t.
Instead of
do not, are not
or
does not.”
    “I will try,” John Paul said. In his mind he used contractions, but when he spoke, they disappeared.
    “No—
I’ll try
,” the teacher said, kind but firm. “That’s the only way you’ll sound like a real U.S. teenager.”
    “Okay,” John Paul said.
Okay
—a safe American word that always came in handy.
    Preparations for the magic show began early that year, featuring “Martini the Magnificent,” a magician who often appeared on children’s television programs. His performance included sawing a woman not only in half, but in five separate pieces, sudden disappearances and strange rituals featuring ghosts and goblins. His act also called for special constructions backstage, where John Paul learned to his disappointment that there was no magic at all in Martini’s act. All of it was mechanical, not mystical. It was like learning that there was no Santa Claus—a wonderful moment of discovery followed by the bleak lonesome truth. Martini himself, when he showed up, turned out to be a fussy, demanding man whose real name was unromantic and ordinary: Oscar Jones.
    Preparing for the big day, John Paul vacuumed the faded carpet in the aisles, tried to scrape away the remains of chewing gum from the cement floor under the seats, did his best to repair seats that did not fold down properly. Mr. Zarbor paid him time and a half for overtime and treatedhim to sundaes and ice cream sodas after the work was done for the day.
    “What about the balcony?” John Paul asked. He had heard that the balcony, closed for many years, might be reopened for Martini because a bigger audience than usual was expected.
    They both looked up at the cluttered, forbidding balcony, long used as a place for storage.
    Mr. Zarbor sighed hugely. “Forget it, the balcony,” he said. “It would take an army to move all that stuff. We’ll arrange for an extra performance if it becomes necessary …”
    “Okay,” John Paul replied cheerfully. He avoided the balcony if possible. When he was sent there, he often heard rats scurrying among the debris and strange crackling sounds. He always looked around nervously, expecting … he did not know what he expected. We should clean the balcony up, he thought. But he never said anything to Mr. Zarbor. Too big a job, removing all that junk.
    John Paul awakened early the day of the magic show, glad that Halloween this year fell on a Saturday because that added to the drama of the event. He looked forward to seeing the show through the innocent eyes of the children, hoping this would bring back some of the magic that had disappeared when he’d seen the backstage facts.
    On the way to the Globe early that afternoon, he was hurried along by brisk howling winds that shook leaves from their branches, creating a snowfall of many colors.Low clouds were heavy with rain that maybe would come later. Perfect weather for Halloween and a mysterious magic show.
    When he arrived at