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could get punch and spill it on Ludwig’s jacket. He’d take it off if it was wet.” Lola and I followed him over and watched him fill a glass.
    “It’s too small,” Lola said. “Spill that on him and he’ll just wipe his jacket with a napkin. We need a bigger glass.”
    “No, we don’t,” said Aaron. “We just need more of them.”
    He filled three more glasses and barely managed to pick all four up at once. With four full glasses balanced in his stubby hands, Aaron was ready, but when we looked around for Victor Peat and Ludwig, they were nowhere to be seen.
    “You’ve got to find them!” hissed Aaron. “I can’t carry these cups around all night! I’m about to drop them as it is.”
    “Follow me,” Lola whispered back. We left the reception area and went into the chapel. All the chairs were empty now. Even Joe Lampkin had been wheeled out. We went upstairs to the office, but it was empty, too. Back downstairs, I looked out the front door and saw the tall, thin man and the short, chubby man walking casually down the sidewalk toward their black Cadillac.
    “Mr. Peat!” I yelled out the door. “Wait!” Both men turned around. We walked quickly to them.
    “How can I help you?” said Mr. Peat, politely.
    Aaron answered by running up to Ludwig and throwing all four glasses of punch at his chest.
    “What are you doing?” Ludwig yelled. “You little brat! You’ve ruined my suit!” He began to remove the drenched jacket, but Victor Peat stopped him.
    “Don’t you see what’s going on here?” said Mr. Peat, his voice low and menacing. “We buried this girl’s stepfather not long ago. And we saw these two boys on our first visit this morning. This young one is Aaron Peshik. His name is on the list.”
    “The list?” said Ludwig. “Oh, I see. It’s the list you’re after. Trying to steal it, are you? Destroy the list and save yourselves? It’s been tried before, you know.”
    “Give it to me,” said Victor Peat.
    Ludwig reached inside his sopping wet jacket and pulled the roll of yellow paper from his pocket. Victor Peat snatched it from him and shrieked.
    “It’s ruined!”
    Punch and ink dripped from the list. From where I was standing, the names looked completely illegible.
    Victor Peat frantically unrolled the paper, spreading it out on the hood of the car. It was nothing but a smeared, soggy sheet. He turned and faced us.
    “Well, young man,” he said to Aaron, “it appears you’ve succeeded. Your name is no longer on the list. I do not know what will happen to you now. You might live forever. Now scat!”
    We scatted. We grabbed our bikes and pedaled home as fast as we could. We were riding so fast, we didn’t slow down forthe busy intersection at Eleventh Street. We didn’t see the brown pickup truck barreling toward us. The driver laid on his horn, slammed on his brakes, spun sideways, and slid right at us. We slammed on our brakes, too. I braced myself for the crash.
    The truck stopped two inches from Aaron. The driver yanked open the door.
    “You kids okay?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You need to be more careful. You could have been killed.”
    “We know,” Aaron said. “Sorry.”
    We pedaled slowly the rest of the way. Aaron thanked Lola for her help. “You’re welcome,” she said, before riding off toward her house. When we opened the back door, Mom and Dad were waiting for us. They were already mad that we’d run off without saying anything, so we didn’t tell them about Aaron’s near miss with the pickup truck. By the time they’d finished yelling at us and hugging us, they’d also forbidden us from riding our bikes for two weeks.

“I DON’T FEEL SO GOOD ,” I said the morning after the incident with Mr. Peat.
    “You don’t look so good, either,” said Mom. She placed her hand on my cheek and frowned. She set me on the couch and snuggled a blanket around me, which I didn’t mind. When Mom left the room, I told Aaron I’d probably gotten sick from all the