There were actually three things Ryan Carter wanted to do that Saturday afternoon: eat a microwaved burrito, not see his uncle, and—hopefully, with a kind heart—sleep.
The universe was not kind to Ryan very often.
“Ryan! Get up here!”
Uncle Hank’s voice boomed through the thin floorboards of the Carter house like a foghorn with a grudge. It rattled the windows, startled the neighbor’s cat off the porch railing, and made Ryan’s half-eaten bowl of cereal vibrate on the kitchen table.
