Chapter 37Ready to run, ready to explode, ready to smash something, anything, now, the Miraclemaker paced back and forth in the kitchen, flicking across the small space in quick bursts, three steps from one side to the other and then back and then again and then back and then again.
Hunched, glaring, clenched, he barreled between appliances, hurtling full-tilt toward the stove and then the refrigerator, bounding on a collision course but turning at the last possible instant and missing each by a hair's breadth. His hands were socked deep in the pockets of his bluejeans, planted where they could do the least harm, yet they flexed and strained at the denim, fighting for release whenever something breakable came into view.
He was still alone.
He was still alone and his plan was stalled an
