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"
Eighty
-
seven
degrees
,
I
thought
you
’
d
like
to
know
.
"
Forty
-
five
,
that
’
s
inside
,
not
outside
!
Forty
-
nine
,
fifty
,
fifty
-
one
!
Fifty
-
two
,
fifty
-
three
!
Fifty
-
three
plus
thirty
-
nine
is
—
ninety
-
two
degrees
!
"
"
Who
says
?
"
"
I
say
!
Not
eighty
-
seven
degrees
Fahrenheit
!
But
ninety
-
two
degrees
Spaulding
!
"
"
You
and
who
else
?
"
Tom
jumped
up
and
stood
red
-
faced
,
staring
at
the
sun
.
"
Me
and
the
cicadas
,
that
’
s
who
!
Me
and
the
cicadas
!
You
’
re
out
-
numbered
!
Ninety
-
two
,
ninety
-
two
,
ninety
-
two
degrees
Spaulding
,
by
gosh
!
"
They
both
stood
looking
at
the
merciless
unclouded
sky
like
a
camera
that
has
broken
and
stares
,
shutter
wide
,
at
a
motionless
and
stricken
town
dying
in
a
fiery
sweat
.
Douglas
shut
his
eyes
and
saw
two
idiot
suns
dancing
on
the
reverse
side
of
the
pinkly
translucent
lids
.
"
One
.
.
.
two
.
.
.
three
.
.
.
"
Douglas
felt
his
lips
move
.
