(Each chapter of this book begins with a full-page comic book layout.)
Superheroes don’t exactly tell the whole truth. Superman
hides behind Clark Kent’s thick black glasses. Batman wears a
mask to protect Bruce Wayne. Who would ever suspect Peter
Parker is Spider-Man? Then there’s me. I’m not a superhero,
but I have my own secrets. And if I’m going to keep those
secrets, I’d better get going before Mom gets home.
I quickly finish the final page in my latest Adventures of Click
comic. All it needs is a dash of gold for lightning. “Good job,
Click. You saved the world just in time, as always.” Alone in
my room, I’m in control of who wins and loses. Out in the
real world, not so much.
I close my tablet and run downstairs. Rounding the corner
to the backdoor I screech to a stop. “Mom! What’re you
doing here?” She’s standing inside, hanging up her coat.
“I live here, remember?” She winks. “Anna’s dance class
was canceled.”
My little cousin, Anna, smirks from the couch. “I live here
too.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Two days a week,” she says.
“That’s different.” I stop. I’ll never win an argument with
miss-seven-year-old-know-it-all Anna.
Mom ties her apron. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”
I stumble over to the kitchen sink. “Yeah, got thirsty.”
She’s never home early. What if I’d been gone? Without
leaving a note? Reminder to self: always leave an alibi note.
I gulp down a glass of water. “I think I’ll ride my bike over
to…” What was his name? “…Liam’s house.”
“I’d like to meet your new friend. Invite him over.”
I slip into my shoes. “I’ll ask. We’re in the middle of some
projects…uh…maybe creating an app to track homework
assignments.”
“That sounds like something you can use starting middle
school this year. Well, take him some of these chocolate chip
cookies to welcome his family to the Ranch.” She fills a bag
as she talks.
“Okay. Sure.” I stuff them in my backpack.
“I never had a chance to meet your last new friend…Sam.”
She stares at me until I squirm. Crud, it was Sam. “Invite him
over sometime too. And get their phone numbers.”
“I’ll try.”
Mom opens the refrigerator, then turns around to face me
again. “And just a heads-up. Dad has something to talk to
you about later. Some changes.”
“What kind of changes?”
“I’ll let Dad tell you.” She wrinkles her nose. “And, Nick?”
“Yeah?”
“I expect you to finish your last book report by the end of
the week. Summer’s almost over.”
As if I need anyone to remind me of that. “But, Mom—”
“No excuses. Just do it.”
I run out the door and take off. No one else has book
reports over the summer. And Dad making changes is
strange. We’re not a changing kind of family. I’ve lived in one
house my whole life. Dad’s had one job. Mom only wanted
one kid. I count on the fact that we’re predictable. Dad’s
probably getting a new car or painting the house. I guess I’ll
hear about it soon enough.
It’s the end of August, and the bike path’s crowded today.
Hundreds of people come to Black Butte Ranch in Central
Oregon every summer for vacation. If Liam were real, we
could go paddle-boarding or swimming together. But since
he doesn’t exist, and neither does Sam, I have lots of cookies
to eat. It’s easy to have a secret life in a resort area. Tourists
only stay about a week or so. Just a few of us live here yearround.
No one much notices what I’m doing.
I head to Aspen Lake, not far from my house, and make
my first stop in front of a small log cabin surrounded by pine
trees. Most people at Black Butte leave their yards natural,
but this one’s a little wilder than most. I’ll sweep the pine
needles off the walkway before I leave.
I step up on the porch and peer through the open front
door. “Mr. Telly? It’s me, Nick.” I’m not sure he can hear me
with the whooshing of light sabers pulsing from the TV, but
he waves from the couch. His white hair’s sticking up on one
side.
“Hey, Nick. The evil Empire’s coming. Are you ready?”
We watch the Star Wars marathon together at least once a
month.
I plop down beside him. “You bet. I’m always ready for a
galactic battle. Do you want some cookies my mom made?”
“I never turn down cookies.” He reaches in the bag and
pulls one out.
“And I’ll get your pills ready while we watch.” Great
Gramp used to do the pills. He told me it keeps Mr. Telly
alive, and it’s pretty simple. I count them into his daily pill
sorter—three white ones, a blue one, and a red one go in
each compartment. “It’s Monday today. Don’t forget to take
these tonight when you go to bed.”
He salutes. “I’m on it.”
I finish watching the last ten minutes of the movie and get
up to leave. “See you next week,” I say.
“Come any time, Nick.”
Before I slip out the door, I open the coat closet and place
an envelope in the pocket of Mr. Telly’s orange parka, the
usual spot.
I quickly sweep his porch before I ride to Mr. Mason’s
house in the Ridge Cabins. Mr. Mason went blind late in life
and hasn’t learned to read braille yet. I knock on his door
and open it. “Hey, Mr. Mason. It’s Nick. Are you ready for
another chapter?”
He’s sitting in his recliner, petting his gray cat. “That’d be
great, Nick.” His white hair is always perfectly combed.
“And I brought you some cookies from my mom.”
“Thank you! I haven’t had homemade cookies in years.”
We settle in for chapter twelve of Texas Ranger. Mr. Mason
munches on a cookie while I read. I wish he were a superhero
fan instead of a Westerns guy, but I’m liking this story well
enough. When I run into some mushy love stuff, he tells me
to skip three pages or so.
“And that wraps it up for today.” I close the book. “I’ll be
back next week.”
“Thanks much, Nick. You’re a better reader than your
grandfather. Hope he can’t hear me say that.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter if he hears or not. What’s he
going to do about it?”
Mr. Mason chuckles. “You got that right.”
I head for the door. “Well, see you next week.” I don’t
leave an envelope on my way out. He doesn’t need one.
Great Gramp died a year ago. When I’m with these old
folks, I can almost imagine him about to come through the
door carrying a box of old comic books he found at a garage
sale or a carton of chocolate ice cream. But if Dad discovers
I’m hanging out with these guys as much as I do, he’ll blow
up. He wants me to make friends my own age, which would
be fine and all. I’d like to have friends. It’s just not so easy.
I have one more stop. Along the edge of Glaze Meadow, I
find Mrs. Baxter asleep in her hammock. At ninety-five, she’s
Great Gramp’s oldest friend, but she thinks young. Great
Gramp was ninety-two when he died.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Baxter.” I whisper so she doesn’t startle
and fall out.
“Nick? You’re just in time. I’ve got my e-reader all messed
up.” She fumbles to keep her balance while she sits up.
I keep an eye on her until she’s stable, then pick up her
6 Sandy Grubb
e-reader from the table. “Let’s see what I can do.” Mrs. Baxter
loves electronic devices, but she can never remember how to
work them. “What book are you reading?”
“A Tale of Two Cities, but I can’t find my place.”
I open to the library and tap the book. “Okay, it’ll have
your page ready for you next time you turn it on.”
As I approach Mrs. Baxter’s backdoor to stash her
envelope inside, the screen swings open and almost hits me
in the face. It slams against the house, and a boy about my
age comes out.
Who’s this?
