“The new student’s name is Ned,” Ms. Carlin continues. “He should be here any moment.”
“Oh,” I tell her. “I think he’s in my gym class, too.”
She smiles. “That makes it even better! Would you mind if he sits next to you?”
Before I can even answer, he walks in. It’s him all right—he’s kind of hard to miss. Not only does he have frizzy red hair and tons of freckles, but he’s big. Really big.
Incredible Hulk big.
It’s a good thing I’ll be helping him out. I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side.
Ms. Carlin hands him a copy of the play we’re reading—Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream—and he follows me to our seats.
Since there are twenty-five (now twenty-six) kids in class, we share the big parts when we read it aloud. It’s pretty fun. I play Puck, the troublemaker, for the last two acts. Ms. Carlin claims it’s not typecasting.
I show Ned where we are in the play and ask if he likes Shakespeare.
He shrugs.
“Have you read any of his other plays?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“What were you reading in your old school?”
“Nothing.”
I remind myself that Hulk was never much of a talker either as we start reading the scene.
When the bell rings at 2:40, everyone rushes out of the classroom, and the building, except me. Since I walk home, sometimes I stay after school and return books to the shelves or help with other stuff Ms. Carlin needs. I know it sounds nerdy, but she really is nice. Kind of pretty, too. For a teacher.
“Excellent job today, Ethan,” Ms. Carlin says. “You make a very convincing Puck.”
“Thanks. I pretend I’m my little brother Freddy and that helps, because he always causes trouble.”
As I shelve books alphabetically, we talk about this year’s University of Maryland men’s basketball team. The new season starts next month, and we’re both excited about it. She told me that when she was a student there, she went to every game with her roommate. One time, when the game was really close, she shouted so much she lost her voice. But she says it was worth it.
It’s nice to have a conversation without being interrupted all the time, like I am at home. By the time I finish, it’s almost 3:00 p.m.
I take my time walking home, enjoying the crunch of orange and red leaves under my feet. I don’t know about October anywhere else, but here in Maryland it’s pretty awesome.
What’s even more awesome is the idea of going to Magic Fest, especially the part about meeting Magnus the Magnificent! The excited part of me can’t wait to tell Mom and Dad all about it; the smart part of me knows I can’t just blurt it out. Timing is important when it comes to asking my parents for stuff. It’s not like they’re mean or anything—they just have a lot going on, so I try not to bug them too often.
I’m partway up our driveway when Mom comes rushing out of the house. Her face is redder than the fallen maple leaves. “Where have you been, Ethan? I told you to come straight home!”
Something tells me this is not the time to bring up Magic Fest.
She’s pointing to the minivan, so I swerve and climb into the middle row. Jake is already buckled in his car seat. As I put on my seat belt, Freddy leans over from the back with a big grin on his face and sings, “You’re in trouble!”
Mom jumps into the front seat, glaring at me in the rearview mirror. “I cannot believe you forgot we’re getting flu shots today. I told you about it this morning during breakfast.”
I’d rather face a roomful of math equations.
“It’s just an immigration,” Freddy-the-Know-It-All says.
“Immunization, idiot,” I snap back.
Freddy leans forward as far as the seat belt lets him. “Mommy! Ethan called me—”
“Milkshakes after,” Mom interrupts. “For whoever doesn’t give me grief.”
The rest of the trip is silent.
At the doctor’s office, once we check in and are seated in Room Three, Mom asks who will go first. Freddy looks at me.
“No way,” I tell him.
As we argue, Jake’s favorite nurse joins us. “Hey there, Mr. Jake! You are looking mighty fine today!” she says.
While Jake and the nurse smile at each other, Freddy and I keep at it until I agree to go first.
“Too late.” The nurse laughs. “Mr. Jake already got his. Didn’t you, handsome?”
“All right, Jakey!” Freddy lifts one of Jake’s hands and taps it against his own for a high five. “You didn’t even cry.”
The truth is, Jake never cries, even when he gets a shot. It’s like he doesn’t feel the needle. I don’t know if that’s good or bad but, like always, I squeeze his hands, smile, and say, “Good job, Jake.”
Mom keeps her promise and gets milkshakes for Freddy and me, and a small one for her and Jake to share. When we get home, she puts a little on a spoon for Jake to try, but he wrinkles his nose the way he does when he doesn’t like something.
“It’s probably too cold for him,” Mom says.
She’s feeding Jake a bottle in the living room while Freddy slurps his shake and I read aloud the first chapter in The Fires of Merlin to everyone. Mom and I have been reading books out loud to each other since I was little, and T.A. Barron’s Merlin Saga is one of our new favorites.
Mom and I used to do lots of stuff together, like play board games, learn card tricks, and make up funny lyrics to popular songs. And every other Sunday, she and I went to this fifties-style diner, just the two of us, while Dad and Freddy did some little kid thing. We’d split a grilled cheese sandwich, then order two desserts and share them.
We’ve gone back to the diner a few times with Jake, but it’s not the same. Mom gets distracted fussing over him and half the time it feels like she’s not listening to me at all.
But we still read together. Today we’re starting the third book in the Lost Years of Merlin series. Our neighbor and “honorary big brother,” Chris Todd, gave me paperbacks of all five books for my birthday and Hanukkah presents last year. Right now, we’re at the part in the story where Merlin’s almost done making a magical harp.
“E!” Dad calls from the kitchen door. “Want to give me a hand with these groceries?”
What I want is to keep reading, but the faster I help, the sooner I can get back to Merlin, so I race out the door to the carport.
Dad hands me a carton of diapers, stacks a box of baby food on top of that, and then grabs a bunch of bags and opens the door for us both.
We start putting away the groceries in the kitchen. “So, when’s your next gig?” He squeezes milk and orange juice into our crowded fridge.
I kneel in front of the cabinets where Jake’s food goes and sort jars of mushy fruit, veggies, and meat. I’m about to tell Dad about the pirate party I’m doing this Sunday when Mom calls out, “Ethan? Could you please get the thermometer? Jake feels hot to me.”
I groan—at least, on the inside. We’ll never get back to Merlin at this rate. I run down the hall and bring back the special thermometer Mom uses for Jake, pretty much every five minutes.
One of the things that’s different about Jake is his temperature. Sometimes it gets really high, other times really low. It happens so often that Mom always carries a little battery-operated fan in her bag in case he gets too hot and a blanket in case he gets too cold.
I hand her the thermometer and she sticks it through Jake’s shirt, under his arm. After about ten seconds, it goes nuts: beep beepbeep, beep beepbeep, beep beepbeep. When it sounds like that, I know it means trouble, even without Mom biting her lip like she always does when she worries. She reads the thermometer. “Hundred and two point eight.”
She takes off Jake’s shirt and Dad hurries to the bathroom to start running water in the tub.
“Should I get his juice cup or the fan?” I ask.
Mom shakes her head. “Not right now. Maybe after the bath.”
“Are we taking Jakey to
the hospital again?” Freddy asks.
“I hope not,” Mom says.
The first time Jake’s temperature got super high, we didn’t know what to do. It was really scary until Mom and Dad finally managed to cool him down with an ice-cold washcloth. And the first time we took Jake to the emergency room, we all were freaking out—except Dad, who seems to stay calm no matter what.
Now we’re used to crazy temperatures and ER visits and the Kid Kart and everything else that comes with Jake. It’s just the way life is.
“Can I do anything?” I ask. When Mom shakes her head and says, “Not right now,” I’m secretly relieved. It’s not that I don’t want to help. But whenever Jake’s temperature gets too high or low, Mom calls the pediatrician and the rest of us run around trying to help and everyone gets stressed out.
While Mom and Dad try to cool down Jake in the tub, I go to my room, shut the door, and head to my laptop. It’s Mom’s hand-me-down, and it’s not very fast, but it’s better than nothing—especially since I don’t have a cell phone yet. (Did I mention that?)
I find the link to Magic Fest that Daniel showed me and start exploring the site. The more I see, the more excited I get. I click tabs for past Magic Fests and watch videos of other magicians my age performing on YouTube. I find a new interview with Magnus, then watch him perform some of my favorite tricks… for about the twentieth time.
“E?” Dad opens the door. I look up from the computer and glance at the window, noticing that the sky’s turning pink and purple. “Looks like we’re going to the ER after all.”
I turn the computer off and grab my shoes.
“You and Freddy are staying here. If the ER is crowded, we could be there a while.”
“That’s okay. I want to go with you.”
Before Dad says another word, my grandfather walks in. “Hey, buddy.” When he pulls me in for a hug, I can smell the wintergreen Life Savers he always gives Freddy and me on his breath.
“Hey, Bubba. When did you get here?”
“Just now. Your mom called and Emma and I came right over.” (It’s funny how everyone calls her Emma now. It started because, when I was little, I couldn’t pronounce Grandma, and somehow the name stuck. Luckily, she likes it.)
“Sam, let’s go!” Mom yells from down the hall.
“Coming!” Dad calls back.
Freddy runs into my room, which is starting to feel very crowded. “Ethan, guess what? We’re having French toast for supper!” he says, like it’s the best thing ever. (Actually, Emma’s French toast is the best thing ever, but that’s beside the point.)
“We’ll be back before you know it.” Dad squeezes my shoulder. We follow him down the hall to the front door. Jake is waiting patiently in Mom’s arms, but she’s biting her lip and jiggling her foot. Another thirty seconds and she might drive off without Dad.
I lean over and rub Jake’s hands together at lightning speed and he smiles at me, even though his eyes are more closed than open.
“Can we please go?” The way Mom says it, it’s not a question.
“Bye, Jakey.” Freddy waves as Dad carries Jake out to the car. “Come back soon!”
But he doesn’t.
I’m reading my favorite chapter of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban when Freddy barges into my room in his stegosaurus pajamas. “Whatcha doin’?”
“What am I doing? What are you doing?” I check my clock: 10:35 p.m. “You were supposed to be asleep, like, two hours ago!”
“I’m doing a huge battle of dinosaurs versus Star Wars. I thought the Star Wars people would win because they’ve got lightsabers. But the dinosaurs were hungry, so they ate them.”
I raise my eyebrows. “The lightsabers?”
“The people.”
“Freddy, it’s way past your bedtime. Emma and Bubba are gonna be mad if they see you’re still awake.”
“They both fell asleep watching TV.” Freddy plops onto my bed. “When’s Jakey coming home?” He’s clutching Pita Rabbit (formerly known as Peter Rabbit, but after years of being squished flat… you get the idea). This can only mean one thing: Freddy’s scared.
I want to say that they’ll be home soon, only they left almost four hours ago. It’s never taken this long before. I don’t know how to answer, so I go with the next best thing: “Wanna see a new trick?”
Freddy’s Eeyore look disappears. He sits up and grins at me. I turn my back on him and start setting up. “No peeking!” I look around to see him close his eyes and then cover them with his hands. He may be annoying, but at least he’s honest.
A minute later I’m ready with a bunch of note cards lying facedown on the bed. “Okay, you can open your eyes now. Each card has a superhero on it. The last one you turn over will be your favorite.”
“Captain America?”
“Yep. Now pick two, but don’t turn them over.”
I point to the nine identical note cards. He chooses two. I turn one over.
“Iron Man,” he says.
I put that card aside and pick two more. “Okay, turn either one of these over.” He picks one.
“Black Widow.” He shakes his head.
We go through it a few more times, until Freddy reveals the final card.
“Captain America! Wow! That was awesome!” His smile is better than a whole roomful of applause. “Do it again!”
“Tomorrow. We can try it with Star Wars characters.”
He grins. “I want Han Solo!”
“I’ll see what I can do. Right now, it’s time for bed.”
“Just one more trick,” he bargains, as usual.
I grab my trusty top hat and wand from my dresser, say, “Abracadabra,” and pull out a miniature photograph of Freddy.
He laughs, but then his smile disappears. “Now do Jake.”
“I don’t have a small enough picture of him.”
Freddy shakes his head. “Not a picture. I mean, make Jake appear. For real.”
I want to say, “That’s impossible,” only something in his face won’t let me.
“I’ll try. Then to bed, okay?” We go to Jake’s room and stand by the little bed with the Elmo sheets and Pooh mobile and stuffed Tweety and Bugs Bunny, but no Jake. I raise my wand over the empty bed and, feeling really stupid, shut my eyes and say, “Abracadabra!”
Nothing happens.
“Sorry. Guess I’m not a good enough magician.”
Freddy-the-Believer says, “Try again, just in case.” He stands there in his ridiculous pajamas, looking so hopeful.
I wave my wand in the air again… just in case. “Abracadabra!”
Still no Jake.
Freddy looks like a balloon someone stuck a needle in. I put my arm around his drooping shoulder and say, “Time for bed.” I wait for him to argue, but he goes right to his room without a fight, which makes me feel like even more of a failure.
I knew the trick wouldn’t work.
But I wish it had.
Not even five minutes later, I hear the front door open. Freddy and I burst out of our rooms and race down the hall to see Mom and Dad… and Jake.
“You’re back!” Freddy dances around.
I give Jake a welcome-home hug, even though he’s asleep.
“What are you doing awake at this hour?” Mom asks.
I’m too busy yawning to answer.
“Never mind.” She smiles, gives me a hug, and turns me in the direction of my room.
My head hits the pillow and I’m out in thirty seconds.
Next thing I know, the sun is shining through my window and it’s after eleven in the morning. Luckily, it’s one of those Professional Days when teachers work and we don’t have school. I cross the hall to say hi to Jake, only he’s not in his room. A panicky feeling starts in my stomach.
Then I hear Mom’s voice down the hall, singing “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.” And I know everything—everyone—is fine. It’s one of her “happy” songs. When she sings a sad song, like “Yesterday” or “Fix You,”
it’s time to worry.
I find Mom on the sofa with Jake, who’s looking cozy and content with a bottle of milk.
“Hey, Jake. Looks like you’re feeling better!” I squeeze his little foot.
“He is.” Freddy’s on the rug with his freckle-faced buddy, Tyler, working on a Star Wars Lego set.
Freddy grins at me, then gives one of his double-winks, and I know he’s thinking my “Abracadabra” really did bring Jake home.
“Ethan, get dressed and have some breakfast,” Mom says. “Daniel will be here soon.”
I had almost forgotten! Daniel and I are going to see the latest Marvel movie. Brian was supposed to go, too, but his parents grounded him for turning in his science report late. He gets grounded a lot.
After a quick breakfast and an even quicker shower, I’m dressed and ready to go just as Freddy runs into my room, Tyler at his side. “Can we try the trumpet trick? Jake’s sleeping.”
“The trumpet trick” is something I came up with a few days ago because Jake’s a very unusual sleeper.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask. This is an important question because, even though I know the trumpet won’t wake Jake, she’ll get mad, and I’ll get in trouble.
“In the shower,” Freddy-the-Informant tells me.
I grab my trumpet and the three of us head to Jake’s room. I open the door and check to make sure he’s still sleeping.
“For the first time ever,” I announce, “you are about to witness the astonishing, the amazing, the unbelievable, Super Jake! He’ll sleep through anything!”
I lift the trumpet to my lips and play the first few measures of “Jingle Bell Rock” every bit as loudly as we do in band.
Jake does not budge. Jake does not blink.
“Wow,” Tyler says. “And he’s not deaf or anything, right?”
“You know he’s not,” I answer.
“It’s magic,” Freddy says, his face as serious as it ever gets.
Tyler smiles. “Do it again!”
I’m a few bars into the Harry Potter theme song when Mom walks in wearing a fuzzy purple bathrobe, her curly wet hair dripping onto Jake’s floor. “Ethan! What are you doing?”
Super Jake and the King of Chaos Page 2