Super Jake and the King of Chaos

by Naomi Milliner

  He jumps out of his seat, runs into the living room, and rummages around in his Captain America backpack. A minute later, he hands me a crumpled-up, banana split–sticky piece of paper.

  “What’s this?”

  “Names for your magic act!” He bounces up and down, waiting for my response.

  I unfold the paper and try to read his handwriting:

  Ethan the Great

  Ethan the Greatest

  Ethan the Encredible

  (Spelling’s not his best subject.)

  The Ethan & Freddy Show

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you’ve got butterscotch all over your face.”

  He wipes half of it off. “I like the last one best, don’t you?”

  “Uh…” I go with what Mom says when Dad gives her a present she doesn’t like: “It’s… interesting.”

  “Which do you like best?”

  So much for Mom’s technique. I try Dad’s: changing the subject. “More ice cream?”

  Freddy looks at his still-full bowl and shakes his head.

  Have I mentioned Freddy’s the World’s Slowest Eater? He’s also determined to make me choose from his list. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I’m running out of things to say. Luckily, Jake comes to the rescue, as usual, by opening his big blue eyes.

  “Jake! You’re awake.” I unbuckle him, lift him out of his Kid Kart, and settle him on my lap. “Ladies and gentlemen.” I hold an invisible microphone close to my mouth. “Boys and girls. It’s time for another exciting episode of—”

  “Food Island!” Freddy shouts through a mouthful of mint chip.

  In case you’ve never heard of Food Island, it’s the thrilling tale of a heroic knight, Sir Jake, and his noble steed, Potato Latke. Sir Jake is on a quest to rescue the fair Tina (his babysitter) from the evil, fire-breathing Toothy Ruthie. Trouble is, there’s so much yummy stuff on Food Island that he always gets a little sidetracked.

  “Ethan? D’you think that’ll really happen?” Freddy asks after the stunning conclusion, where Jake sweeps Tina off her feet and into his arms, and they eat pizza and fries to their hearts’ content.

  “Probably not. There aren’t many fire-breathing dragons here in Maryland.”

  “No,” he says, no trace of a smile on his anxious face. “Will Jake ever eat pizza?”

  “I dunno, Freddy. Will you ever finish your banana split?” Instead of laughing, he just looks at me, waiting for an answer I don’t have.

  I grab his bowl of ice cream soup and pour the melted mess into the sink. “Wanna play video games?”

  He zips out of the room.

  I heft Jake into his Kid Kart and wheel him over to keep us company. Before I know it, my hand is on the controller.

  But my mind is still on Freddy’s question.

  Since Halloween is almost here, as soon as dinner’s over and homework is done, we get to work. Like I said, it’s Dad’s favorite holiday. He makes a whole production out of it: spooky decorations; scary music; scarier stories; horror movies. But the first thing every year is our jack-o’-lantern.

  Dad sits in the middle of the living room with a gigantic pumpkin on a pile of newspaper. Freddy and I are next to him, cross-legged on the carpet, while Mom and Jake watch from the sofa.

  “Okay,” Dad says as he expertly slices the top off the pumpkin. “What will it be this year? Funny? Silly? Beautiful?” He winks at Mom. “Or scary?” He wiggles his eyebrows at Freddy.

  “Scary!” Freddy shouts.

  Dad grabs a sheet of paper and starts drawing ideas for the face, while Freddy and I share the best job of all: scooping out slimy goo and pumpkin seeds with our fingers. Usually, I “accidentally” get some in his dirty blond hair, making it dirty orange. Then Mom gets mad at me and has to help him wash it out. Even though it’s one of my favorite things about Halloween, this time I resist. I can’t risk making her angry until Magic Fest is over.

  It’s gonna be a long ten weeks.

  After Freddy and I separate seeds from goo, Mom sprinkles the seeds with cinnamon sugar and roasts them in the oven. While Dad carves the pumpkin, Mom makes a batch of cookie dough. I cut out witches and cats, and Freddy dyes the icing (and his hands) orange and black. The cookies are another reason I love Halloween. Dad’s a great cook, but Mom loves to bake. At least, she used to; now she doesn’t have time—unless it’s a special occasion, like Halloween.

  While the cookies bake, we try on our costumes. Like always, Freddy-the-Predictable dresses as Darth Vader. I, of course, am a magician in a black cape and top hat. Poor old Jake is stuck with a Winnie the Pooh outfit Emma claimed was “adorable.” It’s not a very dignified look, but Jake doesn’t complain.

  When it comes to Halloween, I don’t complain much either. After all, getting a ton of candy just for wearing a costume is a pretty “sweet” deal. The only thing I don’t like is that Houdini died on Halloween night back in 1926. That makes tonight bittersweet, instead of sweet.

  After Mom oohs and aahs over our costumes, we change into pj’s and snack on pumpkin seeds, apple cider, and cookies. Dad lights a candle inside the pumpkin and I turn off the lamps. With the spooky face glowing in the darkness, the whole house smelling like cinnamon and cloves, and Jake warm and cozy in my lap, I wish every day were Halloween.

  It’s surprising enough when someone is knocking on my door in the middle of the night. (Okay, actually it’s 7:00 a.m., but on Saturday morning it feels like the same thing.) But the real surprise is who’s knocking: not my parents; not Freddy, since he never knocks; and, no, it’s not Jake. It’s Tina, Jake’s babysitter.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead!”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, more asleep than awake.

  She wiggles her eyebrows and says, “Hurry up and get dressed if you want to find out.” She smiles then closes my bedroom door. I hear her retreating down the hallway.

  Sleepy but curious, I throw on jeans and a T-shirt and yawn my way into the living room. Mom is sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through Jake’s big Winnie the Pooh bag. Dad’s in the rocking chair, drinking his morning coffee, typing something into his GPS. I go over to take a peek, but he gives a sly smile and turns it over so I can’t see.

  Tina and Jake are on the sofa, busy with one of his all-time favorite activities: breakfast. I sit next to them and rub Jake’s foot. “Hey, Jake, do you know what the surprise is?”

  Tina grins. “If he does, he’s not saying.”

  “Tina!” Freddy rushes in and throws himself at her and Jake.

  “Careful!” Mom cries. “Jake’s trying to drink.”

  Tina winks at Freddy, who does his usual double-blink back.

  Dad heads toward the kitchen, saying, “Mom wants you to eat before we go.”

  “Go where?”

  He and Mom share one of their conspiratorial smiles.

  “I can’t even think of food this early,” I moan.

  “Yeah, I’m not even awake,” Freddy chimes in.

  Dad comes back with one hand behind his back. “That’s a shame. Guess I’ll have to enjoy these all by my lonesome.” He shows us a bag of doughnuts.

  “Maybe I could eat something…” I reach for one with strawberry icing and sprinkles.

  After a delicious helping of a doughnut or two, the six of us pile into the minivan. During the drive, Jake sleeps; Dad gets lost; Tina tells funny stories about high school; Mom asks Dad to stop and get directions while Dad says he’s not lost; and Freddy sleeps, wakes up, asks, “Are we there yet?” and falls asleep again.

  Three hours (and two bathroom breaks) later, we pull into the massive parking lot of Kings Dominion, a gigantic amusement park Freddy and I love, but haven’t been to in forever. Since it’s Halloween weekend, all the workers, and lots of the visitors, are in costume, and there are huge jack-o’-lanterns and creepy spiderwebs all over the park.

  “We’ll meet the three of you for lunch at one o’clock by the log ride,” Mom says.r />
  “Have fun!” Dad says.

  “And listen to Tina,” Mom tells Freddy and me.

  Before either of them can say another word, Freddy grabs Tina’s hand and sprints off in a random direction. And I’m right behind.

  The first thing we do is the most fun funhouse ever. Inside, a zombie comes out of nowhere and chases Tina around. She screams and laughs and screams some more. Next we do battle on the bumper cars and Freddy crashes into me again and again (mainly when he tries not to—he isn’t the best driver).

  After that, we explore Freddy’s favorite part of the park, Planet Snoopy, which has tons of rides named after Peanuts characters, like Woodstock Whirlybirds, Sally’s Sea Plane, and Lucy’s Crabbie Cabbies (in case he didn’t have enough bumper cars yet).

  By the time we meet up for lunch, I’m seriously starving. While Dad waits in line for food and Mom gives Jake apple juice and ground-up turkey, I pull five different packets of sugar from the plastic box on our table.

  “Hey, Tina, which of these do you like best?” I ask.

  “The yellow,” she says.

  “Okay.” I put the other four back. “Mom, do you have a quarter?” (Ethan’s Rule #1: A good magician never uses his own money.) While Mom searches her pocketbook, I pull a small red magic marker out of my pocket. (Ethan’s Rule #2: A good magician always comes prepared.)

  “Here you go.” Mom hands me a coin.

  I thank her, then focus on Tina again. “Want to see if I can make this sweetener even sweeter?”

  With a smile, Tina leans in to watch the action up close. “Go for it.”

  I hand her the marker and the quarter. “Mark the coin however you like,” I tell her.

  She draws a smiley face on it. Freddy laughs.

  “Can I draw on some money, too?” he asks.

  “No,” Mom answers.

  I sweep the coin and sweetener into my right hand. “Okay,” I tell Tina, “squeeze my hand as tight as you can.”

  She does. She’s stronger than I thought.

  “You can let go now,” I squeak. I shake the sugar packet, put it in my left hand, tear it with my right, and pour it onto the table… along with a smiley-faced quarter.

  “No way!” Tina shouts.

  “Cool!” Freddy giggles.

  “Wow!” Mom says. “How in the world…?”

  I shrug. (Ethan’s Rule #3: A good magician never reveals his secrets.)

  After lunch, Tina hangs out with Jake while our parents take Freddy and me to the arcade. We have a blast playing Dad’s favorite old game—Frogger—and Mom’s favorite—Skee-Ball. Then it’s finally time for my favorite: the log ride! For the first time, Fearless Freddy is tall enough to go on. He insists on sitting in front, and gets drenched on the final descent down the slide.

  Before you can say “pneumonia,” Mom hauls him off to the nearest restroom while Dad and I join Tina and Jake at a park bench nearby.

  “I can’t believe she brought extra clothes to an amusement park,” I tell Tina.

  “I can,” she says with a smile. “We are talking about Freddy, after all. He was either gonna get soaked or spill something all over himself.”

  “Or both,” we say at the same time.

  As Dad tucks the blue bunny blanket around Jake, a kid around Freddy’s age walks by licking a triple-decker ice-cream cone.

  “Whoa!” Tina cries. “Did you see that?”

  We only ate an hour ago, but something about an amusement park really gets your appetite going.

  “Mom won’t like it,” Dad says, reading my mind. “She’ll say it will ruin dinner.”

  “I know.” I groan a little.

  “So how ’bout we get two scoops instead of three?” Dad offers.

  Tina stays in the shade with Jake while Dad and I walk around in search of ice cream. As we make our way through the park, it hits me: the two of us, alone together. It’s the perfect opportunity to talk about Magic Fest!

  Maybe too perfect. What if he says no and the whole day is ruined?

  But what if he says yes?

  We walk by Frankenstein twisting a purple balloon into a pig for a little girl. It’s such a strange sight we both laugh. Then I take a deep breath and cross my fingers behind my back. “Hey, Dad? I was wondering. Did Mom happen to mention—”

  “A ‘once-in-a-lifetime chance’ to meet your hero?” He smiles.

  Before I can answer, Dad says, “There’s the ice cream stand,” and he walks toward it.

  I don’t even want ice cream anymore. I’d give up a thousand cones to go to Magic Fest.

  “It’s asking a lot,” Dad says, sounding like Mom’s clone.

  He’s gonna say no. I knew I shouldn’t have…

  “So, you’ll have to earn it,” Dad says.

  I freeze. Did he say what I think he said? And, more importantly, did he not say no?

  He turns to face me. Hundreds of people walk by, and there’s tons of noise everywhere, but all I see is his face. All I hear is his voice. It’s like everything has stopped.

  “First of all, your math grade has to improve. Anything below a C, the trip is off. Understood?”

  I manage to nod.

  “Second. When Mom asks you to help with your brothers, you do it. Right away.”

  That one’s easy. I already do that… well, most of the time.

  “Third. It’s your responsibility to figure out how much money you and I need for food, hotel room, and the convention fee—and you pay two-thirds of it.”

  “Wait, you’re going with me?”

  “If that’s all right with you.” Dad smiles.

  I smile back.

  “So,” he asks, “do we have a deal?” He extends his hand to me.

  We shake on it, then I hug him. “Thanks, Dad.” All around us, the amusement park comes back to life. We dive into the crowd and head for the ice cream stand, and I can’t stop smiling. It’s the best day I’ve ever had.

  Since Jake got lots of naps in earlier, he’s totally awake by the time it’s dark outside. His blue eyes are wide open, like he can’t get enough of the bright lights and colors of the park, or the zillions of people running around.

  As soon as the sun has set, all six of us go ride the Ferris wheel. Next, we ride the carousel. The first time we ride, Jake sits between Mom and Dad on a fancy bench that doesn’t move. The second time we put him on a big green horse and he rides with me. Holding him tight, I pretend we’re cowboys in the Wild West, and Freddy (who’s on the horse ahead of us) is the bank robber we’re chasing. We never do catch him.

  Jake doesn’t fall asleep for one second—his eyes are wide open the whole time. I know he’s having just as much fun as the rest of us.

  Before we head home, we give Jake his first taste of cotton candy. Mom lets me pull a little piece off and feed it to him. His nose crinkles, his blue eyes get even wider… and his tongue immediately sticks out for more pink fluff.

  It’s the perfect night.

  “I can’t believe you’re going!” Daniel slathers the last of his fries with ketchup and shakes his head. “Man, you are so lucky.”

  “I know!” Unlike Daniel, who has already demolished his entire meal, I’ve been too busy talking to eat. “I’m so psyched I almost forgot to turn in my social studies paper.”

  Brian chokes on his root beer. “I thought it was due next week.”

  I shrug. “Sorry.”

  That pretty much ends Brian’s part of the conversation, along with his appetite.

  “Bummer,” Daniel says, eyeing Brian’s plate. “You gonna eat that burger?”

  Brian shakes his head and hands it over. As Daniel bites into it, I see him checking out my bag of chips. I slide it toward him.

  “The problem is, I’ve got to come up with almost three hundred and fifty bucks for the expenses.”

  “How much do you have saved up?” Daniel asks.

  “Only about seventy-five dollars.” I push the rest of my food in his direction. “Even if I booke
d a magic act every weekend between now and January nineteenth, I’d still be…” Eight weekends times fifteen dollars, plus my current seventy-five… where’s a calculator when you need it?

  “Around a hundred and fifty dollars short.” As always, Daniel saves me from total math humiliation. Once he’s finished our lunches, he buys Brian and me each an ice cream sandwich. Then the three of us put our heads together to figure out how I can make more money:

  1. Find more magic show gigs.

  2. Have a bake sale. (This could work… if it doesn’t involve actual baking.)

  3. Break open Freddy’s Darth Vader bank and “borrow” his money. (This was Brian’s idea and he was joking. I think.)

  4. Ask my grandparents for a loan.

  5. Beg my grandparents for a loan.

  “Hey! Maybe you could sell one of your brothers,” Brian says.

  “Nah. I’d have to pay somebody to take Freddy.”

  “How about Jake? Lots of people want babies,” Daniel says.

  “Only perfect ones,” Brian says.

  Our table gets very quiet. I can’t be positive, but I think Daniel kicks Brian under the table.

  “Sorry,” Brian says. “I didn’t mean…”

  “S’okay,” I say.

  “Anyway, you’re wrong,” Daniel tells Brian. “If people only want perfect babies, why did your parents keep you?”

  We all laugh, except it’s not that funny. Luckily, the bell rings and we head our separate ways for the next class.

  I spend the rest of school still worrying about funding my trip. After English class, while I help Ms. Carlin rearrange some desks, I tell her I’m going to Magic Fest.

  “That’s amazing, Ethan! You must be thrilled!” She smiles, sharing my excitement.

  I smile back and start talking a mile a minute. “I am. And I already know what I’m going to do for the close-up part. And Tina—Jake’s babysitter?—is making a costume for my performance. But between figuring out how to get the money so I can actually go and coming up with an act for the main part of the competition, I’ve got a ton of stuff to do. Plus, I haven’t even decided on a stage name yet.” I stop to take a breath.