Eleven

by Tom Rogers

  So he dialed again and put the phone to his ear, waiting to hear his son’s voice.

  The Man in the White Shirt saw the street sign lit up by the street lamp on the corner, and his heart jumped into his throat.

  He turned the corner and picked up his pace.

  Then he broke into a run.

  Alex and his mom slumped on the sofa, leaning into each other like two poles of a teepee, holding each other up, both asleep.

  The Man in the White Shirt sprinted across the lawn and up onto the porch. He tried the door, but it was locked. He searched his pockets. He’d lost his keys.

  The Man in the White Shirt laughed to himself: all this way, and he was locked out of his own house. He lifted his arm and knocked sharply on the door.

  Mac stood up and crossed to the front door. He pulled the door open.

  And then he peered out into the empty night. He took a step onto the porch and looked up toward the corner again. But there was nobody there.

  CHAPTER 40

  Home

  9:27 p.m.

  Alex flung open the front door.

  The Man in the White Shirt broke into a wide grin and threw open his arms.

  Alex leapt onto his father’s chest. He wrapped his legs around his dad’s back and buried his face in his neck and hung on like he’d never let go.

  Alex’s mom came running onto the porch right behind him and threw her arms around both her guys. Squeezed between them, Alex felt warm and safe for the first time all day. Together, they rocked back and forth in silence. They could have stayed that way all night. Alex wouldn’t have minded.

  Finally, his dad cleared his throat and whispered huskily into Alex’s neck.

  “Hi, pal.”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  Alex closed his eyes as his dad planted a long kiss on the top of his head.

  “Got one of those for me?” asked his mom.

  “I’ve got a thousand,” said his dad, covering her face in kisses.

  They stumbled inside, carrying each other along. And then Alex’s dad came to a complete stop, staring at the banner Alex made, strung across the living room wall.

  It read: WELCOME HOME, DAD.

  “He did it himself,” said his mom.

  Alex saw his dad swallow hard, unable to speak.

  “And he cooked dinner, and did the dishes, and took out the trash,” she went on. “I’m proud of you, young man.”

  Young man.

  Alex liked how that sounded.

  “He even put Nunu to bed,” she added.

  “DADDY!!!!!!”

  “Come here, you little monkey!” he shouted, as Nunu hopped down the stairs in her pajamas and ran to his arms.

  “You’re dirty, Daddy,” said Nunu, as he scooped her up.

  “You’re right, and I’m gonna get it ALL OVER YOU!” Nunu giggled and twisted as her daddy rubbed his head on her tummy. Only then did Alex notice that Nunu was right: their dad was covered in soot and grime. His face was streaked with dirt; there were pieces of gravel buried in his hair. And his white shirt and black pants looked like they’d decided to meet in the middle at gray.

  “Dad, are you okay?” asked Alex.

  “I’m fine. We got out in time.”

  Alex nodded. He should’ve felt relief, should’ve felt elation. But something was still bothering him.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah, pal.”

  Alex forced himself to look his father in the eye. “I’m sorry about what I said last night.” He lowered his gaze and stared at his sneakers. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know, Alex. I always knew.”

  Alex looked up. “How?”

  “It’s a dad’s job to know.”

  His dad’s smile was warmer than an August sun.

  “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you too, pal.”

  Both of them sniffled as the tears rolled down their cheeks, neither one the least bit embarrassed.

  Alex’s dad stood at the kitchen counter wolfing down Alex’s hot dogs and macaroni-and-cheese like a starving man, which he was. He hadn’t eaten a single thing since breakfast.

  “Mmmmm! Alex, this is amazing. You could teach your mom a thing or two.”

  She smacked him on the butt with a dish towel.

  “So how’d you get home?” asked Alex.

  “Walked. A lot,” said his dad, following their mom as she brought his food to the table and made him sit down. After shoveling down another mouthful, he continued.

  “I even cut through the park to get home faster.”

  “Honey! You know that park’s not safe at night!”

  “Don’t worry. There was nobody there,” he reassured her. “Just a dog.”

  Alex sat up straight. “A dog?”

  The words had barely left his mouth when, outside the front door, a dog barked.

  Alex thought he was imagining things.

  By the second bark, he knew it was real.

  Out on the front porch, something was barking and whining and thumping like a drum against the front door.

  Alex came out of his chair like a shot. For the second time that night, he ran to the door and flung it open—and was instantly flattened by Radar, who pounced on his chest and started licking his face from top to bottom.

  “RADAR!” Nunu ran up and gave him a big hug. Her arms barely reached around his neck.

  “Down boy!” Alex laughed, pushing the dog off. As Alex stood up, his father came slowly to his side, his mouth hanging wide open.

  “Holy cow. That’s the same dog,” said his dad. “He had a bandage on his ear, just like that. He must’ve followed me home from the park.”

  Alex knew better. He was sure Radar had found his dad and made sure he got home safely. “I bet he was watching out for you.”

  Alex’s mom put her hands on her hips. “Would someone please explain to me what’s going on?”

  Alex handled the introductions. “Mom, Dad. Meet Radar.”

  “It’s his birthday dog,” Nunu chimed in.

  “Nunes!”

  Alex now found both his parents staring at him with interest.

  “Okay. The thing is, I found him. On the way home. And then I tried to give him back. And then he ran away. It’s a long story.”

  “You brought home a stray dog?” repeated his mom.

  “I wanted to keep him. But he belonged to someone else. The vet told me where he lived, so I tried to take him home.”

  “But his house was burned,” Nunu explained.

  “The vet?” asked their dad. “What vet?”

  “Radar was trying to protect us and chased away these bullies who wanted to beat me up, but then they threw a bottle at him and hit him on the head.”

  Wrapped up in his tale, Alex didn’t seem to notice his parents’ befuddled, slightly horrified expressions as they tried to follow along.

  “So I took him to the vet. That’s where he got the bandage. But he kinda scraped it off when he scrunched under the fence in front of the druggie house that burned down.”

  Alex’s dad’s mouth opened and shut, like he wanted to ask something but couldn’t figure out which one of his thirty-eight questions to start with.

  Meanwhile, Alex’s mom’s nursing instincts kicked in. She bent down to check on Radar’s bandage. “You okay, big guy? You took care of my babies?”

  She laughed as Radar licked her hand with his meaty tongue. She scratched his neck, and Radar’s tail whacked away at the wall like a jackhammer, and that just made her laugh even harder, and then Alex knew everything was going to be all right.

  Across town, Mac came in and closed the front door behind him. He’d been sitting on the porch, watching the street, until he’d finally grown too chilly. As he passed through the kitchen, he glanced out the window at the empty street corner once more, then put another pot of coffee on and settled back in to wait.

  He would wait all night and all the next day.

  But Mac’s son would never co
me home.

  The next morning, Alex’s mom made his favorite birthday breakfast for the second day in a row.

  The trains to lower Manhattan were still shut down, so his dad had the day off. As the four of them tucked into their pancakes, Radar sat at Alex’s feet, staring at him intently. Finally, Alex grinned and plucked a pancake off the stack.

  “Radar, fetch!” he shouted, and flung the pancake across the room like a Frisbee.

  “Alex!” his mother laughed, as Radar bounded across the room in two steps, caught the pancake in mid-air, and wolfed it down in a single gulp.

  “He likes your cooking, honey,” said their dad.

  She threw him a fake angry look but still enjoyed the compliment. She turned to Alex.

  “So is there something you’d like to do special for your birthday-plus-one?”

  Alex thought about it a long time. He thought about airplanes and video games, pizza and baseball, cupcakes and the Yankees.

  “Yeah,” he answered. He knew exactly what he wanted to do.

  Alex’s dad found a parking spot in front of the burned-out lot at 417 Van Orton Street. As they all got out of the car, Mac appeared on his front porch, looking tired and suspicious. But it was just like before: as soon as he saw Alex and Nunu and Radar, his face opened up, and a kind old man smiled out.

  Alex led the way through the front gate, carrying a plastic food container under his arm. Mac bent down and gave him a big hug, then stood back up as Alex introduced his parents. Alex’s dad put both hands around Mac’s when he shook his hand.

  “Thank you for taking care of them,” his dad said quietly.

  “It was my pleasure,” Mac smiled.

  Mac led the way inside. Nunu introduced them to Dottie and flopped down on the sofa beside her to watch cartoons.

  “I’ll go put on a pot of coffee,” said Mac.

  Alex stepped forward. “I’ll help,” he said. His parents hung back; they knew he wanted a moment alone with Mac.

  Alex led Mac into the kitchen. “I wanted to give you this first,” he said, and opened the food container.

  Inside was a big piece of his birthday cake. The green icing on top read “–Dawg.”

  “I saved you a piece,” said Alex.

  Mac nodded and got very quiet.

  “What say we share?” he said, opening a drawer and taking out two forks.

  Alex put up his hand. “Wait.”

  He pulled two birthday candles out of his pocket and stood them up on the cake, side-by-side. Then he found the matches his dad had loaned him, struck one carefully, and held it to the first bare wick.

  “Better to light a candle,” Alex said.

  Mac looked at Alex in surprised recognition, then broke into a wide, gentle smile, his eyes dancing in the warm glow of the flickering flames.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A writer is only as good as his team, and it was my great fortune to have the estimable Jennifer Flannery in my corner. As both agent and patient editor, she never lost belief in this story and poured countless hours (and buckets of red ink) into trimming and shaping and hacking away the chaff. There is no way to repay her contribution other than with my deep and heartfelt thanks.

  My friend and agent Sandy Weinberg deserves credit and a big hug for pushing me to write a story about 9/11 from a kid’s perspective. His support and encouragement were unflagging and essential.

  To everyday hero Jeff Shapiro and his students at McKinley Avenue School in Los Angeles, a huge thank you for being my very first (and very enthusiastic) test audience. Go Tigers!

  Robert Kuhn, Sheila Barnes, and Mary Ann Barnes get a big thank you for the excellent input on early drafts and for the reminders not to make Alex a jerk. Great advice from great writers.

  To Mary Ann Key, director and founder of Key School in Ft. Worth: thank you not only for your invaluable feedback and guidance on how this book might be used as a teaching tool but also for your lifelong devotion to your (very lucky) students.

  To teacher Lori Key and her young writers (Alinnah, Min, and Sabrina) at the Western Academy of Beijing: your enthusiasm for the novel and feedback on the cover gave me the boost I needed to get to the finish line. Xie xie!

  Many thanks to author Scotty-Miguel Sandoe for generously sharing his wisdom and for reminding me to be quiet because the tables have ears.

  Deepest gratitude to cover designer Tim Kordik for capturing a book full of words in a single image, to website designer Caryl Butterley for turning a web page into a journey, and to photographer Minh Pham for not turning to stone when I smiled.

  To my parents, Cullen and Dolores: no son could have asked for better. Not even Alex.

  Finally (hide your eyes, kids): a big, sloppy kiss to my wife, Jennifer. We did it, monkey.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tom Rogers is a novelist and the screenwriter of numerous animated films, including The Lion King 1½, Kronk’s New Groove, LEGO: The Adventures of Clutch Powers, and Disney’s Secret of the Wings. Originally from Texas, he now lives in Los Angeles with his wife, Jennifer. Eleven is his first novel for young adults.

  www.eleventhebook.com