When I got to the ground, Lewis was sitting up, looking at his leg. It was bleeding, and it looked bad. I couldn’t see the cut, but there was blood. Lewis was in the middle of tying his long-sleeve T-shirt around his leg. How did he know to do that? Probably a Boy Scout thing, I guessed. When he was done, he looked up and half grinned.
“You know what that was?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Amazing!” he said. “Maybe the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me!” And then for a second, he was quiet. “I never want to forget it,” he said.
I nodded like I was agreeing with him, but my brain was thinking other things.
But I had to be nice—Lewis was hurt. Maybe the crazy talk wasn’t his fault. Maybe he’d hit his head on the way down. I looked at his head. It looked fine. No bumps or bruises or blood—at least not that I could see.
“Do you have a camera?” asked Lewis. “So we can remember the exact tree and where we were sitting.”
He pointed up. I shook my head.
“I want to come back later and look at it,” he said. “It’s important!”
I looked down at his leg. The blood was seeping through the T-shirt. That looked more important. We had to get out of there. He needed a doctor.
“We should just go,” I said. I moved forward to help him up, but Lewis shifted away from me.
“I’m not leaving until we mark the tree!” He glared at me and crossed his arms.
Fine, if he wanted me to mark the tree, then I’d do it—anything so we could leave. I’d never been with a dead person before, and I didn’t want Lewis to be my first.
Remembering the Tree
Getting Lewis to stand up was pretty easy, but moving forward was harder. It was weird—his bleeding leg was OK to stand on, but his other leg, the one that looked perfectly normal, was not.
I found a long stick for him to use as a crutch, and then held his arm on the other side. At first we were pretty clumsy, but after a couple of minutes, we were walking a lot better.
“It’s like a three-legged race,” I said. “If we’re ever in one, we’ll be good, from all this practice.”
Lewis winced, but nodded.
Suddenly he stopped moving and looked back down the trail. “What if someone steals the sticks? Then we won’t find the tree.”
Now I was sure that his brain was scrambled. Who’d steal a bunch of sticks?
Lewis shouted out the answer. “BEAVERS!” He stuck out his front teeth, and then snapped them up and down. “Beavers love sticks!”
It would have been funny, except he was still bleeding.
“Beavers live by water,” I said. “And there’s no water here. Plus they use special sticks, not the kind I used around the tree.” For a second, I had a funny picture in my head, but then it was gone.
“Oh, OK,” said Lewis. He took a step forward. I was glad I knew those beaver facts—we had to keep moving. I looked down at his leg. There was blood all over his pants, and somehow we’d lost the T-shirt. How much blood can you lose before you bleed to death? This was something I was starting to think about.
The Trick
After we’d been walking for about five minutes, Lewis slowed down. He was leaning on me more and more, and I was wishing that Dad’s whistle plan had worked. Having Dad help with Lewis would have been a million times better than doing it all by myself. This was almost as scary as a bear, and I didn’t like it.
It wasn’t easy to keep us moving. The more I pushed forward trying to speed us up, the more Lewis pulled back, slowing us down.
“When your leg’s better, I’ll go back to the tree with you,” I said. “And I’ll bring my camera.”
I was trying to make Lewis not think about his leg. Mom uses this trick whenever I get hurt. She calls it her distraction technique. The weird thing is, even though I know she’s doing it, it still somehow works.
Lewis didn’t say anything, but I didn’t stop.
“We can go back tomorrow, or the next day.”
It was working. I could feel it. We were moving faster again. I kept talking. “We could take food, and eat it up in the tree … at the, you know, the spot.” I wasn’t even thinking about what I was saying. The words were just coming out of my mouth, filling the air. And the words were like horses slowly pulling us out of the woods.
Suddenly Lewis stopped. “Let’s do it!” he said.
“What?” I asked. What was he talking about?
“The picnic, and I can bring my underpants—for the photo!”
Lewis pushed my arm away and took a few steps on his own, with the stick. “I’ll probably be better by tomorrow,” he said.
He hobbled up the trail ahead of me. We were almost to the road, so I didn’t have to worry about making it out of the woods, but now I had a new worry.
“Underpants picnic!” said Lewis. “It will be awesome!”
I followed behind him.
Awesome was not the word I would have used.
Lewis’s House
We got to the start of the trail in record time—at least record time for a person with one wrecked leg and one bleeding leg. I was helping Lewis again, but not as much as before.
When we stepped out onto the road, I turned to the right and Lewis turned to the left.
“This way,” said Lewis, he pointed left.
I pulled right and shook my head. He was wrong—there weren’t any houses to the left. Every single house in Twin Rivers was down the road on the right. I knew that for a fact. I’d lived there my entire life.
“I think you’re mixed up,” I said. I pointed left. “There aren’t any houses over there.”
“I don’t live in a house,” said Lewis. “I live somewhere better.” He looked at me and raised his eyebrows like he wanted me to guess.
I didn’t have a clue. There was nothing to the left, only woods and the road.
“Come on, guess!” said Lewis.
I shrugged. “A cave?”
“Wrong!” yelled Lewis. “A super-cool motel! Up there.” He pointed left again.
What Lewis was saying and what I knew to be true were two different things that didn’t match up. He was right—there was a motel to the left, but it was falling apart and boarded up. No one lived there, no one went there, and everybody said it was full of raccoons and bats. It was definitely not super cool.
“You mean the STAY ON INN?” I asked. “The one with the wood over the windows? The blue one?”
“Yup,” said Lewis. “We just bought it. Sage says it’s periwinkle. That’s a kind of blue.” I slowly followed Lewis to the left.
“Who’s Sage?”
“My mom,” said Lewis. “Wait until you see it. You’ll love it! I’ve always wanted to live in a motel.”
We were moving faster now. Lewis didn’t need me talking to keep him going. Suddenly he had lots of energy and lots to say. It probably helped that we were going downhill. I let him talk, but I wasn’t really listening. I had my own stuff to think about.
The Motel
As soon as we saw the motel, my brain made an acrostic. I couldn’t help it. Sometimes making them helps me feel better about stuff. This time it didn’t.
I looked around for the giant STAY ON INN sign, but it was gone.
“Where’s the sign?” I asked.
“Stolen,” said Lewis. “Can you believe that? One day it was there, and then the next day it was gone. Stolen in the middle of the night, and we didn’t even hear a thing. Sage was pretty mad, but Dave says it’s OK, because now we can pick our own name.”
“Who’s Dave?” I asked.
“My dad,” said Lewis. “How come you’re asking so many questions about my parents?”
I’d never met anyone who called his parents by their first names before, but I didn’t say that. That might sound stupid.
Instead I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Just curious.”
The motel wasn’t as scary as I was expecting. The wood was off the window
s, and the grass was cut. That helped. There was a funny sign over the front door. I was going to ask about it, but I didn’t get a chance because suddenly there was a lady standing in the doorway underneath it. I didn’t need to ask who it was, because even though Lewis didn’t call her Mom, she acted just like one.
Lewis’s Family
Lewis’s mom didn’t notice me until she had Lewis’s bleeding leg all fixed up and a bandage on his other leg. I was standing by the door, and they were in the kitchen. When Lewis finally introduced us, she told me to call her Sage.
“Do you go to Barry Hill School?” she asked.
I nodded.
“What grade?”
“Fourth,” I answered.
“ME TOO!” yelled Lewis. “We’ll be in the same class.”
I wasn’t excited to be talking about school. In ten days, our break would be over and we’d be back in class. I looked over at Lewis. He was grinning. He didn’t seem like it, but maybe he was one of those kids who really liked school.
“You might be in another class,” I offered. “I have Mrs. Shipley, and you’d be luckier not to get her.” I was about to explain more, but a little kid suddenly burst into the room. He took one look at Lewis and stopped moving.
“What happened? Did you get attacked? Are you going to die?”
“Don’t worry. He’s fine,” said Sage.
“I wasn’t worried,” said the kid. “Was it a bear?”
“Nope. Underpants!” said Lewis.
“YOU were attacked by underpants?” The kid looked around. Suddenly he noticed me. He pointed.
“His underpants?” he asked.
“What the heck?” said Lewis. “Why would Morgan’s underpants attack me?” He sat up and cleared his throat. He was getting ready to tell the story, I could tell. Sage could too. She shook her head.
“Another one of Lewis’s stories,” she said. Suddenly a phone rang in another room. Sage grabbed her first-aid supplies and headed for the door. “I’ll have to hear it later,” she said. She waved and was gone.
“Who are you?” asked the kid. He was looking at me again. He was younger than us, maybe six or seven years old.
“That’s Morgan, my new friend,” said Lewis. “And you better be nice to him because he saved my life.”
And then Lewis told the story. I was nervous that he’d break his promise, but he didn’t. While I listened, I made up a new acrostic.
The Way Red
As soon as Lewis finished the story, the kid was full of questions, and mostly they were about the underpants.
“Can I see them? Are you still wearing them?”
“Be patient,” said Lewis. “The viewing will be soon.” It sounded like he had a plan—a giant underpants plan. I was getting the feeling that Lewis wasn’t afraid of anything, not even embarrassment.
The kid looked over at me and smiled. I couldn’t tell if it was a wow-you’re-a-hero smile or a we-get-to-see-Lewis’s-underpants smile. I definitely wasn’t with him if it was a smile for the underpants. I smirked back.
“Can we show him the clubhouse?” asked the kid. He was bouncing up and down.
“Good idea,” said Lewis. “Lead the way, Red, and we’ll follow.”
Lewis shifted his weight and grunted as he stood up. It looked like his leg hurt more than he thought it would, but he didn’t complain. The kid ran ahead and yelled at us to hurry.
“That’s my brother,” said Lewis. “His name’s Red.”
“That’s a funny name,” I said.
“I know.” Lewis smiled. “My parents are creative.”
The Most Amazing Clubhouse Ever
Red yelled at us from the back of the motel, probably wondering why we were taking so long. When we finally caught up to him, he was standing on a bunch of wooden boxes next to a large open window. He made sure we were watching, waved, and then dived headfirst through the window.
“What’s in there?” I asked. “Won’t he get hurt?”
“That’s the surprise part,” said Lewis. “You go next. I’ll go after you.” He pushed me forward.
I climbed onto the boxes and peeked in the window. Red was standing on the far side of the room, pointing to the floor. Right below me was the biggest pile of pillows I’d ever seen.
“Flip!” yelled Red.
I jumped, tried to flip, but changed my mind at the last minute and landed on my back. It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but it was great! Next time I was definitely going to flip.
I scrambled off the pillows and ran over to Red. When I got there, Lewis was at the window waiting his turn.
“Watch!” he shouted. He jumped and twisted his body into a fast side flip. It was impressive, but maybe not the best choice because the second he landed, he screamed out in pain.
“AAAAAHHHHHHHH!”
I guess flipping with a sore leg wasn’t such a good idea. Red and I raced over to help him up.
Once Lewis was standing and back to normal, I got a tour of the clubhouse.
“This used to be an office,” said Lewis. “But Dave fixed it up for our clubhouse. You come in through the window and leave by this door.” Lewis pushed a chair out of the way and showed me what looked like a giant dog door leading back outside.
“It’s for dogs, but it works great for us,” he said.
It was so big, even a skinny grown-up could have fit through it.
“I wonder what kind of dog that’s for,” I said. “It’s huge.”
“I don’t care,” said Lewis. “I hate dogs.”
“Really?” I was surprised. I’d never met a kid who didn’t like dogs.
“It’s because of the Saint Bernard,” said Red. “That’s a kind of super-big dog. When Lewis was five, one knocked him down and then stood over him, and wouldn’t let him get up for a whole, entire hour.”
“It wasn’t an hour,” said Lewis. “It was ten minutes, but that was long enough. I hate dogs!”
I nodded. Now I understood the hate. I didn’t agree with it, but it made sense.
Picnic Planning
The rest of the afternoon went by really fast. We hung out in the clubhouse, messed around with duct tape—Lewis loves duct tape—and drew on the walls with markers. Red and I practiced flips from the window. The only bad thing about the flipping was that you had to go outside and climb the boxes each time you wanted to do it. After that first flip, Lewis didn’t do any more flipping. He said he was having a no-flip day until tomorrow.
I hardly even noticed it was getting dark, until it was almost too late.
“I’ve got to go.” I pointed to the window. “If I don’t get home before dark, I’m in big trouble.”
Lewis pulled me aside and sent Red outside to get ready for another flip.
“Are we still on for tomorrow?” he whispered. “You know, the underpants picnic.” He gestured to the window. “I don’t want Red to know, or he’ll want to come too.”
I tried not to look upset and surprised, but I was both of those things. I thought he’d forgotten about it.
“You need to bring the food,” said Lewis. “Sage makes terrible sandwiches. And bring a camera.” Lewis paused for a second and then added, “Do you want to meet at the tree at twelve?”
I didn’t answer. I was thinking about sandwiches. How could you make a bad sandwich? Making sandwiches was easy.
Lewis thought my not answering meant I didn’t want to meet at the tree, but he was wrong. My not answering was something entirely different. It was bigger than the tree. It meant I wanted to cancel the whole picnic. But his brain was faster than mine, because before I could say anything, he was talking again.
“OK, we don’t have to meet at the tree. We’ll meet at your house—that’s better. Then I can help you carry the stuff if it’s a lot, plus that’s more fair.” He grinned, nodded, and then without waiting for a yes, no, or anything else, turned to the window and yelled at Red to flip.
There was no time to argue. If I didn’t get home before dark, Mom w
ould send Dad out to find me, and there would be nothing good about that.
I didn’t want to but I nodded to Lewis. “Fine. I’ll see you at my house at twelve.” I picked up a marker, scribbled my address on the wall, and scrambled out the dog door. The sky was dark blue. Soon it would be black. I took off running—racing against the stars.
How It Can Be Hard to Make a Sandwich
The next morning when I woke up, the first thing I thought about was the picnic, but for the rest of the morning I did a good job of not thinking about it. At eleven-thirty, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I needed to make the sandwiches. In thirty minutes, Lewis would be knocking on the door, and I couldn’t change that.
I decided on peanut butter and jelly, because they’re fast, easy, and everyone pretty much likes them. I was halfway done when I noticed the empty jelly jar on the counter. Mom and Dad don’t eat jelly, so it had to be Betty. Now I had to find something else to go with the peanut butter that was already on the bread. I dug through the fridge, pulled out a bunch of jars, and lined them up on the counter. There were lots of choices. Blueberry syrup, relish, ranch dressing, lemon curd, mango chutney, applesauce, mint jelly … but all of them looked disgusting.
“Hey! Why do you have all this stuff out? What are you doing?” Betty stomped into the kitchen, looked around, and scowled. She was still carrying that ugly brown sweater-thing she’d been knitting for the last two weeks. I pointed to the empty grape jelly jar.
“It’s your fault!” I snapped. “You ate it all.”
She took a step closer to me. “So what? Mom’s going to the store later. Just ask her to get more.”
“That’ll be too late!” I stammered. I didn’t like her standing there, watching me. She was bossy about kitchen stuff, just because she was twelve and allowed to turn on the stove. “I need it now, for sandwiches, for me and Lewis.” The arguing wasn’t going well.
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