by Betsy Uhrig
The EMTs looked up at the familiar voice. Familiar to them, and familiar to me too. Marta was charging toward us, practically knocking various sick and injured people out of her way. Her left arm was in a cast and a sling, but she was waving it around excitedly.
“How’s business?” Marta asked the EMTs when she got over to us.
“Not bad,” one of them said. “We haven’t seen you in a while. Nice bangs.”
“Thanks,” said Marta. “At first I didn’t like them, but then they grew on me. Grew on me. Get it?”
The EMTs stared.
“I’ve been trimming them myself,” Marta went on. “My mom can’t confiscate all the scissors in the house.”
The EMTs, who were trained to charge toward danger, each took a careful step away from Marta.
Then Marta noticed me and Alvin. “Alex!” she said. “Hey, Alvin! What are you guys doing here? And why are you so dirty? Did you get caught in a mud slide?”
“No, a storm sewer,” said Alvin proudly.
“Like Gerald?” Marta asked.
“Yes!” said Alvin. “Only, he wouldn’t fit. Not without liquid soap, anyway. I definitely determined that, didn’t I, Alex?”
I nodded. “What happened to your arm?” I asked Marta.
“Broke it in two places!” she said.
“At circus camp?”
“Dud camp is more like it. ‘Ooh, Marta, why aren’t you using your safety harness?’ ‘Ooh, Marta, stop running away from your spotters!’ They didn’t let us take any risks at all.”
“But you still managed to break your arm,” an EMT pointed out.
“Right?” said Marta. “But it took almost a week.”
“We gotta go,” an EMT said.
“Yup. Be right there,” the other told her.
The one who’d been driving left. The one who’d been in the back of the ambulance with us scuffed the toe of her shoe against the floor for a second before looking at Alvin and asking, “So, what was the name of that book you were describing? I need to find out how the battle ends.”
111
MARTA SAT WITH ALVIN AND ME while her mom talked with the doctor. Her mom kept shaking her head, and the doctor kept shrugging.
“What was it like inside the storm drain?” Marta asked Alvin.
“Only my legs went inside,” said Alvin. “It was kind of warm and—”
We never found out what else Alvin’s legs thought of being inside the storm drain, because we heard our names called across the room. By Dad.
Oops. Dad. I’d forgotten that he would have gotten home by now and would be wondering why the two of us weren’t there. How had he found us here? He didn’t look angry, though, as he came over. He looked excited and was grinning hugely.
“Oh good, you’re here,” he said. “Mom and I must have gotten our signals crossed. She said you’d be at home, but when you weren’t, I figured she brought you with her. What have you two been doing? Never mind. Any news on Lu yet?”
Oops. Mom and Lulu. I’d forgotten about Lu’s accident. They were here at the hospital too.
“Um, no,” I said to Dad. “Not yet. They’re probably stitching up her foot.”
“Her foot?” said Dad.
“Maybe,” I said. “She broke her water, so I guess she stepped on some glass. It’s taking a while, so maybe she severed a toe and they’re reattaching it.”
Marta was listening avidly and nodding. “They could have brought the toe stub in a plastic bag,” she said.
“But maybe she broke her toe,” I went on, “and they’re putting a tiny cast on it. That would take some time, wouldn’t it?”
“A cast that small would definitely require extra time,” Marta agreed.
My dad was chuckling, and so was Alvin, which was annoying.
“Her water broke,” said Dad. “It means the baby’s on the way.”
Alvin gave me a duh look, but Marta was as confused as I was. “How would having a baby make you drop water on your foot?” she asked.
I’ll spare you the ultra-embarrassing discussion that followed, during which Marta asked way too many questions and Dad answered them in way too much detail.
Eventually, I decided to go to the men’s room to get away from it. Also to wash some of the grime off. Also to pee. It had been a long afternoon.
112
I WAS TRYING TO WASH MY hair in the men’s-room sink using the foaming hand soap from the pump dispenser when the door opened and someone immediately started laughing. Hard.
I looked up, water and soap streaming into my eyes, and saw Javier, his hands on his knees, literally bent over with laughter.
“Oh, I wish I had my camera,” he said much, much later, when he’d gotten ahold of himself.
What was this, a class reunion at the hospital? Who was going to turn up next? Our teachers?
“What are you doing here?” I asked Javier.
“We got a call that Great-Aunt Rosa had fallen.”
“But weren’t you at the beach? How did you get here so fast?”
“My dad drove like a maniac. I think the minivan caught air a couple times.” He eyed me. “What are you doing bathing in the hospital men’s room?”
I dried myself off with paper towels as best I could while I explained about Alvin and the storm drain and the thunderstorm and the nonrescue dog and the Old Weintraub Place and Rosa.
“She’s going to be fine,” I told him when I got to the end.
“That’s good,” he said. “She’s tough. That’s what Dad kept saying on the way here.”
“She is tough. I know that for a fact. I know another fact about her too.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Great-Aunt Rosa is the ghostwriter.”
“She is? Great-Aunt Rosa? No way!”
Javier is a talented filmmaker but a terrible actor. He should definitely stay behind the camera.
“You already knew,” I said.
“What? No! This comes as a total surprise to me. A complete shock—”
I threw a balled-up paper towel at his head. He ducked.
“Fine,” he said. “She’s called me an imp since I was two. As soon as I heard that name…”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I didn’t want to ruin your fun.”
“Fun? I’ve been sleeping with a night-light!”
“Humpty Dumpty?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Okay, I guess I didn’t want to ruin my fun,” Javier confessed. “Or Marta’s.”
“We’re not telling Marta, are we?”
“No way.”
113
ALVIN, DAD, AND I WERE EATING with Mom in the hospital cafeteria when Caroline found us.
Mom had joined us in the waiting room as soon as Caroline arrived and took over the official “birthing partner” duties. Mom had taken one look at Alvin and me and marched us to the men’s room to clean up (in my case, again). When she asked how we’d gotten so filthy, Alvin told her he’d slipped and landed in a mud puddle and I’d fallen in when I tried to help him. He claimed his sneakers had been lost during the struggle. The string of lies spooled out so easily, it was almost disturbing to witness.
Fortunately, both parents were so excited about the baby that they didn’t ask too many follow-up questions. In fact, I think they both still assume that the other brought us to the hospital that day. Alvin and I have certainly never set them straight.
Caroline’s cheeks were pink and her eyes were dangerously shiny as she rushed across the cafeteria to our table.
“She’s here!” she told us. “She’s here and she’s great and so is Lu. Come and see!”
We finished up as quickly as we could without choking, then rushed to the maternity ward to meet the newest member of the family.
Lulu was sitting up in bed holding the baby when we got to her room. Caroline hovered around them like a crazed bird around a nest. The baby, wrapped like a burrito in a blanket, was asleep.
W
hen we’d all oohed and aahed for a while, Lulu motioned Alvin over to the side of the bed. She held the sleeping baby up like a gift and said, “I believe this belongs to you.”
Alvin’s gigantic vocabulary failed him. He just gaped at the baby. “Huh?”
“She’s yours,” said Lulu. “Don’t you remember? I wanted to change the TV channel that time, and you made me promise you my firstborn. So here she is! Never let it be said that I don’t keep my promises.”
Alvin held up his hands like he was surrendering. Or maybe he didn’t want to get baby on them. “That’s okay,” he said.
“What?” Lulu said. “You don’t want her? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” said Alvin. “When I made you promise that, I had no idea what I was getting into.”
Lulu laughed as Caroline swooped in and took the baby from her. “You and me both, kiddo,” she said.
114
“WE’RE CALLING HER ALANA,” CAROLINE TOLD us the next day when we went back to the hospital to visit.
“That’s lovely,” said Mom. “We’re going to run out of names that begin with Al if you have more kids.”
Lu, who had appeared to be asleep, barked a laugh at that without opening her eyes.
“Let’s not rush into more kids until we see how this first one goes,” said Caroline.
I thought about how much easier Alana’s life would be without a younger sibling to mess with her stuff and require yanking out of storm drains. Then again, if Alvin hadn’t gotten himself stuck, what would have happened to Aunt Rosa? And who would I blame for the dirty dishes in the sink if I didn’t have a little brother?
I knew it was up to Caroline and Lulu to decide about another kid, but a shortage of Al names shouldn’t stop them.
“You could call the next one Albert,” I said.
* * *
I had something important to share with Caroline, though it was smeared and wrinkled from its time in my damp pocket yesterday. I guided her out into the hallway as Mom, Dad, and Grandma Sally took turns sniffing Alana’s head and Alvin explored the room’s medical equipment.
“I think I have the solution to the problem of Grampa’s sacrifice,” I said to Caroline.
“Really? I was in tears writing that scene. Actual tears. Can you believe it?”
I could. She’d no doubt gone through a lot of linty tissues that day. “I think he can make a sacrifice without dying,” I said. “It’s written down here.” I pulled the paper out of my pocket.
“That looks like a rag,” said Caroline.
“It’s a rag now, but it used to be a piece of paper.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that.”
“Anyway, I can tell you what it says. But we also need to go somewhere. In the hospital. There’s someone you have to meet.”
115
I HAD ARRIVED AT THE HOSPITAL before the rest of my family that morning. I’d gotten a ride with Javier when he and his parents went to see Rosa. I needed to talk to Rosa before I talked to Caroline.
While Javier’s parents were getting coffee downstairs, I saw my chance. But before I could open my mouth, Rosa started talking. Speaking quickly and quietly, like the three of us were spies meeting in an alley, she said that she’d told Javier’s parents she’d fallen at home and called the ambulance herself. Rosa said she would be glad to tell my parents about Alvin’s and my heroics, but—
I stopped her right there. “Alvin and I were trespassing,” I said. “We’d both rather you didn’t mention it to our parents.”
“You weren’t trespassing,” said Rosa. “You’re quite welcome anytime. It’s my property. I bought it this past winter.”
“You did?” said Javier.
“I was thinking I’d rent it out,” said Rosa. “But meanwhile it’s a good place to be alone once in a while. Marina can drive me nuts.”
When Javier and I had digested that chunk of information, I got around to what I’d wanted to ask Rosa. Which was if it was okay to tell Caroline about her contributions to the book.
“When did you figure out it was me?” Rosa asked. “I thought I was covering my tracks pretty well.”
“Oh,” I hedged. “You know, a while ag—”
“Yesterday,” Javier interrupted.
Not surprisingly, Rosa said no, that she wanted her ghostwriting to stay a secret. “I was perfectly happy to let you think I was a ghost,” said Rosa. “And I would prefer to remain anonymous.”
“But my aunt thinks I came up with those ideas,” I said. “She thinks I’m some kind of genius. I can’t live with that now that I know they were yours.”
“He can’t live a lie,” Javier said solemnly.
“I see,” said Rosa. “All right. Why don’t you bring her by and we can discuss it.”
* * *
As I led Caroline to Rosa’s room, I read her the note/rag about Grampa’s sacrifice.
“ ‘When Grampa and Gerald are sent to their world by the warlock, Grampa has been badly weakened by his time in the vortex. He doesn’t have the magical strength to make a new slipstream big enough for both of them, only for Gerald. He gives all his remaining magic so Gerald can go back. But Grampa can’t go with him. Grampa can never go back to the magical world.’
“So Grampa’s still alive,” I said. “And Gerald can see him when he goes home. But he makes a huge sacrifice, and Gerald has to take it from there in the alternate world. Plus, there’s no way Grampa could fit into a storm drain. Even Gerald is going to have a hard time with that. He might need something slippery—”
“A potion!” said Caroline. “He can use a potion for that. This is perfect, Alex. You are such a genius!” She grabbed me in the hospital corridor and hugged me and kissed my forehead, and I think a some doctors saw the whole thing.
“Actually,” I said, “I’m not in any way a genius. I didn’t come up with that solution. And there are a bunch of other ideas in the book that I also didn’t come up with. I want you to meet the person who did.”
116
BY THE TIME WE GOT TO Rosa’s room, I had told Caroline what ideas Rosa had contributed without going into the whole ghost thing. I gave her the impression that Rosa had just joined my discussions with Javier about the book when we were at his house.
Maybe it was the thrill of Alana’s arrival that kept Caroline from giving me another lecture about sharing the book without her permission. Or maybe she’d given up on that after the Battle of the Senior Center. Either way, she didn’t get into it with me.
Caroline practically knelt in front of Rosa when we got to her bedside, thanking her and telling her how amazing she was. Rosa and I were both embarrassed. Javier was amused. Rosa kept waving her hand at Caroline like she was swatting away a gnat.
But Caroline-the-gnat was persistent. Most gnats are, in my experience. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said to Rosa. “You turned the whole book around. More than once. And your idea for Grampa’s sacrifice? It makes complete emotional sense. I’m so grateful for your help.”
Then she started talking about giving Rosa credit in the book itself, and that was when Rosa told Javier and me to go wait outside.
We went into the hallway and closed the door. We could still hear Caroline, whose voice was higher pitched, but not Rosa. It was easy to figure out who won that discussion, though. It went like this:
“I’m sure we can work out some way to give you—”
…
“Oh, but I very much want to—”
…
“But you deserve to be—”
…
“I understand, but—”
…
“Yes, ma’am.”
…
“Yes, ma’am.”
Caroline was pale when she emerged from Rosa’s room, and her hair was sticking out all over her head like a mad scientist’s.
“I think I may have promised her my next child if I ever reveal her part in this book to anyone,” she said, trying to gather her puffs o
f hair into a ponytail and failing. “I don’t think I’m allowed even to say her name in public.”
“She’s tough,” said Javier.
“No kidding,” said Caroline. “I definitely did promise her Alvin, by the way. She wants him to come read to her. Apparently, she finds his voice soothing.”
117
SO THAT’S THE TRUE STORY OF R. R. Knight, the mysterious author of the Gerald books.
R. R. Knight isn’t just a pen name for my aunt Caroline. Or for my aunt Caroline and me. It’s a name that includes Caroline (mostly), me (for danger, trial stunts, epic battle—you’re welcome—sensory details, and boringness patrol), Great-Aunt Rosa (for major, major plot ideas and making it a fantasy), Javier (for filming and magical-plants idea and Snarko personality), Marta (for ghost pestering and stunts and Daredevil personality), Nate (for Grampa sayings and battle strategy), Ellen (for gory details), Alvin (for battle-film participants and storm-drain stunt), Henry (for moon head), the librarian in the children’s room (for book suggestions and Book 2’s Lost Librarian personality), and a bunch of authors of fantasies for kids and adults from the library and from Rob Weintraub’s book collection.
As for the name, Caroline says she picked “Knight” because it’s in the middle of the alphabet, which puts the books in the middle of the shelf at the bookstore and the middle of the stacks at the library. She insists that “R. R.” does stand for something, but she won’t tell me what it is.
I think I know, though. I think it stands for “reluctant reader.” Which I still am, I guess, although I’m a voracious listener. You have to find the right books, as Ellen said, but you also have to find the right delivery system. Mine is through the ears, not the eyes. And usually while I’m running—I can’t get restless if I’m moving.
I still run everywhere, although I don’t feel like I have to anymore. My brush with real danger put my worries about potential danger to rest, I guess. Now I run because I enjoy it. I even joined the cross-country team at school.