The Absolute Value of Mike

by Kathryn Erskine

  “Snicker-DOOOO-dles!” Moo’s voice rang out from the house. “Gladys! Mike! Come get some SNICKERDOODLES!”

  The YouTube screeched to a halt. Gladys and I looked at each other and smiled, then grinned, then outright laughed.

  17

  PROBLEM

  —a question where math is used to figure out the answer

  I wasn’t laughing the next morning. Everyone—Karen, Gladys, Moo, Past—said I should be the one. The leader. The big boss. The head honcho. Now a kid’s life was in my hands. I stared at the photo of Misha with his LEGO bridge. I’d set the picture Karen gave me on my nightstand with my own blue LEGO brick weighing it down. I didn’t want it to fall or fly away in the breeze from the fan. It was such a huge commitment. Like I was bringing this kid home all by myself. How was I going to do that? I mean, sure, others would help, but the bottom line was, it was up to me. I was responsible for this kid’s life. If I didn’t do my job . . . well, it wouldn’t get done.

  I shivered on my bed, even though it was already a hot day. It made me freeze to think of things like all the unfinished paperwork in Karen’s adoption file. She called her file of papers a “dossier.” I felt like some kind of James Bond who had to secure the secret file or someone’s life would be . . . over. Except that, unlike Bond, I had no idea what to do and no Q with a lab of tools to help me. Also, I’m pretty sure James Bond didn’t have dyscalculia to mix him up. I never heard him call himself agent Seven-Double-O instead of Double-O-Seven.

  I asked Moo to drop me at Past’s office while she made a scrapple run. I paced in front of his bench while he followed my movements like he was watching a tennis match, nodding at every point I made.

  “So, Poppy’s not making the boxes and it doesn’t look like he’s going to. No one else can make them without his help. I tried but that was a total joke. Moo wants to bake stuff and sell it but we don’t have that much money for ingredients. She can still do the vinegar because it’s cheap and she grows the herbs herself, but are those really going to sell? Gladys is knitting bling but refusing to sing, even though Moo says that’s what Gladys really wants to do with her life. Porch pal production, at least, is going well.”

  Past smiled and gave two thumbs-up.

  “But we still need almost thirty-five thousand dollars. The LEGO bridge is barely past Italy, not even at the Atlantic Ocean yet. And there’s only fifteen days left until the deadline. Wait!” I stopped pacing. “Does she need all forty thousand by then? Because she can’t buy her ticket until she knows when she’s supposed to go to Romania. Maybe we don’t need to raise it all.”

  “Actually,” said Past, “you can buy an open ticket, and she needs to show the adoption agency that she has all the necessary funds by the July fifteenth date.”

  I started pacing again. “We also need to finish the dossier of adoption papers. If something goes wrong with the paperwork, it’ll ruin everything! Will people even listen to me if I call the embassy or immigration service or adoption agency? Do you think my voice is deep enough? Do I sound like an adult?”

  “Whoa, Mike, I—”

  “Karen said we could pay a service to do it but that costs a lot of money. But maybe it’s worth it. There are numbers involved and I could totally screw that up!”

  Past looked at me, almost hurt. “Mike. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “What?”

  “You can always ask someone for help.”

  I threw my arms in the air. “Who?”

  “Me.”

  I let my arms drop and didn’t say anything.

  “Yes, me,” he repeated, scowling.

  “Okay,” I said. Why not? At least he was an adult and people might listen to him. Over the phone, no one would know he was homeless. Plus, he didn’t have math disabilities, as far as I knew. “We need to figure out what paperwork has to be done. I don’t know the first thing about adoptions.”

  “Before she left last night, Karen brought her laptop and files to me, so—”

  “You?”

  “Is something wrong with that?”

  “No,” I said quickly, although I didn’t state the obvious. You’re homeless, dude. “Um, it’s just that you don’t have a great storage place for them.”

  “What do you think the plastic bags are for?”

  He pulled his cart around and uncovered it, showing me the large box of files as well as a laptop. “Let’s get to work.”

  We used Karen’s computer, jiggled the Pringles can for Wi-Fi access, and brought up the adoption agency’s site that gave all the steps to organize a dossier. We found a checklist and went through the box of files Karen left, checking off what she had already and figuring out what she still needed.

  “She’s got her criminal background check, but she still needs to get fingerprinted,” Past said. “It looks like that can be done at any police station, so we need to call her and remind her to go do that while she’s with her parents. It’s a good thing she already did her home inspection and had all her visits with the social worker. But someone should take these documents to Harrisburg to get the Apostilles.”

  It was like he was speaking a foreign language. “What?”

  “The documents need special seals, and the courthouse at the state capital is the only place it can be done. I’d rather they be delivered than use the mail and hope the right office knows what to do with them. If they got lost, it’d be months before we’d get new ones.”

  “We can’t afford months!”

  “I know. I’ll figure out how to take care of that. Meanwhile”—Past held up a thin file—“she seems to only have two letters of reference. She needs three.”

  “Great. Who are we going to get to do that?”

  “I’ll write one.”

  I tried to think of a tactful way to say it. “Dude. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “I mean . . . what are you going to put as your address?”

  “I have an address.” He leaned forward and looked down the street, as if searching for an imaginary house. “I’ll type it up on her laptop.” He started typing immediately.

  “Maybe we can print it out at the bank,” I said, trying to see what he’d typed. “We need to go see Gladys anyway, to hand in Moo’s direct deposit form.” And maybe Gladys could come up with someone other than a homeless person to write the letter of recommendation.

  “Hi, Me-Mike!” Guido called.

  He and the other stooges sat down at the nearby bench with cups of coffee and a newspaper.

  “We hear you’re in charge.” Jerry grinned at me.

  “How did you hear?”

  Guido laughed and nudged Jerry. “He still thinks he’s in the big city. He doesn’t know we all know each other’s business.”

  I read Past’s letter over his shoulder as he typed. It sounded pretty darn good. So did his letterhead.

  “I borrowed your job title,” Past said.

  I laughed. “Community organizer? I’m not a community organizer!”

  He smirked. “I think you are.”

  “Good thing, too,” Guido said, lowering his newspaper to look over at us. “Do Over Day is a week from tomorrow.”

  Past stopped typing and looked at me. “I forgot about that. Who’s going to take care of it?”

  “Why are you looking at me? I don’t even know what you guys are talking about.”

  Guido rolled his eyes at Jerry and Spud. “Do Over Day. You know, we have it every year.”

  “Hey, I’m working on getting Misha adopted. Someone else can take care of Do Over Day, whatever that is.”

  “The whole point of Do Over Day,” said Jerry, “is to make money for a good cause. Guess what the good cause is this year?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Getting Misha adopted! That’s why Karen was running it.”

  “What? Wait a minute. You mean I’m supposed to run Do Over Day, too?”

  “Well,” said Guido, �
��you’re the new Karen.”

  “I am not! I don’t know how to do this! Maybe we should skip Do Over Day this year.”

  The three stooges stared at each other and then me.

  Guido cleared his throat. “You’re going to skip making money for Misha?”

  “Well . . . how much money do you usually get?”

  “Several thousand. And it’ll be more this year because it’s not just some charity. It’s for someone we know. It’s for Misha.”

  I sighed. “Okay. But I have no clue what I’m doing.”

  “You’ll figure it out, though, I’m sure. You seem like a bright kid.”

  “No, I’m not. Seriously.”

  “Don’t worry, Mike,” said Past. “I’ll help you. I can lead the chorus.”

  “Chorus? What chorus?”

  “The one you put together,” Guido said from behind his paper.

  “Are you kidding me? I can’t—I—I wouldn’t even know where to start!”

  “You’ll need a theme song—something international, since the kid is from Romania,” Guido said, looking at the others.

  All three stooges started singing some song I didn’t recognize.

  “Hey!” Past shouted over to them.

  The three stooges stopped.

  Past folded his arms. “I don’t think the theme song from The Love Boat counts, even if it’s cruising international waters.” He looked at me, with some desperation. “Mike? Any ideas?”

  “Other than this is completely crazy?”

  “He means a song, Mike,” Jerry said.

  “I know that!” I took a deep breath. A song for an international kid? I immediately thought of the song my fourth-grade class did for United Nations Day. We even got on TV. Sasha did a solo because the song had foreign languages. It was hard for him to sing, though, because he and I kept giggling. His parents were sitting in the front row, grinning like crazy, especially his dad—

  “Are you with us, Mike?” It was Past.

  “What? Oh. Yeah.”

  Guido slapped his paper down. “Does that mean you’ve come up with a song?”

  I nodded. “As a matter of fact, I have a good one.” I looked at Past. “How am I going to organize all this? I can’t—”

  Past’s phone rang and he picked it up. “Yes?” His eyes widened as he looked at me. “You’re with which paper? The Daily American? Yes, I know Karen. . . . Uh-huh.”

  He nodded as he listened.

  “Oh, I agree. It makes an excellent human interest story. This boy is driven to get the kid adopted.” He nodded. “Right, Michael. What? No, that’s the teenager. The Romanian orphan’s name is Misha, which also means Michael, by the way.” Past sighed and gave a faint smile. “More than a coincidence? I’ve heard that from others.”

  “See!” Jerry shouted.

  Past waved his hand at Jerry as he pushed the phone up against his ear. “Sure, you could call it fate. Uh-huh, kismet works, too.” He rolled his eyes, then winked at me. “Miracle might be a little strong, but why not?”

  “What did we tell you?” Guido said.

  “Yes, he’s in charge of Do Over Day, too. Uh-huh. Just a minute.” He looked at me. “How old are you, Mike?”

  “Fourteen.”

  He spoke into the phone. “Fourteen. Yes, just call whenever you’re ready to do the interview.” He shut the phone. “We have the power of the press behind us now, Mike. You’re going to be in the paper.”

  I let that sink in as we walked to the bank. A newspaper? I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but at least it was free advertising. Now I just had to figure out what to advertise about Do Over Day. I grilled Past on what it really needed—or what I really needed to do to make it happen.

  We figured I could enlist moms like Tresa and her friends to organize the kid games, Moo and her friends to make baked goods, Gladys to handle the money part of it, and Past said he’d lead the chorus once I got all the singers.

  “How am I going to find singers for a whole chorus?”

  “I’ll help you round up the usual suspects,” Past assured me.

  “Fine. I’ll make up some flyers.” That’s how I’d use the math worksheets Dad sent. The blank side would now have Do Over Day information and photos of Misha. Like Moo had predicted, I was going to do something very special with that scrap paper. “I’ll also advertise it on Facebook and YouTube. How big a crowd can we handle?”

  “Do you seriously think that many people will come?” Past seemed doubtful.

  “It’s possible. We need to get Shop ’n Save to donate the food, so I better go talk with the manager there. Hey! Maybe we can get cotton candy and funnel cake concessions.”

  Past stopped, a look of horror on his face. “Please. Let me take care of the food. I want to ensure that we’re offering healthy choices.”

  I shrugged. “As long as we’ve got food and live music, we can call it a fair. And a moon bounce. Kids will drag their parents in if they see one of those.”

  “We usually just have three-legged races, sack races, egg races, that kind of thing. It’s cheaper so the profit margin is higher.”

  “Okay, I’ll have people bring their own sacks because we might run out.”

  Past chuckled. “You really think a lot of people are going to come, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely! By the time I’m done advertising, we could have thousands.”

  Past stopped chuckling and eyed me. “You may be right. Okay, I’m going to enlist help from some of the guys.”

  “What guys?”

  “The soup kitchen.”

  I looked at him.

  “Hey, just because they’re homeless doesn’t mean they’re not capable. A lot of them work but don’t have enough money”—he started blinking rapidly—“or for whatever reason, they don’t have a home.”

  “Are any of them good with power tools? I mean, could they make Poppy’s boxes?”

  “I don’t know about that. But I’m sure they can help run the games, direct the parking, serve food, things like that. It’s held right here in the park.”

  “What if it rains?”

  “We use the soup kitchen since it’s right next to the park.”

  I started some new lists of all the things I had to do for Do Over Day, and another list of the points I should make with that reporter. As soon as we had a newspaper article, I’d send the link to my teachers, friends, anyone I could think of to spread the word, even my neighbors. Whatever my school was selling, I could always get some neighbors to buy it. And it was a lot easier to sell this cause—Build a Family, Adopt a Child—than magazines or wrapping paper.

  Past and I checked the street outside the bank. No Numnut or F-350 pickup. It was safe to go in.

  I handed Gladys Moo’s direct deposit forms. “Completed and signed. Now you have to sing on camera.”

  Gladys, who’d started to smile, stopped. “Look, guys, I really—”

  “A deal’s a deal.” I picked up the bling-framed photo of Misha and held it in front of her. I also used my earnest Misha eyes to add to the appeal.

  “Fine,” she said, in a voice of defeat, “but is anyone going to be there while you’re filming?”

  “We’ll use the soup kitchen, after it’s closed,” Past assured her.

  “You know,” I said casually, “it’d be really great if you could sing at Do Over Day—”

  Gladys went totally pale and shook her head. “I—I can play the guitar for you.”

  “Yeah, but could you also sing?” I asked.

  “One step at a time,” Past murmured.

  His phone rang and he stood up. “Excuse us, that’s the press.”

  We ducked out of the bank as Past answered. It was actually Karen calling from Ohio, checking on how things were going. We went back inside to ask Gladys about donations to the cause. We were several thousand up from the previous week!

  Past and I gave each other a high five as he relayed the news to Karen.

  Gladys smiled. �
��Just wait until the eBay sales come in!”

  But the real success of the day was the porch pals video. I decided a kid story was appropriate. As a play. “Goldilocks and the Three Bears.” I even got Past to act it out with the three stooges. They each rubber-banded the arms and legs of a porch pal to their own arms and legs. When they moved, it looked like live porch pals. Sure, you could tell that there was a person attached to the back of the big stuffed porch pal, but that made it even funnier, especially since Spud’s bald head peeked out above the blond yarn of the Goldilocks doll. Guido did a great job as Baby Bear and Past was a very dignified Papa Bear, but Jerry’s swishy, sexy Mama Bear about killed me.

  I posted it on our website, all the networking sites, as well as YouTube. By the next day, we already had a lot of hits and an average four-star rating, so if anyone read the appeal at the end of the video, we ought to get some donations.

  Misha was coming home!

  18

  SLIDE

  —movement of a figure along a line

  There’s a difference between watching videos and actually donating money, though. People must’ve been too busy rolling on the floor laughing to see our appeal for cash at the end. I kept thinking about how much more money we’d raise if Poppy would just get off his butt and make those boxes.

  “How’s Poppy doing?” said Past as we entered the quiet soup kitchen to set up for Gladys. “Any movement?”

  I slumped on a chair at one of the long tables inside, exhausted from days of preparing for Do Over Day—printing and posting flyers, getting the word out electronically, talking to just about everyone in town about what they needed to do. “Poppy? Yeah, he’s moving, all right. Now he’s putting his duck slippers all around the house to give us hints of what he wants. First, Moo found one under the sink where he keeps his Preparation H, because he was almost out. Then she found one in the fridge where she normally puts his soda, but she’d run out. And last night he wanted his A.1. sauce for his scrapple, only I didn’t know that, and Moo was out talking to her tomatoes, so no matter how many times he smacked his busted yardstick on Felix—”

  Past flinched.

  “—Felix the clock—I didn’t get him what he wanted, so he finally had to get up and go to the fridge himself. It was the first time I’d ever caught him out of his chair. Anyway, he was so ticked that when he sat down again, he threw a stupid duck slipper at me!”