The Absolute Value of Mike

by Kathryn Erskine

  “Yeah,” I said, “I know. But Moo’s still here. And Misha could be here if you’d do anything about it. It’s time to move. Now!”

  I heard all the air go out of him and the branches creak again before he turned around and slowly, stiffly stepped down the slats of wood one by one, with Doug over his shoulder. He didn’t look at me once he reached the ground and we didn’t talk, but somehow we both knew we didn’t want to swim back the way we came. We walked all the way around Lake Revival, stopping to put on my Clarks and his duck slippers. As I tied up my shoes, I watched the breeze make ripples on the water that the moon turned into flickers of light. I remembered how dark the lake was when I’d sat there with Gladys. It looked bright now. I hoped it was a sign. I finished tying my shoes and felt my pocket for the LEGO brick, thankful that I’d taken Misha’s photo out of my pocket and put it on Tyrone’s dash. I shoved my hand in my pocket. It felt weird. I pushed my hand in deeper. Nothing. It wasn’t there.

  I started looking around the shore, crawling on the pebbles, looking for a hint of blue.

  “Lose something?” Poppy asked.

  “Yeah, it’s a . . .” I stopped, realizing it would sound really stupid for a fourteen-year-old to be searching for his LEGO brick. I looked around quickly. The moonlight was bright enough to see a blue LEGO brick. Maybe. Then I remembered trying to take my jeans off in the water, then pulling them on again. Oh, no . . . the LEGO must’ve come out of my pocket. No, it wasn’t possible. I stared out at Lake Revival, a big patch of darkness. My LEGO brick was gone.

  “What’d you lose?” Poppy said, louder this time.

  I stood up and shook my head. “Nothing.” I stared at the lake. “Let’s go.”

  I told myself it was just a LEGO brick and I could get another one from the box under my bed, one that had also been used to build that bridge, but it still felt weird. Like I’d lost something significant. I kept looking back at the lake, but pretty soon it was completely obscured by trees and I just had to move on.

  We could see Moo silhouetted in the kitchen doorway for a while before she could see us. She kept running to the door, then running to the stove, then peering out the door again. She looked so frantic that I was about to call out to her when Poppy’s hand gripped my shoulder.

  “Mike, let’s not say anything to Moo about the tree, okay?”

  “Hey, it’s your secret, right?”

  “Our secret.”

  “Poppy!” It was Moo’s shrill voice. “Is that you? And Mike? And . . . ?”

  “Yeah,” I called. “It’s all three of us!”

  She flung the door all the way open and came running toward us. “Thank goodness you’re all right!” She hugged us, squeezing more water out of Doug. “What happened? You’re all wet. Did you fall in the lake?”

  I hadn’t thought about how to explain that. I looked at Poppy. “We were just . . . horsing around.”

  “In the water? At night? With your clothes on?”

  A streak of lightning lit up the sky.

  “We’d better get inside,” I said.

  She looked so bewildered that I quickly changed the subject. “Hey, do you have any scrapple? We’re starving!”

  She beamed. “I made a whole panful!”

  I brought Doug around to the front porch and sat him on his bench. I noticed the Life Is Good cap on the swirly rug next to the bench. It must’ve fallen off when Poppy took him on his little adventure. I thought about the three stooges’ note—He’ll bring you good luck—and stuck the cap back on his head. In a way, I guess Doug did bring us good luck. At least we’d gotten Poppy back alive. Even if it had cost me my LEGO brick.

  From the front door, I saw Moo’s yellow sneakers scurrying around the kitchen table, heaping scrapple on Poppy’s plate, then on mine. I went in and sat down opposite Poppy, noticing that his hair was still flat but his eyes definitely had life in them. After Moo poured two glasses of powdered milk, she sat down between us, grinning from one of us to the other.

  Poppy picked his fork up and my toes tingled just in time for me to get the message to pull his plate away. “Wait!”

  Poppy stared at me, his fork in midair. “Huh?”

  I pointed toward the pass-through. “First, put some new batteries in Felix.”

  Moo took in a sharp breath and lost her grin. She stared at Poppy, her eyes wide.

  Poppy’s fork still hung in front of him.

  “Batteries are in the fridge,” I said. “Top drawer. Behind the butter.”

  Moo was gripping her hoodie strings, frozen except for her eyes, which were burning. At Poppy.

  He pushed himself away from the table, undid the bungee cord from the fridge handle, fished around inside, and came out with two AA batteries.

  Moo and I stood and watched him through the pass-through as he slowly took Felix off the wall and worked at taking the old batteries out and putting in the new. When he put Felix back up on the wall, his hands were shaking, but so was Felix’s tail.

  Moo squealed and clapped, her yellow sneakers racing into the living room. I saw her stretch her arms wide, her hoodie blaring HOLY COMFORTER, as she pulled Poppy into a hug.

  24

  VARIABLE

  —a quantity that can change or vary, taking on different values

  Poppy went straight to the workshop to make his “dang boatload” of boxes to save Misha. Yes! There was still time for us to get some orders before the July 15 deadline! Moo and I stared after him. It was weird to see him with a mission. Heck, it was weird just seeing him move.

  Moo was dancing, she was so happy. She hugged and kissed me about a dozen times. “Thank you, Mike! You brought Poppy back! I just can’t thank you enough!”

  “Moo, it’s okay, really.” I was still feeling guilty for being the one who sent Poppy to the lake in the first place. At least it had all worked out in the end.

  “You are just a miracle! You’re a URL!”

  “What?”

  “The Unwanteds Rescue League! You rescued Poppy! You’re rescuing Misha! You’re a wonderful friend to Gladys and to Past—especially to Past.”

  I sat down, put my head on the kitchen table, and groaned.

  “What’s wrong, dear?”

  “You don’t know what I said to Past.”

  “What did you say?”

  I groaned again, and told her everything. “I wish I’d known he wasn’t homeless.”

  “I did tell you, dear, but you didn’t believe me.” She sighed. “I’m afraid he took to the street after Natalie died.”

  “Natalie?”

  “His wife.”

  “She died?”

  “Yes.”

  I groaned again. “I thought they were just divorced.”

  “Oh, no, dear. She died at only thirty-three. It was such a shock. Past took it very hard. Natalie owned the health food store and jogged every day. No one could’ve been healthier.”

  I raised my head slowly. Natalie. All those flyers in his cart. Natalie’s Natural Products. “That’s why he’s such a health nut!”

  Moo nodded.

  “But,” I realized, “she died anyway, so why does he still try to be healthy?”

  “She died of a heart condition that no one even knew about. If she hadn’t led such a healthy lifestyle, she probably would’ve died much earlier.”

  Images of Past ran through my head—typing at his office, talking with Whitney, doing the “Three Bears” video, standing with his cart in front of Natalie’s Natural Products . . . “All that stuff in his cart—is that from her health store?”

  Moo nodded again. “He lost her. He lost the store. He lost his life, really. He was in training to be a lay minister. Natalie encouraged him. People were already calling him Pastor . . . until Natalie died and he told everyone to shorten it to Past because his life was in the past.”

  I thought about how I’d yelled at Past because I’d just assumed his wife walked out on him and he couldn’t handle it. I cringed. Natalie had died. Wh
y didn’t I think of that? Me, of all people. I knew about death. And the aftermath. “What about Joey?”

  “He’s staying with Natalie’s parents until Past is ready to handle him again.”

  I hung my head and sighed. “I feel really sorry for the poor little guy.”

  “Oh, he’s not so little. And he smells.”

  “Moo!”

  “And drools, and he sheds something awful.”

  “Wait a minute. Is Joey . . . a dog?”

  “Of course, Mike, what did you think he was?”

  “A son.”

  “Oh, dear, no! Well, I can see why you’d be so upset with Past, then.”

  I put my head in my hands.

  Moo tried smoothing out the hair on top of my head. Why was she so nice to me? To everyone? I looked at her. “Moo, why were you paying his mortgage when you guys can barely get by as it is?”

  “I was always friendly with Past and Natalie, but after Doug died”—she stopped and took a deep breath—“and then Natalie died, well, I really felt for Past. Besides, I have my URL to keep up, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I thought about Moo taking care of all the unwanteds. “Is that how you ended up with me for the summer?”

  “Oh, my dear, I begged your father to send you to visit for years, but he’d never do it. He didn’t want to part with you.”

  “Uh, Moo, Dad sent me here because he didn’t want to be stuck with me in Romania.”

  “That’s not true, Mike.”

  “Yeah, actually, it is.”

  “No, he said he’d already lost his wife and he couldn’t do without his only child for a whole summer.”

  “What? He said that?” Was she sure? It sounded like some other father.

  “Yes. That’s when I asked him, ‘Can’t you go teach abroad somewhere? Isn’t that what professors do?’”

  “You asked him?”

  “Yes. Of course, I knew the answer already. Professors do go teach abroad. I learned that on Oprah.”

  “But . . . why did you want me here?” She’d never even met me.

  “Because your father is . . . different. And life with him must be a little . . . unusual.” A smile spread across her face until her full set of dentures showed and her eyes sparkled behind her vinegar-clean glasses. “I wanted you to see what life was like in a normal family.” She paused, still grinning. “Do you like being in a normal family?”

  I looked through the pass-through at the working Felix, ticking twenty minutes after eleven. Now that I’d brought Tyrone the car back home and gotten Poppy the vegetable out of his chair and into his workshop, I needed to go find a homeless guy who wasn’t really homeless and see if I could get him to move back into his house, which was being paid for by a little old lady who could barely afford scrapple. Normal? I shook my head and stood up to go find Past.

  Moo’s grin faded and she tugged her hoodie strings. “Oh, dear. We’re not too boring, are we? That’s it, isn’t it? We’re too dull!”

  “No! Not at all. Dull and boring are about the last words I’d use.”

  Moo beamed. “I’m so glad, dear!” She squeezed my hand and peered into my eyes. “One more thing. I want you to have Tyrone.”

  “What?” I sat down again with a thump and stared at her. I couldn’t imagine Moo without Tyrone. “I couldn’t do that. You love Tyrone.”

  “And you do, too. I know, because you risked getting arrested just to bring him home.”

  “I—I’m not really supposed to be driving yet.”

  “I know, so he’ll live here until you’re old enough. But”—she grinned so much, her shoulders went up to her ears—“I know you’ll come and visit him. In fact, you can bring your dad with you at Christmas, maybe Thanksgiving, too, and definitely over the summer.”

  Dad? If Dad came here, he’d find out about the artesian screw. Or lack thereof.

  “Won’t that be fun? You’ll get to meet Misha, too! And see Past.”

  Past. “I need to go talk to him.” I just hoped this rescue would be as successful as Poppy’s.

  25

  UNFAVORABLE OUTCOMES

  —the odds that an event will not succeed

  I ran all the way to Kmart before I had to slow down to a walk. The rumble of thunder grew louder. The heat lightning that lit up the clouds earlier was turning into real lightning in the distance. And real rain, soft at first but rapidly getting heavier. My T-shirt, which had almost dried since Lake Revival, was soaked again.

  By the time I could see the park, it was pouring, the rain splashing mud in tiny fountains where the grass didn’t grow. The park looked surreal in the dark, like a completely different place. The full moon lit up Past’s office like a spotlight and the flashes of lightning made it almost disappear into ghostly whiteness for brief moments. As I got close, I saw that his cart was gone and his bench was empty except for a large beige envelope. When I reached his office, panting, I picked up the envelope. It had my name on it, or what was left of my name since the rain had made the letters run into an eerie version of Mike. I grabbed the envelope and ripped it open. Inside I found Past’s cell phone and a note.

  I need to go. I think I’ve taken care of everything I can. I know you’ll take care of the rest. You’ll do fine without me, Mike/Misha.

  —Past

  I looked for any kind of message or sign on the phone. There was none. I stuffed it in my pocket that used to hold my LEGO and stared at the note. I don’t know how many times I read it, but with each reading I felt less guilty, less sorry, less sad. And more angry. Sure, I felt terrible for him, about his wife. But, I mean, look at Moo. Her son died and she was still taking care of herself—and Poppy, and Gladys, not to mention Past’s house. Even when she lost her best friend, Tyrone. Past was young. He was healthy. He ought to be able to handle things without running away.

  I stared at the note again. I need to go? Yeah, like when the going gets tough, the tough get going . . . out of town. I think I’ve taken care of everything I can. What did that even mean? Was there some paperwork he didn’t do? More than likely, considering his next sentence: I know you’ll take care of the rest. The rest of what? The paperwork? The money? Do Over Day—including the food and the chorus that he was supposed to be handling? You’ll be fine without me—I swallowed hard—Mike/Misha.

  How would I be fine on my own? How would Misha be fine? He wouldn’t! Not unless we got the money and met the deadline. And if not . . .

  I kicked Past’s bench. What an idiot! He was just going to abandon Misha? I kicked it again. What a complete idiot! I jumped up on the bench, nearly slipping, it was so wet, and stomped up and down on it, splashing the standing water, yelling, “IDIOTS!” as loud as I could, like I was the wacko homeless person, but I didn’t care. I was mad at all of them—Past for abandoning Misha, Poppy for taking so long—too long—to start helping, and even Moo. Why did she keep making excuses for Poppy?

  “IDIOTS! All of you! Don’t you know what really matters? Not running away! Not hiding from things! Not covering things up! But doing what you know is right! For Misha!”

  I jumped off the bench and squelched into the mud, sliding several feet before falling on my back next to some bushes. My head landed next to some papers—the math worksheets from Dad that we’d been using to print up flyers for Do Over Day. Seeing the math worksheets just made me angrier. I got up and kicked them, stomped all over them, ground them into the mud. I had so much adrenaline, I wanted to destroy every piece. I stomped so wildly that some of them flipped over. And Misha stared up at me.

  I froze. Oh, no! I didn’t know these had already been printed with Misha’s picture! I bent down to pick up a muddied, torn flyer. The boy in my Buzz Lightyear T-shirt stared back at me. Those eyes. The look that said, Mike, don’t you get it yet? Don’t you see?

  “See what?” I said to the picture, my voice high-pitched and crackling, my breathing rapid because of all my jumping up and down. Misha just kept staring at me, but no matter how long I
stared back at him, I still had no answer.

  26

  TRANSFORMATION

  —moving a shape to a new location

  I couldn’t sleep that night. I paced around the tiny bedroom until I felt sick. Looking at the photo of Doug and Poppy in their tree house didn’t help. Thinking about what I’d done for Misha didn’t help. I kept remembering his torn picture and hoping it wasn’t a sign.

  I saw the lights were still on in the workshop, and I needed company. Any company.

  Poppy looked up when I opened the door. “One big dang mess in here,” he muttered.

  I slumped against the door. “At least I cleaned up the nails. There were a lot of them.”

  He shrugged. “Ever heard the expression ‘so angry you’re spitting nails’?”

  “Yeah . . . but it doesn’t mean actually spitting nails.”

  “I don’t spit. I throw.”

  He wasn’t kidding. About two minutes later the jigsaw blade got tangled and he grabbed a handful of nails, throwing them against the far wall of the shop.

  I flinched.

  He grunted. “I heard about Past.”

  I didn’t say anything. How much had Moo told him? Everything about what a jerk I’d been?

  “You like yelling at people, don’t you?”

  She’d told him everything. I sighed and sat down on a sawhorse.

  “Don’t sit on that!”

  I jumped up. Why had I come in here, anyway? I glanced over to see what he was doing. “What are you working on?”

  He looked at me like I was an idiot. “What do you think?”

  “Boxes?”

  He grunted. “A genius. Like your dad.” The jigsaw blade got stuck again and Poppy’s hand dove for the box of nails.

  I dove for cover.

  Poppy cleared his throat. “So your dad wants you to be an engineer.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’d make a lousy engineer.”

  I stared at him. Did he have to be so blunt? “Because I suck at woodworking?”

  Poppy squished his lips together and shook his head.