The Absolute Value of Mike

by Kathryn Erskine

  With all the craziness of organizing Do Over Day, it was the next afternoon before I got to Past’s office to IM Ferdi again and check on Dad.

  Dad is good. He wants chocolate. I say no. But nurse give him chocolate. Jeez!

  Should he be eating chocolate?

  If is good dark Romanian chocolate, yes. Otherwise, is trash. I send some home with your dad so you try.

  Thanks.

  Is least I do for someone who help orphan children. I watch YouTubes. Very good. This Moo is very funny. I like. My grandmother love. She buy 3 per week vinegar plan. Is good vinegar?

  The best.

  She also buy vinegar for gift for my father for birthday next month. I have better idea for birthday. I think he will very much like a wood box by Poopy.

  Poppy.

  Yes, Poppy. I order one today. Money goes to orphan family, yes?

  Yes, all of it.

  My father will like. Did I say, I see Misha video? He is good boy, smart boy. He take good care of his friends. Like you, I think, yes?

  I try.

  Good. I see your dad tomorrow. What I should say to him for you?

  Tell him I hope he’s feeling better. And eating the right food.

  And?

  What?

  What is other good thing for son to say to father?

  OK, OK. I love you.

  I love you too, Mike.

  Dude! I was talking about my dad!

  I know! I kid you! I am funny, like Moo, yes?

  Very funny.

  I tell your father what you say. You IM maybe tomorrow with him. I think he out from hospital then.

  I tried to stop worrying about Dad. Instead, I worried about Past. Moo and Poppy seemed smugly confident that he was fine. In fact, their smirks at the mention of Past’s name made me wonder if they had inside knowledge. As irritating as it was to be out of the loop, I felt better thinking that Past was okay. And Poppy had gotten a new battery in his Suburban, so he was actually driving Moo around, which I felt a whole lot better about. For both of them. Things were looking up.

  Until the next day.

  29

  TESSELLATIONS

  —patterns of shapes that fit together without any gaps

  Do Over Day dawned gray and threatening, and there was still no sign of Past. Even Moo didn’t look quite as smug. I helped Poppy load his boxes and Moo’s vinegars into the Suburban. When we were done, it started sprinkling. Raindrops made a plink-plunk sound as they fell in the plastic buckets scattered around the front yard.

  We waited for Moo on the front porch, watching the rain get heavier and heavier. Poppy sat with his arm around Doug while I leaned on the handrail. Poppy pointed at Doug’s head, now missing the Life Is Good hat. “Mike, do you know what happened to the hat?”

  “Uh . . . yeah. I had to borrow it.” I added quickly, “I don’t think Doug will mind.”

  Poppy grunted. “It’s a stuffed doll, Mike. Of course it won’t mind.”

  Moo opened the front door and stepped onto the porch with a proud grin. She was wearing a pale green sheet, her yellow sneakers, and a wreath headdress, looking like a Halloween costume version of Julius Caesar. Junior was slung over her shoulder.

  I looked at Poppy, who only shrugged.

  “Moo, why are you dressed like that?”

  “It’s my chorus costume. Some of us decided to wear international outfits to add some flavor.”

  “But . . . Misha is Romanian, not Roman, remember?”

  “I know that, dear.”

  “Then why are you wearing a toga?”

  She grinned and held a neon green flashlight high above her head. “I’m the Statue of Liberty! Can’t you tell?”

  We had to move Do Over Day into the soup kitchen because the rain wasn’t letting up. Everyone was running around like crazy, and I mean crazy. The three stooges were dressed as wacky as Moo. It took me a moment to figure out that Spud was dressed as a porch pal dressed as the Pope. Jerry’s skinny, hairy legs stuck out from under his leather shorts and suspenders. “My German grandfather’s lederhosen from when he was a teenager—and I can still fit into them!” he announced to everyone who’d listen and those who tried to avoid him. Guido was dressed all in green, looking like a leprechaun, and sporting a large button on his chest that said, KISS ME, I’M IRISH!

  “Guido?” I said. “Guido is Irish?”

  “I’m Irish-Italian, a regular melting pot right here,” he said, thumping his chest.

  I had too much work to do to worry about the costumes. We got everything set up inside and I made sure everyone had what they needed at the various booths and that the food was in place. I’d already set up Karen’s laptop and the one from the soup kitchen with a photo collage of Misha pictures and the video from the orphanage in an endless loop. With the projectors Dr. P got, I was able to use the opposite walls of the room as screens to show larger-than-life videos and photos of Misha.

  On the other full wall that wasn’t broken up with the opening to the kitchen, I put up my huge map of Romania to Pennsylvania. It was on butcher paper, compliments of the soup kitchen, and I did a pretty good outline of the countries of Europe and eastern North America. The moms had brought buckets of crayons and markers for kids to be able to draw the countries in different colors and the ocean in blue. I made the LEGO bridge myself, though, and we were now almost to the Azores, heading for Do Over, PA. Heck, we were so close to the Azores, we could probably swim there. On top of the last LEGO piece, I put a blown-up photo of Misha. I stepped back and smiled.

  “It’s lovely!”

  I whirled around and there was Whitney.

  “H-hi,” I said, suave as usual.

  “Tell me about your map. I see you used LEGOs, just like Misha.”

  I told her all about it. It was a lot easier to talk about something I really understood as Whitney scribbled away, and this time I even knew the numbers.

  It wasn’t as easy when I saw the TV camera. And lights. And those huge boom microphones that look like horizontal black lampposts. And guys holding them, looking around for someone’s mouth to put the mike in front of. So they picked mine.

  Desperately, I looked around for Past. He’d know what to say. He was smooth. He even looked good. I glanced down at my Radiohead T-shirt with their song on it: “These Are My Twisted Words.” Yeah, that was about right. I looked around for Past again. Still no luck.

  The bright lights blinked in my face. I had to squint and shade my eyes.

  A guy in a suit with lots of makeup on his face was smiling at the camera, saying my name and a bunch of other stuff that I didn’t catch. Soon his smiling mug was next to mine and the mike was in my face.

  “Uh . . .”

  The guy’s smile lessened just a little. “Maybe you can tell us how much you’ve raised.”

  “Oh! Yes, we have $19,853.88, but we need to raise forty thousand by July fifteenth.” I warmed up fast, stopped shading my eyes, and looked right into the camera. “That’s only one week from today, folks! We need your help!” I grabbed a flyer with Misha’s picture from the table next to me and held it up in front of the camera. “He needs your help. This is Misha, the kid we’re saving, and if you’d like to see a video of him, it’s right over there!” I pointed to the wall that was showing the orphanage video. “He’s a great kid. I know you’d love him if you just had a chance to meet him. Come on, send in your money to Bring Misha Home, P.O. Box 29, Do Over, PA, 159—”

  “Do Over?” the news guy finally interrupted, laughing. “Don’t you mean Donover?”

  “It’s Do Over for Misha.” I looked at the camera again. “Come on, guys, this kid needs a home. Is that asking too much? Just a second chance, someone to believe in him.”

  “Perfect!” someone yelled. “That’s a wrap!”

  “Thank you, Mike!” the news guy said. “Good luck getting twenty thousand dollars in one week!” He turned to his crew. “Now, let’s get the healthy snack angle.” They all headed to the fo
od table.

  My heart sank at what he’d said. Good luck getting twenty thousand dollars in one week! Even I could do the math—that was almost three thousand a day. It had taken us two weeks to raise that much. It felt pretty hopeless. Not that I was giving up, but for the first time I felt, really felt, like this might never happen. Sure, I’d been scared about it before, but Past had been there, and there had been time, or at least it felt like it. Now . . . twenty thousand in one week?

  I walked over to the map of Romania and Pennsylvania and looked at the photo of Misha sitting on his LEGO brick. In the middle of the ocean. I had to finish that bridge. Somehow. Do Over Day would make some money, and hopefully this press coverage would help, but . . .

  A boy a little older than Misha, with unnatural pink stuff on his face that was definitely not Past-sanctioned food, stood next to me. I smiled at him.

  He looked up at me and pointed to the map. “That kid is hosed.”

  My smile dropped and I stared at him. “What?” It came out as a whisper.

  “The bridge ends in the middle of the ocean. He’s history.”

  I found my voice. “No, he isn’t.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Something hot was bubbling inside me. I spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s—just—a—picture.”

  “He’s going to fall in.”

  I leaned down to the kid’s level. “No. He’s. NOT.”

  “Yes, he is. He’s going to drown.”

  “HE IS NOT GOING TO DROWN!” I yelled, and the kid started screaming and wouldn’t stop.

  I tried to resist an insistent tugging on my arm until the loud voice in my ear prevented me. “MIKE, DEAR, WHY DON’T YOU COME HELP WITH THE CHORUS?”

  I let Moo drag me across the room to where Gladys was trying to conduct the chorus, but I threw dagger looks back at the obnoxious kid, whose mom was shooting me an equally knife-like stare. I wasn’t sure if the horrible noise in my head was because of that stupid kid or the chorus, but eventually I figured out that it was definitely the chorus. The singers were way off pitch because Gladys was trying to direct them, so she couldn’t play the keyboard. I sent Gladys back to the keyboard and tried to start the signature song from the top.

  Although the tonal quality improved noticeably, they still sounded terrible, like they were all singing different songs.

  I finally yelled at them. “Guys! I can’t understand a word you’re saying!”

  Guido yelled back, “That’s because they’re foreign words, Me-Mike.”

  “It’s not because they’re foreign!” I said. “It’s because you’re all singing things at different times.”

  “We’re supposed to. Each group has a greeting to say and we all take turns.”

  “But you’re not taking turns! That’s the point! It’s all ONE BIG MESS!”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Jerry asked. “Get up on the wrong side of the bed?”

  Moo was looking at me, chewing her lip. She tugged at her drapes where her hoodie strings normally were. “Mike, dear, it’s all right. I’ll lead the chorus.”

  Moo tried to conduct with her flashlight but she kept dropping it, hitting people’s toes, until the front row was a line of defensive motion, which led to pushing and shoving and squabbling just like in elementary school.

  “I say shalom!” Jerry insisted.

  “No,” said Guido. “You’re supposed to say ciao. I’m in the shalom group!”

  Jerry pulled on his suspender straps. “You’re not a shalom anymore, remember? You switched with Moo because she can’t pronounce ko-nee—, ko-nee-wa—”

  “It’s konnichiwa,” said Guido, “and you obviously can’t pronounce it, either.”

  “I know! That’s why I’m a shalom!”

  I closed my eyes, hiding from the bright lights of the cameramen, ready to give up. Was it possible to do over a Do Over Day? I didn’t even need my MP3 player to hear a ringing in my ears and imagine the Proclaimers singing.

  I was in such a state I was hallucinating, hearing Past’s voice singing, the way he did when we were trying to record Gladys and she wouldn’t sing. Now I was hearing Past’s voice in my head singing “I’m on My Way” by the Proclaimers.

  I shook my head and opened my eyes again. I tried to focus on the chorus so I could come back to reality, but they were staring at me. Or, actually, behind me.

  I whipped around and there was Past, wearing the pink Life Is Good hat and singing about being on his way to happiness. The chorus erupted into applause, drowning out any chance I had to speak.

  “Excuse me, Lady Liberty,” Past called out to Moo, approaching the front of the chorus. “I’ll take your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, and you can go on back to your spot, okay?”

  Moo grinned and gave Past as much of a hug as her drapery would allow.

  Gladys played her keyboard with great feeling and volume. I scrambled to get behind the camera and turn it on so I could film the chorus and post it on YouTube. Past waved his left hand to tone Gladys down as he used his right to point to the ciaos and the shaloms and every other group so that soon everyone was singing on cue, sounding like a polished bunch of professionals. Or, at least, really enthusiastic amateurs.

  I watched Past conduct the Do Over Chorus, his pink cap bobbing up and down as he really got into it. And I looked at the collage of Misha photos on the wall behind the chorus, and saw the pictures of Misha, the kid who was NOT going to drown, while I listened to the chorus sing their song for Misha, “Hello to All the Children of the World.”

  We all clapped and cheered at the end. Moo waved her neon green torch as people ducked, until Past stopped her with, “That’ll do, Lady Liberty!”

  “Past,” Moo called out, “what does the rest of that poem on the Statue of Liberty say? There’s a line about lifting my lamp.” She lifted her flashlight and people in the front row scattered again. “But there’s another line, too.”

  I watched Past press his lips together and look up toward the bill of his cap in thought. A grin spread across his face. He searched for me with his Bono eyes and, finding my face, held it with a smile. “Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me.”

  30

  ENDPOINT

  —point marking the end of a line segment

  Funny thing,” Past said to me amid the bright lights, cameras, and commotion. “There was a porch pal at my office”—he touched the bill of the Life Is Good cap—“wearing this hat, as a matter of fact.”

  “Yeah?” I was happy to see that Doug’s hat had brought good luck.

  He nodded. “Another one pointing down the street. Then I saw one on the corner, pointing to another porch pal in front of my house.”

  I tried to keep from grinning.

  “And what do you know? There was one sitting on the front porch. My front porch. What could I do? I had to go up and say hello. We had a nice talk.”

  “You talked to it?”

  “Not it, Mike. Her.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It felt good.”

  I nodded. “I knew you liked those porch pals.”

  “I mean . . . it felt good to be back home. Thank you.”

  I shrugged. “I’m really sorry about yelling at you. I didn’t realize—”

  “I needed a little kick start. It was time.” He looked down at his Clarks. After a moment, he looked up at me and a smile grew. “I have something to show you. Follow me.”

  Past led me to the corner of the room near the door where a large brown mixed-breed dog was sprawled. He thumped his tail and raised his head as soon as he saw Past. His mouth opened into what I swear looked like a smile.

  “This is Joey.”

  As soon as Past said his name, Joey made a Wookiee noise like Chewbacca in Star Wars.

  Past rubbed Joey’s tummy as Joey rolled over on his back, closed his eyes, and let his tongue drop out the side of his mouth. Moo was right. He did drool. And smell. But he sure looked happy.

  “He’s in
doggy heaven,” I said, while Past was saying, “He’s back with me now.”

  We grinned at each other.

  “Same thing,” I said. “Are you . . . back now?” I didn’t know how else to say it. I didn’t mean just back in town. I meant back in life.

  “I’m back in the game. The Past is now the future.” He touched the bill of his Life Is Good cap with his free hand and gave a little bow. “And I’m happy to report that Natalie’s parents want to order a bunch of Poppy’s boxes for Christmas gifts for, well, I think everyone they know. Over fifty boxes.”

  “Fifty! Fifty times two hundred is . . .”

  “Ten thousand dollars.”

  “Ten thousand dollars? Ten thousand dollars! That means we hopefully only need to make ten thousand in the next week! Wait—are you sure they’re buying that many?”

  “They’re going to try. Misha’s adoption was important to Natalie, too . . .” His voice trailed off and he blinked hard.

  “So,” I said, “now she’s helping to bring Misha home.”

  He nodded. “I felt awful about her store going out of business, but this is more of a legacy.”

  The Statue of Liberty burst in between us. “Did you hear? Oprah might contact me! Isn’t that exciting?” She gave me a knowing look. “I bet you know how that happened.”

  “You sent her some vinegar?”

  “No, silly! The TV reporter asked me if I’d like to say anything to the viewers, and I said, ‘Oprah, dear, I really think you should get involved in this,’ and that lovely newsman said he’d be sure to send a copy of the program to Oprah. Can you imagine? Oh, Mike! It would be a dream come true!” Lady Liberty was off and running. “Gladys! Gladys, I have to tell you about Oprah!”

  Past surveyed the room and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Mike. You really know how to engineer things.” He smiled. “You brought Poppy out of his shell, you took a group of people who knew nothing about the Internet and got them on YouTube, you put a bunch of schemes in place to make money to adopt an orphan, I even heard that Gladys might be moving in with Poppy and Moo. . . .”