by Linda Urban
Contents
* * *
Title Page
Contents
Copyright
Frontispiece
Dedication
Weekend One: Spies
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Weekend Two: The Blues
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Weekend Three: Habitat
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Sample Chapter from ROAD TRIP WITH MAX AND HIS MOM
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Text copyright © 2016 by Linda Urban
Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Katie Kath
All rights reserved.
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.
www.hmhco.com
Cover illustrations © 2016 by Katie Kath
Cover design by Christine Kettner
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Urban, Linda.
Weekends with Max and his dad / written by Linda Urban ;
illustrated by Katie Kath.
pages cm
Summary: Third-grader Max pursues neighborhood adventures with his dad as they both adjust to recent changes in their family.
[1. Fathers and sons—Fiction. 2. Neighborhoods—Fiction. 3. Divorce—Fiction.] I. Kath, Katie, illustrator. II. Title.
PZ7.U637W44 2016
[Fic]—dc23
2015014878
ISBN 978-0-544-59817-1 hardcover
ISBN 978-1-328-90019-7 paperback
eISBN 978-0-544-59819-5
v2.0318
For the
Agents Thompson
Chapter
One
When Max’s dad came to pick him up on Friday night, he said, “Tomorrow, I will show you my new neighborhood.”
“Sorry, Dad,” said Max. “Tomorrow I have spy duty. You’ll have to call me Agent Pepperoni.”
“Oh,” said Dad. “Okay.”
“But you can be my helper spy,” said Max. “You can be Agent Cheese.”
“Not Agent Lightning? Or Agent Super-Cool Guy?” asked Dad.
“Agent Cheese,” said Max.
Max had it all planned out. He had been reading The Sneaky Book of Spy Skills and had been waiting until the weekend to try what he had learned. As they drove from the house Max lived in with Mom to his dad’s new apartment, Max imagined himself sneaking through dark shadows and collecting top-secret information. He imagined Dad sneaking alongside him. Dad would not be wise in the ways of spies like he was, but Max didn’t mind. He would tell Dad what to do.
When Dad opened the door, the new apartment was dark. He flicked on the lights. “What do you think?”
“It is very clean,” said Max. He thought that sounded nicer than saying it was very white. The kitchen had a white counter and white tile floor and a white breakfast bar between it and the living room. The living room was white too, except for a black TV and an orange armchair Max recognized from Grandma’s house. The rest of the room was empty. Max thought it would be perfect for practicing spy moves like leaping into action and falling from tall buildings. “I like it,” said Max.
“I haven’t had much time to unpack,” said Dad.
He showed Max a white bedroom with white walls and lots of cardboard boxes and a mattress on the floor. “This is my room,” said Dad. “And this is the bathroom.” The bathroom was white too, but there were two pale-green towels hanging on hooks and two very new-looking toothbrushes on the white countertop.
Max opened a door under the sink. There was nothing in the cupboard. A good place for hiding, he thought. “I like this, too,” he said.
“Would you like to see your room?” asked Dad.
Max expected another white room with cardboard boxes, but when Dad opened the door, that is not what he saw. He saw a room with blue walls and a bed with a silver blanket. There was a blue dresser and football-print curtains and a lamp with a Detroit Lions football helmet for a base. And two framed photographs: one of Max and Mom at Cedar Point Amusement Park and one of Max and Dad at a football game.
“Do you like it?” asked Dad.
“It’s very blue,” said Max. He didn’t want to say what he was really feeling. What he was feeling was like somebody was sitting on his chest. Max had liked the Detroit Lions last year, when he was in second grade. He still liked the Detroit Lions now, but not as much. And he did not think he liked blue very much at all. He could not imagine a spy with a blue room and football curtains.
“Are you okay?” asked Dad.
Max did not want to hurt Dad’s feelings. “I’m tired,” he said. He pretended to yawn.
Max brushed his teeth with one of the new toothbrushes in the new bathroom. Dad said there were new pajamas in his new dresser, but Max put on the soft old ones from his big weekend bag. He got out The Sneaky Book of Spy Skills and got into his new bed.
“All set, sport?” asked Dad.
“I’m not a sport,” said Max. “I am a spy.”
“That’s right,” said Dad. “You are Agent Pepperoni and I am Agent Flash.”
“Agent Cheese,” said Max.
Dad grinned. “Thought I could sneak that past you.”
“You can’t sneak things past a spy,” said Max.
“So I see.” Dad tilted the book in Max’s hands so he could read the title. “Does this book say what a helper spy does?”
“A helper spy does what the main spy tells him to. He jots down notes. He takes pictures. He is on lookout,” said Max.
“Sounds good,” said Dad. “When do we start?”
“Tomorrow,” said Max. “First thing.”
“Then we’d better get some shuteye.” Dad kissed Max on the forehead. He tucked the silver covers under Max’s chin. He pulled shut the football curtains and turned off the helmet lamp. “Good night, pal.”
Gray light filtered through the space between the football curtains and made shadows on the walls. Max heard a thump and a rumble that were probably the heat turning on.
Probably.
There were footsteps overhead and a clicketa-clicketa-clicketa sound. There was a clank and a whoosh and voices. Max knew that these sounds were probably other people in other apartments.
Probably.
But Max was a spy. He knew the sounds could be other things. Dangerous things.
“Agent Cheese?” called Max.
Dad appeared in the doorway. “Yes, Agent Pepperoni?”
“You don’t have to wait until tomorrow if you want. You can be on lookout now.”
“You got it.” Dad saluted.
Saluting was for the army, not for spies, Max knew, but he could tell Dad that tomorrow. Tonight Agent Cheese was on lookout, and that was good enough.
Chapter
Two
In the morning, Max put on his jacket with many pockets and his black spy hat and his dark spy glasses and an old necktie he had found in the basement of the house he lived in with Mom. Then he went out into the living room. Dad was sitting in the orange armchair, reading The Sneaky Book of Spy Skills.
“Ahem,” said Max.
“Excuse me, s
ir,” said Dad. “Have you seen my son? Short boy? Curly hair? Good looking, like his father?”
Max laughed and took off his glasses.
“Max!” said Dad. “It’s you!”
“You knew it was me,” said Max.
“I kind of did,” said Dad. “But that’s because I know you very well. Otherwise, I would not have recognized you.”
“Spies need good disguises,” said Max.
“I guess I will need a disguise, then,” said Dad. “Any ideas?”
Max had a bag full of ideas. He had another pair of glasses and a stick-on mustache and a bandanna. He even had a fake scar left over from his Halloween costume. He put them all on Dad, then led him to the bathroom mirror.
“This disguise is so good even I don’t know who I am,” said Dad.
“That’s okay.” Max patted Dad’s elbow. “I will remind you.”
“Thanks, pal.” Dad smiled and his mustache fell off.
“You can’t smile, Agent Cheese. You need to remain inconspicuous.”
“Inconspicuous, eh?” Dad was careful not to smile with his mouth, but his eyes smiled anyway.
“It means you need to sneak around unnoticed, which you can’t do if your mustache is always flying off.”
“Got it,” said Dad. “Oh, I almost forgot. This came while you were getting dressed.”
Dad handed Max an envelope addressed to Agent Pepperoni. The words top secret were printed across the back. Max opened the envelope and read the note inside:
YOUR MISSION: FIND COFFEE
Ace’s Coffee Shop was just around the corner from Dad’s new apartment. It had cushy red booths to sit in, and on the walls were advertisements for old-timey things like fountain pens and shaving equipment. A painted sign hung over the cash register: COUNTY’S BEST BACON AND PINEAPPLE PANCAKES.
“Let’s sit at the counter,” said Dad.
Max climbed onto a red cushioned stool, and Dad sat beside him.
“I’m sorry,” said a burly man in a white apron. “These seats are saved for my friend Leo. He’s bringing his son, Max, here today.”
Max pulled his hat down low on his forehead. “We will move when they get here,” he said in a very deep voice.
“Deal,” said the man, setting two menus on the counter. “I’ll be right back with some coffee.”
When the man turned around, Dad whispered to Max, “That’s Ace. Do you think we should have told him who we really are?”
Max shook his head. “A spy never tells his secrets.”
“Never?” asked Dad.
“Never,” said Max. “Except to a helper spy.”
“But what if there are no helper spies around?” asked Dad.
“He waits, even if it takes a whole week.”
“That must be hard to do,” said Dad.
“Sometimes,” admitted Max.
Max picked up a menu and spun around on his stool. He held the menu just high enough to peek over as he studied the people in the restaurant. There were tall people and short people and people tapping on phones and people reading books. There was a lady with lots of tiny braids and a man with no hair at all. Two men in the corner played chess, and a woman in a booth did a crossword puzzle. She wore white nurse’s shoes, like Mom did for work.
Max noticed nothing suspicious—except that none of the people in the restaurant were eating pancakes. Puzzling. Why wouldn’t people order pancakes if they were the County’s Best?
Ace set a cup of coffee on the counter for Dad. “You look like a hot-chocolate man to me,” he said, sliding a mug in front of Max. “So, gentlemen, what’ll it be?”
“The usual,” said Dad.
Max elbowed Dad. “He’s joking,” said Max in his very deep voice. “We have never been here before. And we will never be here again.”
“Right.” Dad held his mustache on and pretended to laugh at his joke. “I will have the scrambled eggs with spinach and tomato.”
“And I will have the County’s Best Bacon and Pineapple Pancakes,” said Max.
A huge grin spread across Ace’s face.
“Oh, boy,” said Dad.
Ace reached under the counter and pulled out a bright red ukulele. He strummed. Everyone in the restaurant stopped what they were doing and looked right at Max. Then Ace began to sing:
“Pancakes, oh pancakes,
oh pancakes divine.
Better with bacon,
much better with pine . . . apple.
Best in the county,
best we can make ’em.
Best with pineapple,
and bester with bac-om.”
Everyone in the restaurant applauded, and Dad’s mustache fell off into his coffee. Max pulled his hat down even lower. This was no way to stay inconspicuous.
But he had to admit, it was a great way to have breakfast.
Chapter
Three
In between bites of bacon-and-pineapple pancake, Max gave Dad a crash course in basic spying. He started by taking a small camera, a spiral notebook, and a pencil out of his pockets.
“I’m going to notice things,” Max said, handing Dad the notebook and pencil. “And you can write down what I say.”
“Ten-four, Agent Pepperoni,” said Dad. “Ten-four” was a police way of saying okay, not a spy way, but Max did not say anything. He did not want Dad to get discouraged on his first day as a helper spy.
They listened as a lady in a purple turban told Ace about her basset hounds, Barkis and Peggoty. “Jot that down,” said Max. “It might be important.”
“Really?” asked Dad.
“Trust me,” said Max. “I am a listening expert.” He handed Dad the camera. “We should take some pictures, too.”
Dad aimed the camera at a man eating an omelet. The man scowled.
“Try it sneaky-spy style, Agent Cheese.” Max set the camera on the counter. He turned the lens to the left and—without looking at the screen—snapped two shots. Snap snap! He turned it to the right and did the same. Snap snap! Then he aimed the camera straight at his chest. “When I lean over, press the button,” he whispered to Dad.
Max leaned over and pretended to tighten his shoelace. Snap snap snap.
“Does this really work?” asked Dad.
“Trust me,” said Max. “I’m a sneaky-photo expert.”
Ace put a slip of paper on the counter. “I guess my pal Leo forgot to come today,” he said. “I hope he doesn’t forget that the Ukulele Union meets on Wednesday night.”
“I’m sure he’ll remember,” said Dad.
Max studied the writing on the slip of paper. There were numbers and letters on it, but the scribbly cursive was hard to read. “I am a secret-code expert,” said Max, when Ace had gone to fill someone else’s coffee cup. “But this message is a stumper.”
“I can read it,” said Dad. He took out his wallet. “I am an expert at some things too.”
Just then, a man in a yellow T-shirt entered the restaurant. He had a phone in his hand and an uncomfortable look on his face. The man looked all around the room, then turned and walked out.
Finally. Something suspicious.
“Let’s go, Agent Cheese,” said Max.
Dad followed Max out of Ace’s Coffee Shop. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“Shhh,” said Max. He pointed at the man in the yellow shirt, walking just a few yards ahead of them. “Write down yellow shirt.”
Dad wrote down yellow shirt.
The man stopped walking. Max and Dad stopped walking.
“Turn around,” whispered Max. He and Dad turned their back to the man. Max pulled a small mirror out of one of his many pockets and held it so that he could watch the man behind them. “He’s going into that shop. Write down the name of that shop.”
Dad wrote Doctor Spin in the notebook. “It’s a music store,” said Dad. “They sell real records, like in the old days. Some nights they have concerts.”
“That’s important background information,” said Max.
“Fine work, Agent Cheese.”
A minute later, the man in the yellow T-shirt came out of the shop. He still had his phone in his hand, and he hadn’t bought any records.
“Very suspicious,” said Max.
The man continued up Birch Street. Max and Dad followed, careful to walk far enough behind that they would not be noticed.
The man went inside the Black Dog Bookstore and came back out. He went into Give It Another Go Vintage Clothing and came back out. He stopped at Museum of Shoes and Lickety Split Ice Cream and the Rialto Movie House and Jinger’s Nail Salon. Every time the man in the yellow shirt went into a shop, Dad gave Max background information about the place. And every time the man came back outside, Max and Dad followed him.
The man looked around again. Max ducked behind a mailbox. Dad followed.
“Very, very suspicious,” said Max. “Are you writing this all down, Agent Cheese?”
“I’m drawing a map,” said Dad, handing the notebook to Max. The map was of Birch Street and of all the stores the man in the yellow shirt had stepped inside. Dad had even drawn the mailbox they were hiding behind. “Is that me?” asked Max, pointing to a small stick man in a fedora.
Dad nodded.
“May I have the pencil?” asked Max.
Max drew glasses and a necktie on the stick Max. Then he drew a taller stick man next to it. The tall one had glasses on too, and a bandanna. Max would have drawn a mustache, but after Dad’s mustache had fallen into his coffee, Dad had put it in his pocket instead of on his face.
“Nice details, Agent Pepperoni,” said Dad. “Should we draw the man in the yellow shirt, too?”
