Weekends with Max and His Dad

by Linda Urban

  Max wrote in boxy capital letters on the white page. He filled in the letters with dots and checks and stripes, so that even though the invitation was only in pencil, it would still look nice.

  He folded the invitation into an origami football, tucked it in his pocket, and walked out to the kitchen. “I’m going upstairs to bring Barkis and Peggoty a Voff-Voff,” he said to Dad.

  “Okay,” said Dad. “But don’t stay long. Our pizza will be here any minute.”

  Max did not stay long. He gave a treat to each of the dogs, handed Ms. Tibbet the folded-up invitation, and ran back down the stairs. He was so excited, he jumped the last three steps.

  “You beat the pizza guy,” said Dad when Max returned. Max checked the microwave clock: 6:50. In ten minutes, Ms. Tibbet would arrive.

  Max had to move quickly. His Stevicus stuff was all over the floor. He scooped up the pieces and tossed them into their plastic bin. He shoved the bin behind the orange chair and looked around.

  The room looked neat, but it also looked empty. When Ms. Tibbet and the dogs arrived, it would be better, but Max still wished Dad’s Open Mike Night audience could be bigger. He spotted Knut on the breakfast bar and sat him on the floor next to the orange armchair.

  Better.

  He got Agent Whiskers from the blue bedroom and sat him next to Knut.

  Even better. But still kind of empty.

  Max opened the plastic bin and took out Stevicus and Baron Mincemeat and all of the Baron’s men. He sat them in front of Knut. “Don’t make any false moves,” Max made Stevicus say to the other plastic men. “Or my enormous trained squirrel will attack.” The Baron’s men quivered with fear, but they did not try to escape.

  Just then, there was a knock on the door.

  “I wonder how the pizza guy got in the building without buzzing?” said Dad as he stepped out of the kitchen. “Max, would you get my wallet out of my room?”

  Max ran to Dad’s room. He was so excited that his stomach felt like a popcorn popper. He bounced across Dad’s bed, found the wallet on the cardboard box Dad was using as a bedside table, and hopped back to the living room. The living room did not look empty any longer. Now it looked very full.

  Ms. Tibbet had arrived with Barkis and Peggoty. Standing behind her were two other people that Max had never seen before: a plump man with a big nose and a gray mustache and a plump girl with a not-so-big nose and a one-armed baby doll. The man had three lawn chairs folded under his arm. Beside him on the floor sat a shiny red suitcase.

  “It was not the pizza guy at the door,” said Dad. He gave Max a do-you-know-what’s-going-on-here look.

  “I have brought along Mr. Polaski,” said Ms. Tibbet. “He has brought along his accordion and his niece, Estelle.”

  “I have a kazoo,” said Estelle. She looked like she was three or four years old. “And Monica.” She held the one-armed baby doll out for Max to see.

  “Z. Polaski, 201.” Mr. Polaski held out his free hand to shake Dad’s. “Where should I put these?”

  “I—I don’t know. I—” stammered Dad.

  Dad gave Max another confused look. Max thought the popcorn popper in his stomach might explode. “You said you might surprise yourself and do Open Mike Night someday,” said Max. “So . . . SURPRISE! Today is someday!”

  “It certainly is,” said Dad.

  The pizza arrived as Mr. Polaski was unfolding the chairs. Dad had only four plates, so Max ate his pizza out of a bowl. When the pizza was gone, Max clapped his hands for attention.

  “Welcome to Open Mike Night,” he said. “Everyone gets to play, and nobody has to worry about mistakes. Who wants to go first?”

  “Uncle Zeb goes first,” said Estelle.

  Mr. Polaski played a song he said was called “Lady of Spain.” The fingers on his right hand hopped along the accordion keys; the fingers of his left hand danced on glossy black buttons. He pulled and squeezed the accordion open and shut, open and shut. Mr. Polaski closed his eyes while he played. As far as Max could tell, he did not make a single mistake.

  “Bravo!” said Ms. Tibbet when he had finished. Barkis and Peggoty had fallen asleep at her feet, but when she spoke, their tails thumped on the wood floor.

  “I go first next,” said Estelle.

  Estelle played her kazoo. Max could not tell if she made any mistakes, because he could not tell if she was even playing a song.

  “Brava!” said Ms. Tibbet when Estelle had finished. The dog tails thumped again, and Ms. Tibbet stood.

  “I do not possess the gift of music,” she said. “Unless one counts poetry as song—which I do.” Ms. Tibbet recited a poem she said was from Shakespeare. The dog tails thumped like drums.

  Mr. Polaski whispered in Max’s ear. “Theodosia used to be a teacher.”

  When Ms. Tibbet’s poem was over, Max did not know whether to say Bravo or Brava, so he just clapped.

  “And now you, L. LeRoy,” said Ms. Tibbet.

  Dad brought out his ukulele and tuned it. “I’m just a beginner,” he said nervously.

  “Tut, tut,” said Ms. Tibbet. “You heard our Master of Ceremonies. We are not to worry about mistakes.”

  “Right,” said Dad. He cleared his throat. “Um. This one is for Max.” He strummed a tune Max had never heard before. It was peppy and sounded like smiling. Then Dad started singing about having no bananas. The words came very fast and Dad stumbled over a few of them, but Mr. Polaski and Ms. Tibbet joined in anyway.

  Max wished he knew the words so he could sing too. Not knowing the words did not stop Estelle. “Bananas, bananas, bananas,” she sang.

  Barkis howled.

  Max ran to the kitchen to get some Voff-Voffs just as Dad finished his song. Everyone laughed and cheered.

  “Bravissimo!” said Ms. Tibbet. Max gave Barkis and Peggoty each a treat.

  “Thank you,” said Ms. Tibbet. “And what will you be performing this evening, Max?”

  Max had not thought that he would have to perform. He did not want to. He looked at Dad.

  “Max is more of a songwriter than a performer,” said Dad. “Am I right, Max?”

  Max nodded.

  “Well then, perhaps you will compose something for our next Open Mike Night,” said Ms. Tibbet.

  Max looked at Dad again. Dad’s fingers were plucking softly at the ukulele strings, as if he were deciding what song he would play the next time.

  “Okay,” Max told Ms. Tibbet. “I will.”

  Max was not sure what the words would say, but he knew his song would be about what he was feeling right now. He already had a title. He would call his song “The Too Happy to Have Anything Sad to Sing About Blues.”

  Chapter

  One

  The clock in Mrs. Maloof’s classroom was broken. It had to be. It felt to Max like hours had passed since he last looked at it, but the skinny minute hand had moved only two notches.

  When would school end?

  Max’s leg bounced under his desk. His best friend Warren’s leg bounced too. Today, at 3:15, Dad would pick them both up from school and take them to his apartment. Warren was coming for a sleepover.

  The last time he and Warren had a sleepover was in the summer, on the weekend Dad had moved out of Max’s house and into the guest room at Grandma’s. Max had gone to Warren’s house, and Warren’s mom, Mrs. Sistrunk, had taken them to the movies and for ice cream and swimming at Stony Creek. That day, Max had been too busy to think about what was going on at his house. And that night, when Max did think about it, Warren had let him borrow his stuffed monkey, Bulldozer, to sleep with, which had been a good best-friend thing to do.

  Now it was Max’s turn to have Warren over. Warren did not have anything he had to be too busy to think about, but Max had the whole sleepover planned out anyway.

  After school, they would play Stevicus and then they would walk Barkis and Peggoty to the park, where he and Warren would run on the path and pretend that the joggers were Baron Mincemeat’s men. When they got h
ome, Dad would order pizza and they would watch an action movie on the big TV. On Saturday morning, they would go to Ace’s and order the County’s Best Bacon and Pineapple Pancakes so Warren could hear the pancake song. And when that was done, they would go back to Dad’s apartment and finish their mammal projects before Warren’s mom came to pick him up in the afternoon.

  Max’s leg bounced even faster.

  “Don’t forget. Your Michigan mammal reports and habitat models are due Monday,” said Mrs. Maloof. “You need to finish everything over the weekend. Got it, friends?”

  “Got it,” said the class, but some of them sounded worried.

  Max wasn’t worried. The hard part was done. He had his report on the porcupine all written and illustrated and stapled together. The cover was especially good. He had drawn a picture of a porcupine eating a branch. He had drawn each quill individually, instead of scribbling up and down on the porcupine’s back. It had taken a very long time.

  His whole report had taken a long time. There was a lot to learn about porcupines. Everybody knew porcupines had cool quills, but Max had learned that porcupines were the second largest of all Michigan rodents. (Beavers were first. Warren had chosen beavers.) He also knew that porcupine babies were called porcupettes, which was a way better name than kits or pups or cubs. Lots of other mammal babies were called kits or pups or cubs. No other baby was called a porcupette.

  Best of all, porcupine habitat was interesting. Porcupines lived mostly in the woods. They slept in dens in the super-cold winter, but when it was nice out, they liked to sleep in the crook of a tree branch. They could sleep for hours up there without falling off, just as cozy as if it were a bunk bed.

  “Please go put your reports in your backpacks,” said Mrs. Maloof. “When you return, we’ll have Read Aloud.”

  Max slipped his report into the clear plastic envelope Mrs. Maloof had given them to protect their work and carried it out to the hall. When he got to his backpack, he tried to slide his report inside, but it was too tight a fit. To make room, he took out the plastic bag of habitat-making supplies he had brought from home and set it on the bench. In the plastic bag was a shoebox and paints and glue and a clay porcupine that Mom had helped him make. Mom had also helped him gather a bunch of odds and ends for making a forest floor.

  Max tucked his report gently into his backpack. Before he zipped it closed, he could not help but look at the porcupine cover one more time.

  Read Aloud made the rest of the day speed by. When Mrs. Maloof set down her copy of The BFG and said it was time to go home, Max was almost disappointed.

  Almost, but not really.

  “Let’s go, let’s go!” said Warren. He and Max quick-walked to the hallway. Dad was already there, holding Max’s coat and backpack in his arms.

  “Do you boys have everything?” asked Dad. His voice sounded funny. Slow and stuffy.

  “Yep,” said Max, grabbing his weekend bag off his coat hook.

  “Yep!” said Warren, swinging his sleepover bag over his shoulder.

  “I hope your cold gets better, Mr. LeRoy,” said Mrs. Maloof.

  Dad sniffed. “I don’t have a cold,” he said. It sounded more like I dode hab a code. “I never get colds.”

  Mrs. Maloof lifted an eyebrow the way she did when one of her students forgot a math packet at home. “Well then, have a good weekend!”

  “We will!” said Max and Warren at the very same time. They quick-walked down the hall so fast it looked like they were running, but they weren’t.

  Dad trailed behind them.

  Chapter

  Two

  Dad opened the apartment-building door, and Max and Warren quick-walked inside. “This is the lobby, and this where the mailboxes are.” Max tapped mailbox 202. “This is Dad’s. L. LeRoy.”

  “What is the L for?” asked Warren.

  “Today? Lethargy,” said Dad. Max could tell Dad was being funny, but he did not get the joke. “Lethargy means having very little energy. Being slow-moving. I guess I didn’t sleep well last night.” Dad sniffed and pushed the elevator button.

  “Warren and I have lots of energy,” said Max. “We’ll take the stairs.”

  Dad nodded. Max and Warren quick-walked through the lobby and up the stairs. On the second floor, Max continued the tour. “This is the laundry room, and this is 201, where Mr. Polaski lives—he plays the accordion—and this is my dad’s apartment.”

  “You always call it your dad’s apartment,” said Warren. “But it’s your apartment too, isn’t it?”

  Max guessed it was, but it felt weird to say. His house had always been the one that he lived in with Mom. When he said “home,” that was the place he thought of, not this new place he visited on the weekends. Max was glad to hear the elevator doors open before he had to explain any of that to Warren.

  “Back up, boys,” said Dad. “Make way for the man with the keys—achoooo!”

  “Are you sure you don’t have a cold, Mr. LeRoy?” asked Warren.

  “I don’t get colds,” said Dad. “It must be allergies.”

  Dad opened the door, and they all went inside.

  “This is the front hall. It isn’t really a room. It’s just a place to stand,” said Max. “And this is the kitchen.”

  “It is very clean,” said Warren. “Our kitchen is never this clean.”

  “That’s because your parents actually use it to cook things,” said Dad. “Why don’t you boys put your stuff in Max’s room?”

  Max and Warren brought their bags and coats to the room with the blue walls. Warren unrolled his sleeping bag next to Max’s bed and sat Bulldozer on it. Max pulled Agent Whiskers from his weekend bag and set him on the silver bedspread.

  “Do you want to see the rest”—Max almost said of my dad’s apartment—“of the place?”

  “Okay,” said Warren.

  Max showed Warren the bathroom and Dad’s white bedroom with the cardboard boxes and the living room with the orange armchair and the big TV and the new gray sofa.

  “Our sofa’s name is Olle. I picked him out,” said Max.

  “Your couch has a name?” said Warren.

  “Dad wanted one named Flenn, but it rhymed with—”

  “Glenn!” said Warren. “No way would I want to sit on Glenn!”

  “That’s what I said!” said Max. This was one more reason he and Warren were such good friends. They said the same things and ate the same things and liked to do the same things too.

  “Did you bring your Stevicus?” asked Max.

  “He’s in my bag,” said Warren.

  Warren’s Stevicus had tooth marks from Warren’s dog, Laverne, but otherwise the two plastic men were exactly the same. Max and Warren usually pretended the two heroes were twins, one named Steve and the other named Cuss. Baron Mincemeat’s men were no match for the brothers.

  “Look out, Cuss!” hollered Steve. Steve had reached the top of the silver cliff, but Cuss was still climbing the slippery rockface. Baron Mincemeat’s men were down below, aiming their deadly arrows right at him.

  “Got . . . to keep . . . go . . . ing,” Warren made Cuss say as he climbed. “If I can just . . . make it . . .” Suddenly, Cuss was startled by a terrible roaring sound.

  “What was that?” asked Warren.

  Max had been so focused on the adventure that he had not noticed anything. “There are lots of extra noises in apartments,” he said. “It’s just other people or the heater or something.”

  “What kind of something?” asked Warren.

  Max listened. This time he heard it, loud and clear.

  “Sounds like a terrible monster has entered the forest,” said Steve.

  “Let’s investigate,” said Cuss.

  The Baron’s men howled with rage as Max and Warren took the heroes off to the living room.

  “SNNNNOOOORRRRGGGGGGHH!” Dad was slouched on Olle, hands at his sides, head tilted back, asleep.

  “Wow,” said Warren.

  Dad jumped. “Huh? W
hat? You okay, Max?” he said, except Max sounded more like Bax. “What time is it? I’d better order the pizza.”

  “But we were going to walk Barkis and Peggoty first, remember?”

  “I’m sorry, pal. I guess I fell asleep. It is a little late for that and, we—we—wah—wwaaaaaahchoo!” Dad dashed to the bathroom for a tissue and came back wiping his nose. “We’ll walk the dogs tomorrow, okay? How about I order pizza and you guys pick out your movie?”

  The movie was one of Max’s favorites. It had so much running and climbing and jumping that Max found it difficult to sit on Olle to watch. Several times, he and Warren leaped from their seats so Steve and Cuss could reenact a scene. Despite all the action, Dad kept falling asleep. Max had to wake him so his snores wouldn’t drown out the movie hero’s battle cries.

  When the movie was over, Max and Warren ran to the blue room and jumped onto the bed. “Settle down, boys,” called Dad. “You need your rest.”

  Max knew that it was Dad who felt like resting, but that was okay. He emptied his weekend bag onto the floor. Warren did the same with his sleepover stuff, which landed with a thump.

  “That’s the logs for my beaver habitat,” said Warren. “My lodge is done, but I need to finish the dam.” He picked up the shoebox that had tumbled from his bag. There was a forest scene painted on the back wall and a blue construction-paper pond on the bottom. Warren had glued a bunch of sticks together to make the beaver lodge. It was a lot further along than Max’s habitat project.