Super Jake and the King of Chaos
Page 1
Copyright
Author’s note: This is a work of fiction, but it is inspired by my family and our life with Jake. All names except his have been changed, and most characters, places, and incidents are the product of my imagination.
Copyright © 2019 by Naomi Milliner
Cover illustration copyright © 2019 by Erwin Madrid
Cover copyright © 2019 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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Running Press Kids
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First Edition: May 2019
Published by Running Press Kids, an imprint of Perseus Books, LLC, a subsidiary of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Running Press Kids name and logo is a trademark of the Hachette Book Group.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2018945857
ISBNs: 978-0-7624-6615-3 (hardcover), 978-0-7624-6616-0 (ebook)
E3-20190330-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
WAIT—THERE’S MORE!
AWESOME MAGIC TRICK NUMBER ONE (FROM CHAPTER THREE)
AWESOME MAGIC TRICK NUMBER TWO (FROM CHAPTER TEN)
AWESOME MAGIC TRICK NUMBER THREE (FROM CHAPTER SEVENTEEN)
AWESOME MAGIC TRICK NUMBER FOUR (ALSO FROM CHAPTER SEVENTEEN)
AWESOME MAGIC TRICK NUMBER FIVE (FROM CHAPTER THIRTY)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A TRIBUTE TO JAKE: ONE BROTHER TO ANOTHER
FOR JAKE, ALL THE CHILDREN LIKE HIM, AND THE PEOPLE WHO LOVE THEM.
It doesn’t matter if my audience is made up of nine-year-old superheroes with plastic hammers and shields, or ninety-year-old great-grandparents with white hair and walkers. Everybody loves magic. Especially me.
I’ve been doing magic shows for more than a year now, since the beginning of fifth grade, and I love every second of it. Today’s show is in a living room decorated with pink streamers and pink balloons for a dozen three-year-old girls. Princess Jasmine is poking Pocahontas; Belle is whacking Sleeping Beauty with a balloon; and Snow White is screaming for her mommy.
Welcome to my world.
The birthday girl, Jenny, is a blue-eyed blonde dressed as Cinderella (except for the pink ribbons in her hair). Since I always do my research ahead of time, I knew what her costume would be. So, the first question I ask the group is: “Have any of you heard of Cinderella?”
Jenny gives me a giant smile while the girls around her shriek, “Jenny is Cinderella!”
I act surprised. “Wow! No way!” More shrieks. “Anyone know what Cinderella left at the ball?”
“Her glass slipper!” Princess Jasmine shouts.
“Exactly. And I happen to have a glass slipper right here in my hat. Who wants to see it?”
The twelve girls squeal and rush toward me for a better view. I raise my wand, tap it over my sparkly black top hat, and pull out…
“SpongeBob!” The girl dressed like Belle giggles and points.
I turn to my seven-year-old brother, Freddy, who’s busy eating candy from my stars-and-moons-covered box.
Mom “suggested” I make him my assistant a few months ago when summer started and he had nothing to do.
“Ethan, why don’t you put Freddy in your act?” Mom had asked.
Faster than you can say “Abracadabra,” I gave a dozen reasons why this was a terrible idea. My favorite was, “What if I accidentally saw him in half?” No loving parent could possibly argue with that, right?
The next day Freddy pranced into the living room wearing a top hat, black shirt and pants, and a red bowtie. The top hat practically covered his eyes and the bowtie was crooked. It was like staring at myself in a fun-house mirror, everything exaggerated and strange-looking.
“Doesn’t he look wonderful?” Mom gushed.
“He certainly does.” Dad smiled, then put his arm around Mom’s waist, pulling her close.
I usually hate sappy stuff, but it was kind of nice seeing my parents like that. They used to be like that all the time… until Jake was born and Mom got nervous and Dad got sad and everything changed. I guess I got a little sappy, too, because I agreed to give Freddy a chance. Turns out, my act’s a lot funnier now (though I’ll never tell him that).
Jenny and her friends laugh as I glare at Freddy and say, “Give me that candy!”
It’s all part of our routine.
He shuts the box. “What candy?” He opens the box again, and it’s empty.
I take the box, wave my wand over the lid, and the candy’s back. I promise the girls they’ll get plenty of candy soon, then ask the birthday girl what her favorite color is.
As predicted, she says, “Pink!”
Freddy starts pulling plastic rings and bracelets from my Sorcerer’s Apprentice hat: red, blue, purple. As the girls dive for the jewelry, Freddy cries, “Hey, there’s no pink here!”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I know I had something pink. Where did it go?” I turn my back to the audience, pretend to search, then turn around, one hand on my stomach and one over my mouth.
“Ethan?” Freddy asks. “You look kinda funny. Are you okay?”
I shake my head and scrunch my face up like I’m gonna be sick. Then I open my mouth and pull out a forty-six-foot-long coil of pink paper. Jenny and her friends laugh until their faces are pinker than the paper.
The show’s gone perfectly, and I feel great. Freddy and I finish with our usual crowd pleaser: a magic hat full of lollipops. After the girls grab all the candy they can hold, they follow their moms and dads to another room for cake, and Freddy tags along with them.
I toss the last few items into my magic bag, then join the others. As Jenny’s mom lights the first candle, the doorbell rings. Since the candle light
ing is in full swing, I offer to get the door.
I squeeze my way through a waist-high maze of cardboard crowns and glittery tiaras and open the front door to see my mom. And Jake.
My great mood vanishes, because I know what’s going to happen. In two seconds flat, my tricks will be as forgotten as the candy wrappers in my hat. Everyone will stare at Jake and try to figure out what’s wrong with him. And, if things go really badly, someone will say something dumb and Mom will start crying.
“I thought Dad was supposed to pick us up.” Without Jake.
“I know. But I wanted to see the little girls all dressed up. Besides, it was a good excuse for Jake to wear his new shirt. Isn’t it cute?” Mom leans over and kisses him on the forehead.
Jake’s wearing a Cookie Monster shirt, silently taking in the action all around him through his turquoise-framed glasses.
“Hey, Jake.” As I lean over his purple-and-green Kid Kart—a cross between a stroller and wheelchair that helps him sit up—and ruffle his soft curls, somebody tugs at my shirt: it’s birthday-girl Jenny.
“Who’s that?” she asks.
And, here we go. My shoulders tense and my stomach tightens. “My other brother, Jake.” I look around the room, hoping no one else will come over.
“How old is he?”
“He’ll be two soon.”
“Hi!” Jenny waves at him.
Jake watches her with his usual calm expression, only she wants more. People always do. She waits for him to answer or at least wave back.
He doesn’t. He won’t.
She tries again. “Hello?”
Jake is silent.
“Are his ears okay?” Jenny asks.
I want to leave. Now. I don’t even care about my pay. I look at my mom. “Y’know, I don’t feel so good. Can we—”
“Jake’s ears are fine,” Mom tells her. “But his brain was hurt before he was born, so some things are hard for him. Like waving or saying hello.”
I hate when she does that. Why can’t she just say his hearing is fine and leave it at that?
Jenny stops waving, looks at Jake for a few seconds, and runs away. Typical. Sometimes people a lot older look like they want to run, too—like brain damage is contagious or something.
“Jakey!” Freddy flies over, pink frosting all over his face, and gives Jake a hug. “I like your new shirt. Are you a Cookie Monster?” He squeezes Jake’s hands and Jake rewards him with a big open-mouthed grin.
I feel another tug on my shirt. Jenny’s back, and there’s something in her hand: a Sleeping Beauty Band-Aid.
She holds it out for me to see. “For Jake’s hurt brain,” she says.
Mom takes the Band-Aid. She presses her lips together and her forehead crinkles, and I can tell she’s about to cry. I close my eyes, wishing I could disappear, like the candy in my trick box.
“Jakey likes Spider-Man better than Sleeping Beauty,” I hear Freddy say.
I open my eyes.
Jenny cocks her head like a puppy. “How do you know? He doesn’t talk.”
“Sure he does,” Freddy tells her. “You have to know how to listen.” He grabs Jake’s hand and helps him wave. “See? He says hi.”
By now, Mom has pulled herself together. She bends over to give Jenny a hug and wishes her a happy birthday while I do a major exhale. I feel like Houdini—another narrow escape… for now.
Mornings are one of my least favorite things. And Monday mornings? They’re worst of all—at least, if school is involved. Still, I’m awake and dressed, a comb halfway through my crazy curly hair before giving up. I flop back onto my bed and look up at posters of Harry Houdini, David Copperfield, and Magnus the Magnificent, my three favorite magicians.
“Ethan, you’ll be late!” Mom yells from the kitchen.
I wonder if Mrs. Houdini or Mrs. Copperfield yelled at their sons, too.
I run to the kitchen and scarf down a bowl of cereal, half listening as Mom says something about another doctor’s appointment after school.
She sighs. “Ethan, have you heard one word I said?”
“At least one,” I tell her. “Maybe two, possibly even three.” I drain the rest of my milk.
“Wise guy.” Her face relaxes into a smile, which makes me smile, too.
I haul my backpack over my shoulders, grab my trumpet case, and race out the door. When I reach the corner, Betty the Crossing Guard gives me her usual greeting: “Hey, Ethan, how ya’ doin’?”
“Monday. Middle school. Math. How ’bout you?”
“Monday. Middle-aged. Minor arthritis.”
“I thought life got better once you’re out of school.”
“So did I.” She laughs.
I complain about school, but it’s not bad. Not that bad. Middle school was definitely an adjustment, though. After six years at the same elementary school, it was a little scary to go to McAuliffe Middle School—especially for me. Because it wasn’t just a new school; it was a new school with my dad. (Also known as the assistant principal.)
The first week, I was so busy finding my way around and getting used to everything that I forgot Dad was there, too. Then all of a sudden, I’d see him standing in the office or walking around the lunchroom or talking to one of my teachers or classmates. It was pretty weird.
These days, I don’t mind so much. It just means I have to be on my best behavior… all the time. Mom says this shouldn’t be hard, since I’m, quote, “a pretty good kid… most of the time.” That’s my mom. She’s hilarious.
My favorite classes are first period (band) and last period (English with Ms. Carlin), but the best part of the day is lunch with Brian Parker and Daniel Chen. Brian moved here a few years ago and we became friends right away, because we both loved superheroes and computer games (especially computer games with superheroes).
I’ve known Daniel since I was Jake’s age, and even though we’ve been friends forever, we never run out of stuff to do or talk about. If I had a dollar for every time we laughed together, I’d have enough money to buy a trick rabbit hutch I’ve had my eyes on since April. Maybe even the rabbit, too.
Brian takes a final slurp of his soda and I pop the last pretzel in my mouth, while Daniel pulls out the phone his parents bought him when he started middle school.
I wish I had one, too. But with Dad being at my school all day, and school being just a few blocks from our house, my parents say I don’t need one yet. It’s been an ongoing debate the past few months, but whenever it’s Mom and Dad versus me—let’s just say, the odds are not in my favor.
“I almost forgot,” Daniel says. “I was on the Internet this morning and saw this.”
He passes his phone to me. There’s a picture of a guy in a tux with a wand, some cards, and a flying dove. Underneath, in huge letters, it reads MAGIC FEST: ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY. JANUARY 19–21.
“It looks pretty cool,” Daniel says. “There are strolling magicians, a store full of magic tricks, and a competition for junior magicians ages ten to thirteen. And you’ll never guess what the grand prize is: meeting and performing with your hero Magnus the Magnificent.”
“This is unbelievable!” I can’t stop staring at the picture.
Daniel smiles. “Thought you might like it.”
“Like it? This is the coolest, greatest thing I’ve ever seen! I’ve gotta go. And I’ve gotta win, and I’ve gotta meet Magnus.”
Just then the bell rings, signaling that lunch is over. But my plans are just beginning. Unfortunately, I have to put them on hold and suffer through my least favorite, most dreaded class of all.
When I walk into the room, there are already ten math problems on the board. Our teacher is at her desk, probably plotting today’s torture. Her name is Miss Wright, but I think of her as Miss Wrong, because nothing about her, or the entire class, is ever right. Especially my answers.
Least favorite teacher + least favorite subject = one unhappy me.
I’ve gotten through six problems before I start thinking about
Magic Fest and Magnus. Then I start thinking about a stage name, which I’ll need for my act.
I’ll need an act, too.
Houdini called himself “Prince of Air,” “King of Cards,” “The Handcuff King,” and, my favorite, “The Genius of Escape.” Maybe I can be “The Genius of—”
“Ethan?”
Definitely not “The Genius of Math.”
The second Miss Wright opens her mouth again, an alarm goes off and there’s a fire drill.
When we finally get back inside, Miss Wright barely has time to give tonight’s assignment before the bell rings. I jot it down, grab my backpack, and race to the door.
Her skinny arm shoots out, barring my way. “Ethan, I feel like you don’t even try. I know you can do better.”
“Sorry.” I’m hoping that’s enough, but then she gives me The Face. Her eyes get all big and her face goes all soft, and I know what’s coming.
“How is everything at home?”
By “everything” she means Jake. Ever since she saw our family at the grocery store last month, Miss Wright’s been trying to be extra nice to me. But I don’t need her help or her pity. I don’t need her feeling sorry for me or thinking that being Jake’s big brother ruins my life or makes me mess up in math class.
Miss Wright is definitely wrong about everything.
“Everything’s great.” I flash a fake grin. She looks at me for another second then lets me go.
I get to English class right before the bell rings. Unlike Miss Wright, Ms. Carlin is my favorite teacher. The first day of school she had each of us write a list of our five favorite things to get to know us better—and she made a list, too. When she read hers aloud, it turned out we had both written stuffed crust pizza and University of Maryland basketball. Plus, the next day I was wearing my LEFTIES ARE ALWAYS RIGHT! T-shirt, and she said she has one exactly like it.
Today, the second I walk through the door, she pulls me aside. “Ethan, we have a new student joining us today. I was wondering if you could take him under your wing and help him acclimate to our class?”
“Sure, no problem.” I scan the chairs for a new face and notice that Brian is sitting across the room, instead of his usual place next to me.