“But Ned stayed the longest.” Freddy bites into the marshmallow and sticky white goo explodes on his face.
Dad stops playing with the fire and turns his attention on me. “You spent the day with Ned?”
I shrug. “We pretty much spent it fighting.”
Mom laughs. “With snowballs and bubble wands.”
Dad looks at me, then at Mom. She nods, even though he didn’t ask her anything. They do that a lot. I never know what they’re talking about, so I take a marshmallow from Freddy, spear it, and hold it over the fire.
I guess all the snowball fights and video games with Ned wore me out. I wake up on top of my blanket with Prisoner of Azkaban by my side and a knock at my door.
“Can I come in?” Dad asks.
“Sure.”
He takes a seat on my bed. “I’m proud of you, E. I don’t know when, or how, but you managed to turn someone you fought with into someone you’re friends with.”
“I didn’t really do anything. It just kind of happened.”
“Well…” Dad reaches inside his shirt pocket. “This just kind of happened, too.”
And he hands me the registration ticket to Magic Fest.
Ever since I got my Magic Fest registration ticket back, I’ve been trying really hard to prepare for the competition. It’s less than a week away now, which would be great—if I hadn’t lost so much time. Some days, I feel like my act is almost there; some days, I think it’ll never be good enough.
Mom and Dad seem to understand and are giving me some slack so I can catch up. Every chance I get, I’m working on my King of Chaos routine. And when I’m not working on it, I’m going over it in my head, wondering if there’s a better, or funnier, way to perform each trick.
This is not helping my grades.
Luckily, I’ve got that report on heroes coming up in English, which counts for 40 percent of our grade, and I know I’m gonna ace it.
There’s tons of reasons I look up to Magnus: The way he walks into a room and instantly has everyone’s attention. The way he does every single trick perfectly, every single time, and makes it look so easy. And how, whenever someone interviews him, he says the exact right thing and never loses his cool, no matter how dumb the question is. I bet he could even handle Miss Wright’s class.
What makes him a hero to me, though, are the things he does that really matter, like this thing he did called “Live below the Line,” to raise awareness of hunger and poverty. He lived on a dollar and fifty cents’ worth of food every day for a week, which is basically a cup of rice and a baked potato. What makes Magnus heroic is that he uses his fame to help people—to make a difference.
If I ever become a famous magician, I’m gonna do that, too (except for the rice and baked potato).
It’s finally the weekend, and that means I have more time than usual to work on my King of Chaos routine. Since juggling is one of the weakest parts of the act, I decide to juggle everything in sight (except for knives). It’s going pretty well until I grab some eggs off the counter.
I really thought they were hard-boiled.
“Sorry,” I tell Mom as she hands me a wet paper towel. I wipe the yucky egg mess off the floor. “I feel like if I don’t practice every second I can, I’ll never be ready for Magic Fest.”
She takes the goopy paper towel and hands me a dry one. “Ethan, your act is terrific. You’re more than ready. There’s only one thing you need.”
“A rabbit?”
Mom laughs. “Confidence.” She pulls me in for a hug.
“How would you like to do a practice show for a small but friendly audience?”
“That would be amazing.”
“How about tomorrow afternoon?”
“Tomorrow?”
“It just so happens I’ve invited some people over for that very reason.” She smiles.
“Who’s coming?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
I tie on the purple velvet cape Tina made for me and, for the finishing touch, place a gold crown from an old costume on my head: the King of Chaos is in the house!
Dad gives a thumbs-up as he begins to record my performance, and Mom grins and holds Jake in her lap. My grandparents are there, too, along with Daniel and Brian, and Tina and the Todds. Wendy’s waving. Rox is smiling. And Ned is, too.
I nod at Freddy, who’s looking at me like I’m as magnificent as Magnus. He turns on the music and it’s time for the King of Chaos world premiere!
After the main act—which goes flawlessly—I do a few card tricks with audience participation and, just for fun, I even let Freddy do the crayon trick. I’ve never seen him happier.
I’ve never been happier, either.
I wonder if Magnus feels this way every time he performs—like life doesn’t get better than this.
Like anything is possible.
After the show everybody stays a while talking and laughing and congratulating me. Then Dad and Freddy go out to a movie, Mom takes Jake to the park, and everyone else heads home for dinner—except Ned. We make ourselves sandwiches and popcorn and watch some TV, then he asks to see more card tricks.
We’re in the middle of a lightsaber duel when Mom comes in carrying Jake and biting her lip.
“His temperature’s high.”
I keep fighting. I really don’t want this to turn into a big deal in front of Ned. “Maybe he’s teething again?” I suggest.
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I have to get him in the tub and cool him down.”
“Okay…”
“I need your help.”
“Can’t it wait a few more minutes? Ned and I are—”
“LISTEN TO ME. I have to get Jake in the tub and I need you to call Dr. Albert for me. NOW.” When Mom talks in capital letters, there’s no use arguing. She heads to the bathroom and I hear the water turning on.
“Sorry,” I tell Ned.
I hit number two on the speed dial.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“When Jake’s temperature gets too high—” A nurse answers before I can finish explaining. “Hi, um, this is Ethan Miller. Jake’s big brother? My mom—” Before I say another word, she puts me on hold to connect me to Dr. Albert.
Next thing I know, Mom’s on the phone and I’m sponging Jake down in his bath chair while stupid Big Bird smiles on the washcloth.
I hate Big Bird.
Ned stands at the bathroom door, watching. “What’s that?” He points at Jake’s bath chair.
“Jake can’t sit up by himself, and it’s hard to hold him and wash him at the same time. So we strap him in with this special seat.”
I squeeze Jake’s pudgy wet hands together. Even though his cheeks are flushed and he looks tired, he still finds a smile for me.
“He likes that!” Ned takes a step closer.
“Ethan?” Mom calls from down the hall.
I look at Ned. “Would you mind watching him for a sec?”
Panic sweeps across his face and I almost laugh. Ned the Giant is scared of a two-year-old. “What do I do?”
“Just keep him company,” I tell him on my way out.
When I get to Mom, she asks me to get Jake out of the tub and bring him to her.
I head back down the hall, afraid to see what’s going on. What if Ned says something mean about Jake again? I don’t know if I could forgive him this time. We’re friends now, and he should know better. Shouldn’t he?
I crack the door open and can’t believe what I see: Ned’s singing “Splish Splash” and squeezing a rubber duckie between Jake’s hands.
All I can do is stand and stare. After a few seconds, Ned notices me. “I think he’s feeling better.” He squeezes Jake’s hands just like I did a few minutes earlier.
I kneel next to the tub and take a good look at Jake. It’s true—he’s definitely looking more like himself. I lift Jake out of the tub and splash a little powder on him the way Mom taught me.
“Hey, Ethan?” Ned says s
oftly as I wrap Jake in a fluffy blue towel. “I’m really sorry. About calling Jake… you know.”
I look over at him. He really does look like he’s sorry. “It’s okay.” I want to leave it at that, but I can’t. “I’m sorry, too. About shoving you and everything.”
Ned shrugs. “I deserved it. Besides, it’s not like it hurt. I’m pretty tough.” He squeaks the rubber duckie and smiles at my little brother.
I have to smile, too. He’s pretty tough all right.
By the time Dad and Freddy are back, so is Jake’s appetite. When Ned leaves, he invites me to try a new video game at his house next weekend. And he says I should bring Jake along. For Wendy.
I’m in my room working on my one-handed shuffle when Mom calls, “Ethan! Freddy! You’ve got to see this!”
Freddy and I both rush out of our rooms and sprint to the living room.
“Look! I found a new way to make Jake smile.” Mom’s in front of the Kid Kart, brushing bright pink crinkly paper on Jake’s cheeks. He always smiles when you squish it in his hands or in front of his face. But on the face is something new and Jake’s not just smiling; he’s seconds away from laughing—something he’s never done before!
One of these days he will, and I’ll laugh right along with him, louder than anyone.
“Ethan, wake up! We have to go.”
The glowing green numbers on my bedside clock show 3:10 a.m.
The hallway light is on, and I can make out just enough of Mom’s face to see she looks scared. So scared I get a sick feeling deep inside.
“What’s wrong?” I jump out of bed and race toward my closet to grab some clothes.
“There’s no time,” Mom says, her voice tight and strained, like even words are dangerous. “Jake’s not doing well.”
My heart’s doing double time as I follow her into Jake’s room. Then it just about stops. Jake’s blue eyes are wide open and his face is so flushed it looks sunburned. His tiny chest is heaving, like he doesn’t remember how to breathe. It’s hard for me to breathe, too; I’ve never seen him like this.
Dad’s on the bed, wiping Jake’s forehead and cheeks with a wet towel. Mom’s racing around tossing things into the Pooh bag. I feel Freddy pressing up behind me, but I’m afraid to look away from Jake even for a second.
“Is Jakey going to be all right?” Freddy asks, sounding as frightened as I feel.
No one answers his question. All Mom says is, “Let’s go.”
We throw our coats over our pajamas, Mom grabs Jake, Dad grabs the Pooh bag, and I grab Freddy. What seems like seconds later, we’re screeching out of the driveway.
The sky is black. Our car is the only one on the road. Dad’s driving so fast, I’m sure he’s breaking the speed limit.
I close my eyes, hoping this is a dream and that I’ll wake up any second. When I open them, Jake’s still in his car seat between Freddy and me, his breaths coming hard and fast.
I want to tell him he’ll feel better soon. But the words don’t come. All I can do is hold on to his hot, tiny hand as the minivan speeds through the darkness closing in all around us.
The Emergency Room nurse takes one look at Jake as we rush over to the front desk and says, “Come with me.” She hurries down a long white hall, Mom close behind, Jake held tightly in her arms. Freddy and I start after her, but Dad holds us back. We watch Mom, Jake, and the nurse disappear around a corner. Big metal doors slam shut behind them.
“Why can’t we go, too?” Freddy asks.
“Mom will take care of him. Don’t worry. Jake’s gonna be okay,” I tell him.
Then I look at Dad. “Right?”
Dad glances my way and opens his mouth. He looks me in the eye for what feels like forever. And finally he says, “I don’t know.”
As scary as the past hour has already been, that scares me more than anything.
The big black hands on the waiting room clock show we’ve been sitting in this crummy place half an hour. We’re still waiting to see Jake.
I stretch my arms and legs, rotate my head in one direction and then the other. Then I start cracking my knuckles. It’s not like there’s much else to do.
“Hey, Ethan, wanna play tic-tac-toe?” Freddy asks.
“No.”
Only Freddy would want to play a game at a time like this. He shoves a piece of paper in my face and hands me a pen with the hospital’s name printed on it.
My hand draws a big fat X in the top left corner of the tic-tac-toe grid.
Fifteen minutes and a thousand tic-tac-toe games later, Freddy tugs on Dad’s sleeve. “I’m hungry.”
Dad fishes around in his pocket for some change and hands it to Freddy, who races over to the vending machine. “Ethan, do you want anything?”
I shake my head no. All I want is to know how Jake is.
It’s four-thirty in the morning. Freddy’s lips are stained neon orange from his cheesy snack, and his eyes are closed. I don’t know how he can sleep in these uncomfortable chairs.
I don’t know how he can sleep at all.
Dad squeezes my shoulder. “You can nap, too, if you’re tired. I’ll wake you as soon as there’s any news.”
There’s no way I’m sleeping ’til I know Jake’s all right.
I stand up to show Dad that I’m the opposite of tired. I want to go for a walk, only I don’t want to go too far. I want to go for a run, only I don’t know where to run to.
So I pace from one end of the dingy waiting room to the other. I pace back and forth until my legs and feet are as tired as the rest of me.
Then I do it some more.
“Daddy, will you read me this story?”
Freddy’s wide awake again. He brings over some picture book he found somewhere.
Dad clears his throat, wraps an arm around Freddy, and starts to read in a quiet bedtime voice, even though we’re the only ones here. He stops after a few sentences and asks if I’d like to look at one of the magazines on the table next to him.
NO! I don’t want to look at a stupid magazine! But what I say is, “No, thanks. I’m okay.”
I stare at the clock, wishing the hands would move faster and we’d all be home again. Wishing the hands would go backward and everything would be all right again. Watching the second hand make its way around the circle, over and over and over…
My eyes are burning. My brain is screaming. Dad’s gone beyond the big metal doors a couple times. When he comes back, all he says is they’re still helping Jake.
I try to think about something else. About Magic Fest and magic tricks and “Abracadabra” and…
Abracadabra, abracadabra, abracadabracadabracadab
I remember this game Mom and I used to play, where we’d take a big word and see how many small words we could make out of it. I do it now, in my head. Abracadabra: card, crab, car, bar, bad.
Bad. How bad? Really bad?
Bad badbadbadbadbadbadbadbad…
Why can’t we see Jake? Just for a minute? Just for a second! Why isn’t anyone telling us anything? And where the heck is—
“Mommy!” Freddy jumps up and runs to her.
I jump up, too, then I notice how dazed she looks, how pale her face is. She looks more like a robot than my mother.
Dad stands up, his face one gigantic question mark. Part of me wants to ask how Jake is doing and when we can see him; part of me isn’t sure I want to know.
“Is Jakey okay?” Freddy blurts out.
“His temperature was very high,” Mom says in a quiet, shaky voice. “It’s lower now, but we don’t know if… we’re not sure how…” She stops talking, like she’s run out of energy or words. She looks at Dad and he takes over.
“The doctors and nurses are doing everything they can to help Jake,” Dad says. He puts his arms around Mom, and Freddy wraps himself around her legs.
I can’t move. I think I’m gonna throw up.
Mom leans against Dad for so long, I’m starting to think they’ve forgotten all about me. Then Mom wipes he
r eyes, looks at me, and announces, “Emma and Bubba are on their way.”
“Why?”
“They’ll stay with you until we’re back home.”
“Wait. You’re staying here?”
Mom keeps talking, like she’s reciting a speech she’s memorized. “If we’re not home after school—”
“I’m not going to school! I’m not leaving until I know Jake’s okay!” I shout, maybe a little too loudly for a waiting room.
“Me neither!” Freddy says.
“Ethan, Freddy,” Dad says in his extra-calm, don’t-mess-with-me voice, “you two are going home. There’s nothing you can do for Jake right now. You need to get some sleep, maybe go to school.”
“But…”
Mom gives Freddy and me quick hugs and a kiss, then turns and does her robot walk toward the big metal doors. They open electronically and she disappears.
Somewhere behind those doors, Jake is trying to breathe.
He’s gotta be scared. If I could just squeeze his hands, I’m sure he’d feel better, knowing I’m there.
“Dad, can’t I please, please stay?” He shakes his head, but I don’t give him a chance to say no. “Emma and Bubba can take Freddy and—”
“Ethan, don’t make this harder than it already is.”
There’s something in Dad’s voice I’ve never heard before. And then I realize: he’s every bit as scared as I am.
And all the fight goes out of me.
When Emma and Bubba show up, Freddy and I leave without another word. There’s nothing left to say. Jake is staying. Mom and Dad are staying.
I’m not.
My stomach is killing me. My legs weigh a thousand pounds. Bubba puts an arm around me and leads me out the door and into the car. It’s all I can do not to jump out and run back into the hospital. Run back and find Jake.
Leaving him behind is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
It’s not Emma’s fault, but after the early morning ER visit, she makes the worst breakfast ever. Even my favorite cereal doesn’t taste right.
Super Jake and the King of Chaos Page 10
