Martin Bridge: The Sky's the Limit!

by Jessica Scott Kerrin

  To Peter and Elliott, and also to Elliott’s story-worthy cousins: Avery, Jackson and Georgia DeAbreu; Stuart, Alexander and Gregory Mackenzie; Jack and Christopher Carlyle; and Christian, Lauren and Aiden Bertuzzi — J.S.K.

  Por Lillian y Ernesto, con todo cariño por creer en mi — J.K.

  ISBN 978-1-894786-68-3 (ePub)

  Text © 2008 Jessica Scott Kerrin

  Illustrations © 2008 Joseph Kelly

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of Kids Can Press Ltd. or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a license from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright license, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Kids Can Press acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Media Development Corporation’s Ontario Book Initiative; the Ontario Arts Council; the Canada Council for the Arts; and the Government of Canada, through the CBF, for our publishing activity.

  Published in Canada by

  Kids Can Press Ltd.

  25 Dockside Drive

  Toronto, ON M5A 0B5

  Published in the U.S. by

  Kids Can Press Ltd.

  2250 Military Road

  Tonawanda, NY 14150

  www.kidscanpress.com

  Edited by Debbie Rogosin

  Designed by Julia Naimska

  Interior art was drawn with graphite and digitally shaded. Cover art was painted with acrylic and pixels.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Kerrin, Jessica Scott

  Martin Bridge the sky’s the limit! / written by Jessica Scott Kerrin ; illustrated by Joseph Kelly.

  ISBN 978-1-55453-158-5 (bound).

  ISBN 978-1-55453-159-2 (pbk.)

  I. Kelly, Joseph II. Title.

  PS8621.E77M358 2008 jC813’.6 C2007-906552-X

  Contents

  Earplugs

  Wormhole

  Look Up!

  An Excerpt from The Lobster Chronicles

  Meet …

  Earplugs

  “I’ve pulled some strings,” Head Badger Bob announced as he read from his overstuffed clipboard. He always saved big news for the end of Junior Badger night.

  Martin’s stomach did a little leap. He knew that whatever Head Badger Bob had in mind, the sky was the limit!

  The Junior Badgers stood in a semicircle, and they all held their breath.

  “The Harbormaster has invited our troop to watch this weekend’s fireworks from his trawler!” Head Badger Bob boomed.

  The troop whooped. Watching from a boat in the harbor meant that they would be right beneath the fiery display!

  Dazzling spinners! Whistling missiles! Spectacular sparklers!

  Zing! Zang! Zow!

  Martin turned to his best friend, Stuart, and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

  “Ka-boom!” Stuart replied, throwing his arms sky-high. “You’ll be plugging your ears for sure!”

  Martin didn’t mind the tease. Even though he had worn earplugs during last year’s fireworks to muffle the thunderous explosions, he had still ooohed and aaahed along with the rest of the crowd at each brilliant burst of color.

  But wait! Martin suddenly remembered that he was expecting company.

  “Can my cousin Fletcher come, too?” asked Martin. “He’s a Junior Badger from another troop, and he’ll be staying with me this weekend.”

  “One more Badger won’t tip the boat!” assured Head Badger Bob. He began to hand out sheets of paper. “These are the instructions on getting to dock,” he trumpeted above the hoopla. “See you this weekend!”

  “Have I met Fletcher?” asked Stuart as they got their jackets.

  “You probably wouldn’t remember him,” said Martin. “The last time he came, we were all just little. But my mom says we have a lot in common.”

  A boy flew by with his shirttails flapping and his hair sticking up at the back.

  “Hey, Curtis!” Martin called out. “How’s Alex?”

  Alex was Martin’s other best friend, and Curtis was Alex’s younger brother. Alex was at home with the chicken pox.

  “He’s grouchy,” said Curtis as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. “And he’s going to give me an atomic wedgie if I forget to remind you guys to come over Friday after school.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Stuart. “We’ll be there.”

  “Their fights are getting brutal,” Martin said to Stuart after Curtis darted off. “Did I tell you about the purple juice stain?”

  “Purple juice stain?” repeated Stuart.

  “Listen to this one,” said Martin. “I was at Alex’s yesterday, and he and Curtis got into a giant shoving match over the last cookie. Curtis knocked his juice glass onto the carpet right between the two beds! Spa-loosh!”

  “What did their mom say?” asked Stuart with a mix of fascination and horror.

  “She doesn’t know about it yet,” said Martin. “But when she does find out …” His voice trailed off, and Stuart nodded sympathetically.

  Everyone knows that purple juice stains are the worst.

  “What about Fletcher?” said Stuart. “Think he’ll be tackling you for the last cookie?”

  “Not likely!” said Martin with a dismissive wave of his hand. He was certain that Fletcher would be an excellent roommate.

  After all, his mom said they had a lot in common.

  With that in mind, Martin planned out his week.

  On Tuesday, he rearranged the rocket collection on his bookshelves so that Fletcher could easily identify the different space fleets.

  On Wednesday, he set up the extra cot in his room and laid out his galaxy-covered blanket on Fletcher’s bed.

  On Thursday, Martin personally selected a glow-in-the-dark drinking glass for Fletcher and placed it on the bathroom counter. Then, as the finishing touch, he fanned out a handful of the latest Zip Rideout comic books on top of Fletcher’s blanket.

  Zip Rideout, Space Cadet, was Martin’s favorite cartoon superhero.

  By Friday, Martin was all set for his guest, so he had time to visit Alex. When he arrived, Stuart was already there.

  Martin secretly motioned to Stuart and pointed to Curtis’s carefully placed pajamas that were covering the purple stain.

  “Hi, Martin,” said Alex, as Stuart nodded at Martin’s clue.

  Alex lay propped up by pillows. He was covered in pink spots.

  “How are you?” asked Martin.

  “Lousy,” admitted Alex.

  “You mean crabby,” said Curtis, who was humming to himself as he sprawled on his own bed, leafing through a Zip Rideout comic. Curtis did not look up as he said it.

  Alex took full advantage by firing a pillow at Curtis’s head.

  “Hey!” yelped Curtis. “I’m telling!”

  “Go ahead, Curtis. Tell,” said Alex with deadly aim. “And I’ll tell Mom about the carpet.”

  Martin could almost see sparks fly as Curtis sent a thought dagger to Alex before returning to his comic book.

  The boys spent the rest of the visit playing Zip Rideout’s supernova card game, but they were interrupted regularly when Alex yelled
at Curtis to stop humming.

  “I’m not humming!” Curtis repeatedly shouted back, even though he had been.

  At one point, when Alex was out of pillows to throw, he yanked Mars from the solar system mobile orbiting above his bed. He pitched it at Curtis mid-tune. Curtis ducked, and the red planet rocketed out the window.

  “Hey!” a voice exploded from below.

  “Sorry, Dad!” called Curtis. “Alex is throwing planets again.”

  Martin looked up at the beleaguered solar system. Neptune and Mercury were also missing, presumably lost in earlier intergalactic wars.

  Alex whipped back his covers, sending cards flying in all directions, and stormed to the open window.

  “Dad!” he yelled down. “Tell Curtis to get out! We’re trying to play a game, and he keeps interrupting!”

  Martin knew this wasn’t exactly true. But no way was he going to defend Alex’s little brother and risk more flying tempers.

  Or planets.

  “Curtis!” called their dad from below.

  “I didn’t do anything!” yelled Curtis instantly.

  “Come on down, buddy. I need your help in the garden.”

  “Okay,” said Curtis, happily enough. He stuck out his tongue at Alex before scooting from the room.

  Martin almost chuckled. Alex and Curtis could sure use a lesson in getting along, he thought smugly.

  “Let’s finish the game,” suggested Stuart, plucking the cards from the floor.

  After a few more rounds, Martin laid down the card with the orange planet.

  “I win!” he declared. And then, with even more excitement, he added, “We’d better get going, Stuart. Alex’s dad said he would drive us home at five o’clock so I can be back in time for my cousin.”

  The boys gave Alex the official Zip Rideout salute on their way out.

  Almost as soon as Martin got home, the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it!!” he shouted, and he bolted down the stairs to the front hall.

  His mom had beaten him to it. She was already on the porch, hugging their guests.

  “Hi, Fletcher,” said Martin in his friendliest voice.

  “Hi, Martin,” said Fletcher.

  He shifted a huge duffle bag from one shoulder to the other, clearly struggling under its weight.

  “I’ll help you take your stuff upstairs,” said Martin. “You’re staying in my room.”

  “Great!” said Fletcher, and he swung the duffle bag toward Martin, almost knocking them both over.

  Martin heaved the duffle bag onto his shoulder while Fletcher retrieved a second duffle bag from the porch. It appeared to be just as heavy as the first.

  Martin wobbled up the steps, one at a time. “What’s in here?” he joked. “Books?”

  “Yes,” was Fletcher’s surprising answer.

  Martin paused to consider. “But you’re only here for two days.”

  “Right,” said Fletcher. “That’s why I brought so many. I hope you have sturdy bookshelves.”

  “Sturdy enough for rockets,” mumbled Martin as he struggled through the doorway to his room. “Here we are,” he announced.

  With relief, he dropped Fletcher’s duffle bag to the floor.

  Fletcher took a different approach. He pitched the Zip Rideout comics that Martin had selected and set his duffle bag on the cot.

  “Do you like Zip Rideout?” asked Martin eagerly, gathering the comics from the floor.

  “He’s okay,” said Fletcher flatly. “But I like real books better.”

  Doubt about Martin’s roommate began to creep in.

  Fletcher whipped open his duffle bag, shoved Martin’s rocket collection aside, fleet by fleet, and began to stack his books on the shelves.

  Big thick books.

  And not one of them had words like “explosion,” “slime” or “dinosaur” in the title.

  Within minutes, Fletcher had completely rearranged his half of the room.

  This bothered Martin, but he was determined not to react like Alex. Instead, he tried a new tack.

  “All set for tomorrow’s fireworks?” he asked Fletcher. “We’ll have a blast being on a boat right beneath them!”

  “I suppose. Mom made me bring my Junior Badger uniform,” said Fletcher grudgingly.

  Martin frowned. How could Fletcher not be interested in the fireworks?

  Then Fletcher opened the second duffle bag and began to invade Martin’s side of the room!

  Creeping doubt gave way to rising panic.

  “That’s my H2O Faster Blaster,” Martin blurted when Fletcher tossed it to him to clear space for his pajamas and housecoat and slippers. “And those are my space goggles,” he declared when they were also tossed, toppling over the T. Rex Martin had purchased from the museum.

  By now, Fletcher was in the closet, shoving Martin’s clothes to the back to make room for his own freshly pressed Junior Badger uniform.

  Fletcher paused.

  “What’s this?” he asked, pulling out Martin’s lobster costume.

  “I was in last year’s school play,” explained Martin proudly. His mom had spent a whole weekend sewing the elaborate affair.

  “You must have looked silly,” said Fletcher dismissively.

  Martin didn’t like Fletcher’s tone or the way Fletcher carelessly shut the closet door with a lobster claw jammed in it.

  Fletcher didn’t notice. He flopped down on the cot, testing for comfort.

  Martin was shocked to discover that Fletcher still had his shoes on.

  “Dinner, boys!” Martin’s mom sang out from the bottom of the stairs.

  “You go ahead,” said Martin to Fletcher. “I’ll be right down.”

  As soon as Fletcher left, Martin stood his T. Rex up again, tucked the lobster claw back inside the closet and quickly brushed the dirt from his blanket.

  Dinner was uneventful, except that Fletcher proved to be a picky eater. He had to totally separate the food on his plate so that his corn did not touch his mashed potatoes. And he refused to try the lemon chicken at all.

  Lemon chicken was Martin’s favorite.

  “So, what are your plans now, boys?” asked Martin’s dad playfully after dinner.

  Martin quickly ruled out going back to his room.

  “Let’s go up to my tree fort,” Martin offered. “It’s filled with stuff I rescued from my mom’s last yard sale.”

  “Is your tree fort high?” asked Fletcher.

  “Yes! Really high!” said Martin. It was a bit of an exaggeration, but he wanted to get Fletcher excited about something, since fireworks weren’t enough.

  “No thanks,” said Fletcher flatly. “I don’t like heights. I think I’ll go read instead.”

  Read? thought Martin. On a Friday night?

  Martin spent time alone in his tree fort, testing the reception of his walkie-talkies.

  Even bedtime was a disaster. Fletcher somehow used every single towel in the bathroom, and when it was finally Martin’s turn to brush his teeth, he was horrified to find that Fletcher had left the cap off the toothpaste, and that the cap had somehow fallen onto the floor.

  Behind the toilet!

  Cripes!!

  “Good night, Fletcher,” said Martin in a less-than-friendly voice when he returned to the bedroom.

  No answer.

  Fletcher was already asleep.

  And he was snoring!

  Martin had to sleep with a pillow over his head.

  The next morning, Martin poured his usual bowl of Zip Rideout Space Flakes. He rubbed his eyes as he dug into the star and comet shapes.

  Fletcher strode into the kitchen wearing his matching pajama set.

  “Want some?” asked Martin, s
hoving the cereal box toward Fletcher.

  “That stuff will rot the teeth right out of your head,” said Fletcher with authority.

  He went to the fridge and pulled out a tub of plain yogurt.

  He’s got to be kidding, thought Martin, his spoon suspended in disbelief.

  But no! Fletcher helped himself to a big dollop and added some sliced banana. Then he sat down and flipped through a book while he ate.

  It made for sparkling breakfast conversation.

  Martin, who hated both yogurt and bananas, had had enough. It was time to ditch Fletcher.

  “I think I’ll visit Alex today,” Martin announced firmly to his mom, who was pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “Good idea. I’m sure Fletcher would like to meet Alex,” she replied with a smile that told Martin she still believed he and Fletcher had a lot in common.

  Fletcher was so busy reading, he didn’t even look up.

  Martin sighed.

  After breakfast, Fletcher disappeared with his book, while Martin killed time by dropping paper parachutes from his tree fort. His dad drove them to Alex’s house later that day.

  Martin rang the bell at the front door, but no one answered. He and Fletcher went around to the backyard. Alex’s dad was sprinkling grass seed over the patchy lawn where his sons had been learning to stunt jump on their bikes.

  “Good thing grass grows quickly,” observed Martin.

  “But it’s going to need lots of water,” said Alex’s dad. “I was hoping for rain.” He looked up at the clear blue sky.

  “It’s perfect weather for fireworks, though,” said Martin, who by now ignored Fletcher’s sullenness whenever fireworks were mentioned.

  “That’s right! The fireworks are tonight,” said Alex’s dad. He turned to Fletcher. “And who might you be?”

  “I’m Fletcher,” said Fletcher, shaking hands. “Martin’s cousin.”