Sam was a hundred percent sure that when he got home, the dragon monster minivan would be sitting in his driveway.
Well, he was 99.9 percent sure.
Okay, 92 percent sure.
“How about I call you after I get home?” Sam asked Gavin. “It’s sort of this special thing with me and my dad.”
“It could be a special thing with you and your dad and me,” Gavin said. “I could be like your adopted brother.”
“I’ll call you,” Sam repeated.
“Okay,” Gavin said.
As Sam got closer to his house, he started squinching his eyes. He wasn’t sure why he was squinching his eyes until he got all the way to his driveway and knew he’d been squinching his eyes just in case there wasn’t a fire-breathing dragon monster minivan in his driveway.
There wasn’t a fire-breathing dragon monster minivan in his driveway.
There was just a plain white minivan with something stuck to the side right above the place where you put the gas in.
When Sam got closer he could see that the thing stuck to the minivan’s side was a sticker, and when he got even closer, he could see that it was a dragon sticker. The dragon was a little kid’s cartoon dragon, the kind that looked like it was made out of pillows and would like to hug you.
This was his dad’s great plan?
A little-kid-hugging pillow dragon?
Sam stomped across the grass to the front door, even though he was supposed to use the front walk.
He stomped into the house, down the hallway, into the kitchen, and over to the refrigerator.
He reached into the freezer and took out three waffles from the box, even though he was only supposed to eat two for his snack.
A cartoon dragon sticker?
That was the worst plan Sam had ever heard of.
“Sam the Man!”
Sam’s dad walked into the kitchen. “I came home early this afternoon to get started on the minivan plan. You’re not going to believe what I came up with!”
Sam took a chomp of frozen waffle and chewed. Hard. “You came up with a sticker,” he said, his mouth still full. “I already saw it.”
Sam’s dad laughed. “The sticker was your mom’s idea. I told her it was the wrong kind of dragon, but she thinks it’s cute.”
“Dragon monster minivans aren’t supposed to be cute,” Sam said. He still felt mad, but he felt a little less mad now that he knew the sticker was his mom’s idea and not his dad’s.
“Listen, Sam the Man, I know you want this minivan to be a dragon van, but you have to be realistic.”
Sam sat down at the kitchen table and took another bite of frozen waffle. It was never a good thing when grown-ups told you to be realistic.
“Think about it this way, Sam the Man,” his dad sad, sitting down across from him. “What would you do if we were at the shopping center and you saw a dragon monster minivan in the parking lot?”
Sam thought about this for a minute while he chewed. “Well, I’d want to go over and look at it,” he said after he swallowed. “And I’d probably want to hang out with it.”
“Maybe climb on it?”
“Sure,” Sam said. “I’d probably want to climb on it. Who wouldn’t want to climb on a dragon?”
“So now imagine you’re the person who owns the dragon monster minivan. Imagine what it would be like to pull out of a parking lot and realize there was a kid on top of your car.”
“That wouldn’t be good,” Sam had to admit.
“No, it wouldn’t,” Sam’s dad said. “And it wouldn’t be good to have people touching your van all the time because then the paint would end up coming off, and you’d have to repaint it, and it would end up looking terrible because it’s hard to get new paint that matches your old paint.”
Sam started eating waffle number two. “So you’re saying it would be a pain to have a fire-breathing dragon monster minivan.”
“Not quite,” Sam’s dad said. “I’m saying it would be a pain to have the outside of your van be a fire-breathing dragon monster minivan.”
“But not the inside?” Sam asked, feeling hopeful. “You mean we could paint the inside?”
“Not quite, but almost,” his dad said. “Come look at my computer with me.”
Sam followed his dad into the office. His dad clicked the computer mouse, and a picture appeared on the screen. Sam had to look at it a minute to realize what it was.
“Dragon scales?” he asked his dad. “Like real dragon scales?”
“Like real dragon scales from somebody’s imagination,” his dad said. “This person used their imagination to design dragon-scale fabric. That’s what you’re looking at.”
“So we could make dragon-scale curtains for the minivan?” Sam asked. “Wouldn’t that make it hard for the driver to see?”
“Not curtains—seat covers!” Sam’s dad got a big grin on his face. “And we can get dragon-scale rugs, too. And you know how the back window has its own windshield wiper?”
Sam nodded. The back windshield wiper was his favorite one.
“I found a dragon-scale stick-on made especially for windshield wipers! The minivan will look like it has a dragon’s tail! So how’s that for a plan, Sam the Man?”
Sam wasn’t sure. It wasn’t the worst plan. It wasn’t even a bad plan.
But it wasn’t exactly Sam’s plan. And even though Sam knew that his plans were better when other people helped him with them, he wasn’t sure this was the best plan for the van.
“I need some time to think about it,” he told his dad.
And then he went to his room and sat at his desk and started to think.
Sam the Man and the Minivan Plan
Sam thought about how even if the minivan looked like a dragon on the inside, it would still look boring on the outside.
He thought about how he’d told everyone in his class that he was going to have a fire-breathing dragon monster minivan.
He thought about the fact that dragons never existed.
He thought, What if minivans had never existed, but dragons had?
That was his favorite thought of all.
Sam pulled open his top desk drawer and took out the picture he’d drawn of the dragon monster minivan that lived in his imagination. Why were things that lived in Sam’s imagination so much better than real things? Why didn’t people paint their minivans to look like monster trucks? Why didn’t they paint school buses to look like scary jack-o’-lanterns?
After a while, Sam got tired of thinking.
“I need to go take Mr. Stockfish for a walk,” he told his dad as Sam put on his jacket and hat. “And I need to take care of the chickens.”
Mr. Stockfish was waiting for him when Sam got to his house.
“You’re seven minutes late,” Mr. Stockfish said, looking at his watch. “Leroy is getting hungry.”
“But we don’t have an official time,” Sam said. “I always come over when I finish eating my waffles.”
“Yes, and usually you’re here seven minutes ago,” Mr. Stockfish complained as they began to walk toward Mrs. Kerner’s house and the chicken coop. “Did you decide to toast your waffles this time?”
“I never toast my waffles,” said Sam. “When you toast them, they turn brown. I like my waffles yellow.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mr. Stockfish said. “Waffles are supposed to be toasted to a nice crisp brown and eaten with syrup or whipped cream.”
Sam didn’t bother replying. They’d already had this argument a hundred times.
It took a while to get to Mrs. Kerner’s house because Mr. Stockfish had seen a TV show on squirrels the night before, and now he wanted to stop and look at every squirrel they saw on the way.
“Do you know that a squirrel’s teeth never stop growing?” Mr. Stockfish asked Sam. “They have to gnaw on things to keep their teeth short.”
“So what if a squirrel broke its jaw and couldn’t gnaw?” Sam asked.
“Teeth five inches long,” Mr. S
tockfish said. “Maybe a foot.”
“But it couldn’t bite you because its jaw was broken,” Sam pointed out. “So we wouldn’t have to be scared of it.”
“I have never been scared of a squirrel in my life,” Mr. Stockfish said with a harrumph. “A raccoon, yes, but a squirrel? Never.”
“It would be bad to be afraid of squirrels,” Sam agreed. “Because they’re everywhere.”
“It’s time to stop talking now,” Mr. Stockfish said.
“Okay,” said Sam.
They were only two mailboxes away from Mrs. Kerner’s house when Sam heard a funny noise. It was a rumbling, grumbling, growling sort of noise. It was a big engine noise.
“Good grief!” Mr. Stockfish said. “What’s making that racket?”
Three seconds later a big white truck drove past them.
It wasn’t a monster truck, but it was the biggest regular pickup truck Sam had ever seen. It had big tires and a big cab and a big bed.
And it had a big orange tiger painted on the side of the door.
“Wow!” Sam cried. “That’s the coolest truck I’ve ever seen.”
“That truck is ridiculous,” Mr. Stockfish said. “Who would paint a tiger on their truck?”
“I would,” Sam said, wondering who wouldn’t paint a tiger on the side of their truck if they had permission to.
“You think you would now,” Mr. Stockfish said as they turned and walked down Mrs. Kerner’s driveway toward her backyard. “But wait until you’re older.”
“Didn’t you want to paint something on your car when you were a kid?” Sam asked.
“We didn’t have a car when I was young,” Mr. Stockfish said. “We lived in the city and didn’t need one. And, quite frankly, we couldn’t afford one.”
“Did you wish you had one?”
Mr. Stockfish was quiet for a moment. “It would have been nice,” he said finally.
The chickens clucked and clacked when they saw Sam and Mr. Stockfish. Sam went into the coop to give them food and fresh water. When he was done, he carried Leroy over to Mr. Stockfish, who was sitting in his favorite lawn chair.
Sam sat down next to Mr. Stockfish and tried to imagine him as a little kid. But all he could imagine was a shorter version of Mr. Stockfish. He wondered if Mr. Stockfish the little kid had been as grumpy as Mr. Stockfish the grown-up.
He wondered if not having a car when he was a little kid was what turned Mr. Stockfish into a grumpy adult.
He wondered if he should quit making such a big deal about turning their plain old minivan into a fire-breathing dragon monster minivan.
“I almost forgot, Sam,” Mr. Stockfish said after he gave Leroy a kiss on the top of her head. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled something out. “I found this at the supermarket yesterday. I thought you might like it.”
Mr. Stockfish had never given Sam a present before. “Thanks,” Sam said. “What is it?”
“Take a look,” Mr. Stockfish said, and opened up his hand.
He almost sounded happy.
When Sam got home, he went into his dad’s office. His dad was working on his computer. The screen was filled with rows of complicated-looking numbers that made Sam feel confused just seeing them.
“I was thinking that maybe we should do leopard-skin seat covers like Annabelle wanted,” Sam told his dad. “And we could just keep the same rugs that came with the new used minivan.”
“Or is it the used new minivan?” his dad asked, turning around to face Sam.
“Could we stop doing that now?” Sam asked his dad.
His dad nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s time. But why the switch? Did you get tired of dragons?”
“I still like dragons,” Sam said. “And I still like monster trucks. But I guess our van is okay like it is. Except for that sticker Mom put on it. I really hate that sticker.”
“Me too,” Sam’s dad agreed. “But it makes your mom happy.”
“Does that mean we have to keep it?”
“I’m afraid it does, Sam the Man.”
Sam sat down on a box of files across from his dad. “I’ve got another plan, if you want to hear it. It’s sort of a mini-plan.”
“I like all of your plans, Sam,” his dad said. “Even the small ones.”
Sam pulled out the present Mr. Stockfish had given him. “I would like to stick this on the minivan’s dashboard with a dab of glue so I can look at it whenever we go someplace and pretend I’m riding in a fire-breathing dragon monster minivan.”
In Sam’s hand sat a tiny dragon made out of plastic. It was one-inch long and a half-inch tall, with shimmery scales and a plastic red flame shooting out from its mouth.
“Do you think Mom would say it’s okay?” he asked his dad.
Sam’s dad smiled. “I think we can convince her. We’ll ask her when she gets home.”
“And then when we get the dragon stuck to the dashboard, can we take a picture for my class website?”
“Sure, Sam the Man,” his dad said, turning back to his computer screen. “Are you guys studying dragons now?”
“No, school’s never that perfect,” Sam said with a sigh. “But we still have a lot of dragon fans in my class.”
“And monster truck fans too, I bet,” said Sam’s dad.
“Monster minivan fans,” corrected Sam, and then he took his real plastic mini–fire-breathing dragon upstairs to see if Annabelle would let it take a ride in her very small pink truck.
A monster in a monster truck. It sounded like a plan to Sam.
Thanks go to Caitlyn Dlouhy, who makes everything better with her magic green pen, and to her most accomplished accomplice, Alex Borbolla. Thanks to Justin Chanda, my favorite rooftop gardener and book publisher. Thank you, Amy Bates, for once again bringing Sam and his family to life through your illustrations. A big dose of gratitude goes out to copy editor Clare McGlade, who makes everything right. As always, many thanks and much love to my marvelous family—Clifton, Jack, Will, and Travis, the very good dog.
About the author
FRANCES O’ROARK DOWELL drives a very used minivan that sort of resembles a monster truck if you squint your eyes and look in the other direction. She’s the bestselling and critically acclaimed author of many novels, including Dovey Coe, Trouble the Water, Chicken Boy, Sam the Man & the Chicken Plan, Sam the Man & the Rutabaga Plan, the Secret Language of Girls series, and the Phineas L. MacGuire series. She lives with her husband and two sons in Durham, North Carolina. Connect with Frances online at FrancesDowell.com.
When AMY JUNE BATES was a kid, she loved to draw and read. She’s drawn art for many books for kids, including Patricia MacLachlan’s Waiting for the Magic. She currently lives in Pennsylvania with her three children, her husband, and Rosebud the dog. Visit her at amyjunebates.blogspot.com
A Caitlyn Dlouhy Book
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
Simon & Schuster • New York
Visit us at simonandschuster.com/kids
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Frances-O’Roark-Dowell
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Amy-June-Bates
Also by Frances O’Roark Dowell
Anybody Shining
Chicken Boy
Dovey Coe
Falling In
The Second Life of Abigail Walker
Shooting the Moon
Ten Miles Past Normal
Trouble the Water
Where I’d Like to Be
The Secret Language of Girls Trilogy
The Secret Language of Girls
The Kind of Friends We Used to Be
The Sound of Your Voice, Only Really Far Away
From the Highly Scientific Notebooks of Phineas L. MacGuire
Phineas L. MacGuire . . . Blasts Off!
Phineas L. MacGuire . . . Erupts!
Phineas L. MacGuire . . . Gets Cooking!
Phineas L. MacGuire . . . Gets Slimed!
The Sam the Man series
#1: Sam the Man & the Chicken Plan
#2: Sam the Man & the Rutabaga Plan
ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Frances O’Roark Dowell
Illustrations copyright © 2018 by Amy June Bates
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Book design by Sonia Chaghatzbanian
The text for this book was set in New Century Schoolbook LT Std.
The illustrations for this book were rendered in pencil.
Jacket design by Sonia Chaghatzbanian
Jacket illustrations copyright © 2017, 2018 by Amy June Bates
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Dowell, Frances O’Roark, author. | Bates, Amy June, illustrator.
Title: Sam the Man & the dragon van plan / Frances O’Roark Dowell ; illustrated by Amy June Bates.
Other titles: Sam the Man and the dragon van plan
Description: First edition. | New York : Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 2018. | Series: Sam the Man ; 3 | “A Caitlyn Dlouhy Book.” | Summary: “When the family minivan needs replacing, Sam has the perfect plan to
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