Hey guys!
Me : Chapter three is up! And just one announcement, I'll update every Sunday! And I'm updating today even though I have three more exams to write, which is sort of weird, because I usually procrastinate... I just hope all of you will enjoy this chapter.
Dan : We'll see. What exactly is there in this chapter? Because the title of this chapter is pretty weird and funny.
Me : You'll see. And this chapter mainly concentrates on you and your mom and- Wait a minute... I'm not giving out everything. You guys have to read! DEDICATED TO ALL!
Dan : Please enjoy, because she is using me as her bait.
I am feeling good because I kept my promise like a good little angel.
Ok, ok, I'll spill.
I ditched Marucho as soon as we got to the bus terminal.
I know, I know. It was rude.
But heck, Marucho was freaking me out, looking at me like I was a going to die any minute, muttering "Why does this always happen?"
Ok, I'll tell what happened. Marucho told me to wait for him and ran to the restroom.
Instead of waiting, I got my suitcase and other stuff, got out of that old creaky bus, and caught the first taxi uptown.
"East One-hundred-and-fourth and First," I told the driver.
Well, before you meet my mom, I'd better give an introduction, I guess.
My mom's name is Miyoko Kuso and she's the best person in the world, which just proves the theory that the best people have really very bad luck.
How you ask? Well...
Her own parents died in a plane crash when she was four, and she was raised by an aunt who didn't care much about her.
My mom wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save enough money for a college with a good creative writing program.
Then her aunt got tumor, and she had to quit her senior year of school to take care of her.
After her aunt died, she was left with no money, no family, and no diploma.
The only good luck she ever got was meeting my dad.
See, I don't have any memories of him, heck, we don't even have a picture of him.
The only thing I know about him is just this sort of warm glow, maybe the barest trace of his smile.
My mom doesn't like to talk about him because it makes her sad and gives her back those old memories.
Well, the truth was, my mom and dad were never married.
She told me he was rich and important, and their relationship was a secret. Well, if he was rich and important, then you would ask what do you mean by really bad luck? It's not like your dad dumped your mom!
I'll tell what happened. My dad was called on this important journey across the Atlantic, after he set sail, no one heard of him ever since. Forget about coming back.
My mom always told me that my dad wasn't dead, but he was lost at sea.
Now back to my mom...
She worked odd jobs, took night classes to get her high school diploma, and raised me on her own.
She never complained or got mad. Not even once.
But I knew I wasn't an easy kid. Especially after getting kicked out of every school I attended.
Finally, she married Ben Ugliano, who was nice the first few seconds we knew him, then showed his true colors as a world-class jerk.
When I was young, I nicknamed him Smelly Ben.
I'm sorry, but it's the truth. Besides, why am I being sorry?
The guy reeked like moldy garlic wrapped in gym shorts.
Between the two of us, we made my mom's life pretty hard. Even if I didn't intend to.
The way Smelly Ben treated her, the way he and I got along ... well, when I came home is a good example.
I walked into our little apartment, hoping my mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Ben was in the living room, playing poker with his buddies.
The television blared ESPN.
Chips and beer cans were strewn all over the carpet. Some of the beer was soaked into the carpet as well, like ewww...
Hardly looking up, he said around his cigar, "So, you're home."
"Where's my mom?" I asked, wanting to get out of there.
"Working," he said. "You got any cash?"
That was it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?Did you have a hard time?
Ben had put on weight.
He looked like a tuskless walrus in really oddly old clothes.
He had about two hairs on his head, all combed over his bald scalp, as if that made him handsome or something. To tell you guys the truth, he looked more ugly in that way.
He managed the Electronics Mega-Mart in Queens, but he stayed home most of the time. I don't know why he hadn't been fired long before. The way he sat at home...
He just kept on collecting paychecks, spending the money on cigars that made me nauseous, and on beer, of course. Always beer.
Whenever I was home, he expected me to provide his gambling funds. He called that our "little secret."
Meaning, if I told my mom, he would kill me. I know, he sounds like a typical school bully.
"I don't have any cash," I told him, being straightforward I was. Which was a big mistake.
He raised a greasy grayish eyebrow.
Ben could sniff out money like a dog sniffs thieves, which was surprising, since his own smell should've covered up everything else.
"You took a taxi from the bus station," he said. "Probably paid with a twenty. Got six, seven bucks in change. Somebody expects to live under this roof, he ought to carry his own self. Am I right, Max?"
Max, the lap dog of Ben, looked at me with a bit of sympathy. "Come on, Ben," he said. "The kid just got here."
"Am I right?" Ben repeated dangerously.
Max scowled into his bowl of pretzels and nodded. Oh just great, what all can that walrus do?
"Fine," I said. I dug a wad of dollars out of my pocket and threw the money on the table. "I hope you lose."
"Your report card came, boy!" he shouted after me. "I wouldn't act so snooty!"
I slammed the door to my room, which really wasn't my room. Was it? I mean, I certainly did not leave my room like this, did I? Oh wait! I remember now!
During school months, it was Ben's "study."
Like he studied anything except for magazines. I had a lot to clean up because he had stuffed all my stuff in the closet. Leaving his muddy old rain boots on the windowsill, and he also managed to make the place smell like horrible cologne, beer and cigar.
I dropped my suitcase on the bed.
Finally!
Ben's smell was almost worse than the nightmares about Mrs. Green, or the sound of that old fruit lady's shears snipping the yarn.
But as soon as I thought that, my legs felt weak.
I remembered Marucho's look of panic—how he'd made me promise I wouldn't go home without him.
A sudden chill rolled through me.
I felt like someone—something—was looking for me right now, maybe pounding its way up the stairs, growing long, horrible talons.
Was that Mrs. Green? No clue. Maybe it was. What would I do if she came in here now? Maybe apologize for slicing her? No, she would kill me before I even started.
Then I heard my mom's voice. "Daniel?"
She opened the bedroom door, and my fears and thoughts disappeared. Oh well, at least it wasn't Mrs. Green.
Her brown eyes sparkled even in the dark. Her brown hair was the same length as before - shorter than shoulder length.
I've never heard her raise her voice or say an unkind word to anyone, not even me or Ben. I wish she would at least be mean and rude to Ben, but no, she is kind to him.
"Oh, Daniel." She hugged me tight. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas!"
Her red-white-and-blue Sweet on America uniform smelled like the best things in the world: chocolate, licorice, and all the other stuff she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central.
Oh and to tell you all one thing, I love the candy she sells. Wanna know how I had those candies? No! I didn't steal! You'll see.
Mom always wears orange and white tops and black pants or something, I still wasn't used to seeing her in that uniform. Not that it didn't look good on her, it was just rare...
She'd brought me a huge bag of "free samples," the way she always did when I came home. Now your questions might be answered on how I tasted and loved the candies.
We sat together on the edge of the bed.
While I attacked the blueberry sour strings, she ran her hand through my hair and demanded to know everything I hadn't put in my letters.
She didn't mention anything about my getting expelled. She didn't seem to care about that.
But was I okay? Was her little boy doing all right?
I told her she was smothering and spoiling me, and to lay off and all that, but secretly, I was really, really glad to see her.
From the other room, Ben yelled, "Hey, Miyoko—how about some bean dip, huh?"
I gritted my teeth.
My mom is the nicest lady in the world.
She should've been married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Ben.
For her sake, I tried to sound upbeat about my last days at Gray High Academy.
I told her I wasn't too down about the expulsion and all.
I'd lasted almost the whole year this time. I'd made some new friends. I'd done pretty well in Latin. I liked Gray High Academy.
I really did. I put such a good spin on the year, I almost convinced myself. I started choking up, thinking about Marucho and Mr. Trevor... Mrs. Green...
Even Christine Shacklebolt suddenly didn't seem so bad. Until that trip to the museum ...
"What?" my mom asked. Her face tugged at my conscience, trying to pull out the secrets. "Did something scare you?"
"No, Mom." I lied.
I felt bad lying. I wanted to tell her about Mrs. Green and the three old ladies with the yarn, but I thought it would sound stupid. Mom already had enough with me and Ben, I didn't want her thinking that I'd lost my head or something.
She pursed her lips. She knew I was holding back, but she didn't push me.
"I have a surprise for you," she said. "We're going to the beach."
My eyes widened. "Montauk?"
"Three nights—same cabin."
"When?"
She smiled. "As soon as I get changed."
I couldn't believe it.
My mom and I hadn't been to Montauk the last two summers, because Ben said there wasn't enough money.
Ben appeared in the doorway and growled, "Bean dip, Miyoko? Didn't you hear me?"
I wanted to punch him, but I met my mom's eyes and I understood she was offering me a deal: be nice to Ben for a little while, and he'll let us go.
Just until she was ready to leave for Montauk.
Then we would get out of here. Oh yeah, that rocks!
"I was on my way, honey," she told Ben. "We were just talking about the trip."
Ben's eyes got small. "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"
"I knew it," I muttered. "He won't let us go."
"Of course he will," my mom said evenly. "Your stepfather is just worried about money. That's all. Besides," she added, "Benny won't have to settle for bean dip. I'll make him enough seven-layer dip for the whole weekend. Guacamole. Sour cream."
Ben softened a bit. "So this money for your trip ... it comes out of your clothes budget, right?"
"Yes, honey," my mother said.
"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back." He further interrogated as if me and my mom were trying to do a jail break.
"We'll be very careful."
Ben scratched his double chin. "Maybe if you hurry with that seven-layer dip ... And maybe if the boy apologizes for interrupting my poker game."
Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, I thought. And make you sing soprano for a week. And pluck out the only two hairs on your head.
But my mom's eyes warned me not to make him mad.
Why did she put up with this guy? I wanted to scream. Why did she care what he thought? Why the heck didn't we just kick him out of our lives?
"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I'm really sorry I interrupted your incredibly important poker game. Please go back to it right now."
Ben's eyes narrowed. His tiny brain was probably trying to detect sarcasm in my statement.
"Yeah, whatever," he decided. He went back to his game.
"Thank you, Daniel," my mom said. "Once we get to Montauk, we'll talk more about... whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?"
For a moment, I thought I saw anxiety in her eyes—the same fear I'd seen in Marucho during the bus ride—as if my mom too felt an odd chill in the air.
But then her smile returned, and I figured I must have been mistaken. My mom and Marucho have a huge difference between them. There's no way she could be like Marucho, could she?
She ruffled my hair and went to make Ben his seven-layer dip. An hour later we were ready to leave.
Ben took a break from his poker game long enough to watch me lug my mom's bags to the car.
He kept griping and groaning about losing her cooking—and more important, his '78 Camaro—for the whole weekend.
"Not a scratch on this car, brain boy," he warned me as I loaded the last bag. "Not one little scratch."
Like I'd be the one driving. I was twelve. Go die, Smelly Ben.
But that didn't matter to Ben. If a seagull so much as pooped on his Camaro, he'd find a way to blame me.
Watching him lumber back toward the apartment building, I got so mad I did something I can't explain.
As Ben reached the doorway, I made the hand gesture I'd seen Marucho make on the bus, a sort of warding-off-evil gesture, a clawed hand over my heart, then a shoving movement toward Ben.
The screen door slammed shut so hard it whacked him in the butt and sent him flying up the staircase as if he'd been shot from a cannon.
Now don't ask me how I did that, during the bus ride, Marucho kept doing that. Looks like that boy has given me a new habit.
Maybe it was just the wind, or some freak accident with the hinges, but I didn't stay long enough to find out.
I got in the Camaro and told my mom to start.
Our rental cabin was on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It was a little pastel box with faded curtains, half sunken into the dunes.
There was always sand in the sheets and spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea was too cold to swim in.
I loved the place.
We'd been going there since I was a baby.
My mom had been going even longer. She never exactly said, but I knew why the beach was special to her.
It was the place where she'd met my dad.
As we got closer to Montauk, she seemed to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. To be honest, the sea seemed to be calm for us.
We got there at sunset, opened all the cabin's windows, and went through our usual cleaning routine. (Which was my least favorite part.)
We walked on the beach, fed blue corn chips to the seagulls, and munched on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples my mom had brought from work.
I guess I should explain the blue food.
See, Ben had once told my mom there was no such thing as blue food.
They had this fight, which seemed like a really small thing at the time. But ever since, my mom went out of her way to eat blue.
She baked blue birthday cakes. She mixed blueberry smoothies. She bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop.
This—along with keeping her maiden name, Kuso, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano—was proof that she wasn't totally suckered by Ben.
She did have a rebellious streak, like me. These was the only things she did to Ben that had him flabbergasted.
When it got dark, we made a fire.
We roasted hot dogs and marshmallows.
Mom told me stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents died in the plane crash.
She told me about the books she wanted to write someday, when she had enough money to quit the candy shop.
Eventually, I got up the nerve to ask about what was always on my mind whenever we came to Montauk—my dad.
I figured she would tell me the same things she always did, but I never got tired of hearing them.
"He was kind, Daniel," she said. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle, too. Even if you don't look like him, I- I see him in you... The same kind of behavior and attitude."
Mom fished a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. "I wish he could see you, Daniel. He would be so proud."
I wondered how she could say that. What was so great about me?
A dyslexic, hyperactive boy with a D+ report card, kicked out of school for the sixth time in six years. Heck, he would probably have disowned me. I won't be surprised if my mom lost her cool and disowned me.
"How old was I?" I asked. "I mean ... when he left?"
She watched the flames with a small smile. "He was only with me for one summer, Daniel. Right here at this beach. This cabin."
"But... he knew me as a baby."
"No, honey. He knew I was expecting a baby, but he never saw you. He had to leave before you were born."
I tried to square that with the fact that I seemed to remember ... something about my father. A warm glow. A smile.
I know, I know, now this seems like an emotional, heart breaking book. But no, this isn't. Now back to where I was...
I had always assumed he knew me as a baby.
My mom had never said it outright, but still, I'd felt it must be true.
Now, to be told that he'd never even seen me ... I felt angry at my dad.
Maybe it was stupid, but I resented him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guts to marry my mom.
He'd left us, and now we were stuck with Smelly Ben. The tuskless walrus.
"Are you going to send me away again?" I asked her. "To another boarding school?"
She pulled a marshmallow from the fire. "I don't know, sweety." Her voice was heavy. "I think ... I think we'll have to do something."
"Because you don't want me around?" I regretted the words as soon as they were out.
My mom's eyes welled with tears.
She took my hand, squeezed it tight. "Oh, Daniel, no. I—I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away."
"Because I'm not normal," I said.
"You say that as if it's a bad thing, Daniel. But you don't realize how important you are. I thought Gray High Academy would be far enough away. I thought you'd finally be safe."
"Safe from what?"
She met my eyes, and a flood of memories came back to me—all the weird, scary things that had ever happened to me, some of which I'd tried to forget. I really wished I got an amnesia and all those thing could be forgotten.
During third grade, a man in a black trench coat had stalked me on the playground.
When the teachers threatened to call the police, he went away growling, but no one believed me when I told them that under his broad-brimmed hat, the man only had one eye, right in the middle of his head.
Before that—a really early memory. I was in preschool, and a teacher accidentally put me down for a nap in a cot that a snake had slithered into.
My mom screamed when she came to pick me up and found me playing with a limp, scaly rope I'd somehow managed to strangle to death with my meaty toddler hands.
In every single school, something creepy had happened, something unsafe, and I was forced to move.
I knew I should tell my mom about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Green at the art museum, about my weird hallucination that I had sliced my math teacher into dust with a sword. And about the way Marucho was acting and Marucho and Mr. Trevor's conversation.
But I couldn't make myself tell her. I had a strange feeling that news would end our trip to Montauk, and I didn't want that. I definitely didn't want that.
"I've tried to keep you as close to me as I could," my mom said. "They told me that was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Daniel—the place your father wanted to send you. And I just... I just can't stand to do it."
"My father wanted me to go to a special school?"
"Not a school," she said softly. "A summer camp."
My head was spinning.
Why would my dad—who hadn't even stayed around long enough to see me born— talk to my mom about a summer camp?
And if it was so important, why hadn't she ever mentioned it before?
"I'm sorry, Daniel," she said, seeing the look on my face. "But I can't talk about it. I—I couldn't send you to that place. It might mean saying good-bye to you for good."
"For good? But if it's only a summer camp ..."
She turned toward the fire, and I knew from her expression that if I asked her any more questions she would start to cry.
I guess I should stop well because... Um... I owe her for... For?...Oh Yeah, not disowning me.
That sound absurd, but hey, it's true!
That night I had a vivid dream.
It was storming on the beach, and two beautiful animals, a white horse and a golden eagle, were trying to kill each other at the edge of the surf.
The eagle swooped down and slashed the horse's muzzle with its huge talons.
The horse reared up and kicked at the eagles wings.
Okay, why am I dreaming of animals? No clue.
As they fought, the ground rumbled, and a monstrous voice chuckled somewhere beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder.
I ran toward them, knowing I had to stop them from killing each other, but I was running in slow motion. And when I mean slow motion, I mean slow motion.
I knew I would be too late. I saw the eagle dive down, its beak aimed at the horse's wide eyes, and I screamed, No!
I woke with a start.
Outside, it really was storming, the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses.
There was no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery.
With the next thunderclap, my mom woke.
She sat up, eyes wide, and said, "Hurricane."
I knew that was crazy. Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer.
But the ocean seemed to have forgotten.
Over the roar of the wind, I heard a distant bellow, an angry, tortured sound that made my hair stand on end. I got up.
Then a much closer noise, like mallets in the sand. A desperate voice—someone yelling, pounding on our cabin door.
My mother sprang out of bed in her nightgown and threw open the lock.
Marucho stood framed in the doorway against a backdrop of pouring rain.
But he wasn't... he wasn't exactly Marucho.
"Searching all night," he gasped. "What were you thinking?"
My mother looked at me in terror—not scared of Marucho, but of why he'd come. "Daniel," she said, shouting to be heard over the rain. "What happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"
I was frozen, looking at Marucho.
I couldn't understand what I was seeing.
"O Zeu kai alloi theoi!" he yelled. "It's right behind me! Didn't you tell her?"
I was too shocked to register that he'd just cursed in Ancient Greek, and I'd understood him perfectly.
I was too shocked to wonder how Marucho had gotten here by himself in the middle of the night.
Because Marucho didn't have his pants on—and where his legs should be ... where his legs should be ...
My mom looked at me sternly and talked in a tone she'd never used before: "Daniel. Tell me now!"
I stammered something about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Green, and my mom stared at me, her face deathly pale in the flashes of lightning.
She grabbed her purse, tossed me my rain jacket, and said, "Get to the car. Both of you. Go!"
Marucho ran for the Camaro—but he wasn't running, exactly.
He was trotting, shaking his shaggy hindquarters, and suddenly his story about a muscular disorder in his legs made sense to me.
I understood how he could run so fast and still limp when he walked.
Because where his feet should be, there were no feet. There were cloven hooves. Confused? Welcome to my world.
Me : Was it long enough?
Dan : I guess, but WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN BY MARUCHO HAS CLOVEN HOOVES?!
Me : Oh just shut up. If I tell you now, then what's the use?
Dan : I hate you...
Me : Runo, just hurry up and enter this story soon and get this guy to shut up...
Dan : But hey! That dad thing... That's really emotional!
Me : It is? Well, it sort of is...
Dan : You're an idiot.
Me : WHAT DID YOU SAY?!
Dan : Um... Nothing?
Me : Daniel Kuso!
Dan : ARGGGHHHHH!
Okay, I just hope Dan heals by the next chapter. After all he is the 'bait'. He said so himself. Anyways, wait for next Sunday for the update! And whoever has noticed that I have finally put up a cover page for this story, you win a candy!
