1st 5 Pages September Workshop - McMahon

Name: Kathie McMahon
Genre: Middle Grade Contemporary
Title: Road Trip With Crazy Grandma

CHAPTER ONE
The Scrapbook

The crack of a whip, a cloud of dust, and the gun flew out of the robber’s hands. Indiana Jones spun around just in time to . .

“Nate?” A tired voice drifted up the stairs. “Dinner’s almost ready and I need you to set the table.”

No “please”, just do it. I sighed and placed my bookmark in my Raiders of the Lost Ark book to pick up where I left off later. I would have rather finished the chapter before dinner, but there was no chance of that now.

My eyes focused on the picture of my mom that leaned against the lamp on my nightstand. It was the first thing I saw every morning when I woke up, and the last thing I gazed at when I turned out the light at night. It was hard to believe she had been gone almost two years now. The dreaded “C” word, the adults called it, with their whispers and concerned faces staring at me whenever I entered the room.

“Nate!” Dad’s voice got louder, with more of an edge to it. The kind of parental tone that makes you jump.

“Coming!” I gave Mom one last glance and bolted down the stairs.

Smells of tomato sauce and spices filled the kitchen. Dad stood at the stove and stirred his prize-winning spaghetti sauce, my favorite. He hadn’t fixed that since my birthday last summer.  He makes it with fresh tomatoes, basil and oregano from Mom’s garden.  Well, it used to be Mom’s garden.  Grandma Lou taught me how to keep it going since Mom died. I don’t much like the weeding part, but planting the seeds and watching them grow makes me feel closer to Mom. When I was little, she used to let me hold the hose over each plant, but made sure the water trickled out slowly enough that I wouldn’t drown the plants. Dad usually says he’s too tired to make spaghetti these days, so my suspicions were immediately set in motion.

“What’s up?” I asked, as I got the silverware out of the drawer. “Is it a special occasion?”

“What do you mean?”replied Dad, without looking up from the pot of steaming sauce.

“You haven’t made spaghetti in forever,” I answered, and tried not to sound like I was accusing him of something.

“I just had a craving for it,” Dad said. “No big deal.” He struggled with the pasta like it was a huge ball of twine as he scooped it onto two plates. I winced as he ladled the sauce sloppily onto each pile of noodles.  I would have to get a separate bowl for my salad and ranch dressing. I hate it when different foods touch each other.

“There, now,” Dad said as he plunked both plates down on the table. “Grab the salad and some napkins and we’re good to go.”

I slid the chair out and carefully laid the napkin on my lap. Sprinkling some parmesan cheese on top of my spaghetti, I was just about to dig in when I noticed Dad staring at me. “What?” I asked, my fork stopped mid-air.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about, Nate,” Dad said.

Uh oh, this can’t be good, I thought. Parents never start a sentence that way when they’re planning on taking you to Disneyland or buying you a cool video game or something like that. They only want to “talk” when there’s bad news, like a phone call from your teacher, or the movie you can’t go see, or . . . someone is sick.

“What’s wrong?” My stomach suddenly lurched at the thought that Dad might be sick, or maybe something had happened to Grandpa Don or Grandma Lou. I put my fork down, stared at my dad, and tried to breathe normally, even though my heart was pounding like crazy.

“Nothing’s wrong, Nate, really.” Dad tried to force a smile, probably because he realized he had started this whole conversation wrong. “We need to talk about what you’re going to be doing this summer until I get my vacation in July.”

“I thought we already decided that I’m old enough to stay home alone this year.” I grabbed my fork and started swirling my spaghetti around the tip, careful not to splash any sauce on my clean shirt. I was going to need all of my strength for this discussion.

“I know that’s what you want to do,” Dad chose his words carefully. “But I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

I slammed my fork down a little harder than I meant to, spaghetti sauce spilling over onto the tablecloth. “That’s not fair!  Lots of the guys can stay home anytime they want to.  I’m the only one that can’t!” I didn’t actually know that for a fact, but it sounded good. I hadn’t really gone over to any friend’s house much since Mom died.

“What would you do if you stayed home?” Dad asked, as he poured dressing on his salad.

My brain searched for some reasonable, adult-like responses. “I could do some extra chores for you while you’re at work, like weed the garden, take out the trash, mow the lawn, clean the pool . . .” I was feeling exhausted just rattling off the endless list of things that Dad usually did.

“Doesn’t sound like much fun.”  Dad took a big bite of spaghetti and tried to stifle a smile. “Seems to me that a ten-year-old boy would much rather be EATING the food from the garden, PLAYING CATCH on the lawn, and SWIMMING in the pool.”

“I’m almost eleven,” I mumbled, feeling defeated.  I didn’t tell him that all I really wanted to do was read books and watch Discovery Channel or the History Channel on TV.  Instead, I sat up tall and said, “I’ll tell you one thing, I’m NOT going to Boy Scout Camp again!”

Dad tilted his head to one side and frowned. “I thought you had fun at camp last year. You created an awesome leather cover for your sketch book and Grandma Lou loved the birdhouse you made for her in the craft cabin. And what about your new friend Sheldon? Won’t he be going again?”

I shook my head. “He’s going to astronomy camp.” I had told Dad about the crafts and the fossil hunt and a few other things that I did at camp, but I didn’t tell him about the bad things, like throwing up while horseback riding and almost drowning in the creek. And I definitely didn’t say anything about the bully Oliver.

“It’s too late to sign you up anyway,” Dad said. “About the only thing left is Kids Kamp.”

“No!” I jumped up from the table, causing my glass of milk to wobble back and forth and splash onto the table. “All the kids are younger than me and they play a bunch of baby games. I want to stay home and read my books and build things with my Legos and stuff like that. If Mom were here, she would trust me enough to let me stay here alone!”

“That’s enough, young man.  Sit down.” Dad bit his bottom lip and I could see redness creeping up his neck, which happens when he’s about to explode in anger. Something that seemed to be happening a lot more lately.  I took my seat, careful not to spill anything else.