Julian's Glorious Summer by Ann Cameron

Author:Ann Cameron [Cameron, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-80018-3
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2011-06-15T04:00:00+00:00

She stood with her thumbs in the belt loops of her blue jeans, staring at me. Then she whispered, “Julian! Your dad really is doing it? He really is going to make you work all day and all night, all summer long?”

“Only all day,” I said.

“He really is mean,” Gloria said.

“Well, not exactly,” I said. “Actually, I want to work. Actually, it was my idea.”

“Your idea?” Gloria said.

“Yes. I want to save money. To buy a race car.”

“You’re going to work all summer? You want to?”

“Pretty much,” I said.

My forehead was sweaty. I wiped it with the back of my hand. Dirt from the weeds trickled down my neck. I thought, “Of all the not-quite-true things I have ever said, this is the not-quite-truest of all.”

“Well,” Gloria said, “to each his own.”

I didn’t know what “to each his own” meant.

Usually I wouldn’t ever have asked, because I don’t want Gloria to know when I don’t already know something. But I was living under emergency conditions. It was too much trouble to pretend I knew everything. I decided that if I wanted to know something, I would just go ahead and ask.

I asked.

“It’s something my mother says,” Gloria answered. “It means each person has his or her own way of doing things and his or her own things to do. It means if you want to work all summer—it’s not for me to say you’re crazy. You just might not be crazy. Even though I think you are.

“To each his own,” Gloria said again. And she left.

In a little while Huey came up.

“Julian,” he said, “may I help you weed?”

“Sure,” I said. I wondered why Huey wanted to help.

I have to give him credit. He worked hard. We got the whole garden done before supper.

“Thanks a lot, Huey!” I said when we put the tools away.

“It’s nothing,” Huey said. “Anyway, Gloria told me I had to help you. She said I should be very kind to you. Because maybe your brain is out of order.”

“Oh, really?” I said.

My back was out of order. My neck was out of order. My fingers were out of order. My legs were out of order. On top of that, my best friend was insulting my brain.

“Come on, brain,” I said to it. “Lead me to dinner.”

And it did. Not only that, it advised me to sneak upstairs and take the sharp rocks out from under Huey’s mattress so he wouldn’t stop helping me.

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