The Gift by Jim Westcott

Author:Jim Westcott
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781630780272
Publisher: Saddleback Educational Publishing
Published: 2015-05-07T15:01:58+00:00

8

GRANDPA’S GROUP

Two days go by. No Andrew. I want him to see. Max isn’t Max. He is decent. To me. To Luke. To all of us. Kids snicker. But we all steer clear. It’s cool. And weird. The school bully is … tamed. Guess it worked. Hope it will last.

I’m reading in my room after school. Someone knocks. It’s Grandpa.

“Zeke,” he says. “Come up.” He turns his head. Looks up. “But be quiet.”

So I tiptoe upstairs. He’s just ahead. His door is closed.

“Zeke,” he says. “I have people in there. My group. We meet every month.”

Okay, a group. Huh? Who? I think.

“Zeke, I need to know,” he says.

“Know what?” I ask.

“That you’ll be okay,” he says. “With this. My group. Well, they—”

“They’re dead, Grandpa,” I say. Nod my head.

“Yes. They’re dead. You got it,” he says. “Most, long dead.”

He looks at me. Pats my shoulder. Says, “Yeah, you’ll be okay. Strong kid. I’ve been keeping an eye. You and Andrew. Doing better than I did at first.”

“What do I do here?” I ask.

“Just go in. Sit. Listen. They know you’re coming. Okay?”

“Yeah, I think. Yeah, I’m good,” I say.

He opens the door.

I see three sets of legs. I keep my head low. My heart races. I sit. Then I look up.

My jaw drops. I stare. Holy cow! I know these people. Well, I don’t know-know them. I’ve read about them.

There are two men. George Washington. I freak out a little. Albert Einstein is next. Freakin’ E = mc2. There’s a lady too. I know her. But her name … What is her name?

“Zeke,” Grandpa says. “I’d like for you to meet George Washington, Albert Einstein, and Mrs. Rosa Parks. My monthly group.”

That’s it! Rosa Parks. Read about her. About the bus boycott. Civil rights.

Then they talk. I listen.

“You had to work for things,” Washington says. “For your food. Clothes. Shelter.”

Einstein says, “Yes, today’s tech has lots of negatives. But look at all the good.”

“Oh, I agree with Al,” Rosa Parks says. “The mobile phones … I wish I had one back in the day. We could have organized so much faster.”

“Don’t tell me, George, that you liked all that physical work. The lack of medicine. So many of your men died at Valley Forge,” Einstein says.

George Washington snorts, then folds his arms. Didn’t answer.

“Oh, George. You know he’s right. Such a stubborn old general,” says Mrs. Parks.

And this goes on.

It doesn’t seem real.

They talk about the world. Crime. Poverty. Medicine. Space. Bad stuff. Good stuff. I’m dying to ask questions. But Grandpa didn’t say I could talk. So I sit. Listen. Absorb. I have a gift. And it’s looking pretty cool to me.

Later, I go to bed. I can’t sleep. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.

I was with them. I heard them. They’re dead. But they’re here. In my freakin’ house.

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