The Year of the Buttered Cat by Susan Haas

Author:Susan Haas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penny Candy Books
Published: 2021-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 26

Age 5, The Year of the Buttered Cat

The next Wednesday, after Anna, Elle, and I finished our online test prep, I pointed to my spelling board.

Elle picked it up. “Do you have something to say? Want me to get your mom?”

Ggguuhhh. I arched and grimaced.

“Okay, okay! No mom. We can do this.”

Anna held the cookie sheet on my lap, and Elle held my wrist. It took a few minutes to find a rhythm, but when I was done, I took a deep breath. My arm went limp.

“Look up Lou Lattimore,” Anna read, a little too loud.

Ggguuhhh. I reached forward again and pulled down Shh.

“Who’s Lou Lattimore?” whispered Elle.

Ggguuhhh.

“You don’t know?”

Tongue out. I pointed toward the computer.

Elle shrugged, then sat in front of the keyboard. After a minute she announced, “The only Lou Lattimore that comes up is a dress shop in Texas.”

“Let me try,” Anna said, pushing Elle from the computer. “Maybe Lou is short for something else.”

“Good idea. Try Louis Lattimore,” Elle suggested.

Nothing came up for Louis, Lucas, or Lucius Lattimore. Apparently, there was an American inventor named Lewis Lattimore, but he died in 1928.

“Maybe it’s a pseudonym,” Elle said.

“A pseudowhat?” asked Anna.

“You know, an alias or false name. Like J. K. Rowling. That isn’t her real name. It’s a pseudonym.”

There was a knock at the front door.

“Anna. Elle,” Mom called. “Your mom’s here.”

Elle closed the web page. “Anyway, think about it. Then maybe we can look again. But next week, you owe me a double dose of The Sorcerer’s Stone.”

After they left, I considered the pseudonym angle. As crazy as it sounded, Lou Lattimore might actually be a real-life superhero. I mean, he had an alias that was nowhere to be found online. He was determined to help me get back my missing things. Why wasn’t Mom on board with it? She knew about the deadline and that it was getting closer.

With no luck tracking down Lou Lattimore, that tick, tick, tick grew louder and more persistent.

In early February, my class took the National French Exam. Mom held my wrists while I pointed to answers on my test booklet. The test was pretty easy, I thought, and Anna and Elle agreed. Now I could finally focus on my missing things.

One morning in late February, I was awakened by a hand placed softly on my cheek.

“Lexi,” Mom whispered.

I opened one eye and saw pink sunrise filtered through frost-covered windows. I shivered and shut my eye.

Mom jostled me.

Ggguuhhh.

“C’mon, Lex. We have an appointment at the Center this morning, so we need to get moving.”

I arched my back and grimaced.

Mom laughed. “I think you’re being a little dramatic. The Center isn’t so bad, and Celeste really likes you.”

I groaned. I hadn’t been to the Assistive Technology Center since last summer. Hadn’t everyone finally given up on that?

“I know it’s frustrating, but Celeste says now that you have your chair it might be easier to use a communication device. She has a new one for us try today.”

Of course. A new one.

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