The Wednesdays by Julie Bourbeau

Author:Julie Bourbeau
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780375899751
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2012-08-13T21:00:00+00:00

ax glanced at his watch as he headed home. It was still several hours before midnight. He didn’t know what to do until it was safe to go inside, and he was also feeling more than a little sorry for himself.

As he shuffled across the deserted town square he heard a voice calling in the distance. He froze in his tracks, not wanting to deal with yet another wednesday confrontation. Fortunately, it was only Mr. Grimsrud calling for his dog.

“Thursday! Thursday? It’s time for supper, little fellow.” Max heard Mr. Grimsrud before he spotted him.

The old man was limping about frantically, knocking on his head every second or third step. When he saw Max, he lurched over to him quickly. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the blue skin,” he said. “Have you seen my little dog?”

Max had not, but he promised to keep a lookout for him. “Mr. Grimsrud?” he asked hesitantly. “Why do you think the wednesdays leave you alone?”

The old man was distracted; his eyes continued to scan for his lost dog as he spoke to Max. “I don’t know, lad. Like I told you, I’ve never even seen one.”

“Because I was wondering if maybe it might have something to do with the metal plate in your head.”

“Oh, it could be, but trust me, you don’t want one of these in your noggin,” Mr. Grimsrud told him, “no matter how pretty they sound when you knock on them. A boy your age wouldn’t much like what you have to go through to get one. War’s not much fun at any age, come to think of it.” His expression turned melancholy.

Max sighed. He just wanted to find something—anything—that could help him to stop turning into a wednesday.

Mr. Grimsrud was about to walk away when he turned back to Max. “I do still have my old army helmet, though—it’s made of steel. I don’t know what good it’ll do, but you’re welcome to it.”

Max nodded gratefully. He’d try anything.

Mr. Grimsrud instructed Max where to find the old helmet. “I’d accompany you, but I need to keep looking for Thursday. He’s never run off for this long before. If I didn’t know better, I’d say those wednesday critters were baiting him.”

They parted ways and Max headed over to Mr. Grimsrud’s cottage on the outskirts of town. Mr. Grimsrud had warned him that the helmet would be very dirty and probably rusty, too, since he had been using it as a flowerpot for years.

Max found the helmet near the ramshackle cottage’s front stoop. It wasn’t the only unusual item being used as a planter—the weedy yard also contained a chipped bathtub sprouting sunflowers, an ancient boot with mushrooms popping out between the laces, and a porcelain toilet containing a struggling tomato vine.

The shadows cast by the fading daylight against the sagging house gave Max the creeps, so he quickly replanted the cabbage flower that had been growing in the helmet. He shook the dirt and earthworms out of the helmet as

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