The Last Martin by Jonathan Friesen

Author:Jonathan Friesen
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780310399681
Publisher: Zonderkidz
Published: 2011-01-20T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

HALLELUJAH! THANK YOU FOR THIS MELTY BUTTER dripping down my pancakes!”

Lani jumps and drops the Aunt Jemima onto the floor. I should have warned her, but I wanted to get my primal thankfulness yell out of the way early.

“What was that for?” She swallows hard.

I shrug and stuff a bite in my mouth. “I was just — I mean, pancakes without melty butter?” I lift the butter dish and inspect it closely. “What good are they, right?”

“Right,” she says slowly.

I finish and carry my dish to the sink. “Where’s Mom?”

“Back in bed.” Lani yawns. “She called in sick to the library. The locksmith is on his way to change all the locks.”

I chuckle, drop my dish with a clank, grab Julia’s pictures, and race out toward the bus stop.

“Top of the mornin', Martin.” Father Gooly squints. “Appears you took a blow to the face, lad.”

I shrug at Father Gooly and hop up the steps. He grabs my arm and I lean in.

“What might be going on with Charley? He bears the look of dead veal, don’t cha know. Won’t say a word to me.”

I pull free and hobble down the aisle. Sure enough, there’s a sickly looking veal slumped in the backseat. I ease down beside him.

“Don’t!” Veal springs to life and shoves me back into the aisle. “Don’t even think about planting that ugly face there. Take the seat behind me.”

“But there isn’t a seat — “ I plop down again, and the bus clunks forward. “What’s up?”

“It would be nice if we could just pretend that everything was an accident. But it’s no good, Marty. My old best friend Marty. Snake-in-the-grass Marty. Weasel Marty.”

I sigh and let my head fall back against the seat. “For my sake, humor me. Make believe I know nothing, okay?”

“'I wrote a song so the world will know, how Martin’s friend feels about Julia Snow.’ Do I need to go on?”

“You wrote her a song?” My face scrunches. “You can’t sing.”

“No kidding. That was a nice touch. You outdid yourself. But did you have to play it in the girls’ locker room? Why, Martin?”

My jaw drops. “I didn’t write a song. I didn’t sing a song. I don’t know who wrote … I do know who wrote it. Poole.”

“Boxcar boy?”

Charley puts on his thinking face. That’s tough for Charley so it takes a while, but two minutes later his eyes light up. “He’s the friend. Poole was talking about himself.”

“He’s the friend.”

“But I’ll never be able to speak to Julia again. I knew that kid was trouble the first time I saw him.”

I look away from Charley and grin. Poole messed up my life, but the more I think about it, his visit was pretty effective.

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