The Right Hook of Devin Velma by Jake Burt

Author:Jake Burt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

SOAKING IT ALL IN

I was so exhausted by the time we got home that I fell asleep still wearing the Blake Griffin jersey. My mom and dad both tucked me in, making sure the blanket was rolled away from my hand and that my head hit the pillow. I think they pulled my shoes off for me, too. At least, I woke up barefoot.

The clock above my closet said it was twelve forty-five in the afternoon. I had to rub my eyes twice to read it, and I accidentally smashed my glove-covered fingers into the side of my nose. I gasped. There was nothing quite like pain to get you moving.

I finally tossed the Blake Griffin jersey away and wandered down the hall. I thought about stopping at the bathroom to check my bandages and put some medicine on my fingertips, but the smell coming from the kitchen was too tempting.

“There’s the hero of the day!” my mom said. My dad was at the stove, frying up a panful of cinnamon-sugar apples. On the table was a huge waffle and a plate of spicy sausage. Mom pulled out the chair for me. I had two sausage links in my mouth before my backside hit the seat.

“We made your favorites,” Dad said. “Twice.”

Mom smiled, pointing at the trash can. A cold waffle sat atop a mound of eggshells. Its edges were jagged.

“I may have done some nibbling when it was apparent you weren’t going to get out of bed at your normal time.”

“Thanks, guys,” I said. “For both breakfasts.”

“You earned it!” a voice called out from below. “Good morning, Addison!”

“Good afternoon!” I yelled back. “Hi, Ms. Culverson!”

“You need anything else up there? I’ve got OJ if the kid wants some!”

My dad crouched by the hole. “No thanks, we’re good.”

“My whole poker crew saw Addison on the eleven o’clock news last night. Your son giving out autographs yet?”

I laughed, holding up my right hand. My mom giggled, too, and she swiped a strawberry off the side of my plate. Dad hurried back to the apples before they burned, and he brought the whole pan over, tipping the entire sizzling cascade of caramel and apple chunks onto my waffle. After he let the pan rattle into the sink, he returned to the hole.

“No autographing for Addison, I’m afraid. Apparently, it takes quite a bit of effort to catch a kid half your size.”

“Dad!” I exclaimed.

“Teasing! We—”

The sound of the phone ringing cut my dad off.

“I’ve got this one,” he said. “You dote on our son.”

As Dad answered the phone, Mom leaned in.

“That’s maybe, like, the tenth or eleventh call this morning.”

“People checking if I’m okay?”

“Some. Moms and dads of your friends at school. A few have been news stations.”

It was suddenly hard to swallow the mouthful of apples and waffle I’d been chewing. I took a gulp of milk from the glass nearby and managed to wrangle it down.

“News stations?” I echoed.

“You made quite a scene! We’re not surprised. And don’t worry,” she said, reaching out to cover my good hand with hers.

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