Free Trouble Magnet by Graham Salisbury Page B

the bright lights of Las Vegas. He never came back. That was four years ago. I was five.
    Being man of the house meant responsibility. I wasn't so good with that.
    “No,” Mom said. “You'll still be the man of the house.”
    “A girl can't be the
man,
” Darci said.
    I frowned. Too bad. The man of the house had to do too much stuff. And do it right, too. Mom was always saying, “Why can't you pay attention? Be more responsible, Calvin, for heaven's sake?”
    She was right. I was a goof-up. Sometimes a big one. I couldn't help it. Trouble zoomed up to me like a paper clip to a magnet. Look what had just happened with the guy's kite.
    Or take yesterday, when Mom got all over me because I forgot to drag the garbage can out to the street. Now we had to wait a whole week for the next pickup. By then the garage will smell like dead fish.

    I grumbled, “What's
man of the house
mean, anyway?”
    “I know,” Darci said. “It means you can grow a mustache.”
    “For real?” A mustache would be cool.
    Mom chuckled. “That's something you don't have to worry about just yet, Cal.”
    Dang. “Do you think she'll laugh at our name, Mom?”
    “She already knows.”
    “That's good.”
    Coconut
was my dad's idea. He made it up. For a famous singer,
Little Johnny Coconut
sounded way more interesting than Little Johnny
Novio,
which was our real last name. Dad was so pleased with himself, he made the name legal. Now we were all Coconuts.
    Mom leaned back and let the sun warm her face. “This is going to be a terrific year, kids. Stella's coming to live with us; Macy's is moving me up in the jewelry department; Darci, you'll be a
first
grader; and Calvin, wow— you're going into fourth grade.”

    I stroked my upper lip. Should I grow a pencil mustache? Or one of those walrus ones?
    “Will Stella go to school?” Darci asked.
    “Tenth grade,” Mom said. “She'll babysit, too.”
    My mustache dream popped.
“Babysit?”
    Mom patted my knee. Another bad sign. “Let'sgive her a big welcome when she gets here, okay?”
    Darci clapped and nodded.
    Mom looked me in the eye … with that fake smile … and with her hand still on my knee.
    “What?”
    “There's one more thing. Um … honey … we're going to give Stella your room and move you out to the storage room in the garage.”
    “What!”
    “A teenage girl needs her privacy.”
    “But Mom, the storage room is full of bugs!”
    “Ledward will help you clean it out.”
    “But …”
    My thoughts tumbled like wild surf. I didn't mind bugs that much, but sleep in the storage room? That was crazy.
    Mom shook my knee and winked. “I want you to fix the lock on your bedroom door so Stella doesn't get stuck in there like you always do. Then you can start cleaning out the storage room.”
    My head felt like a firecracker had just gone off in there. “Mom, can I go live at Julio's house?”
    “You're going to love Stella, Cal. You'll see.”

B ack home, I put dry clothes on and went out to look at the storage room. I inched open the door. I poked my head in. Dark. Dusty.
    You gotta be kidding. Prob'ly I should just run away from home. It smelled like damp cardboard.
    Boxes of junk cluttered the floor, and spiderwebs connected everything like Halloween decorations. When I turned on the light, six roaches raced for cover and a monster centipede slithered past my bare foot.
    “Yahh!” This one was as long as a rat's tail!
    It stopped. I could tell it was glaring at me, like it was saying, You want trouble? Come on, I'll give you trouble. Those things could sting like a wasp. But for some reason I liked centipedes. All those creepy legs.
    I spotted an old peanut butter jar and grabbed it.
    “Hey,” I whispered to the centipede. “Don't attack, okay?” I got down on one knee. Carefully, I scooped the centipede into the jar and capped it. “Gotcha!”
    It squirmed in the jar. I held it up. “Don't worry, I won't kill you.” I could never do that. But Mom could. “If