Free o 0df2dc86c31d22a8 by Unknown Page A

anymore.
    You sit at the foot of his bed. He sits on the pillow.
    The way you’ve sat a million other times for a million other conversations.
    He talks a little about Chicago. He’s dreading it in a way, but looking forward to a change of scenery.
    You tell him to bring back Frango mints. Whenever Mom and Dad go to Chicago, they always bring back Frango mints from some big department store.
    It’s a dumb thing to say, but it feels right.
    Alex promises he’ll find some.
    You help him pull down a suitcase from his closet shelf. You both begin packing and stuff. His mom comes up stirs and reminds Alex that they have to leave soon to pick up his ticket at the airport.
    “I’ve got it under control now,” Alex says to you. About the packing.
    “Well,” you reply.
    “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.”
    “Call me.”
    “I will.”
    You turn to leave, but before you’re out the door, Alex mumbles, “Thank you.” Then he
    continues packing.
    And you leave.
    As you walk down the stairs, you feel dazed.
    You try not to think that you almost threw away your friendship.
    He was the one who pulled you back.
    But in a way, that was how it should have been.
    After so much blindness and bumbling, after everything you’ve done wrong, at least you know you did one thing right.
    Thursday 12/17
    Los Angeles International Airport
    in which Ducky Returns After a Two-Day Rest
    Some rest.
    Between school, homework, phone conversations with Mrs. Snyder, e-mail to Alex, preparation for Mom and Dad’s trip, and taking them to meet the plane, you haven’t stopped.
    Telling Mom and Dad they should go to Ghana was the hardest part of the last two days.
    You reached that decision in the car, on the way back from Alex’s on Tuesday.
    What was the point of their staying home? Alex is going to be away. You’ll be fine. All they’d be doing would be moping around the house, thinking about the trip they didn’t take.
    Ted and you can buy the botanically correct tree and celebrate a brotherly Christmas. You’ll make it fun.
    Mom and Dad kept asking if you were SURE, insisting they’d be HAPPY to stay. You knew
    they were sincere. But you could sense their relief. And their appreciation.
    Driving to the airport, you were totally fine.
    Saying good-bye, though, was a different story.
    For the first time since you were a little boy, you cried. You never thought you’d miss them so much.
    They cried back. You hugged each other until the final boarding announcement. And you stood by the window and waved to the plane as it took off.
    The way you did when you were little.
    Everything’s changed so much since the day you picked them up. YOU’VE changed.
    As a son.
    As a brother.
    As a friend.
    You feel funny about going back to Palo City now. To Life Without Parents.
    Or Alex.
    When he called you from Chicago this afternoon, he didn’t say much. But he sounded upbeat, I think. He said he hopes to come home soon.
    You talked to Mrs. Snyder afterward. She thinks he sounds “fragile.”
    She’s not so sure about the coming-home-soon part.
    Neither am I.
    Oh, well. I guess it’ll be pretty lonely for awhile [sic].
    At least I have Ted. And my friends.
    They’ll be glad Good Old Ducky’s back.
    I’m not sure I’m up to being Good Old Ducky just yet, though.
    Maybe just plain Ducky.
    If I can figure out who that is.
    About the Author
    ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, NJ, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.
    Although Ann used to be a teacher and then an editor of children’s books, she’s now a full-time writer. She gets ideas for her books from many different places. Some are based on personal experiences. Others are based on childhood memories and feelings. Many are written about contemporary problems or events.
    All of Ann’s characters are made up. But some of her characters are based on real people.
    Sometimes Ann names her characters after people she knows; other times