Free Jack's New Power by Jack Gantos Page B

out.
    She pulled back. “I beg your pardon?”
    â€œBeautiful wood,” I said quickly, trying to recover. But in one second something had changed. Her eyes went from soft pools of blue to narrow slits. I had blown it.
    â€œFragrant wood. Purpleheart wood,” I murmured romantically.
    â€œI don’t get it,” she said.
    â€œI mean, you know. Nice-smelling wood.”
    â€œBetsy’s searching for me,” she said. Her voice was blunt. “I have to go.”
    â€œDon’t leave,” I pleaded, sinking to begging like a puppy with the first chance I had.
    She stood up. “Betsy was right,” she said to me.
    â€œRight about what?” I asked.
    â€œStill a little green,” she replied knowingly. “Immature.”
    Arghh!

    â€œBetsy said I should be with older men. Now I know why. Even after I kissed Pete he didn’t say I smelled like a piece of wood.”
    â€œGive me a second chance,” I cried out. I reached for her hand. “You smell like rose petals.”
    She opened her mouth and stuck her finger down her throat. “Oh, gag me,” she said repulsively.
    Then in one terrible moment she snatched up my diary, spun on one foot, and dashed out of the shed.
    I was right behind her. “Give that back,” I hollered. I grabbed at the diary, missed, slipped on the wet grass, and skidded into a bush.
    She ran up the back stairs and through the door. I was doomed. That’s the only reason she kissed me, I thought. Betsy must have sent her on a mission to steal my diary. It was all a trick. She never really liked me. She was toying with me.
    I was crushed.
    I returned to the shed, flopped on my back, and limply covered my face with my open hands. I thought I had a fever. If only Anne were my nurse, she would take care of me. I imagined I was a race-car driver who’d had a fiery crash and Anne brought me back to life. I was a wounded soldier and she applied the bandages. I was an orphan and she adopted me. I was her prize student and she kept me behind for extra assignments. I’d do special reading. She’d lean over me and breathe knowledge into my hot ears. I’d beg to do hard math problems. She’d guide the pencil with her hand on mine. Then she’d paste a big gold star on my forehead. Afterward, I’d show her my diary and she could read my poems about just how deeply I loved her.

    I popped right out of my fantasy as soon as I thought about my diary. I knew that Anne and Betsy were reading it at that very moment. They were giggling and laughing at every word I wrote, especially my love poem, which I suddenly remembered.
    And they both were using that awful word “immature.”
    Â 
    For the next few days I stayed out of sight. I pretty much lived in the shack out back with Celeste. She understood me, until she got tired of me always trying to pet her, and then she turned on me and scratched me across the hand. I dabbed at the lines of blood and thought, I should tattoo “Jack Loves Anne” on my hand.
    â€œJack,” Mom shouted from the back stairs. “Anne is leaving. Do you want to say goodbye?”
    I didn’t answer her. She called for me again, then went back inside.
    I didn’t want Anne, or anyone, to see me looking so sad. So heartbroken. Besides, I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her to feel sad that I wasn’t around to wish her bon voyage. Their boat was patched up and they were leaving for Trinidad in the morning.
    After Mom left, I sneaked out of the shed and dashed down the side yard to the front corner of the house. The taxi was waiting in the driveway. I didn’t see anyone but the driver, and he didn’t count.
    I ran to the guava tree in the front yard and scrambled up the trunk. I perched like a monkey on a branch. I parted the leaves in front of my face and waited. In a moment, everyone descended the front steps and gathered around the taxi. I watched as Anne