Free Xander and the Lost Island of Monsters by Margaret Dilloway

she’s choosing her words carefully, trying not to upset me.
    â€œWith a mother who what? Abandoned her kid?” Steady, voice.
    â€œWho’s not Japanese,” Obāchan says softly. “Nobody knows how that will affect a Momotaro. What talents you will gain, or lose. It’s genetics.”
    Fantastic. Another not-right thing about my heritage. Even when I find out I’m some kind of superhero, something’s weird about it. “How is that going to help me, Obāchan? How?”
    My grandmother shakes her head. “I don’t know if it will help or hurt you, Xander. That’s the truth.”
    Peyton moves over next to me and puts his hands on his hips. “Whatever Xander’s going to do, Mrs. Miyamoto, I’m going to do it with him. And nobody can stop me.”
    Obāchan blinks up at him, a look of gratitude on her face. She pats his arm. “Why, Peyton, I wasn’t going to stop you. I was just about to ask you to help Xander.”
    â€œOh.” Peyton squares his shoulders. “Well, good. Because I’m ready, Mrs. Miyamoto. Just tell me what to do.”
    I can’t believe Peyton’s offering to be oni bait with me. If I were him, I’d be running home by now. I grin. “Aw, Peyton, you’re volunteering to be my sidekick? Thanks. I knew there was a reason I was keeping you around.”
    â€œWatch it, Miyamoto.” Peyton kicks at me playfully. “I’m your bodyguard, not your sidekick.”
    â€œWhatever.” I grab his ankle. He shakes it free like my hand is a cobweb. Further evidence of my weakness. “You’re still my sidekick.”
    â€œBodyguard.”
    â€œSidekick.”
    â€œHush, boys. Pay attention.” Obāchan opens up the box attached to the monkey. Rice pours out into her palm, a lot more than you’d think could fit in that tiny container. “Rice and salt and water. This is all you need. The building blocks of life.” She puts the lid back on the monkey box and ties the belt tight around my waist, around my T-shirt. “Now, come along.”
    She walks briskly out of my room. Inu gets up and lopes after her. Peyton and I look at each other.
    â€œI guess we better do what she says,” Peyton says.
    I look out my window at the brand-new ocean and I want to crawl under the bookcase and hide. But then I think of Dad. He’s still alive—someplace—and it’s up to me to bring him back. “I guess so.”
    We follow my grandmother. She barrels downstairs and out of the house, a waterproof messenger bag in her hands. I didn’t know she could still move half that fast.
    The sun’s low in the sky, starting to set—at the appropriate hour this time. Obāchan splashes into the water up to her ankles. “Come here.”
    We obey. She puts the nylon messenger bag over Peyton, crosswise. “Time is different where you’re going. You have five sunsets until your parents will even know you are gone.”
    Peyton and I exchange another glance—mine alarmed, his gleeful. “Five days away from my parents? I volunteer!” He sloshes into the water, then pauses, shading his eyes against the setting sun. “Okay, what do you mean by where we’re going? All I see is a whole lot of water.”
    â€œIf we have to swim, I’m definitely out.” I take off my socks and wade into the warm water. I’m not a great swimmer. I look like a frog having a seizure.
    Peyton belly-flops onto the shore. “Get on my back. I’ll carry you, sea-turtle style.”
    I don’t want to. Somehow this is even more humiliating than the notion of me not being able to swim alone. Peyton really is my bodyguard, not my sidekick. “You can’t carry me. We don’t even know where we’re going. It might be like ten miles. Then we’ll both drown.”
    â€œNope.” Peyton’s all confidence. “I won’t let