Free The Absolute Value of Mike by Kathryn Erskine Page B

never find a home.”
    Past frowned, looking serious. “We’re working on the adoption.”
    â€œWho’s supposed to be making the boxes in Poppy’s workshop?”
    â€œThat would be Poppy.”
    â€œNo, I mean, other than Poppy.”
    Past grimaced. “Poppy was supposed to train the others. No one’s nearly as good as he is. Not good enough to sell them.”
    â€œWell, that’s just great. Karen needs forty thousand dollars ! In three weeks !”
    â€œI know.”
    Then I realized something I hadn’t asked. “How much has she raised so far?”
    Past lowered his eyes and spoke softly. “About . . . well . . . fifteen—”
    â€œThat’s it? Fifteen thousand?”
    â€œNo. Fifteen hundred.”
    â€œWhat!”
    â€œAt last count,” Past said quickly. “It might be a little more now. Maybe a couple of thousand.”
    I stood up and started pacing. “I’ve got to get Poppy moving.”
    â€œIs he seeing anyone? Like a therapist?”
    I shrugged. “Karen’s a minister, right? She came by last night.”
    Past raised his eyebrows.
    I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m trying to get a rise out of him. I’m talking at him, but I wouldn’t exactly call it a conversation.”
    Past’s brow furrowed and he stood up, walking behind the bench to his cart. “Let me give you something.” After a few moments of jiggling and clanking in the blue and white cooler, he pulled out a small brown bottle. He cleared his throat and reached his arm over to me. “Here, try this.”
    I took the bottle and read the gold label. “Saint John’s Wort?” I’d seen this before. On our kitchen counter. Dad took it every day along with his Centrum Silver. “Thanks, but I don’t think a vitamin is going to help much.” I handed it back to him.
    Past leaned his forearms on the cart handle. “It’s not a vitamin. It’s for treating depression.”
    Depression? I looked at the bottle again. It was even the same brand Dad used. “Is that all it’s used for?”
    â€œDepression and anxiety. There are other uses people have come up with, but none of them have been scientifically proven.”
    Well, Dad wouldn’t use it for anything that wasn’t scientifically proven, that’s for sure. So it had to be depression or anxiety. I had no idea.
    â€œJust take it and try it. But tell Moo to check with his doctor first and make sure it’s okay for him. We can’t assume that. Assumptions like that can be dangerous.”
    â€œYeah, like I assumed Poppy was an engineer.” I told Past about the “artesian screw” disaster.
    A voice came from the next bench. “Did you ever look closely at the word ASS-ume ?”
    I looked beyond Past and saw three old guys sitting on the bench and did a double take. They looked like the Three Stooges I’d seen in Sasha’s dad’s DVD collection. The one nearest us had a bowl-type haircut like Moe, the one in the middle had curly hair like Larry, and the chubby guy on the far side was bald. He’d be the Stooge called Curly, which is what I always got a kick out of because he was practically bald.
    â€œ Ass-ume, ” said the Moe look-alike, “is made up of ass and u and me. ”
    â€œWhen you ASS-ume,” said the Larry stooge, “you make an ass of you and me.”
    All three of the stooges laughed.
    â€œNext time, be more careful.... What’s your name?” the Moe character asked.
    â€œMe? Mike.”
    â€œThat’s a funny name. Me-Mike. I’m Guido, this is Jerry, and the quiet one is Spud.”
    â€œThese guys,” said Past, “were part of Poppy’s”—he coughed—“artesian screw project.”
    â€œYeah, it’s screwed, all right,” said Jerry.
    Spud nodded. So far, he hadn’t spoken.
    â€œHey, Poppy lost his