Free The Waffler by Gail Donovan Page B

shrugging. “But, whatever.”
    Monty wanted to pound his sister. She sounded exactly like Big A. He also wanted to say that maybe sometimes he had trouble making up his mind in the first place, but it wasn’t true that he changed his mind once it was already made up. The trouble came when people wanted him to make up his mind before he was ready. Then sometimes he gave an answer that wasn’t really his final answer. But he was so mad he couldn’t explain all that. All he could say, stupidly, was, “Not
whatever
!”
    â€œJohn,” said Monty’s stepmom. “Why don’t you and Monty just go? And maybe later we should all talk about—you know.”
    â€œThe flip-flop thing?” asked Sierra.
    Everybody knew about the flip-flop idea by now. Monty’s mom had asked everybody to think about it, and Monty’s dad had said he wanted to wait and see. Monty’s stepmom and stepdad both said it was up to his mom and dad. And nothing had happened. Except every time he and Sierra had a little fight, the grown-ups sent meaningful glances at each other. They were so obvious they might as well be sailing a paper airplane across the room with a note on it:
What should we do about Monty and Sierra?

“ Y es, the flip-flop thing,” answered their dad, sounding annoyed. “But not now. I don’t want to miss the parade. Come on, Monty—while we’re young, please? Put that rat away and let’s go.”
    It wasn’t Monty’s fault they hadn’t left yet!
    By now he didn’t even want to go to the parade with his dad, but he didn’t have much choice. He was going and his dad was going. They were going together. He put the rat back in its cage, and they left the house and walked up Atlantic Street and down Congress Street. At the bottom of the hill they found a spot to wait.
    Monty’s dad pointed to the patchy gray sky. “Looks like it can’t decide whether to rain or not.”
    â€œIs that supposed to be funny?” asked Monty.
    â€œIt was supposed to be,” said his dad, “but I guess it wasn’t. Hey, I’m sorry, okay? I’m glad you wanted to come with me.”
    Monty was still sore. “I promised Leo,” he said.
    â€œWho?” asked his dad.
    â€œMy Kindergarten Buddy,” explained Monty. “Leonard Schwarz.” He told his dad all about Leo and his sister named Harriet and his dog named Noodle.
    â€œThat’s pretty nice of you to come and watch him.”
    â€œI guess,” said Monty.
    His dad might think that Monty was being nice, but the truth was, hanging out with Leo was easier than dealing with the kids in his own grade. Leo thought he was awesome. Leo never called him Waffles.
    â€œWho’s he marching with?”
    â€œHis Scout troop.”
    â€œI was a Scout,” said his dad.
    â€œYou never told me that,” said Monty.
    â€œI didn’t get too far,” admitted his dad. “But your granddad did. He went all the way to Eagle Scout.”
    â€œHe did?” Monty felt like an idiot for not knowing. But his grandfather had died before Monty was born, and his dad hardly ever talked about him.
    â€œHe gave me the badge he got when he made Eagle Scout,” said his dad, “but I lost it. I wish I’d been able to hang onto that.”
    A loud noise rumbled overhead.
    â€œHere come the planes!” said his dad, but his voice sounded funny. Tight—like he could hardly get the words out.
    Monty glanced up and saw something he suddenly realized he had never seen before. His dad had tears in his eyes. It made Monty feel funny, as if he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to. Quickly he looked away—up at the sky where the planes emerged from the clouds, zoomed high above the parade route, and then disappeared. The parade was starting.
    One after another, the groups went by. The high school marching band trooped by playing