Free Vote by Gary Paulsen

had given me. I tried to read them the rest of the day, but kept nodding off. It is really hard to keep your finger on the pulse of the people and stay awake. I was glad when the bell rang and I could finally head home.
    “Dutchdeefuddy.” Markie was sitting on our front stoop, waiting for me. “Auntie Buzz said I needed to sit quietly on the steps and wait for you to come home from school.”
    I bet she did. I’m the only one in this family who really gets Markie.
    “Wanna go sit in my fort?” He tried to hand me a water bottle from his panda backpack, but I was wise to that scheme and shook my head.
    “A fort sounds like the perfect retreat for a guy with my stress load.”
    We headed to the basement. I immediatelyshook my head again. Poor Mom—she means well, but she has no clue sometimes. She and Markie had built a fort out of pillows and blankets. I know what she was thinking: less mess and he can’t possibly hurt himself because everything is soft and hypoallergenic.
    But a real fort would be made of cardboard boxes and pieces of lumber from the garage and the old dog crate Dad bought for a quarter at a garage sale because he can’t pass up anything in perfect condition that only costs twenty-five cents, even though we don’t have a dog.
    At first Markie just watched me build while he colored pictures. I don’t hold it against him—my work ethic puts workaholics to shame when I’m really jamming.
    “Can I pound the hammer?” Markie said in the most hopeful voice I’ve ever heard.
    “No nails. Mom put her foot down when Daniel and I built a lookout platform on the stairs. She didn’t appreciate that it was the best angle for watching television.” I pointed from the TV to the stairs. “She was all whacked out about having to shinny over the edge of the platform and drop to the basement floor rather than using the steps. You cansee the nail holes in the wall and the rip in the carpet where we wedged the support beam. She still talks about that project.”
    Markie nodded. We both have fun-free mothers.
    “She’s okay with nails outside, but”—I rolled my eyes—“why would you want a fort where you couldn’t see the television? We’re not heathens.”
    “Heeeee-thuns.” Markie liked the sound of that. “We’re not heeeee-thuns. Who is, Dutchdeefuddy?”
    “Hey, you home?” As if on cue, I heard Goober’s voice in the kitchen.
    “Down here,” I called.
    Goober thumped downstairs with a box of cereal tucked under his arm.
    “I get the toy at the bottom,” Markie squawked when he saw Goober digging in the box.
    “Do not.” Goober crammed a handful of cereal in his mouth and stuck his fist back in the box, searching for the special prize.
    “Do too. I live here now,” Markie announced.
    “See? I
knew
he was your kid. Got custody, did ya?” Goober was grinning. He handed Markie the cereal and Markie dumped it on the floor, looking for the prize.
    Before I could jump in to mediate theirdispute—something I’m sure I’d be good at—JonPaul galloped down the stairs. Followed by Sam and two kids I’d never seen before.
    “I​hope​you​don’t​mind,” Sam said so fast that I felt like I needed an oxygen tank to catch my breath. At least she wasn’t still crying about her dead rodent. “But​Becca​and​Jared​came​too. My​cousins. They’re​staying​with​us. Their​parents​a​revoluntee​ring. Forth​at​program. The​one​that​helps​people. To​build​affordable​houses. They’re​on​the​housing​site​right​now.”
    “Cool. A civic-minded family who builds things. They’ve come to the right place.” I pointed to our fort. “Want some cereal? You don’t have to eat what Markie spilled on the floor. We have a fresh box in the kitchen.”
    “No thanks.” Becca and Jared smiled.
    Nice kids, maybe eleven and twelve. They took Markie outside to play baseball.
    JonPaul glanced over at Goober, who was out cold on the couch, a trail of