Zacktastic (2 page)

“There are LOTS of reasons he's my friend,” I say.

“Oh yeah?” Quinn counters. “Name one.”

Okay, truthfully, I'm not exactly sure why Eli is my friend. But I'm not about to admit that!

“There's nothing special about you,” Quinn adds.

“GET OUT!” I shout.

Quinn looks me square in the eye. “Make me,” she says.

“You asked for it,” I say, and I make a
pushing gesture with my hands, like I'm threatening to shove her or something. Man, I'd like to. She deserves it, after all: If you barge into the bathroom to spy on your brother, then you
should
be knocked over. But if I tried to hit Quinn, she'd just hit me back harder. She's strong that way.

And all of a sudden, she's swept off her feet.

I didn't touch her, I swear. She tripped over nothing, all on her own. Now she's on the floor, right on her butt.

“I see London, I see France, I see Quinn Cooley's underpants,” I chant.

But Quinn doesn't seem to care. “Whoa,” she says softly, her voice shaky. “Did you feel that?”

Before I can answer, Mom's in the doorway, her arms full of party decorations. “You're starting with each other already?” she says. “I thought we all agreed we were going to make this day a good day.”

That had been part of the dinner conversation last night: “Let's not have any fights tomorrow,” Mom had said. “Let's make it a good day.” Though,
Quinn and I hadn't actually
agreed
to that.

“You all right, Quinn?” Mom asks. She puts the streamers on the counter and reaches a hand down to pull her up. Then she turns to me, accusingly. “Did you do this?”

“Uh-uh, no way,” I say. “Quinn tripped all by herself. After she just marched right on in here—even though the door was closed.”

“But not locked,” Quinn says, straightening her skirt. “And whose fault is that?”

“She didn't even knock first,” I say.

“I had to go. And Zack was taking forever.”

“Oh, for Pete's sake, just use my bathroom,” Mom tells her.

In the background, the phone rings.

“Work it out, you two,” Mom tells us before grabbing the streamers and heading back down the hall to answer the phone.

“Thanks for getting me in trouble with Mom, nut job,” Quinn says. But then she leaves, too. Finally.

I close the door behind her. Now I'm alone in the bathroom, but it's not like I actually need to be in here anymore.

Another day in the life of Zachary Cooley.

Leave it to Quinn to ruin everything.

2

U
NCLE
M
AX

T
wo hours later the party is in full swing.

Quinn has twelve friends here. More than anyone needs, if you ask me. She's always jabbering away to them on the phone. Always. First there's her best friend, Bella, who doesn't even live in our town anymore. Her parents sent her away to some fancy boarding school. But she Skypes with Quinn every night—sometimes twice. Then Quinn has to Skype with everyone else she knows and report what Bella's up to, and how she's wearing her hair now, and whatever other completely pointless things girls talk about.

It goes on and on for HOURS. Which is why I never get a chance to be on the computer myself. Even though I have
much
more important things to do, like look up home-accident report statistics and type up lists of safety tips. All in the name of keeping my family safe.

But when I want to use the computer, Quinn just whines to Mom about it, and Mom takes her side and says I have to stop worrying so much about statistics and safety tips. She says I should concentrate on making friends, like Quinn does. As if having a few dozen friends is the most important thing. Friendship should be about quality, not quantity.

And I have quality ones—four of them—at the party today. Here, I'll list them in reverse order of importance:

Numbers four and three are my cousins, Will and George. Okay, I had to invite them, because their mom was my dad's younger sister. But still, they're here, so they count.

Number two is Eli, my best friend from school. (Fine, he's my only friend. Like I said, it's about quality, not quantity.)

By the way, it's not true what Quinn said, that Eli's my friend just because he's new and doesn't know better. He started at our school two months ago. That's not new anymore. It's certainly enough time to decide who you want to be friends with, and he's still friends with me.

Eli and I would have more friends in school if only the other boys in the fifth grade weren't such
Reggs
.

Reggs
: Noun. Kids whose parents wish they could give them back, because they're such rotten eggs.

Quinn only invited girls to her party, so, thankfully, none of the Reggs are here. Though Quinn and her slame friends are starting to like the Reggs. I can tell by the way they giggle whenever the Reggs are up to their rotten tricks. Like when Newman, the worst of the Reggs, stuck
a “Kick Me” sign on the back of Miss Kipnick, the cafeteria lunch lady. It's the oldest trick in the book, and it's not even a funny one.

Finally, my number one friend who I invited today: Uncle Max.

Uncle Max isn't really my uncle. We just call him that because he's known our family for so long. He knew Mom when she was a little girl, and he knew her father before that, and even his father before that. As usual, he's a little bit late today. He gets tied up with work stuff sometimes. He's so old, you'd think he would've retired by now. But he says he likes his job too much to give it up. He's a consulting transponder, which means he is in charge of communicating signals to receivers. To be honest, I don't really understand what he does. I just know it means he has to travel a lot. But he wouldn't miss my birthday. Birthdays are important to him. Mine even more than Quinn's, because I'm his favorite.

Not that Uncle Max has ever actually told
me I'm his favorite. In fact, he says Quinn and I are equally important to him. But isn't that just what an adult would say if he had a favorite and didn't want to go spreading it around? Uncle Max himself has told me you have to look beyond what people tell you. You even have to look beyond what they think is true, because sometimes they don't even know themselves.

So I looked beyond. And it's so obvious I'm right, it's almost embarrassing for him. First of all, there are our Tuesday and Thursday hangouts. Every week, without fail (unless Uncle Max has a business trip), he has standing plans with me. We go for long walks and talk about stuff, man-to-man. He's taken me to the amusement park a bunch of times, too. Uncle Max is always trying to get me on the Speed of Light roller coaster. But do you know roller coasters kill an average of four people each year? It's true. I looked it up. That's why I prefer the carnival games. You don't have to risk your life whooshing around in the
air, and sometimes you even win prizes.

Quinn says she doesn't want to come to the amusement park with us.
Well, good, Quinn, because I don't remember anyone inviting you
.

Second of all, Uncle Max always gives me a better birthday present than he gives to Quinn. Last year he gave Quinn a series of books about a girl living in New York City. But he gave
me
a weekend trip to the city itself! We went to the biggest toy store I'd ever been to, and we went to the Empire State Building, which is a-hundred-and-two-stories tall. Uncle Max wanted to go up to the top, but I said no. It was too dangerous, for a lot of reasons. Not the least of which is the Empire State Building has a lightning rod at the top that gets struck by lightning twenty-three times a year. As far as I know, no
person
visiting the building has been struck by lightning. But it's not like you can predict where lightning will strike. That's why it's so dangerous, and it's better to stay on the ground and be safe instead of sorry.
I told Uncle Max it would be just as good to stand on the sidewalk and look up at the building stretching high into the sky above us. He argued for a bit, but in the end that's what we did.

When I'd looked at it for a good enough amount of time, I turned my head to tell Uncle Max I was ready to go back to the hotel and get dinner, but he was gone. I don't know exactly how it happened. One second he was right next to me; the next he wasn't. I had to get back to the hotel all on my own. Luckily, I'd memorized the address. You know, for safety reasons. I knew exactly where to go. I didn't talk to any strangers on the way. I just kept my head down and walked and walked and WALKED until my feet felt like they would fall off. When I finally got back, Uncle Max was in the lobby, waiting for me. He didn't look worried at all. “I knew you'd find your way,” he told me, and he took me out for pizza.

I don't know what Uncle Max has planned for my present this year, but I've been angling
for night-vision goggles. Sometimes at night, after everyone else has gone to bed, I like to walk through our house and do an inspection. I make sure no one has broken in while we've been sleeping, and I double-check that the front door, back door, and all the windows are locked. The problem is, it gets pretty dark in the hall, and I have to use a flashlight. Four times Mom has seen the light beams under her door, and four times she's gotten up and sent me straight back to bed, well before I finished my inspection. But if I had night-vision goggles, I wouldn't have to use the flashlight. I'd be able to keep everyone safe, and Mom wouldn't have to know.

I bet I get them, since I've dropped about a bajillion hints. And what will Uncle Max get Quinn? Hmmmm. Maybe regular swimming goggles. Maybe a case you can put your goggles in.

So even if most of the people in our backyard are here because of Quinn, and even if most of the presents in the pile by the back door are for
her, I'm still excited.

In the meantime, Mom has us do all sorts of games, like an ice-cream-cone toss and a water-balloon relay. Both of which are harder than they sound, by the way. There's a points system to the day. First place for each event is ten points, second place is seven, and third place is five. In the end, whoever gets the most points wins the trophy.

“What's the score so far?” Quinn asks Mom.

“I haven't tallied the points up yet,” Mom tells her.

“Did Uncle Max call to say when he's getting here?” I ask.

“I hope it's never,” Quinn says.

“Oh, don't be that way,” Mom says. “I know Uncle Max is a tad eccentric—”

“A
tad
?” she interrupts.

“But he's an important part of this family,” Mom continues.

“He's not even
in
our family,” Quinn argues.
“You just call him uncle because he was friends with Grandpa and the family has known him forever. But really he's just some random old guy.”

“Are you guys talking about that man with the crazy hair and all the wrinkles who came to watch the talent show last month?” Quinn's friend Madeline asks. I'd had a harmonica solo in the talent show, which is why Uncle Max showed up. It's not like he cared about Quinn and her slame friends' choreographed dance. “He looks like Albert Einstein.”

“Yeah, but not so smart,” Quinn quips. “Just a nut job.”

You see, another reason why I'm Uncle Max's favorite. Because Quinn is such a Regg herself when it comes to him.

“Shut up,” I tell her.

“Zack, don't say that to your sister,” Mom says. And before Quinn can gloat, Mom adds, “And cool it, Quinn. We don't call people names in this family.”

“Sorry,” Quinn says in a voice that is not at all sorry.

“That's better,” Mom says. “I'm sure Uncle Max will be here any minute.”

“We can do presents as soon as he's here, right?” I ask.

Mom starts to say yes, but then Quinn shouts, “Not if he gets here before the last game—the popcorn toss!”

“Mo-
om
!” I say.

I'd begged her to take the popcorn toss off the schedule. Here is how it goes: You pair off into teams of two. One person tosses the popcorn, and the other catches it in his or her mouth. Then they switch. Whoever catches the most wins.

But the problem is, if you catch a kernel at a wrong angle, it could get lodged in your throat and you'll choke!

“It's too dangerous,” I say for about the hundredth time.

“It's not dangerous at all,” Quinn tells Mom. “Zack just doesn't want to do it because he's no good at catching. Remember all those times Dad would throw a baseball and he'd drop it?”

I can hear Dad's voice in my head now:
Shake it off
, he'd said whenever I'd missed the ball.
Remember who you are—you're the one and only Zacktastic! Now let's try another one
.

I like being able to hear Dad's voice in my head, but sometimes it makes me miss him even more.

“If Zack can't catch with his hands, how does he expect to catch with his mouth?” Quinn goes on.

“That's not it,” I insist to Mom. “I'm worried someone will choke to death.”

Mom reaches forward to brush my hair off my forehead. She says she likes it better when she can see my eyes. “The kids will chew and swallow one kernel at a time,” she tells me. “But you don't have to participate if you don't want to.
If you prefer, you can count what everyone else catches.”

“No way!” Quinn says. “He'll cheat!”

“I'm not the cheater,” I say.

If anyone is a cheater, it's Quinn. I bet she made Mom include this activity because she knew I wouldn't do it, so I'd lose.

“Your brother can count,” Mom tells Quinn firmly.

And so it begins. I count—and listen for the slightest cough. Eli counts, too—I don't need his help counting, but he doesn't have anything else to do, since he doesn't have a popcorn partner without me.