grass and taking plunges into the swimming hole. Gideon Falls had a dammed-up creek and an awesome swim area with a stone wall you could jump off into the deeper part of the pool.
Instead, Joey studied mitochondria, the bean-shaped part of a cell that looked like it had a lasagna noodle folded up inside it. His notes called it the cellâs power plant because it made ATP, the chemical cells used for fuel. His dad was right. How important was that to know? It wasnât, if you were going to sign a major-league contract.
Joey slapped the pencil down on his desk and stared out his bedroom window at the sunshine baking the maple trees in the front yard. How did he expect to be a major-league player if he couldnât even make the Little League all-star team, let alone the Center State select team? Zach was right: he should have gone to the park. Who in their right mind would sit studying for finals on a day like today?
Then he remembered Stanford. That was where he wanted to go to college, one of the toughest places to get into and one of the best college baseball teams ever. He knew he needed grades as well as baseball talent to get in there, and that would be his best route to the pros. Not too many kids could do it just out of high school.
Pork Chop streaked across the lawn and shot into the shrubs by the corner of the house. Martin stumbled along with a determined grimace and fingers flexing like eager octopus tentacles, hot on the trail. Joeyâs mom appeared on the scene. She extracted Martin from the bushes, tucked him under her arm, and brought him into the house. Joey heard her shouting for his father to keep an eye on him before she got into the Jeep and headed off to Mr. Kratzâs cabin.
Joey put his head in his hands and didnât know if there was anything that could make his life more miserable right now. There was one thing, thoughâMartin. Joey tumbled out of his chair and quickly locked his bedroom door. He did not need cat poop or snot bubbles at this time.
He returned to his desk, took a deep breath, thought of Stanford, and dove back into his notes. If nothing else, Joey knew how to work.
When the Jeep pulled back into the driveway almost two hours later, he was grinding through a math sheet, multiplying and dividing integers. As his mom marched up the front walk, Joey talked aloud to himself.
âA negative times a negative is a positive.â
Thatâs how it was with numbers. Couldnât the same be possible in real life? Could him blowing the championship game and being discovered as the vandal of Mr. Kratzâs truckâtwo clear negativesâsomehow end up in a positive? He bit his lip until it hurt.
âThatâs math, not life.â
The firm knock on his bedroom door belonged to his momâhe knew that before she even said his name.
âJoey. Why is this door locked? Let me in.â
23
Like a prisoner condemned to hang, Joey slumped out of his chair, then unlocked and opened the door. He spoke in a low undertone. âI was studying and I wanted to keep Martin out.â
His mother stood looking down on him with her arms crossed. The silence became uncomfortable enough for him to look up and face his executioner.
Remarkably, her face softened. âWell, I can understand that , and Iâm very glad to see you studying like this for your finals. I know it canât be easy on a day like today. Iâll try to keep Martin out of your hair.â
Joey tried not to look puzzled. He couldnât believe she wasnât at least scolding him, if not screaming at the top of her lungs about what a rotten kid he was for drugging the dog and vandalizing the truck. Something was wrong, or right, depending on how you looked at it.
âThanks,â he said, feeling her out. âHowâd your thing go?â
âWhat thing? Oh, Mr. Kratz. I got the sample and ran it over to the lab. Trust me, I had to pull some favors to get them to agree,
Instead, Joey studied mitochondria, the bean-shaped part of a cell that looked like it had a lasagna noodle folded up inside it. His notes called it the cellâs power plant because it made ATP, the chemical cells used for fuel. His dad was right. How important was that to know? It wasnât, if you were going to sign a major-league contract.
Joey slapped the pencil down on his desk and stared out his bedroom window at the sunshine baking the maple trees in the front yard. How did he expect to be a major-league player if he couldnât even make the Little League all-star team, let alone the Center State select team? Zach was right: he should have gone to the park. Who in their right mind would sit studying for finals on a day like today?
Then he remembered Stanford. That was where he wanted to go to college, one of the toughest places to get into and one of the best college baseball teams ever. He knew he needed grades as well as baseball talent to get in there, and that would be his best route to the pros. Not too many kids could do it just out of high school.
Pork Chop streaked across the lawn and shot into the shrubs by the corner of the house. Martin stumbled along with a determined grimace and fingers flexing like eager octopus tentacles, hot on the trail. Joeyâs mom appeared on the scene. She extracted Martin from the bushes, tucked him under her arm, and brought him into the house. Joey heard her shouting for his father to keep an eye on him before she got into the Jeep and headed off to Mr. Kratzâs cabin.
Joey put his head in his hands and didnât know if there was anything that could make his life more miserable right now. There was one thing, thoughâMartin. Joey tumbled out of his chair and quickly locked his bedroom door. He did not need cat poop or snot bubbles at this time.
He returned to his desk, took a deep breath, thought of Stanford, and dove back into his notes. If nothing else, Joey knew how to work.
When the Jeep pulled back into the driveway almost two hours later, he was grinding through a math sheet, multiplying and dividing integers. As his mom marched up the front walk, Joey talked aloud to himself.
âA negative times a negative is a positive.â
Thatâs how it was with numbers. Couldnât the same be possible in real life? Could him blowing the championship game and being discovered as the vandal of Mr. Kratzâs truckâtwo clear negativesâsomehow end up in a positive? He bit his lip until it hurt.
âThatâs math, not life.â
The firm knock on his bedroom door belonged to his momâhe knew that before she even said his name.
âJoey. Why is this door locked? Let me in.â
23
Like a prisoner condemned to hang, Joey slumped out of his chair, then unlocked and opened the door. He spoke in a low undertone. âI was studying and I wanted to keep Martin out.â
His mother stood looking down on him with her arms crossed. The silence became uncomfortable enough for him to look up and face his executioner.
Remarkably, her face softened. âWell, I can understand that , and Iâm very glad to see you studying like this for your finals. I know it canât be easy on a day like today. Iâll try to keep Martin out of your hair.â
Joey tried not to look puzzled. He couldnât believe she wasnât at least scolding him, if not screaming at the top of her lungs about what a rotten kid he was for drugging the dog and vandalizing the truck. Something was wrong, or right, depending on how you looked at it.
âThanks,â he said, feeling her out. âHowâd your thing go?â
âWhat thing? Oh, Mr. Kratz. I got the sample and ran it over to the lab. Trust me, I had to pull some favors to get them to agree,
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