Antsy Does Time by Neal Shusterman Read Free Book Online

different value, doesn’t it? September has thirty days, October has thirty-one, and let’s not even mention February!”
    I have to admit, I was a little stunned by this, but that’s okay, since stunned is an emotion I can handle. It is, in fact, an acceptable state for me. I was willing to go with Gunnar’s practical approach—after all, he was the one who was dying, and I wasn’t going to question how he dealt with it. I did some quick counting on my fingers. “You got six months left, right? A seventh month would put you into May. So I’m giving you May.”
    â€œExcellent!” Gunnar slaps me on the back. “My birthday’s in May!”
    That’s when Mary Ellen McCaw descends out of nowhere, grabs the paper away from Gunnar, and says, “What’s this?”
    Just so you know, Mary Ellen McCaw is the under-eighteen gossip queen of Brooklyn. She’s constantly sniffing out juicy dirt, and since her nose is roughly the size of Rhode Island, she’s better than a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing. I’m sure she knew about Gunnar’s illness; in fact, she was probably responsible for broadcasting the information across New York, and maybe parts of New Jersey.
    â€œGive it back!” I demanded, but she just holds the thing out of reach, and reads it. Then she looks at me like I’ve just arrived from a previously unknown planet.
    â€œYou’re giving him a month of your life?”
    â€œYeah. So what?”
    â€œGiving Gunnar a new lease on life? Antsy, that’s so sweet!”
    This leaves me furtherly stunned, because no one has ever called me sweet—especially not Mary Ellen McCaw, who never had a nice word to say about anybody. I figure at first that maybe she means it as an insult, but the look on her face is sincere.
    â€œWhat a nice thought!” she says.
    I shrug. “It’s just a piece of paper.”
    But who was I kidding? This thing was already much more than a stupid piece of paper. Mary Ellen turns from me to Gunnar, and bats her eyes at him. “Can I donate a month of my life, too?”
    I look at her, wondering if she’s kidding, but clearly she’s not.
    Gunnar, all flattered, gives her an aw-shucks look and says, “Sure, if you really want to.”
    â€œGood, then it’s settled,” says Mary Ellen. “Antsy, you write up the contract, okay?”
    I don’t say anything just yet, as I’m still set on stun.
    â€œRemember to specify the month,” says Gunnar.
    â€œAnd,” adds Mary Ellen, “make sure it says that the month comes from the end of my life, not the middle somewhere.”
    â€œHow could it come from the middle?” I dare to ask.
    â€œI don’t know—temporary coma, maybe? The point is, even a symbolic gesture should be clear of loopholes, right?”
    Who was I to argue with logic like that?
    Â 
 
“So what’s it like at the Ümlauts’?”
    Howie and Ira were all over me in the lunchroom that day, as if going over to the Ümlauts’ was like setting foot in a haunted house.
    â€œWas there medical stuff everywhere?” Howie asked. “My uncle had to build a room addition just for his iron lung—the thing’s as big as a car.”
    â€œI didn’t see anything like that,” I told them. “It’s not that kind of illness.”
    â€œIt must have been weird, though,” Ira said. I considered telling them about Gunnar’s do-it-yourself tombstone, but decided not to turn something so personal into gossip.
    â€œIt was fine,” I told them. “They’re just a normal family. The dad’s always off working. Their mom’s pretty cool, and Kjersten and Gunnar are just like any other brother and sister.”
    â€œKjersten . . .” Ira said, and he and Howie gave each other a knowing grin. “Did you get some quality time with her