Masterminds by Gordon Korman Read Free Book Online Page A

liking it! It would never happen. Not in this life. When I was eight, I asked my parents for a puppy. They said no, the dog food would be too expensive. I even offered to eat less to save money. No dice. I’m too skinny as it is; it’ll stunt my growth. Looking back on it, we live in just as nice a house as anybody in town; we have the same cars and pools and grand pianos. If the Coles can afford dog food, why can’t we?
    My mom is an executive at the plastics factory, and my dad is the only handyman for eighty miles. If something breaks, it’s him or nobody. I know how people look at my parents when we go out. You can feel the respect. They would never waste time having a picnic in the park, or laughing like hyenas about nothing. You won’t catch them with their arms around each other. And I can assure you that I’ve never had a piggyback ride in my life.
    Honestly, I don’t know how Stanley lives with the humiliation. I see his face, laughing, smiling, grinning, and I know for certain that I never looked like that.
    I wonder what it feels like.
    â€œLosers,” is Malik’s opinion when he finally arrives. “And the biggest loser is you for spying on these idiots when you should be working.”
    â€œPoor Stanley,” I say. “His parents treat him like he’s two years old.”
    â€œYou don’t pick your parents,” he tells me. “You get what you get.”
    I’m surprised. “Your folks are the best!”
    He makes a face. “If you like bad jokes and chicken soup.”
    â€œI love your mom’s chicken soup! And your dad’s jokes—” How can I describe it? Dr. Bruder’s humor maybe corny, but it’s comfortable, like an old shirt you don’t want to throw out. “Well, I love your mom’s chicken soup. Seriously, I wish I had your parents.” I’m surprised I said that out loud.
    Malik takes it in stride. “You got a roof over your head, same as everybody else. Not that your mother feeds you very much.”
    â€œShe feeds me plenty. I just don’t grow. It isn’t anybody’s fault.”
    â€œRelax,” he advises me. “I’m pulling your chain. Your folks are fine. How good can parents be, anyway? It’s not like cars, where you can be a Kia or a Bugatti. They’re parents.”
    What he’s trying not to say is what everybody else in town thinks—that Mom and Dad are bad parents, or at least that they love me less than all the other parents love their kids.
    But that’s just wrong.
    Maybe my folks don’t show it, like Malik’s mom, or the Pritels, or even Mr. Frieden, who’s super-strict because Eli is his whole life. But my parents care about me, and I can prove it.
    It’s one of my earliest memories—I must have been three or four. I was playing in the sandbox in ourbackyard. When you’re little, you get a swing set and a sandbox before you graduate to the usual tree house and basketball half-court.
    I’m making roads with a toy shovel. Serenity is one of the few places where a little kid can re-create the entire street grid in a sandbox.
    When I hear the rattling sound, I don’t know what it is. I’ve never heard it before. I turn and come face-to-face with a coiled snake—a diamondback, its tail in the air, poised and ready to strike.
    I remember my father flying across the yard. His feet must touch the grass, but to me, he’ll always be flying. He reaches out for me but pulls up suddenly as the rattler strikes. The triangular head slices toward me, and then pauses in midair partway between Dad and me. Almost like the snake can’t figure out which of us to bite.
    It’s probably just a second but it feels like forever that the three of us are frozen in time—my father, the rattler, and me. We’re silent—even the diamondback has stopped rattling—although Mom is screaming loud enough for