You Will Call Me Drog by Sue Cowing Read Free Book Online Page B

tall Japanese man coming out of the library. Must be the same guy Wren and I saw moving things into the old furniture store, I thought. I kept on looking at him because of the way he walked down the steps. So easy, like he was riding on an escalator. He didn’t seem to have things nagging his mind like everybody else on the street. Like me.
    I wanted more than anything to follow him and see where he went, but my feet stayed velcroed to the spot, and then he was gone. All the way home, I kicked the dried leaves ahead of me on the sidewalk.

    “What did you do today. Parker?” Mom asked at supper.
    “Not much. Went downtown. Came home.”
    “I expected to find you working on something or other in the spare room.”
    I frowned and waved Drog at her.
    “Oh, Parker, you love to make things. I’d hate to see you give that up.”
    I shoved away from the table to go upstairs. Mom started to follow me.
    “Parker?”
    “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve got... a project. Um, Mom, did you happen to see a Japanese man at the library today?”
    “What? Oh, not today. I was cataloging in the back. I know the man you mean, though. He comes in often. I always notice him because he’s quiet, the way people used to be in libraries. It’s refreshing.”

    I spent a couple of hours copying just the dancing parts from the video onto my computer so I could play them over and over for Drog.
    I was dumb if I thought that was going to keep him happy. He watched it once, made a yawning noise, and said, “Mmmm. Like watching soup cool.”
    I turned on the TV.
    Mom looked in on me to say good night. “You know, your dad used to make things, too. Before he got so busy. You probably don’t remember that little plane....”
    I did, though. It was made of real light wood. You turned the propeller and twisted a rubber band, then let go and it flew all over the yard.
    “Yeah, I remember.”
    “Wonder whatever happened to it?”
    “I probably broke it,” I said. But then I remembered. One day a couple of years ago I blew it up with a firecracker. For no particular reason. I just wanted to see something explode.
    I had finally figured out how to imagine doing my bedtime wooden shapes routine one-handed, but that night whenever I got something to go together, it blew apart and woke me up.

    On Sunday I decided to go to the junkyard without calling Wren and see if maybe she’d just be there. She wasn’t. It was plain cold out, one of those November days that turns everything the color of steel.
    Our birdcage was gone, and the junk was all just junk except for one incredible new thing: a whole freight car off its wheels. I wished Wren could see it. The door was open, so I scrambled up inside. It smelled sour in there, like spilled vinegar. A flattened packing box lay on the floor. Someone had slept on it and left. Probably too cold for them. Or too lonely. I tightened the string on my jacket hood and headed back home.

    When Dad called that night I knew what to expect. Mom said she had to tell him what was happening. I guessed I could see why.
    “Hello, Dad.”
    “I understand you’ve been in some trouble at school,” he said in his trying-to-be-patient voice. “Making up stories. Getting sent to the office.”
    “I didn’t make anything up.”
    “Well then, explain this talking puppet business to me.”
    How? “Okay. I found a puppet and put him on my hand, and he talks, and he won’t let me take him off.”
    “Do you expect me to believe that?”
    “No.” I pressed the speaker button and doodled a picture of myself on the notepad.
    “Look, Son, use your head. Whatever you’re doing this for, it isn’t worth it. In fact, it’s a bad idea to let people think you’re—”
    “Crazy?”
    “I was going to say strange.”
    “I can’t help it.” I drew branches growing out of my hair.
    “You can’t if you think you can’t. Parker, there’s something I want you to do. Two things, actually. First, give yourself a deadline by