Jack Adrift by Jack Gantos Page A

they left. We were all herded back into the school and, still, I never saw Pete or Julian. It wasn’t until I was leaving at the end of the day that I saw them drifting off, blending in with the other kids, bent over from the weight of their backpacks. I ran after them.
    â€œHey, wait!” I shouted. “I’ve been looking for you two everywhere. Where’ve you been?”
    â€œYou told us to hide,” Pete said.
    â€œYeah,” Julian said.
    â€œBut didn’t you hear the fire alarm?” I asked.
    They nodded.
    â€œDid either of you pull it?”
    â€œNo,” they said in unison. “That would be criminal.”
    â€œThen you’re both morons. The school could have been in flames. A hurricane could have been heading toward us. A real genius would have realized it was smarter to be safe than to win some dumb contest. You both lose. The only thing you have won is the idiot contest.”
    â€œI’m no-no-no idiot,” Julian said, grinning. “I hid in the crawl space under the auditorium stage all-all-all
day and made up some new songs. Want to hear one?”
    â€œSpare me,” I said.
    â€œAnd I squished myself into my locker all day,” Pete said. “I felt like a candy bar inside a wrapper. I learned how to sleep standing up. I’m no idiot either.”
    But they were. They were idiots—mini minds—and that night it was confirmed.
    I was watching a Twilight Zone rerun when, by itself, the channel changed. I knew who it had to be. “Hey, Pete,” I called out. “Come in here and watch TV with me.” He came in from the kitchen. Suddenly the channel changed again. Then again. “Oh my,” I shouted toward the window at the top of my lungs. “What’s going on?”
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Pete asked.
    â€œI’m encouraging a genius,” I whispered. He looked puzzled.
    â€œI love this TV show,” I said loudly to Pete. Suddenly the channel changed.
    â€œAre you doing this?” Pete asked.
    â€œNo,” I said. “It’s your genius friend across the swamp. The two of you are on the same genius level.”
    I walked over to the window. “Hey, genius!” I yelled. “Stop changing our channels.”
    He popped up from under his windowsill. “I’m a-a-a genius!” he yelled. “Watch this.” He pointed the remote at our house and the TV changed again.

    â€œHey,” Pete yelled back. “This was my top-secret sneaky genius idea.”
    â€œNo, this is my sneaky genius idea.”
    â€œI’m the real genius,” Pete claimed, waving the remote over his head.
    â€œNo-no-no way,” Julian shot back. “I’m the true genius.”
    It takes one to know one, I thought, as Julian turned our TV on and off and flipped through the stations. Pete did the exact same thing to them. The battle of the remotes was going full blast and that’s when I figured out what their special genius really was—driving us all insane.
    After they had spent about twenty minutes changing each other’s channels, I looked over at Pete. “Why don’t you two start a genius club together,” I said.
    â€œThat’s a great idea,” he replied. “But you can’t join because you’re not a genius.”
    â€œBut I can join,” Julian shouted. “Because I’m a genius!”
    I got up and went into my bedroom. I was getting a headache. I needed a good book to read. “TV,” I muttered, “it brings out the genius in everyone.”

A Bad Case of Brooding

    T he bathroom in our house trailer was very small. When you sat on the toilet your knees nearly touched the back of the door. The sink was the size of a salad bowl. My face just barely fit inside the frame on the wall mirror. Only half of Dad’s face fit and he had to shift back and forth to shave both sides. But it was the only private room in the