goober.”
Jake
W e could see it a mile away. It’s probably visible from the space station. We were laughing so hard we were wobbling as we rode down the street. Nacho crashed into a curb.
The paint job looked like the head-on wreck of two rainbows. I never saw so many colors in one place, all splashed and squished and slopped all over each other.
And there was the supergoober, ducking through the doorway and coming out to greet us—laughing. I swear, he was laughing even harder than us. And the more he laughed, the less Bump laughed. And when Soop threw out his arms and yelled, “It’s beautiful !” I think I saw steam coming off the top of Bump’s head.
Lily
S tamp collecting lasted a day.
I’m trying homemade greeting cards.
Jake
T oday it was a missing board. Halfway up the side facing the street.
We were staring at it for a while when suddenly Soop’s face appeared in the gap.
“Hi, guys!” he called, all cheery. “Look—somebody gave me a window!”
Bump’s tires bit the asphalt as he peeled out.
Lily
S cratch homemade greeting cards.
I’ll try reading palms.
Jake
J ust me, Nacho, and Burke at the hideout today. Bump is away on vacation with his family. But his calling cards were all around us—black clumps of chewed-up licorice. He doesn’t eat his licorice all the way anymore. He folds a couple sticks in his cheek and chews and sucks and then spits out the wad. I think he thinks he’s chewing tobacco.
So we didn’t ride over to Soop’s. It’s not the same without Bump. He always does most of the talking. But there was still plenty to hee-haw about—for the first time we weren’t just laughing about Soop. We were laughing about Bump too. About how he was getting madder and madder each day.
“Did you see him the other day? Did he blastoutta there or what?” said Burke.
“I saw snots shooting out his ears!” said Nacho.
That’s how it went. Hey, we understood. Nothing is more maddening than a goober who won’t get mad. It’s like they cheat you out of your fun. It’s like you throw a dart at a goober and all he does is say, “That tickles,” and throws it back at you, feather first. If you can’t have fun with a goober, what’s the point? So yeah, we saw Bump’s problem. We sympathized with him. But that didn’t make it any less funny.
Before we left the hideout, Nacho got a stick and scratched in the dirt:
S U P E RG O O B E R 10
B U MP 0
And we laughed harder than ever.
Jake
W e’ve just been goofing off the last couple days. Riding around. Playing a little basketball. Skipping stones at the creek. We even did little-kid stuff at the park. Swings. Seesaw. At one point I found myself standing at the bottom of the sliding-board ladder. I was third in line, staring down at the head tops of two little preschool runts. That’s how bad summer can get. You wonder why you were so thrilled back on the first day.
“Bor-ing,” said Burke.
“That’s the last sliding-board line I’ll ever stand in in my life, if I live to be a thousand,” I said.
“I miss Bump,” said Burke.
“I miss Soop,” said Nacho.
“You know what we are?” I said.
“What?” said Nacho.
“Goober addicts.”
Lily
“H ow about origami?” said Poppy.
“What’s origami?”
“Folding paper. You make things—birds, boats, almost anything. I saw kids doing it all over Japan.”
“I make great paper airplanes,” I said.
We went to the library for a book on origami.
Jake
S o without Bump, we rode over to Soop’s. He wasn’t there working on the shack. We were surprised, but maybe we shouldn’t have been. We usually ride over in the morning, but this was afternoon.
We were ready to push off when we heard a voice calling, “Hi boys!” At first we didn’t know where it was coming from. Then we saw a face sticking out of a second-floor window. A lady. Had to be his mother. “Hold on there a minute, boys,” she said. “I’ll be right
Jake
W e could see it a mile away. It’s probably visible from the space station. We were laughing so hard we were wobbling as we rode down the street. Nacho crashed into a curb.
The paint job looked like the head-on wreck of two rainbows. I never saw so many colors in one place, all splashed and squished and slopped all over each other.
And there was the supergoober, ducking through the doorway and coming out to greet us—laughing. I swear, he was laughing even harder than us. And the more he laughed, the less Bump laughed. And when Soop threw out his arms and yelled, “It’s beautiful !” I think I saw steam coming off the top of Bump’s head.
Lily
S tamp collecting lasted a day.
I’m trying homemade greeting cards.
Jake
T oday it was a missing board. Halfway up the side facing the street.
We were staring at it for a while when suddenly Soop’s face appeared in the gap.
“Hi, guys!” he called, all cheery. “Look—somebody gave me a window!”
Bump’s tires bit the asphalt as he peeled out.
Lily
S cratch homemade greeting cards.
I’ll try reading palms.
Jake
J ust me, Nacho, and Burke at the hideout today. Bump is away on vacation with his family. But his calling cards were all around us—black clumps of chewed-up licorice. He doesn’t eat his licorice all the way anymore. He folds a couple sticks in his cheek and chews and sucks and then spits out the wad. I think he thinks he’s chewing tobacco.
So we didn’t ride over to Soop’s. It’s not the same without Bump. He always does most of the talking. But there was still plenty to hee-haw about—for the first time we weren’t just laughing about Soop. We were laughing about Bump too. About how he was getting madder and madder each day.
“Did you see him the other day? Did he blastoutta there or what?” said Burke.
“I saw snots shooting out his ears!” said Nacho.
That’s how it went. Hey, we understood. Nothing is more maddening than a goober who won’t get mad. It’s like they cheat you out of your fun. It’s like you throw a dart at a goober and all he does is say, “That tickles,” and throws it back at you, feather first. If you can’t have fun with a goober, what’s the point? So yeah, we saw Bump’s problem. We sympathized with him. But that didn’t make it any less funny.
Before we left the hideout, Nacho got a stick and scratched in the dirt:
S U P E RG O O B E R 10
B U MP 0
And we laughed harder than ever.
Jake
W e’ve just been goofing off the last couple days. Riding around. Playing a little basketball. Skipping stones at the creek. We even did little-kid stuff at the park. Swings. Seesaw. At one point I found myself standing at the bottom of the sliding-board ladder. I was third in line, staring down at the head tops of two little preschool runts. That’s how bad summer can get. You wonder why you were so thrilled back on the first day.
“Bor-ing,” said Burke.
“That’s the last sliding-board line I’ll ever stand in in my life, if I live to be a thousand,” I said.
“I miss Bump,” said Burke.
“I miss Soop,” said Nacho.
“You know what we are?” I said.
“What?” said Nacho.
“Goober addicts.”
Lily
“H ow about origami?” said Poppy.
“What’s origami?”
“Folding paper. You make things—birds, boats, almost anything. I saw kids doing it all over Japan.”
“I make great paper airplanes,” I said.
We went to the library for a book on origami.
Jake
S o without Bump, we rode over to Soop’s. He wasn’t there working on the shack. We were surprised, but maybe we shouldn’t have been. We usually ride over in the morning, but this was afternoon.
We were ready to push off when we heard a voice calling, “Hi boys!” At first we didn’t know where it was coming from. Then we saw a face sticking out of a second-floor window. A lady. Had to be his mother. “Hold on there a minute, boys,” she said. “I’ll be right
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