The Trouble with Mark Hopper by Elissa Brent Weissman Page B

.” Grandpa Murray rubbed his hands together and lifted his eyebrows a few times. He eyed the fruit aisle.
    Mark mimicked Grandpa Murray’s motion. “Yes, let’s see . . .” he said before letting out a sinister laugh. When Grandpa Murray offered to do the grocery shopping, Mark had turned off the television, jumped up, and volunteered to go with him. He told his mom that he just wanted to help out, but really he wanted to go because Grandpa Murray was great to food-shop with. He’d put anything Mark asked for in the cart. In fact, he’d put anything at all in the cart as long as it looked tasty or interesting—beef jerky, sixteen-inch king crab legs, freeze-dried enchiladas, sugarcoated cheese curls covered in chocolate. One time he bought a box of cat food because the box boasted a large gold medal from Cat Care magazine, even though the Hoppers didn’t have a cat. Mrs. Hopper must have suspected Mark’s reason for wanting to go along—he never “wanted to help out” when she went to the supermarket—so she sent Beth along to keep the other two in line.
    â€œWhy don’t we split up this list by category,” Beth said, scanning the long list of mostly boring, healthy foods her mother had insisted they follow, “and meet up at the register with the shortest line in twenty minutes.”
    â€œBah,” said Grandpa Murray. “I’ll never remember what I’m supposed to get or where to meet. But I guess if you don’t want to”—Grandpa Murray let out a loud, fake sniffle—“spend time with your grandfather, who only wants to”— sniff —“love you, then that’s”— sniff —“just fine.”
    Mark sniffed loudly. “I’ll stay with you, Grandpa! Don’t cry.”
    â€œWhat about you, Beth?” Grandpa Murray said with a large frown.
    Beth looked around and rolled her eyes. “Yes, okay, we’ll all stay together.”
    â€œYippee!” Grandpa Murray said.
    Beth looked around again. “You’re embarrassing me,” she whispered. “Let’s just start shopping.”
    â€œDoes this embarrass you?” Mark asked. He picked up a bunch of grapes and balanced it on his head while humming circus music.
    â€œYes, it does,” Beth said. She grabbed the grapes, threw them in a plastic bag, and put them in the cart. “And now we have to buy those because they were on your head.”
    â€œDoes this embarrass you?” Mark asked. He reached toward a pile of cantaloupes.
    Beth moved to block him. “Whatever you were going to do, yes, it does,” she said. “And I don’t want to have to buy cantaloupe.”
    â€œHow about kiwis?” Grandpa Murray asked. He held up a couple of hairy brown fruits.
    â€œNot on the list . . .” Beth said.
    Grandpa Murray placed the kiwis in the cart. “List schmist,” he said.
    â€œHow about this?” Mark asked. He held up a big, whole pineapple.
    â€œI don’t know how we’re going to cut that,” Grandpa Murray said, “but why not. I’m a sucker for fruit with spikes on it.”
    Beth laughed and put the list in her pocket. She picked up a two-pound mesh bag of strangely shaped objects that was labeled IMPORTED. “Can we get this?” she asked.
    Grandpa Murray said, “That’s the spirit!” He signaled for her to put it in the cart.
    They continued through the supermarket filling up the shopping cart with everything unusual or intriguing they passed, plus lettuce for Beth’s earthworms and most of the items Leslie Hopper had requested. Mark studied Grandpa Murray as he moved through the aisles picking up items and squinting sharply to examine them. He was almost ready to redraw his portrait of Grandpa Murray on canvas and begin painting. He wanted to make sure he got every detail right and that he captured the whole of his grandpa’s