Restart by Gordon Korman
“People were different back then,” I offer. “You know, more modest.”
“Yeah, sure, modest. But to care so little that you don’t even bother to open the case to see if the medal’s still there? And then hide it in the back of your closet behind a golf bag? You’ve got to be a real oddball.”
We’re going through the sliding doors, which might be why she doesn’t notice that I stagger for a split second.
Missing medal. Empty case buried under tons of junk. Mr. Solway’s medal wasn’t lost. It was stolen. Somebody pocketed it and tossed the case where it would be hard to find.
Who would do such a thing? There are plenty of possibilities. Portland Street is a busy place, with a big staff—doctors, nurses, attendants, service people. There were painters in recently. It could have been one of the other residents, or even a visitor.
But as I run my mind over the range of suspects, an image keeps forcing itself in front of my eyes. I see a twenty-dollar bill in Mrs. Swanson’s shaky hand. I see greedy fingers snatching it away.
Bear. And Aaron gloating over all the pizza it would buy.
Of course, there’s a big difference between twenty bucks and the decoration awarded to a war hero to honor his bravery above and beyond the call of duty. But somebody greedy enough to take money from a confused old lady who thinks she’s tipping room service—how could a guy like that pass up the chance to get his hands on something far more valuable?
I must turn pale, because Shoshanna regards me in concern. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to face-plant.”
“I’m fine.”
I’m so not fine, but I keep my mouth shut. What kind of friend am I that I instantly suspect Aaron and Bear of stealing Mr. Solway’s medal? What kind of friends are they that it’s so easy for me to believe they did it?
Two hard questions followed by a third:
What should I do now?
Of all the video clubs in all the middle schools, she has to walk into mine!
The minute Kimberly Tooley showed up in Ms. DeLeo’s room, I was lost. Love at first sight.
For me. Unfortunately, not for her.
I mean, she’s in love all right—with Chase.
A few months ago, it would have been easy for me to hate Chase. But he’s a different person since his accident. And the more I get to know him, the more I like him.
Now what am I supposed to do? Hate someone I like because of pure jealousy? That’s just as unfair as when Chase used to pick on me. Maybe more, since he truly seems to have no idea that Kimberly likes him. How annoying is that? I’d lie down on railroad tracks for an ounce of her attention, and here’s Chase, totally oblivious to the fact that she’s practically drooling over him! Exactly how hard did that kid fall on his head?
So I’ve got Kimberly in my video club—okay, I don’t own it, but I’m the president. It’s a golden opportunity for me to make an impression on her. And who’s sucking all the air out of the room? Our rising star, Chase.
I’ve got no one but myself to blame. I recruited him. I raved about his camera skills. When the others wanted to keep him out, I shouted them down. Slowly but surely, they all began to accept and appreciate him. Even Shoshanna isn’t quite so anti-Chase anymore. Their project on Mr. Solway is coming out fantastic. I’ve seen some of the footage, and it’s going to blow the judges away. Their biggest problem is they’re shooting so much great material that it’s going to be impossible to figure out what to cut.
And that opens an opportunity. With Shoshanna and Chase wrapped up in their war hero, and the others focused on the video yearbook, all I have to do is get Kimberly to work with me on a new clip for YouTube. Then she’ll start to see me as the famous YouTuber I’m destined to be, not the eighth-grade nerd she finds so much less interesting than Chase.
It’s foolproof!
“No,” she says.
“Why not?” I wheedle. “It’ll be a great chance for you to practice your camera work.”
“Is it for the yearbook?”
“It’s way better. It’s for YouTube. And your name will be right at the top as a coproducer!”
“No,” she says again.
In total desperation, I blurt, “Chase is going to be there.”
The change is instant. “Really?”
Guess what—she’s in. Now all I have to do is convince Chase to sign on with us. Come to think of it, the purpose of this is to turn her off Chase and onto me. I don’t think I’m going about it the right way. This whole romance thing is way more complicated than I anticipated.
But when I approach Chase, he’s not that enthusiastic either.
“You know, I don’t have a lot of free time,” he tells me. “Shoshanna and I are really busy with Mr. Solway.”
I’m pleading now. “You’ve got to help me out. Kimberly begged me to take her along, and you know how lousy she is with a camera. If you don’t come, the whole video’s going to be upside down!”
He sighs. “All right, Brendan. I’ll be there.”
By now the project is leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Luckily, I have an amazing idea. It’s called Leaf Man. I know that when Kimberly sees me starring in this, she’ll be impressed. It could very well be the video that finally takes me viral.
We meet in the park the next day after school. I’ve got everything we need—a Morphsuit, Rollerblades, and eleven bottles of pancake syrup. I hand Kimberly camera one and Chase camera two—although I’m pretty sure Chase’s footage will be the real video. Anything usable Kimberly shoots will be a happy accident.
I duck behind a tree and take out the Morphsuit. To my dismay, it’s white. I specifically told Mom to get black! I’m going to look like a bowling pin in front of Kimberly. But it’s too late to fix that now.
I put on the suit and the Rollerblades and glide back to Chase and Kimberly. “All right, you guys. Dump the syrup all over me.”
If the goal is to get Kimberly to notice me, mission accomplished.
“Why?” she asks, wide-eyed.
I point to the far end of the park to the giant mountain of leaves the gardeners have blown in the corner. “I cover myself in sticky syrup and Rollerblade down the hill into the leaves. When I come out—it’s Leaf Man!”
She’s bewildered. “Who’s Leaf Man?”
“I’m Leaf Man! All the leaves are going to be stuck to the syrup, see, and the video will be called Leaf Man, so …”
Chase takes pity on me. “It’s going to be awesome.” He opens one of the bottles and pours a thick stream over my head. Even through the Morphsuit fabric, it feels gooey and gross. The things I do for my art. And Kimberly, of course—although that doesn’t seem to be working too well.
Eleven bottles later, I’m covered in the stuff … and starting to draw flies.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
Confession: I’m not the greatest Rollerblader in the world, and I can’t get up the hill. I keep rolling back farther than I make it forward. They have to haul me to the top, Kimberly dragging me by the wrists and Chase pushing from behind. We get some strange looks, although nowhere near the number we’re bound to attract when we shoot the actual video.
Production is put on hold a few minutes while my camerapeople wash the stickiness off their hands and get into position by the leaf pile. At last, Chase flashes me the high sign, and I ease my weight off the foot brake and sense the slope starting to move me slowly forward.
The slowly part doesn’t last very long. The acceleration happens much faster than I expected. In a few seconds, I’m hurtling down the path at dizzying speed. Proper Rollerblade form says I should crouch for better balance, but I’m too scared to bend my locked knees. I can actually feel the g-forces forming the syrup on my face into thin streams. With a sinking heart, I realize that this video may go even more viral than I thought—not as Leaf Man but as Kid Breaks Every Bone in Body in Goo-Drenched Rollerblade Stunt.
Through a brownish film of syrup, I spot Kimberly and
I hit the leaves with a FOOMF and end up buried at least four feet inside the mountain before my momentum stops. I lie there for a moment, stunned, listening to the muffled sound of Chase laughing from the outside world. It takes a long time to fight my way out of the mess because a lot of the mess is coming with me, stuck by syrup to the Morphsuit. When I rip the leaves off my face, I see that the pile is about a third as big as it used to be, and the sky is dancing with blowing debris.
As soon as I can breathe, I finish the script by thrusting a fist in the air and bellowing, “Leaf Man!”
I never quite get the second syllable out because I’m bowled over by a big golden retriever, who climbs on top of me, licking at the syrup. I can already hear the chorus of barking, and I know that every dog in the park is heading in my direction.
At least they’ll keep the flies at bay.
I struggle up and try to skate away, but the wheels on my blades are jammed with syrup-soaked leaves. I take three clumsy steps before landing flat on my face, where I’m immediately buried under a canine swarm. I’m gratified to see that Chase is still filming, his hand steady even though he’s doubled over with hilarity.
“I don’t get it,” Kimberly says over the dog-slurping. “Is this supposed to be funny?”
The amazing thing is that after all this, I still like Kimberly just as much as before. Maybe even more.
Love isn’t just blind. It’s also totally stupid.
Joel is more miserable than ever at Melton Conservatory. I was hoping he’d start to settle in a little better, but it just isn’t happening.
He calls home every night and talks to Mom and Dad, and me too, for hours on end. Most of the time he doesn’t even complain. He just grills us about everything that’s going on in Hiawassee without him, and I can tell he’s so homesick it’s tearing him in two.
The other night, he Skyped in just to watch me give Mitzi, our cocker spaniel, a bath. Mitzi had gotten loose that afternoon, and when she came home, she was covered in crushed leaves and some kind of syrup or honey. It took three soapings and half an hour with a comb to get her clean. Joel stayed online for the whole thing and helped me talk her through it. He even refused to go down to the dining hall for dinner. This was the kid who formerly wouldn’t be in the same room with Mitzi because she made him sneeze.
I don’t dare mention my project with Mr. Solway to Joel. What if he asks who I’m working with? I’m not going to lie, but how can I tell him? And he’ll see right through me if I try to fudge my answer, as in, “Oh, just some new kid …” Twins can read each other, even from miles away.
The hard part is, video club is one of the things Joel asks about the most. I give him updates on the progress we’re making with the video yearbook, and provide play-by-play on Brendan’s pathetic attempts to get Kimberly Tooley to notice him. These days, that’s the only thing that gets a laugh out of Joel. I work very hard not to say anything that might lead him to ask a question I can’t give him the answer to.
He comes close a few times:
JWPianoMan: Did u ever look into entering that national video contest?
Shosh466: Tons of homework in 8th grade.
That’s what it’s come down to between us. I don’t lie, but I don’t tell the truth either.
It’s sad, because my project with Mr. Solway has turned into the biggest thing in my life. We should have been done two weeks ago. We already have so much material that we could cut it off anytime and still have more than we could ever use.
But it goes beyond just the great interviews we’re getting. We’ve really made friends with the old guy. Most of the time, we’re barely working anymore. We take him out for walks; he treats us to lunch. We had a picnic once. Chase and I have really bonded with him.
There, I said it. Chase and I.
Just like Mr. Solway has become a part of my life, so has the kid that Joel and I call Alpha Rat. To be honest, I hardly ever think of him by that nickname anymore. I want to. I know it’s an act of Weber family loyalty. And I’m on board with that. I could give a college-level symposium on all the reasons why Chase used to be the rattiest rat ever to drag his rat tail through the primordial ooze.
That’s not the point. There’s no question he was ratty then. The problem is he isn’t very ratty anymore. He’s like a version 2.0 of himself with all the bad stuff written out of the programming.
He isn’t even that bad when he’s with Beta and Gamma Rats. They’re doing community service at Portland Street, so we run into them here and there. The three of them still act like friends, but there’s definitely some kind of tension in the group. I can’t tell if it’s Aaron and Bear who are wary of Chase, or Chase who is wary of those two. Maybe it’s simpler than that: If the biggest jerks form a club, everything starts to fall apart when one of them isn’t quite so jerky anymore.
There’s only one explanation, and it’s about as un-Chase as you can get. He’s nice. I thought he was showing his inner bully when he pulled the football team off Brendan that time, but I was wrong. I sure haven’t seen any other signs of that from him.
The biggest indicator of how much Chase has changed is the way he is with Mr. Solway. The Solways never had kids, so Chase has become almost the grandson the old guy never had. At first, I think Chase was just impressed by the Medal of Honor winner, but it’s gone way beyond that now. As much as Mr. Solway likes me too, the real bond is between him and Chase. I’ll always be “your friend,” and, occasionally, when Mr. Solway forgets, “your girlfriend.”
The first time he called me that, Chase turned the color of a mature eggplant. I’ll bet I was even darker purple than that.
“She’s not my girlfriend, Mr. Solway,” Chase mumbled in embarrassment. “She’s just—” And he clammed up again, because he was about to say a friend, but he was afraid I’d get mad at him for that. Back then, I probably would have. I’m not so sure about today.
“We’re in video club together,” I supplied.
The old guy rolled his eyes. “You keep telling yourself that.”
Just because Mr. Solway is no longer the hermit of Portland Street doesn’t mean he’s all sweetness and light. He’s still a pretty crusty guy who speaks his mind and doesn’t worry about who might disagree with him. He barks arguments at TV news commentators he believes are “idiots,” and watches sitcoms with a straight face to prove that they’re not funny. He’s convinced that the Hubble Space Telescope is fake, and the pictures it sends back are created in a Hollywood film studio. He’s stringing a necklace out of all the gout pills he refuses to take. It’s his plan to present it as a going-away present to Nurse Duncan when he drives her so crazy that she quits.
“Come on, Mr. Solway,” Chase chides. “You like Nurse Duncan. She’s good to you.”
“She’s incompetent,” is the growled reply. “I don’t have gout. I just have a sore foot every once in a while. Let’s see how much tap dancing she’s doing when she’s my age.”
He’s entertaining but he can be exhausting too. Sometimes Mr. Solway even exhausts himself and falls asleep in our faces. When that happens, Chase puts a blanket over him and we tiptoe out.
On this particular day, we decide to grab a snack and screen our video footage. I suggest frozen yogurt at Heaven on Ice—the words are out of my mouth before I remember what happened the last time we were in that place together.
He looks worried, so I add, “I promise not to dump anything over your head.”
Heaven on Ice is just a few blocks away. We load up sundaes, pick a corner booth, and start to preview the day’s efforts on the flip-cam.
It’s good stuff. Mr. Solway is ranting about how the designated hitter has ruined baseball, so we’re both holding back laughter as we watch. We already have enough footage for fiv
Chase is having the same thoughts. “I’m going to keep visiting Mr. Solway even after we finish.”
“I’ll come with you.” My response is instant, even though I had no idea I was going to say that.
“Shosh?”
I look up and there’s my mother in line at the register, carrying a small frozen yogurt cake.
Suddenly, an expression of utter horror spreads across her face.
“Mom? What’s wrong—?”
Then I realize that she’s just recognized the person that I’m with, our heads together as we watch the tiny flip-cam screen. I never told anybody in my family who my partner is for the video contest, so I know how this must seem to Mom: that I’m cozied up, practically cheek to cheek, with the horrible bully who made Joel’s life unbearable and forced him out of town.
“It’s not what it looks like!” I blurt.
Her expression is carved from stone. “The car’s outside. I’ll drive you home.”
“But, Mom—”
“I said get in the car.”
Chase stands up. “Mrs. Weber—”
She’s been quiet up to now. But being addressed directly by Chase is too much for her. “How dare you speak to me?” she seethes, her entire body shaking. “Everyone in my family is off-limits to you! If I had my way, you and your filthy friends would be in juvenile hall!”
I speak up again. “This is my fault, not his! If you have to blame someone, blame me!”
“I am blaming you!” She hustles me out the door, tossing over her shoulder at Chase, “Stay away from my daughter!”
“Can’t we talk about this?” I plead.
“Oh, we’ll talk about this,” she agrees. “Trust me, by the time we’re through, your ears will be blistered.”
We’re halfway home before either of us realizes that she never paid for the frozen yogurt cake.
Mom calls Dad, who actually leaves work early to come home and talk to me. It’s as if they’ve discovered I have a secret criminal life—like I’m counterfeiting hundred-dollar bills on a printing press behind the old ski suits in the basement.