Box of Shocks by Chris McMahen

say.
    â€œWhy’s that?” Uncle Ned says. “You gotta go to the bathroom or something?”
    â€œNo. It’s much more important than going to the bathroom.”
    â€œIf you’ve got to go, I can’t think of too many things more important than going to the bathroom,” Uncle Ned says.
    â€œYes, it’s even more important than going to the bathroom,” I say.
    My eyes are fixed on our house—the old brown siding, the trellis covered in Virginia creeper, the heavy front door with the half circle of stained glass, the gravel driveway that curves around the side of the house.
    But Uncle Ned doesn’t pull into our driveway. Instead, he turns the opposite way and pulls into the Watsons’ driveway across the street.
    â€œWhoa, Uncle Ned,” I say. “You suddenly forgot where we live? This is the Watsons’ place.”
    Uncle Ned stops the van, looks at me and says, “Your parents have a little bit of news for you.”
    â€œThey do?” I say. “Is it good news or bad news?”
    Uncle Ned shrugs as he shuts off the engine. The front door of the Watsons’ house swings open, and my parents run out toward the van. They always run out like this when Uncle Ned brings me back from a visit to the farm. Only they don’t usually run out of the neighbors’ house. Something’s a bit strange here.
    Mom flings the side door of the van open, reaches in, grabs me by the arm, yanks me out and gives me a hug so powerful I’m worried my eyeballs will pop out. “Oh! It’s so good to have you home, Oliver!” she says, giving me another bone-crushing hug. “We have such exciting news for you!”
    â€œYou do?” I reply. I’m suspicious. When my parents get this happy, it’s not always a good thing. Their idea of “happy” and my idea of “happy” aren’t the same. Right now, the situation looks dangerous.
    â€œWhat are you doing at the Watsons’ house?” I say.
    â€œIt’s not the Watsons’ house anymore,” Mom says with a grin. “It’s our house now! Isn’t that great?”
    I don’t say anything. I’m too shocked to talk. It’s like I’ve been thrown into an ice-cold mountain lake. My brain doesn’t know what to make of this, so it can’t think of any words right now. I am totally stunned.
    â€œWe know it’s rather sudden,” Dad says. “And we thought of calling you, but it’s been so busy rushing back from Toronto and organizing the move…”
    â€œAnd we didn’t want you to worry,” Mom says. “We thought it might spoil your holiday. Plus, we thought it would be a nice surprise!”
    â€œWe’ve moved?”
    â€œPretty much, Ollie. There are still plenty of boxes to unpack. The movers just brought everything across the street a few days ago.”
    â€œYou never said anything about wanting to move.”
    â€œI know. It all happened so quickly,” Dad said. “This house came up for sale when Mr. Watson got transferred to Toronto.”
    â€œIt’s got so much more room,” Mom says. “You have your own bathroom, plus there’s a shop in the back where you and Dad can work on that old go-kart you’ve always talked about fixing up.”
    â€œWhat about our old house?”
    â€œWe sold it the day the sign went on the front lawn, if you can believe it,” Dad says with a grin. “Mom’s boss bought it as an investment, and he’s renting it out.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Oliver?” Mom says. “We thought you’d be thrilled about moving into a newer, bigger house, but you don’t look very pleased. You were always complaining about having to wait to use the bathroom. And remember how cold your room got in winter? This house is better for all of us in so many ways. Plus, it’s just across the street, so it’s not like you have