Box of Shocks by Chris McMahen Page A

to go to a different school. You’ll still live close to all your friends.”
    â€œWhat about all my stuff?”
    â€œAll moved!” Dad says with a grin. “The movers had us all moved across the street in a day! I made sure they were particularly careful moving your fish.”
    I begin to walk across the street toward my old house, gripping the bolt so tightly I can feel the end digging into the palm of my hand.
    â€œWhere are you going, Oliver?” Mom says. “Don’t you want to see your new house?”
    â€œI have to go back.”
    â€œYou can’t go back! A new family’s already moved in,” Mom says.
    â€œI don’t care. I have to go back.”
    â€œThere’s no reason to go back. We moved everything,” Dad says. “Nothing of yours was left behind. We even set up your new room just the way you had it in the old house. Everything’s the same!”
    â€œI don’t care. I have to go back!” I shout.
    â€œYou can’t, Oliver!” Dad says, raising his voice. “It’s someone else’s house now. I’m sorry you’re upset, but you’ll love the new house. I promise.”
    I point across the street and say, “That’s the house we’re supposed to be living in! That’s our house! Not this new one!”
    â€œI know the move must be a bit of a shock to you, Oliver,” Mom says. “Change is hard sometimes, but it won’t take long for you to get used to living in this house.”
    â€œI don’t want to get used to it. I like our old house. I want to move back!” I feel my jaw tighten as the words tumble out.
    This is horrible! No! It’s worse than horrible! My parents have no idea! I have to go back to our old house and get the most valuable thing in the world! But I can’t tell them about it. No matter what, they can’t ever know about my Box of Shocks.
    Dad steps toward me and slings his arm around my shoulders. “I know you’re attached to the old house, Ollie. Your mom and I have fond memories of the old house as well. But we think moving here is for the best.”
    Mom tugs at my arm and pulls me into the new house. As she and Dad show me and Uncle Ned around, I don’t say anything. The wheels are already turning in my head. Somehow, I’ll find a way back into my old house. Somehow, I’ll rescue my Box of Shocks. I have to. The bolt in my hand is burning to get in that box.
    After the tour of the house, Dad serves us lunch in the new dining room. I’m eating with my left hand, but Mom and Dad don’t seem to notice anything unusual. While we eat, they go on and on about the hardwood flooring in the living room, the teak cabinets in the kitchen and the marble countertops in the bathrooms. As Dad begins to describe the built-in vacuum system, I blurt out, “Who lives in our house?”
    â€œIt’s not our house anymore, Oliver,” Mom says.
    â€œOkay, then, who lives in the old house across the street?” I say.
    â€œI don’t know. They just moved in today. We haven’t met them yet,” Dad says.
    â€œI heard they were new in town, but beyond that, I haven’t a clue,” Mom says.
    â€œI’m sure you’ll have a chance to meet them soon,” Dad says. “It looks like they have a boy about your age.”
    After Uncle Ned leaves, I storm up to my room, pull a chair over to the window and sit, staring at my old house. The only good thing about the new house is that my bedroom window looks out across the street to my old house. I sit for a long time, holding the bolt and staring at my old house. There’s no car in the driveway, and I can’t see any lights on. The new family living in my old house must be out. I keep watching, waiting for them to come home.
    A couple of hours later, Mom calls me down for supper. “Not hungry!” I call back without opening my bedroom door. As usual,