Jack Adrift by Jack Gantos Page A

out of the car. “Jack!” he hollered. “Hey, Jack!”
    From my room I heard him running. I dropped a
tadpole back in its jar and ran toward him. We embraced like children who had been separated at birth.
    â€œThat Buddha is remarkable!” he shouted directly into my face while clutching me by the shoulders. “Look at this.” He pulled something that looked like a silver dollar out of his pocket. “You know what this is?”
    I didn’t.
    â€œA piece of eight. Pirate money. Part of Blackbeard’s treasure. I found it while cleaning a drainage ditch under the commander’s house. It’s real treasure.”
    â€œWow,” I said. “Can I hold it?”
    He flipped it into the air. “Heads you win, tails you win,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. With the Buddha on our side, we can’t lose.”
    He headed for the refrigerator. He popped open a beer before I could stop him. The spray hit him full force in the face.
    â€œShould’ve rubbed Buddha’s belly first,” I said.
    The next day he received a letter with a check in it from the guy who had stiffed him. “Unbelievable,” Dad said as he flopped back onto the couch. “Betty!” he hollered. “Come in here and see this. You won’t believe your eyes.”
    When Mom read who the check was from, she spun her head around and looked at me. “Where’s that Buddha?” she asked.

    â€œHe’s safe and sound,” I said.
    Even Betsy was impressed. “Well, let’s not wear him out on little stuff. Let’s save the luck for something big.”
    â€œLike a new bike,” Pete pitched in.
    â€œA real house,” Mom said.
    â€œMilitary academy,” Betsy said, smiling at me.
    â€œHold your horses,” Dad cautioned. “Let’s just take it easy. Jack got me the Buddha for fishing, and it’s time to give him a deep-sea workout.”
    â€œWhat will fish ever get us?” Betsy cried out.
    â€œA happy dad and food on the table,” he said. “Nothing wrong with that.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Mom agreed. She curled her arm around Dad’s waist. “You just save your luck for the ocean,” she said sweetly. “Maybe you’ll pull in a mermaid.”
    Dad smiled at the thought. “You’d look good with a fish tail,” he said, and gave her a peck on the cheek.
    I just loved it when they kissed. It cheered me up. It was better than luck. It was better than money. When they were happy it made us all happy, and nothing was better than knowing we belonged together.
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    The next day after work Dad no longer had to look out the door and watch other people fish. “Jack,” he said,”get my fishing gear and the Buddha and let’s go across the street for a while.”
    â€œAye-aye, sir,” I said, and scrambled to get everything he needed.
    â€œPete,” Dad said gravely as he removed a beer from the refrigerator, “you didn’t shake this up, did you?”
    â€œI keep telling you,” Pete cried out. “I don’t shake the beer.”
    Dad held the beer can out the kitchen window, took the opener, and popped the top. The suds shot clean into the middle of the swamp. He whistled. “That would have blown my head off,” he said. He grabbed an extra one and I followed him outside. He shouldered his rod and reel and I carried the Buddha and tackle box.
    When we reached the beach he was eager to get going. Mom had given us only an hour before dinner.
    Dad fastened a silver spoon with triple hooks on to the line, then swung back into position with the pole almost parallel to the sand. “Casting out!” he hollered.
    â€œStop!” I shouted. “Don’t forget to rub the Buddha!” I ran toward him with the Buddha held out in front of me like a cross held before a vampire.
    But Dad was already in full swing. The hook caught the