place to hang out. Know what I mean?” Guffaws from the other boys. The blue-and-white shoes took a step closer.
“Move!” ordered Seth.
Spotting a gap in the circle, Lewis darted through. He headed for the swings where Mrs. Reber, the playgroundsupervisor, had joined hands with a circle of little girls. If he got close enough to her, Seth might leave him alone. If he got
too
close, Seth would notice and come after him later, calling him a baby. There was a perfect distance—close, but not too close—if only he could figure it out. Last year, he’d spent a lot of time trying.
This year it would be worse. Six guys already in Seth’s white gang. And it was only the first day.
In the afternoon, Ms. Forsley tried him again with a question. An easier question—or so she thought. They were discussing what the class would do during gym time.
“How about you, Lewis? Do you like sports?”
Yes or no, thought Lewis. That’s all she wants. Answer!
But it was an impossible question. If he said yes, everyone would laugh. Lewis Dearborn, an athlete? Ha, ha. If he said no, it would make him a weirdo. Lewis Dearborn doesn’t like sports? It must be because he’s so
special
.
He said nothing.
Finally, it was over.
On the long walk home, Lewis had time to think. Not about school—there was no point. He thought about the tower instead. How fantastic it had been,living there. In those first days upstairs, he’d been sure that nothing at school could touch him—not if he could go home to Libertalia. And now, instead, he’d go home to
more
impossible questions, this time from his parents and Mrs. Binchy. Did you have a good day? Did you have fun with your friends?
Why couldn’t the pirates just leave him alone? Why couldn’t they hang out somewhere else, as they had done when he first moved in? All he’d had to worry about then were a few noises.
He could
handle
noises.
His next thought stopped him in his tracks. What if the pirates
weren’t
in the tower? What if he was avoiding Libertalia for nothing? There’d been no sign of them when he went upstairs with his father. Was it possible that the pirates had left?
Longing swept through Lewis like a tidal wave.
He turned into the Shornoway drive. There it was—the tower. He stared till his eyes began to water from the wind. Then he decided.
He was going back upstairs.
Y es!
They were gone.
Lewis had done a complete inspection, sniffing and searching the whole tower room, including under the beds. He’d even checked behind the red door. Everything was just as it should be. The air was fresh and sweet. The only sound was the sea.
“Yes!” he said out loud, pumping his fist in the air.
Looking around, he thought about what to do next. That was easy …
Anything he wanted!
He practiced handstands against the wall with his shoes
on
. He drew a time-traveling submarine andnamed it the
Atlanticus
and attached it to the wall with tacks. He took the tin soldiers out of the cabinet and lined them up in battle formation on his desk, reds against blues, using the stone and shell collections as landscape.
He even had dinner upstairs. His parents were out, and Mrs. Binchy let him bring his lasagna up on a tray. As he ate, he wondered whether his parents might let him have a TV up here.
The answer came immediately.
Not a chance.
“We don’t believe in technology,” his mother always said when he asked about TVs, tablets, electronic games, smart phones—anything, in fact, that had a battery or a plug.
“We don’t think it’s good for you,” said his father. “We don’t believe it’s healthy for a developing mind.”
The result was that Lewis’s house had one TV (old, small) and two computers (his mother’s laptop and the old desktop in his father’s study). Even these were rationed. Seven hours a week of “screen time” was what Lewis was allowed, except when he was working on school projects.
It was medieval, that’s what it was. And it was one
“Move!” ordered Seth.
Spotting a gap in the circle, Lewis darted through. He headed for the swings where Mrs. Reber, the playgroundsupervisor, had joined hands with a circle of little girls. If he got close enough to her, Seth might leave him alone. If he got
too
close, Seth would notice and come after him later, calling him a baby. There was a perfect distance—close, but not too close—if only he could figure it out. Last year, he’d spent a lot of time trying.
This year it would be worse. Six guys already in Seth’s white gang. And it was only the first day.
In the afternoon, Ms. Forsley tried him again with a question. An easier question—or so she thought. They were discussing what the class would do during gym time.
“How about you, Lewis? Do you like sports?”
Yes or no, thought Lewis. That’s all she wants. Answer!
But it was an impossible question. If he said yes, everyone would laugh. Lewis Dearborn, an athlete? Ha, ha. If he said no, it would make him a weirdo. Lewis Dearborn doesn’t like sports? It must be because he’s so
special
.
He said nothing.
Finally, it was over.
On the long walk home, Lewis had time to think. Not about school—there was no point. He thought about the tower instead. How fantastic it had been,living there. In those first days upstairs, he’d been sure that nothing at school could touch him—not if he could go home to Libertalia. And now, instead, he’d go home to
more
impossible questions, this time from his parents and Mrs. Binchy. Did you have a good day? Did you have fun with your friends?
Why couldn’t the pirates just leave him alone? Why couldn’t they hang out somewhere else, as they had done when he first moved in? All he’d had to worry about then were a few noises.
He could
handle
noises.
His next thought stopped him in his tracks. What if the pirates
weren’t
in the tower? What if he was avoiding Libertalia for nothing? There’d been no sign of them when he went upstairs with his father. Was it possible that the pirates had left?
Longing swept through Lewis like a tidal wave.
He turned into the Shornoway drive. There it was—the tower. He stared till his eyes began to water from the wind. Then he decided.
He was going back upstairs.
Y es!
They were gone.
Lewis had done a complete inspection, sniffing and searching the whole tower room, including under the beds. He’d even checked behind the red door. Everything was just as it should be. The air was fresh and sweet. The only sound was the sea.
“Yes!” he said out loud, pumping his fist in the air.
Looking around, he thought about what to do next. That was easy …
Anything he wanted!
He practiced handstands against the wall with his shoes
on
. He drew a time-traveling submarine andnamed it the
Atlanticus
and attached it to the wall with tacks. He took the tin soldiers out of the cabinet and lined them up in battle formation on his desk, reds against blues, using the stone and shell collections as landscape.
He even had dinner upstairs. His parents were out, and Mrs. Binchy let him bring his lasagna up on a tray. As he ate, he wondered whether his parents might let him have a TV up here.
The answer came immediately.
Not a chance.
“We don’t believe in technology,” his mother always said when he asked about TVs, tablets, electronic games, smart phones—anything, in fact, that had a battery or a plug.
“We don’t think it’s good for you,” said his father. “We don’t believe it’s healthy for a developing mind.”
The result was that Lewis’s house had one TV (old, small) and two computers (his mother’s laptop and the old desktop in his father’s study). Even these were rationed. Seven hours a week of “screen time” was what Lewis was allowed, except when he was working on school projects.
It was medieval, that’s what it was. And it was one
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