The Absolute Value of Mike by Kathryn Erskine Page B

praying. “We need everyone’s help. Whatever you can do to get Poppy moving would be wonderful. He was going to get two hundred dollars for each box, but now I don’t know how we’ll make up that money.”
    I wondered how good I could get at making boxes. “How many boxes do you need?”
    â€œWell, Poppy and his crew were going to make dozens.”
    Dozens times two hundred dollars would be . . . “How much money?”
    â€œFor the whole adoption? Well, if you include airline tickets, staying in the country during the adoption process—about forty thousand.”
    I nearly choked. “Forty thousand dollars?” “By July fifteenth.”
    â€œWhat! It’s June twenty-second! That’s only . . .”
    â€œThree weeks and two days.”
    â€œWhy so fast?”
    â€œRomania is about to close down international adoptions.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘close down’?”
    â€œThey’re changing the regulations, so they’re putting all international adoptions on hold for—well, we don’t know how long.”
    â€œSo someone else could adopt him?”
    â€œPossibly, but adoption isn’t very popular in Romania. It’s more likely that he’ll just sit there for months—or years—until they open up to international adoptions again.”
    Karen went on to talk about her “baby,” and the toys she’d sent him, and the room she’d gotten ready for him, while I stood there trying to get my brain to work. The kid could be stuck in an orphanage for . . . forever. With no family. Alone.
    â€œOh!” said Karen. “Here’s the picture of him I got this morning.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small photo.
    â€œLook!” She put the photo in my hand.
    I peered at it and gasped.
    â€œI know,” said Karen. “Isn’t he sweet? He’s playing with the LEGOs I sent him. See what he’s making? It’s a house, or maybe it’s a garage? For his little cars there.”
    I shook my head slowly. It was like I was looking at myself. It wasn’t a house. It wasn’t a garage.
    â€œWhat is it? What do you think he’s building?”
    â€œIt’s a bridge,” I said quietly, not taking my eyes off the photo. A bridge. Like the bridge I’d made out of LEGOs for Dad. The one that made Mom call me a great engineer.
    â€œOh,” she cooed, “he’s building a bridge from there to here. He wants to come. Do you know”—her voice cracked and her eyes watered—“they showed him a picture of me and he said”—her voice cracked again—“he said . . . Mama!”
    The vacuum buzzed in my ears while I stared at the kid and Karen broke down.
    â€œI want him home,” she cried. “I have to raise the money. We need to get Poppy moving. Somehow!”
    I shoved my hand into the pocket with my LEGO brick and stared at the photo. “Don’t worry,” I said. “This kid is definitely coming home.”

8
    EVALUATE
    â€”to determine the worth of; to appraise
    Â 
    Â 
    M IKE!” a voice screamed in my ear. “Are you feeling all right, dear?”
    I opened my eyes to see Moo’s huge glasses in my face. “I—I think so. Why?”
    â€œIt’s so late. I thought you might be sick.”
    I sat up in bed. “What time is it?”
    â€œIt’s after eight!”
    â€œEight? Eight in the morning?”
    â€œYes! Poppy and I have been up for hours.”
    â€œI usually sleep until eleven, at least.”
    She laughed. “Oh, Mike! You are so funny!”
    I flopped back down in bed and closed my eyes. I’m a very slow riser.
    â€œI’m making brunch for you,” Moo said, her voice fading as she headed downstairs. “Then we’ll go to the bank to deposit the checks so we can pay the electric bill . . .”
    The electric bill! I opened my