Chapter One
Alex watched a cricket creep along the baseboard and disappear. He didn’t feel strong enough to go after it. Not today. Besides, why try? Seven more crickets were on the loose, and he’d lost the plastic lunch bag they came in.
He sat with his elbows on his knees. His suit jacket didn’t fit anymore. It bunched up and hurt him under his arms. All around him, grown-ups sipped tea and ate tiny sandwiches and cookies. As if he couldn’t hear them, they whispered about the tragedy. Of course it was a tragedy. Alex’s dad was the best police constable on the force, everyone said so. Two days ago, he had stopped a guy for speeding. While he was writing the ticket, another driver hitand killed him. Who could imagine anything worse? Not his son, that’s for sure.
“Poor fellow was too young to die,” a woman said. Alex knew her; she worked at the main desk of the police station. “Barely fifty. Makes no sense.”
The constable beside her nodded. “That’s the thing about life. Does its best to mess us up.”
Alex hated this little house on Poplar Avenue. Everything about it was bad. His dad had wanted to live closer to work. That’s why the family had moved here from the other side of town a month ago. Four crappy weeks. In that time, Alex had had two teeth filled and his mother had had the stomach flu. Now his dad was dead. Loose crickets didn’t matter compared to that.
His mother looked sadder and taller than ever in her borrowed funeral dress. “Honey,” she said, “you need to eat.” She held out a plate of salad.
Alex stared at the lettuce, making a face.
“You need to keep your strength up.”
Using the smallest amount of air he could, Alex said, “L-l-lettuce is for c-c ... crickets.”
His mother’s hand went to her throat and started to play with her pearl necklace. His stutter was getting to her. She couldn’t handle that it hadcome back after three years. Alex felt guilty as hell. His mother didn’t need to worry about her son not being able to speak, on top of everything else.
Alex flipped a piece of lettuce behind the sofa. “B-b-b-b ... b-bait.”
“Did the whole bag of crickets escape? Or just a few?”
He didn’t answer.
“Alex, how many crickets escaped?”
He just shook his head. Knowing that eight crickets were loose in her house wasn’t going to make her feel better.
“I still don’t understand why I had to buy you a pet spider right now,” Alex’s mother said. “You can’t even hug it and get any sort of comfort.”
Alex stared at the ceiling. How many times did he have to tell her? The Mexican palomino spider was not poisonous. Well, not very poisonous. Boris the spider’s bite was something like a bee sting. He was extremely gentle and easy to handle. And— bonus!—his hair didn’t give humans a rash, like the hair of some spiders did. No itching. No killer biting.
“He’s not p-p-p ...” Alex tried to let the word escape. “Not p ... p ...”
His mom’s sadness made her face droop. “It’s the stress of what happened. Losing Dad. You’ll feel better once you get back to your old routine. That’s what you need.”
That wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was to get back at the guy who killed his father.
Sergeant Hines walked across the room with a black box in his hand. He sat in the chair next to Alex while Alex’s mother watched, wiping her nose with a tissue. At the funeral, Alex’s dad’s police hat had been placed on the coffin. Then, at the end of the funeral, the sergeant gave the hat to Alex’s mom, the widow. She’d cried. Man, had she cried.
“A few things from your dad’s desk,” Sergeant Hines said to Alex as he opened the box. The World’s Best Dad mug Alex had given his dad for Father’s Day. A framed picture of Alex with his parents in front of the fireplace in their old home. An award for bravery.
Alex said, “W-w-w-what d-d-d ...?”
The sergeant leaned closer. “What’s
Alex watched a cricket creep along the baseboard and disappear. He didn’t feel strong enough to go after it. Not today. Besides, why try? Seven more crickets were on the loose, and he’d lost the plastic lunch bag they came in.
He sat with his elbows on his knees. His suit jacket didn’t fit anymore. It bunched up and hurt him under his arms. All around him, grown-ups sipped tea and ate tiny sandwiches and cookies. As if he couldn’t hear them, they whispered about the tragedy. Of course it was a tragedy. Alex’s dad was the best police constable on the force, everyone said so. Two days ago, he had stopped a guy for speeding. While he was writing the ticket, another driver hitand killed him. Who could imagine anything worse? Not his son, that’s for sure.
“Poor fellow was too young to die,” a woman said. Alex knew her; she worked at the main desk of the police station. “Barely fifty. Makes no sense.”
The constable beside her nodded. “That’s the thing about life. Does its best to mess us up.”
Alex hated this little house on Poplar Avenue. Everything about it was bad. His dad had wanted to live closer to work. That’s why the family had moved here from the other side of town a month ago. Four crappy weeks. In that time, Alex had had two teeth filled and his mother had had the stomach flu. Now his dad was dead. Loose crickets didn’t matter compared to that.
His mother looked sadder and taller than ever in her borrowed funeral dress. “Honey,” she said, “you need to eat.” She held out a plate of salad.
Alex stared at the lettuce, making a face.
“You need to keep your strength up.”
Using the smallest amount of air he could, Alex said, “L-l-lettuce is for c-c ... crickets.”
His mother’s hand went to her throat and started to play with her pearl necklace. His stutter was getting to her. She couldn’t handle that it hadcome back after three years. Alex felt guilty as hell. His mother didn’t need to worry about her son not being able to speak, on top of everything else.
Alex flipped a piece of lettuce behind the sofa. “B-b-b-b ... b-bait.”
“Did the whole bag of crickets escape? Or just a few?”
He didn’t answer.
“Alex, how many crickets escaped?”
He just shook his head. Knowing that eight crickets were loose in her house wasn’t going to make her feel better.
“I still don’t understand why I had to buy you a pet spider right now,” Alex’s mother said. “You can’t even hug it and get any sort of comfort.”
Alex stared at the ceiling. How many times did he have to tell her? The Mexican palomino spider was not poisonous. Well, not very poisonous. Boris the spider’s bite was something like a bee sting. He was extremely gentle and easy to handle. And— bonus!—his hair didn’t give humans a rash, like the hair of some spiders did. No itching. No killer biting.
“He’s not p-p-p ...” Alex tried to let the word escape. “Not p ... p ...”
His mom’s sadness made her face droop. “It’s the stress of what happened. Losing Dad. You’ll feel better once you get back to your old routine. That’s what you need.”
That wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was to get back at the guy who killed his father.
Sergeant Hines walked across the room with a black box in his hand. He sat in the chair next to Alex while Alex’s mother watched, wiping her nose with a tissue. At the funeral, Alex’s dad’s police hat had been placed on the coffin. Then, at the end of the funeral, the sergeant gave the hat to Alex’s mom, the widow. She’d cried. Man, had she cried.
“A few things from your dad’s desk,” Sergeant Hines said to Alex as he opened the box. The World’s Best Dad mug Alex had given his dad for Father’s Day. A framed picture of Alex with his parents in front of the fireplace in their old home. An award for bravery.
Alex said, “W-w-w-what d-d-d ...?”
The sergeant leaned closer. “What’s
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