Candy Shop War Read Free Page A

start,” Nate replied.
     
    “Just do this one,” she said, setting the box at the foot of his bed. “After you finish you can go play outside.”
     
    “Play what? Robinson Crusoe?”
     
    “I just saw some kids your age riding bikes.”
     
    “They’re probably idiots.”
     
    “Now, don’t have that attitude,” she sighed. “Since when did you become shy?”
     
    “I don’t want to start all over again in a new place. I miss my old friends.”
     
    “Nate, we’re here, and we’re not leaving. If you make some friends in the neighborhood before school starts, you’ll have a much better time.”
     
    “I’d have a better time if Tyler moved here.”
     
    His mom used a key to hack through the tape sealing the box. “That would be nice, but you’ll have to settle for e-mail. Get to work.” She left the room.
     
    Still seated at the end of the mattress, Nate leaned forward and pulled back the cardboard flaps. The box contained a bunch of his old trophies cocooned in newspaper. He had a lot of trophies for a ten-year-old, having played four years of soccer and three of Little League.
     
    He unwrapped the biggest trophy, earned last year by his first-place soccer team, the Hornets. He had been stuck at fullback all season, and had seen less action than ever. The forwards and halfbacks had generally kept the ball at the other end of the field as the team paraded unchallenged to their undefeated season. The coach, a black guy from Brazil whose son was the star forward, had spent the season yelling at Nate to stand up and stop picking grass. As if he couldn’t just hop to his feet on those rare occasions when the ball visited his side of the field. Picking grass was far more entertaining than watching his teammates score goals off in the distance. They should have equipped him with binoculars instead of shin guards.
     
    Soon the trophies were aligned on a shelf, and the newspapers were wadded on the floor. Beneath the trophies, Nate found a bunch of his books, along with a broad assortment of comics. He loaded them into the bookshelf, then heaped the wadded newspapers back inside the box.
     
    He walked out into the hall, weaving around boxes to get to the bathroom and wash the newspaper ink off his palms. There were even boxes in the bathroom. He lived in a warehouse.
     
    Inspiration struck while he was rinsing his hands. If they saved all the boxes, he could construct an awesome fort. He stood at the sink considering the possibilities, staring into the mirror without seeing anything. It would need a drawbridge, and secret passages, and a rope swing. How many stories tall? Where could he get barbed wire? What if the fort ended up bigger than the house, and his family chose to live there instead? He would have to weatherproof it.
     
    “You all right, Nate?”
     
    He turned to face his dad. “Could I have the boxes when we’re done with them?”
     
    “I’m sure we could spare a few. How come?”
     
    “I want to build a fort.”
     
    “We’ll see.”
     
    “Maybe you can glue milk cartons under it and sail to Hawaii.” This comment came from his older sister, Cheryl, poking her head into the bathroom. She was referring to his failed attempt to assemble a raft out of milk cartons. He had insisted that the family store empty cartons in the garage for months after he had seen a guy on the news piloting a milk-carton barge. Eventually, overwhelmed by the logistics of joining milk cartons to form a seaworthy vessel, he had abandoned the project.
     
    “Maybe you can go polish your braces,” he retorted. “They look rusty.”
     
    His dad stuck out an arm to hold Cheryl back. “None of that,” he said, suppressing a grin. “Nate, why don’t you go outside for a while? I saw some kids playing out there.”
     
    “But I don’t know them.”
     
    “Then go get acquainted. When I was your age, I was friends with whoever happened to be out roaming the neighborhood.”
     
    “Sounds like a good