Do You Know the Monkey Man? Read Free

him to.
    What about my real dad? Doesn’t he have to give permission or anything?
    Mom says he doesn’t because he’s been gone so long. Nobody knows where he is. Mom says we can do whatever we want because he gave up parenting rights a long time ago.
    Well, nobody ever asked me what
I
want. I want to find my dad. I want to know what he thinks about some other guy adopting me.
    “You look pretty serious,” Angela said, riding up beside me. We had turned onto McGregor, which was a quiet, tree-lined residential street, so we were back in the road. I hadn’t even realized it.
    “What are you thinking about?” Angela asked.
    I shrugged. I wasn’t much in the mood for talking.
    “You still disappointed that that psychic couldn’t help you find your father?” Angela pressed.
    “Sort of.”
    “You know, Sam …” I could tell Angela was about to say something I wasn’t going to like. “Maybe you should just forget about your dad and let Bob adopt you.”
    Let Bob adopt me? She had to be kidding!
    “At least he’s nice. And I bet he really wants to adopt you. He’s not just doing it for your mom.”
    “But he’s not my dad. And I don’t want a piece of paper that says he is when he isn’t. I’ve got a real dad out there somewhere.”
    “Real fathers are overrated, Sam,” Angela said. “Look at mine.”
    Angela’s dad wouldn’t win any Father of the Year awards, but at least he was part of her life. Sort of. He sent birthday and Christmas gifts. She and her older brother even visited him in Minnesota sometimes. Well, okay, they hadn’t visited in a while. But that was because Mr. Hunter and his wife had a baby last year.
    “At least you know your dad,” I said.
    “Father,” Angela corrected. “Not dad. And yeah, I know him.” Her bike wobbled a little when she said that. “I know he ran off with some other woman, got married, and had another kid who is tons more important to him than Andrew and I are. He’s a selfish jerk. That’s what I know about him.”
    “You know more than that,” I pointed out. “You know whether you look like him or talk like him. You know which habits and personality quirks you got from him. You know what he does for a living, what he does in his spare time, what he eats for breakfast. I don’t know any of that about my dad.”
    Angela snorted. “I still say you’re better off.”
    “How?” How could a person
ever
be better off not knowing their dad?
    “Because right now, your father could be anyone. Anyone you want him to be. But once you find him, that’s it. There’s no more pretending. You’re stuck with whoever he is.”
    “That’s okay,” I insisted. “I don’t care who he is. He’s my dad. That’s all that matters.”
    “That’s easy for you to say now when you don’t know anything about him. Don’t get your hopes up. That’s all I’m saying.”
    I looked away. Sometimes Angela’s kind of negative. It’s easier for her that way. But me, I try to look on the bright side. I mean, if you don’t have hope, what do you have?
    There’s a For Sale sign in front of our little blue house on Hartman Lane. My mom and Bob are building a bigger house in one of the new developments, so we’re moving after the wedding.
    I’ll be closer to Angela when we move. I’ll have a bigger room with built-in bookshelves, a built-in window seat, and my own bathroom. But I’d still rather stay here. This is my house, you know? It’s the only place I’ve ever lived.
    Besides, if my dad ever came looking for me, this is where he’d come. This is where we lived when my parents were married. If I had a new name and a new house, he wouldn’t know where to look for me.
    I fumbled around in my purse for my house key, then unlocked the front door. Right away my cat padded over to me and meowed.
    “Hey, Sherlock,” I said, bending to pick him up. The motorboat in his gut revved up as I buried my face in his fur. My cat has the loudest purr of any cat I’ve ever