Jim & Me Read Free Page A

book about him,” Bobby said.
    Bobby Fuller read a book? Now, that was a shocker.
    â€œSo why do you want to meet him so badly?” I asked.
    â€œJim Thorpe was my great-grandfather.”

3
Bobby Fuller’s Secret
    I SAT DOWN ON THE STEPS , AND BOBBY SAT DOWN NEXT to me. Bobby Fuller was related to Jim Thorpe? Who knew? He never mentioned it before. It wasn’t one of those things that everybody talked about at school.
    Before Bobby could tell me anything else, the screen door opened and my mom came out.
    â€œRobert Fuller!” she said, looking just as surprised as I had when Bobby showed up at the door. Mom recognized Bobby right away because of all the times I played baseball against him. She knew the horrible things he did and said to me over the years too.
    â€œHello, Mrs. Stoshack,” Bobby said pleasantly, shaking her hand. Like a lot of bad guys, he knew how to act like a little angel when he was around grown-ups. That way, the grown-ups didn’t know what a jerk he was.
    I figured my mom would probably slap Bobby across the face or call the police. But when all is said and done, she’s still a mom.
    â€œWould you like some cookies?” she asked.
    Why is it that we never have any cookies in the house when I want some, but they always magically appear whenever company comes over? And how come I’m not allowed to eat cookies before dinner, but it’s okay when company comes over before dinner?
    Anyway, I wasn’t going to complain. Mom went inside and came out with a huge plate full of chocolate-chip cookies. Bobby and I each took two.
    I could tell my mom was dying to know why Bobby was there, but I threw her a look that said we needed privacy. She scurried back into the house, leaving the plate of cookies with us. I knew she’d pump me for details later.
    â€œJim Thorpe was a Native American,” Bobby said when the door slammed shut. I guess I looked puzzled, so he added, “an Indian.”
    â€œYeah, I knew that,” I said, not all that convincingly.
    â€œHe had seven kids, and one of his daughters was my grandma,” Bobby continued. “She died when I was little, so I don’t remember her. But I’m one-eighth Sac and Fox Indian.”
    Bobby Fuller was part Indian? He didn’t look Indian. I figured he was Irish or German or something.
    â€œThat’s cool,” I said, and it was. I wish I was related to somebody famous. “How come you don’t tell everybody?”
    â€œTell people I have Indian blood?” Bobby said. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œWhat, is there prejudice against Indians?” I asked.
    Bobby looked at me like I was an idiot so I didn’t press it. I know we’ve come a long way, but there’s still a lot of prejudice in the world. White kids don’t often see it because it doesn’t affect us directly. So we assume it doesn’t exist.
    â€œStoshack,” Bobby said. “I want to meet my great-grandfather.”
    Â 
    Well, I’ll be honest with you. I didn’t want to do it. Time travel is not an exact science. It’s not like I could step inside some time machine, push a few buttons, and poof —I would magically appear in Jim Thorpe’s living room. There are usually some complications, to put it mildly. I could get killed .
    One time, I went back to 1919 to try to prevent the Black Sox scandal. I ended up getting kidnapped, tied to a chair, and shot at.
    Another time, I went back to 1863 with my mom to see if Abner Doubleday really invented baseball. But we landed in the middle of the Battle of Gettysburg during the Civil War, with a bunch of Confederate soldiers shooting at us.
    And that time when Flip and I went back to 1942to see Satchel Paige, some guy tried to shoot us because his daughter fell in love with Flip.
    Come to think of it, I’ve been shot at a lot.
    The point is, if I’m going to use my power to go back in time,