Scumble Read Free

enthusiasm.
    â€œYeah!” I said. “Tonight I’ll run around the world at the speed of light and bring us back pizza from Italy.”
    â€œOr wontons from Mr. Lee’s Panda Palace!” said Fedora.
    â€œNot from the Panda Palace, Fe.” I rolled my eyes.
    â€œThat’s right, Fedora. Mr. Lee’s is just a mile from here,” Dad explained. “We’re thinking bigger than that. We’re thinking savvy -big, like your mom and your cousins. By the end of your brother’s birthday, he’ll be able to get us wontons from the other side of the globe!” Dad winked at me, adding, “You can bring Ryan Manning back some salt-and-pepper squid as a consolation prize.”
    â€œEwww, squid.” Fedora made a face, then bounced in her chair, chanting: “Noodles! Noodles! Bring me noodles!”
    â€œDo you hear that, Ledge? When you get to China, grab some noodles for your sister.” With a grin, Dad folded his paper, ignoring the way Mom shook her head in disapproval. I wasn’t sure who was more excited about my potential new savvy: Dad or Fedora. In my gut, I knew it wasn’t me.
    Fedora and I both remembered when our cousin Samson Beaumont turned thirteen three years before. It was impossible to forget the birthday party where our quiet shadow of a cousin vanished while blowing out his candles. Now my sister watched me like I might sprout eyeballs from my elbows or evaporate if she looked away. And when Dad and I went outside to wait for my supersonic savvy to kick in, Fedora wouldn’t stay behind.
    â€œYou look ridiculous,” I told my sister as she followed us out the door. Having heard plenty of savvy-birthday stories with endings more calamitous than Samson’s vanishing act, Fe had dug Dad’s old football helmet out of the basement.
    â€œBetter safe than sorry!” She raised her chin, rapping her knuckles against the plastic hiding her short brown hair—hair cut just as neat and trim as mine and Dad’s. Just the way Mom liked.
    Helmet or no helmet, there wasn’t much anyone could do to prepare for a savvy birthday aside from taking basic precautions: No big parties, no friends, no sharp objects. I was surprised Mom had let me use a fork at breakfast. Allowing Josh or Ryan or Brody to come over had never been discussed.
    I hated that my buddies wouldn’t see me turn awesome; I would’ve liked to see their faces. Each of my friends had his own gig. Ryan was magic on the sports field—any sports field—and Josh was the ladies’ man. Josh had even locked lips with Misty Archuleta during a field trip to the planetarium once, after giving her a necklace with a big silver M on it. Everyone had known about the kiss before the bus got back to school because Big Mouth Brody spilled the beans like an All-State bean-spiller.
    When we were rug rats like Fedora, I’d been best at LEGOs and Erector Sets; I’d even constructed a model of the Eiffel Tower out of toilet paper tubes that my third-grade art teacher thought was artistic genius.
    â€œThe Leaning Tower of Pisa, Ledger!” she’d said. “How beautiful!”
    So much for genius.
    It didn’t matter: By the time my first pair of running shoes were broken in, my LEGO pieces were gathering dust and I was sitting in the back of the art room, keeping my creations to myself. I stopped daydreaming about building things and started focusing on the pavement.

    Five years and six shoes sizes later, I ran around the block under the midday sun, chasing my thirteenth birthday savvy speed. Dad had made Fe Official Timekeeper, giving her a mechanical stopwatch and a whistle.
    â€œBricka bracka firecracker, sis boom bah! Ledger Kale! Ledger Kale! Rah! Rah! Rah!” Fe shouted her favorite Super-Rabbit cartoon cheer every time I finished a lap, hitting the reset button on Dad’s watch.
    â€œIs anything happening, Ledge?” she asked every