The only way Bubbie gets me to join her for a jog is because our destination is Dunkin’ Donuts and she’s promised to buy me a large iced coffee—my life force. Once we get there, I’ll talk her into buying me a doughnut, too. Bubbie—unlike the girls my own age—can’t resist my wily charm.
“Sure you don’t want to come?” Bubbie asks Mom. “We’re going to Dunk Your Doughnuts.”
Mom and I laugh.
“I think it’s Dunkin’ Donuts,” Mom says. “And I’ll pass on the jog. Still sore from working out with you last night.”
“Moving around is the best cure for soreness,” Bubbie says, touching her toes a few times. “Besides, exercise will keep you alive longer.”
Mom shakes her head.
“Come on, Bubs,” I say. “Let’s get this torture over with.” I take off out of the house, keenly aware that my shorts showcase my hairy gorilla legs in the worst possible way. I make sure not to jog down Lilac Lane on our way out of Beckford Palms Estates. I need to minimize my embarrassing moments as much as possible.
I’m hyperventilating like I need CPR, my leg muscles are on fire and I’m already wishing I were back at the house, showered and wearing a pair of nice, leg-hair-covering jeans. And we’ve only gotten to the edge of Beckford Palms Estates.
“Come on, Norbert!” Bubbie says, pounding me on the back and sprinting ahead.
“Com…ing!” I gasp. The thought of an iced coffee is the only thing that propels my legs forward as I chase a small, gray-haired woman through the streets of Beckford Palms.
That’s how I end up at “Dunk Your Doughnuts,” sweating like a human lawn sprinkler and bumping into the one person—other than my family—who I know in Beckford Palms.
“Dunkin!” Tim yells.
He’s sitting with a girl, who’s taller than he is and has a great smile with insanely deep dimples. His girlfriend?
“Why did that meshuga—crazy—boy call you Duncan?” Bubbie asks.
Tim is not meshuga. And I like the nickname.
“And why is his hair so long? Makes him look like a girl, if you ask me.” Bubbie stands on her toes and stretches. “Not that anyone has.”
I think of Tim wearing a dress on a dare and how I thought he was a girl. A good-looking girl, and I feel my face get even hotter than it already is from our ridiculously long jog.
“I’m going to order for us,” Bubbie says as I head toward their little table by the window.
Tim and I high-five. “This is—”
“Dare.” She looks me up and down. “And who is this guy high-fivin’ my best friend?”
She’s got this expression like she’s not joking around, like she’s…protecting Tim or something. I’m not sure if I should tell her my real name or the one Tim made up for me.
“That’s Dunkin,” Tim says, like he read my mind. “He just moved here from…” Tim looks at me with those seriously blue eyes, then ducks his head, so his hair falls in front of them. “Sorry. I forget.”
“I’m from New Jersey,” I say.
“A Jersey boy,” Dare says, and I’m not sure how I should respond.
My legs are killing me from jogging, so I join them at their table. I hope that’s okay. Right then, Bubbie calls from the counter, “Norbert, do you want a whole wheat bagel or sesame?”
“Jelly doughnut, please.”
“Sesame it is,” Bubbie says.
“Norbert?” Dare asks.
Tim’s looking down, but I can tell he’s smiling. Or is he laughing at me?
“Whatever,” Dare says. “It’s not like my parents gave me a normal name.”
Tim and Dare laugh.
“We’ll still call you Dunkin, if you want,” Tim says.
“Dunkin is good,” I say.
They nod, which I guess makes my new nickname official. I’ve been in Beckford Palms only a few days and already, I have a cool nickname. Score!
“My dad’s like that.” Dare nods toward Bubbie. “No junk food. Except for the occasional box of Pop-Tarts.” She winks at Tim. “My dad even sent me to a summer camp that was the All Healthy Foods Channel.” She sips on an artificially red, slushy drink. It looks so good, I think of asking Bubbie for that, but know she’ll never buy it for me. “He’s practically forcing me to binge on junk once in a while outside the house.” Dare shakes her head and looks at Tim. “Parents. They have no clue how much they mess us up.”
My stomach clenches. Thoughts of Dad leak under the steel, reinforced door in my head, but I shove some towels down there and stave the flow.
“Amen to that,” Tim says. “Parents.”
Memories of things I don’t want to remember start flashing through my mind. The dark night. The knock at the door. “Hey, do either of you have a coin?”
Tim reaches into his pocket and slams a penny on the table.
“Saltshaker,” I say to Dare, and she passes it.
“Napkin,” I say to Tim.
He gives me a few from the dispenser.
I feel like a surgeon, about to perform an operation. “Okay,” I say, covering the penny with the saltshaker and covering the saltshaker with a napkin. “Keep your eyes on the penny at all times. I’m going to make it disappear.”
“Mhmm,” Dare says, taking a loud slurp of her drink. “I doubt it.”
Tim seems riveted.
I grab the saltshaker through the napkin and bring it back past the table’s edge. Then I let it drop into my other hand beneath the table, all the while maintaining eye contact with Tim and Dare. The empty napkin is still in the shape of the saltshaker in my hand above the table.
“Ha!” Dare says. “The penny is still on the table. You, good sir, are a lousy magician.”
“Dare!”
“What?” Dare asks. “He is. The dumb penny’s sitting right there.”
“Well, look at that. It certainly is,” I say, because being a showman is part of being a good magician. “I don’t know why that didn’t work. Hmm. Let me try one more time.”
I position the saltshaker-shaped napkin over the penny. And as I bang the saltshaker on the underside of the table, I smash down the empty napkin. Then I lift the napkin. Only the penny remains.
Tim’s head jerks back. “How’d you do that? That’s amazing.”
“You made the saltshaker disappear,” Dare says. “Wasn’t expecting that one.”
I pray neither of them thinks to look under the table, where I’m holding the saltshaker.
“Come on,” Bubbie says, swinging the Dunkin’ bag. “Let’s go, Norbert.”
“Bye, Dunkin,” Tim says. “Cool magic trick.”
“Thanks,” I say, squeezing the saltshaker in my sweaty palm.
“Bye, Norbert,” Dare says. But she smiles in a nice way, and her dimples go Grand Canyon deep.
Bubbie shoots out the door and starts running.
Luckily, Tim and Dare watch her through the window, which gives me an opportunity to get up and slip the saltshaker onto a counter behind a canister of straws.
Pumping my arms and willing my legs to move faster, I shout, “Hey, Bubbie, wait up! I thought we were going to stop and eat. Wait! You’re going to spill my coffee!”
