Better Nate Than Ever (24 page)

“Nice costume,” I say, gulping. Taking him in. Accepting my fate.

And he says, “Who are you supposed to be?”

“Uh . . .”

“He’s SuperBoy,” Freckles says, coming up behind me. “He’s going as SuperBoy, and his costume is underneath.”

Freckles sprinkles a raw handful of Pieces (kind of gross, I know) into the boy’s pillowcase, shutting the door.

And if I’m not mistaken—and I’m not—the boy says, quite clearly, “More like SuperFag.” With the “Fag” part echoing down the hall and back under the door frame, hovering, infecting everyone in the apartment.

Even when you yourself have gotten used to being harassed, there is still nothing worse than the feeling of your family being mortified for you. You never adapt to that, to that cloak of hot shame.

“That kid’s a jerk,” Freckles says.

“He’s an a-hole, actually,” I say. But I really say it, the whole word.

I turn to Freckles and to Mom and to Heidi, to all of them, and say, “He’s an a-hole,” again. Sometimes there is no greater act of adulthood than swearing in front of your own mother.

But hey. It’s like the boy was giving me a preview of life back home. Like he was getting me prepped to return.

And by the way, this isn’t one of those things where I tell you that, in life, we’re each both a little
good and a little bad, all just trying our hardest. That kid’s an a-hole, and I’m not. Sometimes people are just a-holes, and you have to decide, every day, which kind of kid you are.

(Not to get all preachy on you.)

Anyway.

I guess this is the part where I pack a snack and get in the minivan. And never look back.

I
t wasn’t all that bad, you know? I met a cool aunt and her nice roommate, and I might not have seen
Wicked
, or my own reflection without new zits, but it was still an adventure. I’ll have escape stories to tell my Flora’s Floras coworkers, someday. If my mom even hires me to work there. If I’m lucky enough to fade back into the grey.

(“SuperFag,” by the way, is still echoing in the hall, lingering so long, the landlord might have to start charging it rent.)

“SuperFag . . . SuperFag . . . SuperFag . . . Su—”

“I’m going to . . . make hot apple cider,” Freckles says in about as awkward a way somebody could say anything at all. But he just stands there.

We
all
just stand there.

The apartment is so still, with only the beating of a grandfather clock above my head.

“Well, now what?” I’m about to say, desperate to change the subject. “We need to pick up ‘I Heart New York’ T-shirts for Libby before hitting the road. That’s my only requirement.”

But before I can manage any of that, the
tick-tocking
silence is ended by a ringing, from my pocket.

Freckles makes a face at me, the girls still busy Kleenexing their eyes.

Ring ring
.

I fish out my Nokia from the übertight jeans.

Ring ring
.

And there it is.

Ring ring
.

212.

Ring ring.

Flashing across the screen.

Ring ring
.

“It’s them!” I yell. “It’s
E.T.
!”

Ring ring
.

We stare at one another for about a thousand heartbeats (which, here, only lasts a single second) and Freckles and Aunt Heidi both make the same face. Of bewilderment and awe. Of “Oh my God. You
actually
got the show.”

Ring ring
.

But Mom cuts through all that, clear across the room, walking right up to me. She reaches out her
hand—she never does this, other than when seeking repayment after I borrow things from her wallet—and smiles. Mom smiles, at
me
.

Ring ring
.

I take her hand, aware that my own is still sweaty with residual Reese’s Pieces; that she’ll probably get Dad to shout at me later for not being a hygienic-enough child. But no, actually. I don’t think she will. She’s looking at me in a new way.

Ring ring
.

And call me weird (I’ve been called worse, and always will be), but Mom is rubbing my hand like it’s her own lucky rabbit foot. And then Heidi comes up behind her, and she takes Mom’s other hand. A hard-won, reunited family of lucky charms.

Ring ring
.

“Pick it up, Natey,” Mom says, taking a deep breath. Deciding to be different this time. “Pick it up, SuperBoy.”

And for a second, it’s almost like I don’t even have to answer the phone.

Ring ri
—“Hello?” But only for a second. “Yes. This is Nate Foster.”

A big round of applause to the folks behind the scenes whose
enthusiasm and guidance helped set the stage for
Better Nate Than
Ever
—Andy Federle, Anne Zafian, Cheri Steinkellner, Christian Trimmer,
Courtney Sanks, Dorothy Gribbin, Justin Chanda, Karen Katz, Katrina Groover, Laurent
Linn, Marci Boniferro, Michelle Fadlalla, Michelle Kratz, Mom and Dad, Navah Wolfe, Paul
Crichton, Scott M. Fischer, Tom Schumacher, Venessa Carson, and the whole staff at Simon
& Schuster Books for Young Readers: Bravo!

And an immediate standing ovation for my agent, Brenda Bowen; and my
editor, David Gale. They truly deserve the final bow.

© dirty sugar

Tim Federle
is the author of over seven
hundred e-mails. Born in beautiful San Francisco and raised in character-building
Pittsburgh, Tim discovered show tunes in elementary school, prompting bullies to
discover Tim. Armed only with grit (and his father’s credit card), Tim fled to New
York City as a teenager. He has since worn a Tina Turner wig at the Super Bowl, a polar
bear suit at Radio City, and a big fat grin in five Broadway shows.
Better Nate Than Ever
is Tim’s first novel. Say hi at
TimFederle.com
and on Twitter
@TimFederle
.

SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Tim Federle

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

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& S
CHUSTER
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OOKS FOR
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OUNG
R
EADERS
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.

Book design by Laurent Linn

The text for this book is set in Minister Std.

No child actors were harmed in the making of this book.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Federle, Tim.

Better Nate than ever / Tim Federle.—1st ed.

p. cm.

Summary: An eighth-grader who dreams of performing in a Broadway musical concocts a plan to run away to New York and audition for the role of Elliott in the musical version of
E.T.

ISBN 978-1-4424-4689-2 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4424-4690-8 (eBook)

[1. Musicals—Fiction. 2. Theater—Fiction. 3. Auditions—Fiction. 4. Broadway (New York, N.Y.) —Fiction. 5. New York (N.Y.) —Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.F314Be 2013

[Fic]—dc23

2011050388