The War with Grandpa (2 page)

I ignored her.

“From Florida.”

That made me laugh. We have only one Grandpa Jack and he lives in Fort Lauderdale in Florida. “I remember him,” I said.

“It's not funny, Peter Stokes,” Jennifer said. “Grandpa Jack is too lonely down in Florida since Grandma died, so he sold their house and he's coming to live with us. Right here, in this very house. I heard Mom talking to Dad about it on the telephone. We're supposed to cheer him up, you and me, because his leg is hurting him a lot and all. And he's very sad about Grandma.”

“Grandpa's coming to live here?” I said.

“Yop.” She nodded.

“I'm glad,” I said, and I was. I like Grandpa a lot, but I don't get to see him much because he lives so far away.“For once you found out a good secret, Jenny,” I said.

“That's not the secret,” she said, putting her hand on her hip and posing like a statue or something. “Where do you think his room will be?”

“I don't know. Upstairs on the third floor, probably, in the guest room.”

She smiled and put her tongue between her teeth so it showed.“Oh, no,” she said, “that's where you are going.”

“Me!”

“Yop.” She smiled at me because I was groaning out loud.

“You mean Grandpa is getting
my
room?”

“I can't tell you,” Jennifer said. “That's the secret.”

Let me tell you about my room. I love it!!!

I was born here. Well, I was born in a hospital, really, but I have lived in this room all my life. Ten years so far. My crib used to be in the corner near the window that looks out on the driveway. Now my bed is on the long wall. I have these bookshelves right behind my headboard and my high-intensity lamp is there too. My desk is in the corner where my crib used to be and I can look out the window while I do my homework. I have these yellow toy cabinets with all my stuff in them. On top of the cabinets are shoeboxes where I have all my baseball cards. There's a thick carpet on the floor that used to tickle my feet when I was little. And I have a poster up on the wall over my dresser of Hank Aaron hitting his 715th home run.

This room is MINE. Nobody else in my family ever lived here. Nobody. I know how my
room is in the morning, when the sun peeps over the roof of the Murphy house behind ours and comes through my Venetian blinds. I know the sound when it rains hard and pings against the windows and the drainpipe outside. I can get up out of my bed in the middle of the night and walk around my room without even looking because I know where every single thing is.

Nothing about my room is scary. When floorboards creak at night I know it's floorboards and not some monster. When the wind rubs the maple tree against the side of the porch outside I'm not afraid some crook is sneaking into our house.

When you live in a room your whole life, that room is yours. It doesn't belong to Jennifer, or my mom or my dad. And it certainly doesn't belong to Grandpa Jack, who never even lived one day in this house.

This room is mine. I love it. I belong in it. And I don't ever want to live anywhere else.

This chapter is about what happened at dinner that night. I'm not too proud about how I acted, but I'm going to write it anyway. Because it is true and real.

I didn't go dashing off to my mother when Jennifer dropped the news on me about Grandpa coming. I have a feeling about bad news. I always let it come to me instead of running around like an idiot looking for it.

But I can tell you I was feeling pretty awful that whole afternoon. And I didn't have much appetite for dinner.

My dad came home at his usual time that night, about six o'clock. My dad's name is Arthur and he's an accountant. An accountant works with money, in case you didn't know, figuring out how much money people and companies have and what they should do with money besides spending it. In the spring when people
have to pay their income taxes my dad is very busy and sometimes comes home very late and even works on weekends. Tax Time, he calls it, and it goes on for months. During Tax Time he disappears downstairs into his office in the basement and doesn't come out until it's over.

Now, after telling you all that, I have to be truthful and say I don't know what Dad does
exactly.
Except he uses a calculator and some big books called ledgers a lot.

Anyway, we were on dessert and milk when the subject of Grandpa came up and it was Mom who spoke about it.

“Children,” she said, “I have some wonderful news.”

Wonderful? I was thinking. If this was wonderful then maybe Thursday was Sunday.

“You know that Grandpa Jack has been very sad down in Florida since Grandma died. Well, I was speaking to him the other day and guess what? He's sold the house down there and he's coming to live with us. Isn't that exciting?”

Mom was looking at me with such a happy expression on her face that I had to smile. Just a little.“Terrific,” I said, which was maybe one of the biggest lies of my life.

“You'll finally get to know your grandpa,”
Dad said. “He's a great guy, Peter, and he loves you and Jenny a lot.”

“I love him up to the sky and down to the ocean,” Jenny said. “He always sends me candy on my birthday.”

That's my silly sister. If Frankenstein gave her chocolate, she'd be his best friend.

“When is Grandpa coming?” I asked.

“In about a week,” Mom said. “He's just finishing some last-minute things and then he'll fly up here to stay.”

“We've got to make Grandpa feel welcome, kids,” Dad said. “Our home is his home now. I expect you to treat him just like a member of the family. With respect and courtesy. And maybe with a little extra understanding because he misses Grandma so.”

“It may be strange in the beginning,” Mom said, “having Grandpa here all the time, but I know you'll do everything you can to make him happy.”

“Can I show him my ballet routines?” Jenny asked.

“Perhaps,” Dad said, smiling. “He'll probably enjoy them.”

“Will he play the piano for me while I dance?”

“Not unless he's suddenly learned how to play the piano,” Mom said.

“Will he play casino with me?” Jenny asked.

“Jenny,” Dad said,“let's not jump all over Grandpa Jack the minute he walks in here. Let him settle in and get comfortable.” ” Dad looked over at me. “Peter? Why so silent?”

“Just thinking,” I said.

“Are you worried about Grandpa coming here?” Mom asked.

“A little,” I said. I saw a funny look pass from Mom to Dad.“Where is he going to stay?” I asked. “In the guest room?”

“Well,” Dad said with a kind of sigh, “no, Peter.”

“Where then?” I asked.
“Exactly.”

“Let's talk about it,” Dad began. “You see, Peter, Grandpa's leg is really bad. He can't walk stairs very well. So putting him on the top floor of the house, up two whole flights of stairs, that's not a good idea.”

“And the bathroom on the top floor is only half a bath, Peter,” Mom said. “If we put Grandpa up there, he'd have to go down a flight of stairs to shower, then up again.”

“Couldn't you put a shower in the top-floor bathroom?” I asked.

“Not really,” Dad said.

“Why not?” I said. “There's only those old dinky rooms up there where we store things away. You could make the bathroom bigger.”

“Look, Peter,” Dad said, “we've been thinking awfully hard about where Grandpa can stay, and there seems to be only one answer.”

“
No!
” I said as fast as I could.

“It has to be your room, Peter,” Dad said.

“Absolutely, positively, one hundred percent
no
! Spelled N-O!” I didn't just say that. I yelled it.

“Peter,” Mom said, “don't shout.”

“Don't you want Grandpa to live with us?” Jenny said. “How can you be so mean?”

“Stay out of this, birdbrain,” I said to her.

“Oh, Peter.” Dad sighed, shaking his head slowly.

“Why can't Jenny give up
her
room?” I asked. “Why does it have to be me?”

“She's still a baby, Peter,” Mom said.

“I am not!” Jenny said. She looked insulted.

“She still gets up in the night sometimes,” Mom went on. “And she needs looking after more than you do. Especially getting dressed in the morning. You know what a slowpoke she is, and how I have to keep after her or she'd be late
for school every day. You're a big boy now, Peter, almost grown up. I depend on you; you know that.”

“It's not fair,” I said.

“It's not fair that Grandma died,” Dad said. “It's not fair that Grandpa is so sad and lonely. Life isn't always fair, Pete.”

“We'll try to make you as comfortable as possible on the third floor,” Mom said. “Who knows? Maybe you'll enjoy living up there.”

“Oh, no, I won't!” I cried out.“I love my room. It's mine!” And even as I said that, I knew it wouldn't do any good. So I did the only thing I could. I jumped up from my chair, ran up to my room, threw myself on the bed, and cried like a maniac.

Well, that is about as long a chapter as I ever care to write. It took about five days! I don't know how authors ever write big fat books. They must spend their whole life doing it.

Meanwhile, I was as sad as I ever was, up in my room, and about as blue as the sky.

There's a thing that happens when parents want kids to do something and the kid doesn't want to. What happens is that the parents usually win. That's one of the big advantages of being a parent. You get to win the arguments.

Take piano lessons, for example. Once a week I go to Mrs. Biddle's house and spend forty-five minutes plonking away at these stupid pieces while she sits beside me sighing and shaking her head. Do I want to take piano lessons? No. Do I have to? Yes. Do I want to practice the piano every afternoon after school? No. Does my mom make me do it? You know the answer.

Why couldn't I have baseball lessons instead?

If somebody pitched me a baseball for forty-five minutes every week, then maybe I could learn to hit a ball instead of striking out all the time. Which is what I do, except a few times by accident I hit the ball. Last year I got only two hits all season.

Anyway, what happened was that after a while my dad came up to my room and talked to me. I had that sinking feeling in my stomach the whole time we talked. I knew I was going to lose the argument. They couldn't move Jenny upstairs because she was still a baby, no matter what she says. And because Grandpa had a bad leg, he couldn't live on the top floor of our house.“I'm sorry, Pete, that's just the way it is,” Dad said.

“Can I say I think it stinks?” I asked. Sure.

“It stinks.”

“I agree with you,” Dad said.

“It's disgusting, terrible, gross, and also horrible,” I said.

“It sure is,” Dad said. “We'll start moving some of your things upstairs this weekend. I'm sure you'll be comfortable up there.”

I'll hate it”

“If you have that attitude, you will hate it,” Dad said. “Give it a chance, Peter.”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked.

“No.”

“Then I don't want to talk about it anymore.”