Overview

Nominated in the fiction category for the 2004/2005 Red Cedar Book Awards (British Columbia's Young Reader's Choice book award)


Norbert’s back, and Alan’s got him! In the third of Richard Scrimger’s wildly popular Nose books, Alan is off on a camping trip with his good friend, Victor. Fun, right? Not if the person who is taking you camping...
See more details below
Noses Are Red

Available on NOOK devices and apps  
  • NOOK Devices
  • Samsung Galaxy Tab 4 NOOK 7.0
  • Samsung Galaxy Tab 4 NOOK 10.1
  • NOOK HD Tablet
  • NOOK HD+ Tablet
  • NOOK eReaders
  • NOOK Color
  • NOOK Tablet
  • Tablet/Phone
  • NOOK for Windows 8 Tablet
  • NOOK for iOS
  • NOOK for Android
  • NOOK Kids for iPad
  • PC/Mac
  • NOOK for Windows 8
  • NOOK for PC
  • NOOK for Mac
  • NOOK for Web

Want a NOOK? Explore Now

NOOK Book (eBook)
$6.99
BN.com price

Overview

Nominated in the fiction category for the 2004/2005 Red Cedar Book Awards (British Columbia's Young Reader's Choice book award)


Norbert’s back, and Alan’s got him! In the third of Richard Scrimger’s wildly popular Nose books, Alan is off on a camping trip with his good friend, Victor. Fun, right? Not if the person who is taking you camping happens to be Christopher, your mother’s new boyfriend. And not if you aren’t exactly a fan of the great outdoors, with its bugs and swamps and bears.

The woods are full of dangers, and the boys seem to encounter them all in one hilarious misadventure after another. It’s up to Norbert, the alien from Jupiter, to help Alan find his way out of the forest.


From the Hardcover edition.

Norbert, thirteen-year-old Alan's diminutive buddy from Jupiter, again takes up residence in Alan's nose to help bail him out when he and best friend Victor get separated from Alan's mother's boyfriend while camping.

Read More Show Less

Editorial Reviews

VOYA
Thirteen-year-old Alan Dingwall is back along with Norbert, his wise-cracking sidekick from Planet Jupiter who just happens to reside in Alan's nose. In the third Nose adventure from this Canadian author, readers meet many of the same characters they first encountered in The Nose from Jupiter (Tundra, 1998), winner of the Mr. Christie's Book Award and the Kids' Pick of the List from the American Booksellers Association, and A Nose for Adventure (2000/VOYA April 2001). Hapless Alan, his mother, his best friend Victor, and of course, alien Norbert encounter a new problem. Alan's mother has a boyfriend, burly Christopher Leech, and he and Alan just do not get along-at all. She comes up with a brilliant solution: Christopher, an experienced outdoorsman, will take Alan on a camping expedition, where they can bond as they tough it out in the wilderness. Alan is horrified, but his mother is determined that he and Christopher get to know each other, so off they go into the wilds of northern Ontario, taking Alan's friend Victor along for the expedition. In no time at all, Victor and Alan, two of the most inept adventurers ever to paddle a canoe, become separated from Christopher and are soon hopelessly lost in the forest. As with its predecessors, this book is hilarious, with a wonderful blend of slapstick humor and dry wit. It will appeal to anyone who hates summer camp or who enjoys a refreshingly comic look at everyday life. VOYA CODES: 4Q 3P M J (Better than most, marred only by occasional lapses; Will appeal with pushing; Middle School, defined as grades 6 to 8; Junior High, defined as grades 7 to 9). 2002, Tundra, 208p,
— Vivian Howard
School Library Journal
Gr 5-7-A lad with a penchant for getting lost reunites with a tiny but loudmouthed alien for a third misadventure, following The Nose from Jupiter (1998) and A Nose for Adventure (2001, both Tundra). Abandoned in the remote backwoods by his mother's jerk boyfriend, Alan Dingwall is, more or less, pleased when Norbert, his diminutive buddy from Jupiter, again takes up residence in his nose to help bail him out. Rescued by Amazonian teenaged outdoorswoman Zinta Zeeler after encounters with bees, bears, and other hazards, Alan returns the favor by winning a climactic poker game, thus ensuring victory for Zinta's team in her summer camp's big games day. The humor, along with the general premise, is starting to wear thin, but Norbert's wisecracks may win some laughs from graduates of similar alien encounters, such as Stephanie Spinner and Terry Bisson's Expiration Date: Never (Delacorte, 2001).-John Peters, New York Public Library Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
From the Publisher
“With entertaining characters, witty dialogue, and wry observations, this fast-paced novel supports the notion, seldom acknowledged in children’s books, that Mother doesn’t always know best.”
Booklist

“As with its predecessors, this book is hilarious, with a wonderful blend of slapstick humor and dry wit. It will appeal to anyone who hates summer camp or who enjoys a refreshingly comic look at everyday life.”
VOYA

“The third installment in Richard Scrimger’s hilarious “Nose” series…is a fine addition to the Scrimger oeuvre!”
Books in Canada

“…a wonderful read. Perhaps the best of the three ‘Nose’ books.”
Children’s Book News

“…wickedly humourous and a wonderfully fun summer camp saga…Young readers will empathize with Alan’s struggles in this story…Richard Scrimger beautifully captures the humour in the mundane aspects of daily life while simultaneously portraying the very real thoughts and uncertainties of a typical 13-year-old boy.”
CM Magazine

“Richard Scrimger has written an excellent outdoor adventure. It is packed with laughs. The originality of this tale is quite refreshing. Each chapter presents significant plot development. The good feeling after finishing this book will last for days. I would highly recommend this book…”
Resource Links

“…[an] uproarious story…”
Teacher Magazine

Noses are Red is a wonderful tale of adventure, a hilarious tale that tickles the funny bone of the most stubborn people.”
Books

“Richard Scrimger is a funny man…The writing is confident and droll. There’s only one word for the storyline: unique.”
Vancouver Sun

“One hilarious escapade after another.”
Star Phoenix

“Read it yourself – it’ll bring back all your worst memories of summer camp.”
New Brunswick Reader

Read More Show Less

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781770490444
  • Publisher: Tundra
  • Publication date: 5/8/2009
  • Sold by: Random House
  • Format: eBook
  • Age range: 8 - 12 Years
  • File size: 3 MB

Meet the Author

A columnist and novelist, Richard Scrimger grew up in Toronto, always writing but never really considering it a career, until after the birth of his first two children, twins, when he discovered the only time he could seriously write was during their naps. His style clearly demonstrates the influence of his experiences as a waiter in Toronto’s upscale restaurants, and as a stay-at-home father to his four children.

Genuinely witty, his work can be described as multi-dimensional - comic elements ride upon the surface, supported by varying levels of seriousness underneath.

Columns detailing Richard’s adventures in parenthood have been published in The Globe and Mail, Chatelaine, and Today’s Parent, and were compiled in a collection titled Still Life with Children. His first adult novel, Crosstown, was a finalist for the City of Toronto Book Award. His first children’s novel, The Nose from Jupiter, won the 10th annual Mr. Christie Book Award, was selected as an A.B.A. Kid’s Pick of the List title, and was a finalist for the Ontario Library Association’s 1999 Silver Birch Award.

Richard Scrimger is also the author of The Way to Schenectady about the adventures of the Peeler family on the road; Mystical Rose, an adult novel; and a sequel to The Nose from Jupiter entitled A Nose for Adventure. In 2001 Scrimger published Bun Bun’s Birthday a picture book illustrated by Gillian Johnson, and a Peeler Christmas story called Of Mice and Nutcrackers. He and his family live in Cobourg, Ontario.


From the Hardcover edition.
Read More Show Less

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1: Ahead of Myself

“Quick!” shouts Victor. “Quick, Alan, run for it!”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“They’re everywhere! Hurry!”

He runs, pulling me after him by the neck. The dust cloud rises all around us, and the sound is in my ears – once heard, never forgotten – the buzz-saw whine of a million angry enemies. I can’t get at them with the aluminum construction on my head. I run as fast as I can, considering that I can hardly see where I’m going.

“Help! Christopher!” I cry. “Help, anyone!”

Wait. I’m getting ahead of myself.

*****

Sorry. You’re probably wondering what on earth is going on. Who’s Victor? you ask. Who’s Christopher? What aluminum construction? Who are these angry enemies, and why can’t you get at them?

Fair enough. Let me go back a bit further, and start again. Ahem.

It all began on a beautiful spring morning about thirteen years ago. Cobourg, a pretty small town beside Lake Ontario – no, no, make that a small, pretty town beside Lake Ontario – was bathed in sunshine. The sky was a cloudless blue. The birds were singing their little heads off in the bushes outside the window of the hospital room. Inside that room was a tired new mom named Helen Dingwall. Mrs. Dingwall to you. She was learning how to put a cloth diaper on a baby. “Under and over,” she muttered. “Around and up and pin it like… this. Oops!” She stabbed the baby with the pin. The baby opened his mouth wide and screamed.

“Oh, you poor thing!” my mom said to me. I screamed some more.

No, wait again. Come to think of it, that’s probably too far back.

*****

I’ll try one more time. Fast-forward through my early years – teething, disposable diapers (finally no more pins!), singing “Clementine” to my nana while standing up in my crib, kindergarten, measles – and get to last June. I went to New York City to visit my dad. (My parents are divorced. No big deal. Maybe yours are too.) While I was having adventures with a snotty rich kid and her dog Sally (long story, no time to get into it now), my mom met Christopher.

He’s important to this chapter of the Alan Dingwall chronicles, so I’ll describe him right off. Christopher Leech: tall and thick, with thick dark hair and a thick dark mustache. Thick arms too – he’s really strong. He can lift our big armchair over his head with one hand, holding on to the chair leg. He spends a lot of time lifting weights at the local YMCA – that’s where he met my mom. He’s kind of handsome, I guess. He has a lot of big sweaters. He’s my mom’s age, more or less. Old.

Shortly after I got back from New York, he moved in with us. He has a place of his own, but he stays with us for days on end. Sounds cosy, but it isn’t really. There’s something about him I don’t like. Quite a few things, actually. His name suits him: Leech by name, and leech by nature. I don’t like the way he dresses. I don’t like the way he checks himself in the mirror. I don’t like the way he peers around when he kisses Mom. He’ll be giving her a peck on the cheek, and all the time his eyes are moving around the room, as if he’s on the lookout for the cops. I wonder if he’s on the run? It wouldn’t surprise me.

To be honest, I don’t like him kissing Mom at all.

We don’t get on very well. He started off calling me my boy, and I told him I wasn’t his boy. “I already have a dad,” I said. “I’m his boy, not yours.” Mom sighed, and Christopher apologized. Yesterday he tried calling me Young Dingwall. That didn’t last long. “What are you up to tonight, Young Dingwall?” he asked.

“Playing cards, Old Leech,” I replied.

He choked, spilling beer all over. “Why, you little…,” he began, and then caught himself.

*****

In the evening Mom called me downstairs from the TV room. “Alan, I think we should have a talk,” she said. I hate that phrase. I shuffled from foot to foot in our living room. We were all alone in the house; Christopher had gone back to his place to get some more sweaters.

“What about?”

“Sit down, first.”

She patted the couch beside her. I took the yellow chair. I sat with my feet on the floor, then spun around so that I was sitting upside down with my feet dangling over my head.

“Alan, sit straight!” A harsh voice. You’d think she’d be nice, seeing as she works with troubled kids all the time, but that’s the way it goes. I swung around so that my head was right way up.

“What should we talk about?” I asked.

“You and Christopher.”

“Old Leech?” I smiled. I couldn’t help it.

“Alan!”

“Sorry.”

She folded her arms and spoke sternly. “I’m very worried about the way you and he don’t get along. I’m disappointed in you, Alan. Christopher has tried to get along with you. He has done his part. He has extended the hand of friendship, and what have you done?”

Where does Mom get these phrases? Hand of friendship, indeed.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You have slapped it aside. Christopher has gone out of his way to… Alan, look at me!”

I was staring out the window. I don’t know about you, but when someone is yelling at me, I find it hard to stare deeply into their eyes and say yes, yes, go on. I turned back to Mom.

“Christopher has extended the olive branch to you,” she said. “And you have…”

I didn’t know what you did to an olive branch. “Eaten it?” I said.

“Alan!”

“What?”

“You have refused it. This situation must not go on. Don’t you see, I care about you. So does Christopher. Both of us do. And that is why –”

“Here’s Victor,” I said. I was looking out the front window again. “He’s early. The game doesn’t start until 7:00.”

“Game?”

“Sure. We’re going to Nick’s tonight.”

“Cards again?”

“Uh-huh.” I don’t know why, but cards have really caught on this summer. We play all the time. Poker, mostly. Victor’s dad found us an old carousel full of chips, and we carry it from basement to basement. I usually end up with most of the chips.

Victor Grunewald is my best friend. He’s part of the story too. We’ve been in the same class since kindergarten. We looked like twins back then, but we don’t now. He’s grown up and out, and all I’ve grown is more red hair, and more freckles. I come up to his chin now, which isn’t a great idea since he’s beginning to get these pimples.

He’s a nice guy, Victor. Very polite. He rang the doorbell and waited for me to come to get him, instead of just walking in, which is what I do at his house. He said hello to my mother.

She frowned at him. “I’m afraid that Alan won’t be able to play cards with you tonight, Victor. We have some things to discuss.”

He shot a look at me. I shrugged.

“Oh, sure, Mrs. Dingwall. I understand. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day.”

She hesitated. “Actually, Victor, Alan is going to be busy for a few days.”

“He is?”

“I am?”

Mom turned to me. “Yes, Alan, you are. Christopher is taking you on a canoe trip.”

“Wow!” said Victor.

What?” I said. I wasn’t talking to Victor.

“You’ll leave tomorrow morning, and be gone all weekend.”

“Double wow!”

What?” Still not talking to Victor. “But, Mom, I’ve never been on a canoe trip. I’ve never been in a canoe.”

“Christopher loves canoeing. He knows all about it. That’s why I suggested the trip. I think it would be a good way for you and Christopher to get to know each other better.”

“But I don’t want to –”

“Alan!” A warning note in her voice.

“You are one lucky guy, Alan.”

You can be quiet!” Now I was talking to Victor.

*****

Just then Christopher pulled into the driveway, in his fresh-waxed cherry-red jeep with roll bar, extra chrome bumper, mudflaps, and fog lamps. Another thing I don’t like about him. He swung himself out of the driver’s seat and strolled up the driveway in hiking pants and boots, a camouflage shirt, and an Australian bush hat. Yikes. Joe Camping.

We all went outside together. Mom was pushing me from behind. “Hi, Mr. Leech,” called Victor from the doorway.

“Yo, Vic!”

Yo.

“Hey, there,” he said to me. Undecided about what to call me. “Ready to get wet and dirty, hey? Paddle hard, run hard?”

“Um,” I said.

“Got a buddy flies a seaplane out of Rice Lake,” he said. “Thought I’d ask him to take us to a conservation area north of Peterborough.”

“Wow!” said Victor. “A seaplane. What kind?”

Christopher smiled at him. “Cessna single engine four seat.”

Victor turned to me. “You’ll have a great time!” he said.

“Uh-huh,” I said.

All right, I was acting dumb and graceless. But I truly did not want to go camping with Old Leech. And, from the look on his face, I wondered if he really wanted to go camping with me. I know how strong Mom’s suggestions can be.

“Gee, I sure wish I could go with you guys. I go to camp every summer. I love canoeing.” Victor looked like he meant it. Actually, he always does mean what he says. It’s what I like best about him.

“Sorry, Victor,” Mom began, but Christopher and I interrupted together.

“Why don’t you come with us, Vic!” The two of us stared at each other. Something we agreed on.

“Do you mean it?” Victor’s eyes bulged. They looked like plums.

“You bet,” I said.

“But, Christopher, honey, do you remember what we –”

“Hey, there, darlin’,” he told her. I hate him calling her pet names. “It’ll be okay.” He put his arm around her shoulders and smiled widely. Big white teeth like piano keys. “What do you think?” You, meaning me.

“Great,” I said.

“You see? He doesn’t mind.”

Mom didn’t know what to say. Her idea was for me and Christopher to go out in the woods by ourselves and become best friends. Neither of us wanted to tell her that we didn’t want to do this. And she didn’t want to insist. An odd situation. None of us saying what we were thinking. None of us meaning what we said.

“Gosh, that’s great!” Victor did mean it. “Let me ask my folks!”

“I’ll come with you,” I told him. “Bye, Mom. I’ll be back in a while.”

“Sure, Alan. Come along. My mom likes you,” he said.

And he meant that too.

From the Hardcover edition.

Read More Show Less

Table of Contents

Read More Show Less

First Chapter

Chapter 1: Ahead of Myself

“Quick!” shouts Victor. “Quick, Alan, run for it!”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“They’re everywhere! Hurry!”

He runs, pulling me after him by the neck. The dust cloud rises all around us, and the sound is in my ears – once heard, never forgotten – the buzz-saw whine of a million angry enemies. I can’t get at them with the aluminum construction on my head. I run as fast as I can, considering that I can hardly see where I’m going.

“Help! Christopher!” I cry. “Help, anyone!”

Wait. I’m getting ahead of myself.

*****

Sorry. You’re probably wondering what on earth is going on. Who’s Victor? you ask. Who’s Christopher? What aluminum construction? Who are these angry enemies, and why can’t you get at them?

Fair enough. Let me go back a bit further, and start again. Ahem.

It all began on a beautiful spring morning about thirteen years ago. Cobourg, a pretty small town beside Lake Ontario – no, no, make that a small, pretty town beside Lake Ontario – was bathed in sunshine. The sky was a cloudless blue. The birds were singing their little heads off in the bushes outside the window of the hospital room. Inside that room was a tired new mom named Helen Dingwall. Mrs. Dingwall to you. She was learning how to put a cloth diaper on a baby. “Under and over,” she muttered. “Around and up and pin it like… this. Oops!” She stabbed the baby with the pin. The baby opened his mouth wide andscreamed.

“Oh, you poor thing!” my mom said to me. I screamed some more.

No, wait again. Come to think of it, that’s probably too far back.

*****

I’ll try one more time. Fast-forward through my early years – teething, disposable diapers (finally no more pins!), singing “Clementine” to my nana while standing up in my crib, kindergarten, measles – and get to last June. I went to New York City to visit my dad. (My parents are divorced. No big deal. Maybe yours are too.) While I was having adventures with a snotty rich kid and her dog Sally (long story, no time to get into it now), my mom met Christopher.

He’s important to this chapter of the Alan Dingwall chronicles, so I’ll describe him right off. Christopher Leech: tall and thick, with thick dark hair and a thick dark mustache. Thick arms too – he’s really strong. He can lift our big armchair over his head with one hand, holding on to the chair leg. He spends a lot of time lifting weights at the local YMCA – that’s where he met my mom. He’s kind of handsome, I guess. He has a lot of big sweaters. He’s my mom’s age, more or less. Old.

Shortly after I got back from New York, he moved in with us. He has a place of his own, but he stays with us for days on end. Sounds cosy, but it isn’t really. There’s something about him I don’t like. Quite a few things, actually. His name suits him: Leech by name, and leech by nature. I don’t like the way he dresses. I don’t like the way he checks himself in the mirror. I don’t like the way he peers around when he kisses Mom. He’ll be giving her a peck on the cheek, and all the time his eyes are moving around the room, as if he’s on the lookout for the cops. I wonder if he’s on the run? It wouldn’t surprise me.

To be honest, I don’t like him kissing Mom at all.

We don’t get on very well. He started off calling me my boy, and I told him I wasn’t his boy. “I already have a dad,” I said. “I’m his boy, not yours.” Mom sighed, and Christopher apologized. Yesterday he tried calling me Young Dingwall. That didn’t last long. “What are you up to tonight, Young Dingwall?” he asked.

“Playing cards, Old Leech,” I replied.

He choked, spilling beer all over. “Why, you little…,” he began, and then caught himself.

*****

In the evening Mom called me downstairs from the TV room. “Alan, I think we should have a talk,” she said. I hate that phrase. I shuffled from foot to foot in our living room. We were all alone in the house; Christopher had gone back to his place to get some more sweaters.

“What about?”

“Sit down, first.”

She patted the couch beside her. I took the yellow chair. I sat with my feet on the floor, then spun around so that I was sitting upside down with my feet dangling over my head.

“Alan, sit straight!” A harsh voice. You’d think she’d be nice, seeing as she works with troubled kids all the time, but that’s the way it goes. I swung around so that my head was right way up.

“What should we talk about?” I asked.

“You and Christopher.”

“Old Leech?” I smiled. I couldn’t help it.

“Alan!”

“Sorry.”

She folded her arms and spoke sternly. “I’m very worried about the way you and he don’t get along. I’m disappointed in you, Alan. Christopher has tried to get along with you. He has done his part. He has extended the hand of friendship, and what have you done?”

Where does Mom get these phrases? Hand of friendship, indeed.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You have slapped it aside. Christopher has gone out of his way to… Alan, look at me!”

I was staring out the window. I don’t know about you, but when someone is yelling at me, I find it hard to stare deeply into their eyes and say yes, yes, go on. I turned back to Mom.

“Christopher has extended the olive branch to you,” she said. “And you have…”

I didn’t know what you did to an olive branch. “Eaten it?” I said.

“Alan!”

“What?”

“You have refused it. This situation must not go on. Don’t you see, I care about you. So does Christopher. Both of us do. And that is why –”

“Here’s Victor,” I said. I was looking out the front window again. “He’s early. The game doesn’t start until 7:00.”

“Game?”

“Sure. We’re going to Nick’s tonight.”

“Cards again?”

“Uh-huh.” I don’t know why, but cards have really caught on this summer. We play all the time. Poker, mostly. Victor’s dad found us an old carousel full of chips, and we carry it from basement to basement. I usually end up with most of the chips.

Victor Grunewald is my best friend. He’s part of the story too. We’ve been in the same class since kindergarten. We looked like twins back then, but we don’t now. He’s grown up and out, and all I’ve grown is more red hair, and more freckles. I come up to his chin now, which isn’t a great idea since he’s beginning to get these pimples.

He’s a nice guy, Victor. Very polite. He rang the doorbell and waited for me to come to get him, instead of just walking in, which is what I do at his house. He said hello to my mother.

She frowned at him. “I’m afraid that Alan won’t be able to play cards with you tonight, Victor. We have some things to discuss.”

He shot a look at me. I shrugged.

“Oh, sure, Mrs. Dingwall. I understand. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day.”

She hesitated. “Actually, Victor, Alan is going to be busy for a few days.”

“He is?”

“I am?”

Mom turned to me. “Yes, Alan, you are. Christopher is taking you on a canoe trip.”

“Wow!” said Victor.

What?” I said. I wasn’t talking to Victor.

“You’ll leave tomorrow morning, and be gone all weekend.”

“Double wow!”

What?” Still not talking to Victor. “But, Mom, I’ve never been on a canoe trip. I’ve never been in a canoe.”

“Christopher loves canoeing. He knows all about it. That’s why I suggested the trip. I think it would be a good way for you and Christopher to get to know each other better.”

“But I don’t want to –”

“Alan!” A warning note in her voice.

“You are one lucky guy, Alan.”

You can be quiet!” Now I was talking to Victor.

*****

Just then Christopher pulled into the driveway, in his fresh-waxed cherry-red jeep with roll bar, extra chrome bumper, mudflaps, and fog lamps. Another thing I don’t like about him. He swung himself out of the driver’s seat and strolled up the driveway in hiking pants and boots, a camouflage shirt, and an Australian bush hat. Yikes. Joe Camping.

We all went outside together. Mom was pushing me from behind. “Hi, Mr. Leech,” called Victor from the doorway.

“Yo, Vic!”

Yo.

“Hey, there,” he said to me. Undecided about what to call me. “Ready to get wet and dirty, hey? Paddle hard, run hard?”

“Um,” I said.

“Got a buddy flies a seaplane out of Rice Lake,” he said. “Thought I’d ask him to take us to a conservation area north of Peterborough.”

“Wow!” said Victor. “A seaplane. What kind?”

Christopher smiled at him. “Cessna single engine four seat.”

Victor turned to me. “You’ll have a great time!” he said.

“Uh-huh,” I said.

All right, I was acting dumb and graceless. But I truly did not want to go camping with Old Leech. And, from the look on his face, I wondered if he really wanted to go camping with me. I know how strong Mom’s suggestions can be.

“Gee, I sure wish I could go with you guys. I go to camp every summer. I love canoeing.” Victor looked like he meant it. Actually, he always does mean what he says. It’s what I like best about him.

“Sorry, Victor,” Mom began, but Christopher and I interrupted together.

“Why don’t you come with us, Vic!” The two of us stared at each other. Something we agreed on.

“Do you mean it?” Victor’s eyes bulged. They looked like plums.

“You bet,” I said.

“But, Christopher, honey, do you remember what we –”

“Hey, there, darlin’,” he told her. I hate him calling
her pet names. “It’ll be okay.” He put his arm around her shoulders and smiled widely. Big white teeth like piano keys. “What do you think?” You, meaning me.

“Great,” I said.

“You see? He doesn’t mind.”

Mom didn’t know what to say. Her idea was for me and Christopher to go out in the woods by ourselves and become best friends. Neither of us wanted to tell her that we didn’t want to do this. And she didn’t want to insist. An odd situation. None of us saying what we were thinking. None of us meaning what we said.

“Gosh, that’s great!” Victor did mean it. “Let me ask my folks!”

“I’ll come with you,” I told him. “Bye, Mom. I’ll be back in a while.”

“Sure, Alan. Come along. My mom likes you,” he said.

And he meant that too.


From the Hardcover edition.

Copyright 2002 by Richard Scrimger
Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Be the first to write a review
( 0 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(0)

4 Star

(0)

3 Star

(0)

2 Star

(0)

1 Star

(0)

Your Rating:

Your Name: Create a Pen Name or

Barnes & Noble.com Review Rules

Our reader reviews allow you to share your comments on titles you liked, or didn't, with others. By submitting an online review, you are representing to Barnes & Noble.com that all information contained in your review is original and accurate in all respects, and that the submission of such content by you and the posting of such content by Barnes & Noble.com does not and will not violate the rights of any third party. Please follow the rules below to help ensure that your review can be posted.

Reviews by Our Customers Under the Age of 13

We highly value and respect everyone's opinion concerning the titles we offer. However, we cannot allow persons under the age of 13 to have accounts at BN.com or to post customer reviews. Please see our Terms of Use for more details.

What to exclude from your review:

Please do not write about reviews, commentary, or information posted on the product page. If you see any errors in the information on the product page, please send us an email.

Reviews should not contain any of the following:

  • - HTML tags, profanity, obscenities, vulgarities, or comments that defame anyone
  • - Time-sensitive information such as tour dates, signings, lectures, etc.
  • - Single-word reviews. Other people will read your review to discover why you liked or didn't like the title. Be descriptive.
  • - Comments focusing on the author or that may ruin the ending for others
  • - Phone numbers, addresses, URLs
  • - Pricing and availability information or alternative ordering information
  • - Advertisements or commercial solicitation

Reminder:

  • - By submitting a review, you grant to Barnes & Noble.com and its sublicensees the royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable right and license to use the review in accordance with the Barnes & Noble.com Terms of Use.
  • - Barnes & Noble.com reserves the right not to post any review -- particularly those that do not follow the terms and conditions of these Rules. Barnes & Noble.com also reserves the right to remove any review at any time without notice.
  • - See Terms of Use for other conditions and disclaimers.
Search for Products You'd Like to Recommend

Recommend other products that relate to your review. Just search for them below and share!

Create a Pen Name

Your Pen Name is your unique identity on BN.com. It will appear on the reviews you write and other website activities. Your Pen Name cannot be edited, changed or deleted once submitted.

 
Your Pen Name can be any combination of alphanumeric characters (plus - and _), and must be at least two characters long.

Continue Anonymously

    If you find inappropriate content, please report it to Barnes & Noble
    Why is this product inappropriate?
    Comments (optional)