Rica Baptista: A Week of Shenanigans

ONE
The Good Life

Do you know what week this is?” I asked Charley.
   Since I wasn’t sure if his meow meant yes or no, I figured I should fill him in.
   “It’s Adventure Week!” I told him. “Adventure Week with the greatest grampy of them all!”
   Charley did a slow-motion blink, then rested his head on my arm.
   “You don’t look very excited,” I told him. “That’s probably because you never met Grampy before. Wait until you meet him. Then you’ll understand.”
    I decided to wait outside for my best friend, Laini, so I set Charley down. “Go find Momma. She’ll keep you company.”
   I headed out and climbed up my favorite tree—the one with a good sitting branch.
   “Rica! It’s finally here!” Laini yelled when she got to the house.
   “Let Adventure Week begin!” I yelled back.
   Laini climbed up the tree to find me. She is even better at climbing than I am, and I’m pretty good.
   “Remember the Adventure Week when your grampy took us horseback riding?” said Laini. “I think that was the same year we took a ferryboat ride all the way to Martha’s Vineyard just to ride the carousel.”
   That’s the thing about Adventure Weeks—you remember them. Grampy always says, Let’s go make some memories.
   “I’ll never forget the week we had ice cream for lunch every day!” I said. Then I looked up at the sky and yelled, “I love Adventure Week!”
   “I can’t wait!” shouted Laini.
   My neighbor Mr. Fermino looked over at us and did that thing he always does, where he takes off his cap, shakes his head and scratches it, and then puts his cap back on.
   Well, maybe he doesn’t always do that. Maybe it’s just when Laini and I are around.
   “My grampy is coming and it’s Adventure Week!” I yelled over to him.
   “I see a week of shenanigans coming up,” said Mr. Fermino. Mr. Fermino has known Grampy for a long time.
   “I’m so glad your grampy lets me tag along for most of Adventure Week,” said Laini.
   “Well, he always says you’re his all-time favorite granddaughter who’s not actually related to him,” I said. “I’m pretty sure he would let you come to everything if you wanted.”
   “Yeah, but my mom says there should be time for just you and your grampy, too. I guess that’s fair,” said Laini.
   I did a fast clap. “I can’t wait to see what he’ll surprise us with this year. I think Grampy has as much fun as we do. Maybe more.”
   “Got any clues about what we’ll do?” asked Laini.
   “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll do something in Boston,” I said.
   “Maybe a Red Sox game,” Laini said.
   “With a tour of Fenway Park!” I was so excited, I wanted to jump up and down, but I figured that wouldn’t be a good thing to do in a tree.
   Eventually, Laini had to go home for dinner, but I stayed in the tree, keeping a lookout for Grampy’s truck. Maybe we would go to a trampoline park. Even a regular park would be fun with Grampy. Whatever we did, we were going to make some memories.
   Charley, the best cat of all cats, was my new pet. Grampy, the best grampy of all grampies, was coming to visit. And Adventure Week, the best week of all weeks, was here. I was living the good life.
   Or so I thought.
 
TWO
Almost Always Almost True

I wasn’t sure what was taking Grampy so long, so I went into the house to ask Momma. I found her, of course, in the kitchen. Evidently, that’s where nutritionists like to hang out.
   “Your dad went to pick Grampy up,” Momma told me.
   “Is something wrong with Grampy’s truck?” I asked.
   “Well, I didn’t want to tell you until I knew exactly what was going on,” said Momma, “but there was a little problem.”
   Then the kitchen door opened . . . but no one came in. Something strange was going on. The door opened a little more, and I saw the tip of a crutch. Then I saw another crutch, and then Grampy. I knew something strange was going on!
   Daddy helped Grampy sit down.
   Momma got ice for Grampy’s ankle.
   And I stood there with my mouth hanging open.
   Finally, I asked, “Grampy, what happened?”
   “What happened?” repeated Grampy. “I’ll tell you what happened.”
   “Grampy . . .” I could tell from the smile in his eyes that he was about to tell one of his world-famous tall tales.
   “Well, Rica, you asked me what happened, so here goes. There I was, working in my garden, when the wind picked up. Downright gusty, it was.” Grampy’s voice got real quiet: “The sky was getting dark—not the calm nighttime kind of dark, but the eerie, strange-looking kind of dark. Then . . .” Grampy’s voice got louder and louder: “Then I heard a thunderous, roaring kind of noise.
   I looked up and saw a tornado, yes, a tornado, heading straight for my house. Straight for my house, I tell you!”
   I started to wonder. Could there really have been a tornado near Grampy’s house? And near Grampy?
   Grampy’s eyes got big as he continued the story. “It whirled. And it twirled. Loud and angry that thing was. Well, I wasn’t going to let it get to my house. Oh, no. I crouched down real still, and when it got close enough, I jumped up and grabbed the tail of that twister and spun it around. It huffed. And it puffed. And then . . . nothing. Nothing. I had wrestled the wind right out of it. I turned my ankle a little, but my house is still standing, untouched.”
   “Grampy!” This was definitely one of his tall tales. I stomped my foot, pretending to be mad, but to tell the truth, I love Grampy’s made-up stories.
   “What?” Grampy winked. “You know my stories are almost always almost true.”
   Then he turned to Dad. “Isn’t my house still standing, Nick?”
   “Yes, it is, Pops.”
   “And wasn’t there a tornado?”
   “Yes, there was,” said Dad. “Except that the tornado was two towns away from you.”
   Grampy let out one of his belly laughs. “Almost always almost true.”
   Momma put the ice pack around Grampy’s ankle. “Only you could laugh through the pain of a sprained ankle.”
   “If I don’t laugh, I remember that it hurts,” said Grampy.
   “Your grandfather was actually helping with tornado cleanup when he twisted his ankle,” Dad said to me. Then, looking at Grampy, he added, “A tornado that was nowhere near his house.”
   “I’m sorry about your ankle,” I said to Grampy. I tried to think of something that would make him feel better. “You know who you haven’t met yet?”
   “How would I know who I haven’t met yet if I haven’t met them yet?” asked Grampy.
   “Good point.” I peeked behind the curtain where Charley had gone to hide. “Are you ready to meet the best grampy anywhere, ever?” He rubbed his head against my hand, so I took that as a yes. I picked him up and set him in front of Grampy.
   “So, this is the famous Charley!” said Grampy.
   “He hid when you came in. I don’t think he likes your crutches,” I said.
   “I don’t think I like my crutches,” said Grampy. He held out his hand for Charley to sniff. It didn’t take Charley long to decide Grampy was okay. I knew Charley was a smart cat.
   “I’ll move my office space to the kitchen so that we can set up a bed in the den,” said Momma. She turned to Grampy. “No stairs for you for the next week. We’re going to take care of you until that ankle heals.”
   “We’ll get you fit as a fiddle, but you’re going to have to sit tight for a while,” said Dad. “Dr. Bailey said to stay off it for about a week.”
   Oh, garbanzo beans, I said to myself. Grampy staying off his ankle meant no Adventure Week.
   I didn’t know what Grampy had planned. I only knew that we weren’t doing any of it.
   “Cheer up, Rica,” said Grampy. He must have seen that my face looked sad. He’s pretty good at noticing things. “You and me, we can still manage to make some good memories and have some fun. You know what I always say: Look for the good and you’ll find it.”
   Out loud I said, “Sure.”
   Inside my head, I said, I have no idea how we’re going to manage that.