An Excerpt from Scumble
Page 2 of 11Watches and windshield wipers everywhere, look out! I could blow stuff apart without a touch, dismantling small things in bursts of parts and pieces: a light switch here, a doorknob there, garage door opener, can opener, Dad's stop watch, his electric nose-hair trimmer too. After the first few episodes, I shoved whatever I couldn't fix underneath my bed. I didn't want Mom and Dad to know how much stuff I was breaking. Already, I could see my future: No more training with Dad for the father-son half marathon in the fall. No track team, no more school, no friends. Rather than flinging crinkle-cut dills in the cafeteria, I'd be staying home to grow moss in pickle jars like my Beaumont cousins. Because if I hit Josh and Ryan and Big Mouth Brody Sandoval with ceiling panels and table hardware instead of handfuls of baby gherkins, Josh and Ryan might laugh it off, but Big Mouth Brody would tell for sure—and that wouldn't go over well at home.
Family rules said keep quiet. No one risked the consequences of sharing the family secret unless they had to; it was impossible to know what might happen if people found out that we weren't normal. Nicer folks might want to hire us for our skills. Less nice ones might want to put us in a freak show, or lock us up to study us and try to decode our genomes.
Well, secrecy was fine by me. The ability to bust apart a toaster wasn't something I cared to boast about. It helped that Dad was clearly in denial, while Mom believed she had everything under control. As far as my parents were concerned, I was simply Ledger Kale, doohickey-destructo boy less-than extraordinaire. And I was happy to let them think it.
So, nine days after I turned thirteen, Mom and Dad confirmed our family's RSVP and we packed our bags, preparing to hightail our way west from Indiana to Wyoming.
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