CHAPTER SEVEN
Brotherly Advice
After dinner, I followed Grandpa to his room. As I rolled out my sleeping bag on his floor, Grandpa revealed his secret stash of cookies. “Bedtime’s always better with cookies,” he said, smiling.
I couldn’t hold my guilt in any longer. I burst out, “Grandpa, I have to tell you something.”
“If it’s about my toots, I know,” he said. “I may not feel ’em coming, but I can certainly smell ’em. They’re awful. Sorry.”
“No, it’s about something else,” I said, getting up and pacing around the room. “I told a lie, and it’s eating me up inside!”
Grandpa had been around awhile and was full of advice. I was hoping he might have some that could help me out. “Hmmm. Did someone ask you how your day was and you replied, ‘Just fine,’ when you meant to say, ‘Terrible’? If that’s the case, don’t sweat it! That’s just a little fib. They happen sometimes.”
“No, I told a BIG lie. To my teacher. I’m ashamed of myself over the whole thing,” I said, exasperated. “I didn’t have my science report, so I told my teacher a lie to cover my tail. I was even going to forge a note from Mom and Dad! And the worst part is, the lie was about you being in the hospital.…”
Grandpa stood up quickly, his feathery wings exploding from his back. He flapped into the air and waved his wings at me. “Hospital?! I’m in the prime of my life!” he said, swaying back and forth. “Ooof. That made me a little dizzy. I’m going to sit back down now.”
Gavin swung the bedroom door open. Apparently, he’d been listening at the door. “You feel guilty, Peter?” he asked. “Telling a lie isn’t that big a deal. I do it all the time. Nice jammies, by the way.”
“Thanks!” I said. My pajamas were brand-new, so I took the compliment.
“That was a lie,” Gavin sneered. “See? It’s easy to lie.”
“But it’s not honest!” I said. “I’m ending all my lies tomorrow morning. I’m going to tell the truth. No more lying. Never. Not even if it’s an emergency.”
“Don’t say never, Peter,” Grandpa said. “Sometimes you have to lie. Like when your lady love asks if you like her dress. Even if you hate it, you have to say something nice.”
“Stop freaking out, kid brother,” Gavin said. “You just have to learn the right way to tell a lie. One: Always look your opponent right in the eyes. Two: Smile big. And three: Never stutter. If you stutter, people will know you’re nervous. Speaking of nervous, try not to sweat so much when you lie. That’s a telltale sign. Remember those rules and you’ll be golden.”
“But I don’t want to lie,” I countered.
“Attaboy,” Grandpa said. “You stay good, Peter. Even if it means failing a class.”
Gulp. But if I failed, Mom and Dad would ground me for sure. Why was there no easy way out?!
“Trust me, it works,” Gavin said. “You know what? I’ll even write your note from the parents. I’ve been practicing Dad’s handwriting for years.” He quickly darted off in a flurry of excitement.
I started to get butterflies in my stomach. Forging a note from Mom and Dad didn’t feel right, but what else could I do? I didn’t want to fail. I turned to Grandpa, hoping he’d help me figure out a better solution. But he was already fast asleep and snoring like a bear.
Grandpa’s toot rang out like a trumpet. I tucked myself in and tried not to breathe through my nose.
