4

I should probably explain why my birth certificate led me, Charlie, and Ben on our super miraculous journey

Grams and Dad never kept it a secret. I’ve always known Dad isn’t my biological father. My biological father left Mom when she was pregnant with me and then she met my dad not long after that. When she died just after I was born, Dad stuck around because he and Grams were all I had. I once overheard one of the dads at the school entrance say that it was a miracle that he stayed. I don’t know about that. I think maybe it just makes him a really good guy.

I had only ever asked about my real father a couple of times. Grams maintained she didn’t know anything about him, not even a name. Had I known she was such an accomplished liar I might have pushed her harder. Dad always looked so hurt that I stopped bringing it up. It didn’t bother me that much. If I’m honest, I only ever thought about my biological father if Dad and I were having an argument or when we couldn’t afford something, and I wondered if my other dad might be rich.

But then, out of the blue, I had my birth certificate and I had a name.

Alan Froggley.

Yeah—not a great name.

I held off making too many judgments about Alan before I’d read Grams’s letter.

Dear Fred,

My little soldier. The fact that you’re reading this means I’m probably dead.

I’ve left a little money for you in a bank account for when you’re eighteen. I should say to spend it on college but I’m going to say spend it on whatever will make you happy. And what will make you happy will be a decent education that will set you up for life. Don’t fight me on this.

You’ve probably looked at your birth certificate by now. Perhaps I should have given it to you before. I thought about not giving it to you at all. But when all is said and done, you have every right to know who your biological father is. You can make up your own mind about him, should you wish to meet him. I’m not going to poison your mind against that waste of space. Your real dad, Joe—he’s a good man. He became like a son to me. He was good to my Molly when that weasel Alan left her. Joe loves you, Freddie—with every bone of his body.

Don’t forget to wear a jacket in the winter. Pop-Tarts are not a nutritious breakfast. Remind your dad garbage cans go out on Wednesdays.

I love you, Freddie. Always.

Don’t be too sad.

Grams xxx

I was sad.

But as I lay on my bed, one name kept going around in my head.

Alan Froggley.

Alan.

Froggley.

Al.

Froggers.

I tried saying it out loud a few times, hoping it would make me feel more connected.

Alan Froggley. Alan Froggley. Alan Froggley.

It didn’t work.

His name didn’t conjure up anything. I held my birth certificate in my hand and thought, Who are you, Alan?

And then I saw his place of birth listed as St. David’s, Wales.

Wales? Could I really be part Welsh? I can’t sing a note and I’m lousy at rugby.

I don’t remember making a conscious decision to look him up, but I found myself tapping Alan Froggley into Google. Unsurprisingly there weren’t many hits. There was a story about an Alan Froggley who got his ear blown off in World War II. Definitely not him. And an Alan Froggley who lived in America and was the owner of the biggest big toes in the state of Texas. I scooched my foot out of my Incredible Hulk slipper to be sure, but if anything, my big toes were a little smaller than average. I could rule him out. The final Alan Froggley was about the right age. There was a grainy black-and-white picture on his work website. It listed him as a research analyst for a company called Cardiff Analytics. At the time I didn’t know what that meant, so I googled it.

A research analyst is a professional who is responsible for reviewing, collecting, and reporting on a variety of data sets and information sources.

This basically meant he worked with facts. My stomach did the same weird wobbly thing it did every time Grams drove too fast over the hill at the bottom of the road.

I tried to see if there was a family resemblance, but I couldn’t clearly make out what he looked like from the tiny photo. There was a little biography under his name that said he’d been at the company for seven years and ran a team of twelve analysts. It also said he enjoyed walking. I got excited at that because I can walk. And that he liked swimming—I’ve got my bronze survival award and I can swim three-quarters of a length underwater (but only with my goggles on). At this point I was convinced. Facts, walking, and swimming—it couldn’t be a coincidence. I’d found him. Well, online anyway.

I still don’t know where the idea to visit him in real life came from. It might have been the thought of the boring summer that was ahead of me, or that I wanted to do something rather than stay at home looking after Dad and missing Grams. Or it might have been because I was getting worried about the fact that my family was down to two. And if Dad kept doing things like running himself over it could end up as just me, which wasn’t a good thought. But once I’d had the idea it got stuck in my head and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was going to meet my biological father.

I opened up a group chat with Ben and Charlie. I wouldn’t get very far without a well-thought-out cover story and I needed their help.

F:How u doin?

C:My life sux: Mom found my secret snack stash I was hiding for Hunger Camp.

B:My life sux harder: Disney World = my own personal hell.

Ben attached a photo of his family with the cast of Beauty and the Beast from his Easter vacation. Becky was up front and center with her arms around Lumière. I’d never seen a candlestick look so pleased with itself. Ben was sulking at the back.

I was annoyed about their pity party, especially as I was clearly having a way worse time than them. I kind of wanted them to feel bad so I sent:

F:My life sux the most: my Grams died.

I stared at my phone, wondering how they’d reply.

For a while they didn’t. And then:

C:Fred wins.

B:Agreed. That does suck the most. Sorry bud.

C:Feel bad now. M8 u ok?

I got the major guilts for telling them like that.

F:Yeah, I’m ok.

There was another pause.

B:But . . . did I tell you that Becky bought us all matching T-shirts w/ I heart Mickey. That’s pretty awful 2.

C:And did I mention I have 2 drink avocado & wheatgrass smoothies every morning on vegan vacation?

B:Grass? Duuuude—think we might have a new contender 4 winner of the suckiest life.

That’s when I hit them with it.

F:Guys—I’m going to Wales to find my biological dad, Alan Froggley.

I’d never told them my dad wasn’t my biological father. Not because I was hiding it from them, it just never came up.

C:Your biological dad is Welsh?

Yup, that’s what Charlie took from that.

C:Wait! Ur biological dad?

There we go.

F:He left before I was born. But now I’ve found him.

B:U sure about this? What does ur actual dad think? And how u getting there? Thought he couldnt drive.

F:Dad doesn’t know. I’m going on my own. This wknd. Need u 2 cover 4 me.

My phone told me: Charlie is typing. Ben is typing.

I held my breath and waited.

Then I stopped holding my breath because it was taking them too long to reply.

F:Any1 there?

They were probably on a separate chat. Figuring out what to say. I wished they’d hurry up.

C:I’ll come wiv u. A bit of fun b4 my vegan vacay hell in 2 wks.

B:Me 2. Becky is doing my hed in. I wanna break b4 USA.

F:U sure?

I’d been secretly hoping for this outcome.

B: Don’t leave for another 6 days anyways.

C:Yup.

F:Come 2 mine 2morrow 2 discuss plan?

C:Sure 10am?

F:Yup.

B:Cu 2mrrow.