6
COMMON FACTOR
—a factor that two or more numbers share
 
 
Cute kid, huh?” Past said as I continued to stare at the photo.
I nodded. Piercing eyes. Like mine. Pale brown hair, what there was of it that you could see, because he had an almost-buzz cut. His mouth was open just a little, like he was trying to smile, enough to show a missing front tooth. And he was wearing my shirt.
“That’s my T-shirt,” I finally managed to say.
“I sincerely doubt that,” Past said.
“It is! It’s my Buzz Lightyear shirt!”
“Uh-huh,” Past said, not sounding convinced.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the photo. “And he looks just like me.”
“He looks nothing like you.”
“He’s wearing my shirt! And—and he’s got a tooth missing in front! Just like I had!”
“He’s six, Mike. Every six-year-old has front teeth missing.”
“True. But still, that’s my shirt! Or it used to be. I had one just like that.”
“Given that Buzz Lightyear is a Disney character, I would wager that there was more than one made in the world.”
“Yeah, but—”
“And this boy lives in Romania, so—”
“Romania? That’s where my dad is! And that’s where my shirt went! I think.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, Sasha’s—my friend’s—church collects old clothes and sends them to eastern Europe. The kids’ clothes go to orphanages. That’s my shirt! I mean, think about it, how many Buzz Lightyear T-shirts could there be in eastern Europe?”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . hundreds?”
“No! That one’s probably mine.”
I heard a gasp from Past. I looked at him. His eyes were wide. Finally, he was seeing the significance. Then he let out a yell. “Look out!”
He grabbed me and pulled me behind the cart.
Tyrone came barreling up on the sidewalk near the bench and jerked to a halt.
I felt Past release his grip. “It’s okay.” He exhaled. “She stopped.”
“There you are, Mike!” Moo called, getting out of Tyrone. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Moo! How did you get gas?”
Moo clutched Junior and grinned. “I siphoned some out of Poppy’s car. Don’t tell him! But I had good news, so I just had to come find you.” She pulled two envelopes out of Junior’s outside pocket. “Look! My next-door neighbor admitted that she was—uh—borrowing my Oprah magazine that was put in her mailbox by mistake. I can’t blame her. Who doesn’t want to read O? But then she found our Social Security checks inside the magazine and came running over. So now we can pay the bills! The bank and the electric company are closed, but if we hurry, we might get to the phone company in time and we can talk to them about getting service back.” She turned to Past, who was handing me my Shop ’n Save bag from his cooler. “Would you like to come with us, dear?”
Past took a step backward. “No. Thanks. Listen, are you sure you should be driving? You look a little . . . tired.”
Moo glared at him. “Of course I look tired. That’s perfectly normal when you’re old as the hills. Goodness, most people my age are dead!” She grabbed my arm. “Come on, now, Mike, hop in!”
Tyrone lurched and I waved out the window to Past and took a last look at the little kid on his cart who looked like me. And I realized I had never asked him who the kid was or what he was doing on his shopping cart like a poster for a missing child.
“Hey, Moo, have you seen the picture of that kid on Past’s cart?”
“Oh, yes. Isn’t he sweet? He’s coming here.”
“From Romania?”
She nodded, smiling. “We’re adopting him.”
I stared at her. “You and Poppy?”
“Oh, no, it’s a team effort.”
“Who’s on the team?”
“The whole town!”
“The whole town is adopting a kid?”
“You’ve heard that it takes a village to raise a child, haven’t you?” She looked over at me and grinned. “Well, not really, but it feels like that. We’re all trying to raise money.”
“Cool. My best friend, Sasha, was adopted from Russia.”
“Then you know all about adoption!”
“Well, not all about—”
Tyrone lurched to a stop in front of a strip of stores with glass fronts, mostly abandoned except for the phone company.
Moo peered at the door. “Oh, dear. They’re closed, aren’t they?”
My head flopped back onto the headrest. “Great. Now we have no phone service, either.” And I’d need to make several more calls before I could be sure that Dad would actually check his phone.
Moo patted my arm. “I’m so sorry, dear. I’m sure you want to talk to your dad. I wish my cell phone worked.”
I jerked upright. “You have a cell phone?” Maybe Past knew more than I thought.
“Yes, Doug gave it to me for Valentine’s Day, right before he—” She bit her lip and pulled her hoodie strings. She took a deep breath, blinked a few times, and added, “He even prepaid the bill for six months.”
I counted the months on my fingers. “It’s still under contract! Where is it?”
She pulled Junior onto her lap and dug around. “Here.”
“Moo! This is a smartphone!”
“It is very stylish, isn’t it?”
“No, I mean, this gets Internet and everything!”
She shook her head, started Tyrone, and pulled back on the road. “Doug didn’t pay for that part because he didn’t think we’d use it.”
“Oh.” I tried turning it on. “And it’s dead. Do you have a charger?”
She looked doubtful. “If I do, it’d be in Junior. Why don’t you take a look-see?”
I rummaged through O magazines, receipts, a thermos—“Coffee,” Moo explained—granola bars—“I need to have my snacks, Mike”—Dentu-Creme, pens, tissues, even a trial-size bag of dog food—I didn’t ask—before, amazingly, finding a car charger, which I immediately plugged in. Yes! A signal! I called Dad. No answer again. I left a message and texted but wondered if that would be enough. “I need to e-mail him.”
“Okay, dear, you go right ahead.”
“Uh, except I need to find Wi-Fi.”
“Who?”
“Where’s the library?”
“In Hedgesville, but it’s not open now.”
Of course. “What time does it open?”
“September.”
“September?”
“It can’t afford to operate during the summer and can barely stay open three days a week during the school year.”
“That’s crazy!” I guess my teachers were right. We were privileged. “Do you guys have a coffee shop or restaurant with Internet connection?”
She smiled. “Mike, the correct term is Internet buffet.”
I stared at her. She was serious. “Actually, it’s Internet café.”
She waved her hand. “Buffet, café, either way, it’s food and the computer. No wonder you young people love it so much.”
“Let’s just drive around some neighborhoods.” Someone had to have Wi-Fi.
Tyrone headed up and down streets, but no luck. It wasn’t exactly a Wi-Fi kind of town. The few I did find were locked. I held the phone out of the window, trying to get closer to the houses we passed.
Finally, I looked down at the phone and saw an unsecured network: AdamsFamily. “Stop! I think I’ve got something!”
Not only did Moo stop, she ran around Tyrone to my door, putting one hand on it and raising the other high in the air. “Is that better?”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m being your antenna.”
“But I don’t need an an—”
“Hurry up, before my arm gets too tired.”
“But—okay, fine.”
I quickly started an e-mail, putting “FROM YOUR SON” in the subject line so Dad would notice. Between the sender name “Mike Frost” and “FROM YOUR SON,” he might actually realize it was me.
Dad! Dude! TURN YOUR PHONE ON! Check your messages! Send money fast! Your son, Mike
“Okay, done.”
Moo ran around and hopped back in the driver’s seat. “What did your dad say?”
“Nothing yet.”
She shook her head. “Well, I don’t think it’s such a smart phone then if you can’t even get an answer.”
We passed the Kmart, so I knew we were getting close to home, when Tyrone slowed down. “Oh, dear,” Moo sighed. “GAS!”
“What, again?”
“Tyrone’s not out of gas. It’s me.”
“You’re out of gas? Or . . .” I moved closer to the door. “You have gas?”
“GAS is an acumen, Mike. The first letters stand for items on my to-do list.”
“You mean acronym.”
“That’s it! G stands for Gladys, A stands for Allegheny Power—because I have to do both those errands tomorrow morning—and S stands for Shop ’n Save. I should’ve found a way to buy scrapple, at least, because we’re all out and now I have none for Poppy’s dinner.”
I grinned and held up my five pounds of scrapple. “Don’t worry, Moo, it’s in the bag!”
“Mike, you are such a savior. Where would we be without you?”
Moments later, she sang, “Home again, home again, jiggity jog!” Yanking Tyrone’s wheel, she careened into the driveway, spraying gravel everywhere. We were headed straight for the parked Suburban and we weren’t slowing down.
“Whoa! We’re going to hit the”—Crunch!—“Suburban!”
“Of course, dear. That’s what bumpers are for. Besides, it’s only Poppy’s.”
No wonder Poppy didn’t like Tyrone. I got out of the car shakily and watched Moo navigating the buckets in the front yard. She stopped and said, “Karen’s here! That’s her scooter!”
“Who’s Karen?”
“She’s a teacher—”
“A teacher?” Oh, jeez, had Dad found a teacher in Do Over to tutor me all summer? It wouldn’t be the first time. “What’s a teacher doing here?”
“She’s also our temporary minister. She’s a teacher during the school year. I bet she’s here to talk to Poppy about the artis—artees—arteedge—”
“Artesian screw?”
“That’s it!”
I hoped Karen was as persuasive as one of those televangelists who got people to send them all their money and everything they owned. She’d need to be strong to deal with Poppy.
Moo must’ve been thinking the same thing. “If anyone can get through to Poppy, Karen can. And Oprah, of course, but I don’t think she’s coming.” Moo ran up the front steps. Pushing the front door open, she turned to me. “Mike, Karen will need to rely on you for the artesian screw.”
“Me? Why me? And what’s Karen got to do with—”
But her little yellow sneakers had already disappeared inside.