Chapter 9

After our bike race triumph, summer really gets into full swing. I can tell because the “dumb brother fights” start to happen more frequently. Not that my brother is dumb, but we spend so much time together that we end up arguing about silly stuff.

“Stop yelling!” I scream at him.

“You’re yelling at me!” Brian shouts.

“I have to yell so you can hear me over your shouting!” I shout back. “If you stop yelling, I’ll lower my voice when I shout at you to stop screaming!”

“What?” my brother yells.

Most of the time our fights aren’t serious. They’re over small things that aren’t really a big deal. Like when I used my brother’s toothbrush to clean my bike tires. Then there was the time I accidentally used his favorite shirt to wash mud off our dog. I can’t believe my brother got mad over little things like that.

Other situations are much more serious. Like Brian leaving a smelly sock in the hallway outside my bedroom. Also, when he breathes loudly in the car. Those are ridiculous actions that must be dealt with immediately.

Today’s fight wasn’t that big of a deal—at least in my opinion. We were playing Motorcycle Mania on our PlayCube. We’d actually been playing it nonstop for a few days when my brother decided to ruin everything by starting a shouting match.

“What’s going on?” Dad says, rushing in.

“Bob hit me!” my brother says.

“I did not!” I say.

“Well, your guy hit my guy.”

That part is true. The rider character I was playing on our PlayCube accidentally ran my brother’s character off the road. Then he did it three more times. Accidentally.

“What can I say?” I explain. “My character is accident-prone.”

“Well, Bob, move your character over to time-out,” Dad says. “Make him sit by the traffic cone for two minutes.”

Dad starts to walk out of the room. Then he turns with a smile. This is a smile I’ve learned to fear. It’s a smile that means Dad has an idea he thinks is brilliant but is going to be terrible for my brother and me.

“Better yet,” Dad says, “we’re unplugging for a week! No video games, computers, TV, phones, or that thing that sounds like a bandage folks wear when they have pink eye.”

“You mean an iPad,” my brother offers.

“Yeah, we’re turning it all off,” Dad says.

I don’t like Dad’s idea, but I have to give him credit for working in an iJoke while punishing us.

Plus, I think, the Bible says sometimes kids need to be corrected. It’s how we learn. It also reminds us that our parents care. Moms and dads want us kids to grow up learning to be the best people we can be. Sometimes punishing us is the best way for that to happen.

That’s what I’m thinking. But all I can hear is someone shouting: “Nooo! Please, nooo!”

“Bob, stop shouting,” Dad says. “Being on screens all day isn’t healthy, and I’m tired of the fighting. Tech-free week starts . . . now.”

Dad pretends to set an imaginary timer on his antique wristwatch.

As I think about it more, I realize it’s not so bad. After all, I have summer plans! There’s always stuff to do. My brain immediately works to come up with a new adventure.

I walk over to the computer. Dad follows me and points out that the computer is off-limits.

Wow, I realize. Most of my ideas come from Google and not my actual brain.

“Why don’t you go outside?” my dad suggests.

“Good idea! Where is it?” I joke.

I hand my phone to Dad and head outside. Suddenly, I’m blinded by an unidentified light.

At first, I think Billy has snuck over and shined a giant spotlight in my eyes. Then I realize that the bright light is what my science teacher calls the sun.

That’s when it dawns on me (good pun, huh?) that I haven’t seen the sun for a few days.

Maybe this tech-free week will actually be good for me.

I haven’t worked on the tree house or seen Billy in a while. It’s amazing how fast the summer days tick by.

Speaking of ticks, I don’t like them. I wander into the woods to check out the big tree. I am really hoping not to see any ticks—or Triple-H. Maybe he found a new hangout so that I can surprise Billy by making some progress on our tree house.

When I get to the big tree, however, I notice that things are quiet. Maybe too quiet.

This is the woods. They’re not usually like this. There’s always noise in the woods. I should hear birds chirping, rabbits rustling, and younger squirrels annoying their older brothers. But there are no sounds at all.

I clear my throat as loudly as possible. “Ahem! I think I’ll climb up and check out the big tree now!” I shout. “I hope there’s no furry beast up there waiting to scare me.”

I pause for a moment but still don’t hear anything. This makes me nervous. Fighting through my nerves, I start climbing the tree with Average Boy–like confidence. Each branch brings me closer to the middle of the tree.

I finally reach the big opening where our tree house will soon sit. I look around. Still nothing.

“Ha!” I say. “I had nothing to worry about.”

I sit on a branch to catch my breath when something hits me in the back of my head. Gush! I’m soaking wet! This can mean only one thing. Triple-H has snuck up behind me and sneezed on the back of my head!

A rush of panic sweeps my body. Not only am I about to be attacked, but if I survive, I’ll probably catch whatever sickness this giant sneezing beast has!

I swing my head around, ready to face a giant drooling raccoon. Instead, I am shocked by what I see.