My mathematical dad is at the end of his
summer semester,
which means he’s home tonight
correcting tests and typing up final exams
to give to his students. But every once in a while,
I’ll catch him watching me
out of the corner of his eye,
making sure I’m doing my chores or reading
something that’s on the Summer-Reading List
for freshmen entering Willowbank High.

I would be much more cool with school
if most of it were like this: choosing books
from four different categories (Historical Novels, Biography,
Adventure, Mystery), reading them through,
looking up new vocabulary words,
and writing up short reviews.
Of course for my adventure book,
I chose Treasure Island, written by Robert Louis Stevenson
and illustrated by N. C. Wyeth.

Aside from the fact that the story is relevant
(one of my vocabulary words—it means “related; having
a logical connection”) to my life right now
and is one of the best things I’ve ever read,
I end up spending half the time
staring at the amazing illustrations of Long John Silver,

Billy Bones, and Ben Gunn, trying to imagine
what it must have been like
to be a pirate—a man
(or a woman, I guess, according to Carolann)
who sailed to Africa, India, and the Caribbean,
risking his life for silver, gold, and precious jewels,
living only by his own pirate rules.

“Nice to see you enjoying your summer reading,” Dad says.
I twitch in surprise at his interruption.
I don’t want to seem too interested
or Dad might get suspicious.

“Yeah,” I say, as casually as possible.
“Who knew the classics were so fascinating?!”
I close the book, yawn, toss it onto the coffee table.
“A little far-fetched, though, ya know. All those
pirates and treasure and stuff….”

But I don’t need to bluff.
Dad has gone back to correcting tests
and he doesn’t even hear me.