Carter Avery's Tricky Fourth-Grade Year, page 22
Lucky for everyone, Leopold got to stay back and sit this one out. Turns out Grams wasn’t the only one who bought herself a Christmas gift. Mr. Wilson did, too, only his was a brand-new used minibus—and we were taking it on an adventure.
“I’ve been thinking this could be the start of a side job for me,” Mr. Wilson said. “How do you like the sound of Wilson’s Tours?”
“It’s got a ring to it,” I agreed. “You like to drive and you’ve got the wheels, so why not?”
“Maybe you can be my tour guide?” he continued.
My eyes popped. “Really?”
“No, not really,” Grams interrupted. “You’ve got to finish school before the two of you can become partners in crime.”
“Partners in crime,” I repeated.
“It’s got a ring to it,” Mr. Wilson teased.
“You two are insufferable,” Grams huffed. “You can start being partners by loading our bags,” she said, shaking her head and walking away.
Me and Mr. Wilson laughed, and then we began grabbing bags. Wilson’s tour bus carried fifteen passengers. Eleven were making this trip: me, Shelby, Brynn, Torrie, Grams, Mason, Susie, Ms. Krane, Oliver, and Mr. and Mrs. Wilson. It was our Thanksgiving crew plus Torrie and Oliver, which meant there were a few empty seats available to hold our stuff.
After we had everything loaded, our tour group piled in. Mr. Wilson took his spot behind the wheel and I found my usual seat right behind him. Shelby sat with me, and Mason and Susie sat across the aisle. Grams and Ms. Krane were one row back. Oliver was buckled in his car seat next to his mom. Mrs. Wilson was one row behind them and Brynn and Torrie sprawled out in the rear, using our bags for pillows. We were officially locked and loaded, ready to hit the road.
Our destination: a set of seaside cottages on Cape Cod, like in Summer of the Gypsy Moths. “It’s time to cross this one off your bucket list,” Mason told me. “You’re gonna see the ocean, feel it, smell it, hear it, experience it. Take it all in. It’s a place big enough to take our sorrows away in one breath and give us new happiness and hope in the next wave.”
He sure made it sound magical. And the crinkle in Ms. Krane’s purple stain told me she felt the same way. I was eager to experience it, like Mason had said, and I wasn’t the only one. Before even going to the cottages, Wilson’s Tours made a beeline for the beach. If we hurried, we’d make it for sunset, which the grown-ups said would be beautiful—and romantic. Gross!
Eight hours later—thanks to traffic!—we parked at Race Point Beach on the National Seashore and unloaded. Then we began our trek down to the water. I wanted to wait for everyone, but I couldn’t help it. I ran ahead—and Brynn and Torrie came with me. The others could join us when they made it.
We raced from the walking path onto the beach, across the sand, and down to the shoreline, finally stopping at the water’s edge. We stood side by side as the breeze rolled in off the water, blowing our hair in the wind. The waves crashed against the shore with thunderous roars. And the ocean stretched as far as I could see in every direction. It was the biggest thing I’d ever seen in my whole life.
“It’s beautiful,” Brynn gushed.
“We call it God’s country,” a tan man wearing red shorts and a sun hat and sunglasses said as he came walking by. He held a water bottle in his hand and had his towel slung over his shoulder.
“A lifeguard on his way home after a day’s work,” Torrie whispered. “I could do that.”
God’s country, I thought. I liked that. I liked that a lot. I stared out over the water, then tipped my head back and closed my eyes, soaking in the sounds, and smells, and feels.
Sneaky Brynn and Torrie teamed up and splashed me when I wasn’t looking and I shrieked. The water was cold. I chased after them with everyone laughing and the dogs barking in the background. We ran until we were out of breath and then we stopped and watched as the sun began dipping below the horizon. And you know what, it was beautiful. But I’m not gonna say it was romantic. Gross!
“Carter Avery, you’ve done a lot of proving this year,” Grams said, joining us by the water, “but I hope by now you’ve proven to yourself that you’re a special kid. The proof is in the pudding. Every person here is better off because of you. And even though Missy Gerber and Lieutenant Boss aren’t here with us, the same is true for them too. All have benefited because they got to know you. I was wrong—you do have special powers, superhero powers, and those powers lie in your heart.”
Brynn and Torrie leaned in and sandwiched me in hugs just as Shelby weaseled her way in between our legs. Grams slid behind and put her arms around all of us.
“It’s ’cause of Ms. Krane,” I said as I watched my teacher dip her baby’s toes in the ocean a little ways down the beach. “I’ve decided, owls are tricky. She helped me be my best.”
Grams nodded. “Yes, I’d have to say she deserves credit. She’s a special person. The two of you were a match made in heaven.”
Jelly Rolls
INGREDIENTS
1 slice of your favorite sandwich bread (more if you’re really hungry)
1 tablespoon of your favorite jam or jelly (more if desired)
INSTRUCTIONS
Carefully remove the crust from your bread. You may use a knife (ask an adult for help) or your hands.
Place the crustless bread on a cutting board and use a rolling pin to flatten and spread it thin.
Slather the flattened bread with your favorite jelly.
Starting at one side, roll the bread into a log shape.
Carefully cut the log into small segments.
Eat and enjoy!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When speaking with students, I’m sometimes asked what’s the biggest challenge for an author. There can be many, but I often mention battling self-doubt. Writing a novel is a long journey, and there are days when the trek feels insurmountable. How do you get past that? My best advice is to surround yourself with the right people. People who will encourage you and pick you up when you get knocked down. People who make you feel good about being you, and help you be the best version of yourself.
Thank you to all the parents, teachers, librarians, and readers who’ve sent wonderful emails and letters my way. Your words keep me going strong. You’re my people.
My deepest gratitude to Beverly Horowitz, Paul Fedorko, the Penguin Random House team, and my invaluable editor, Françoise Bui, for also being my people. I’m so lucky to have you with me.
And to Beth, Em, Lily, and Anya, you’re not only my closest people, but my everything. Your hard work, commitment, and many achievements inspire and motivate me—and make me so proud. Trying to keep up makes me better. I love you all!
Potter—Jack would be proud of the work you put into this novel.
* * *
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(P.S. My second piece of advice is to become a wrestler. The sport demands mental toughness.)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ROB BUYEA is a former fourth-grade student as well as a former fourth-grade teacher. He did not like writing as a kid but loved it when teaching, which ultimately put him on the path to becoming the author of many books. His grandmother was a big part of his young life, just like Carter’s. His egg-stronaut survived when he was a student, but Missy Gerber would not have liked his boring spaceship.
ROBBUYEA.COM
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Rob Buyea, Carter Avery's Tricky Fourth-Grade Year
