Eleven: Chapters 1–2

The enemy plane came out of nowhere. A-Dawg reacted on pure instinct.

The missile clipped his wing as he pulled up hard on the yoke and rolled into an inverted dive that flipped the horizon over, putting the buildings above and the sky below and turning his whole world upside down.

The daredevil maneuver worked. When he straightened out, he’d lost his pursuer.

He was trailing smoke and leaking fuel. He checked his gauges.

Maybe it was his mind playing tricks, the G forces sloshing his brain around, but A-Dawg was sure he saw his dog nod.

He twisted in the cockpit, desperate to see what happened.

“MOooooooOOM!” he groaned, gritting his teeth.

Alex’s mother loomed over him in her white nurse’s uniform.

On his dresser sat a framed photograph of the Navy’s Blue Angels elite flying squadron in close formation, signed by every pilot on the team.

On his dresser sat a framed photograph of the Navy’s Blue Angels elite flying squadron in close formation, signed by every pilot on the team.

He remembered every detail and maneuver like it had happened yesterday. Even his dad seemed impressed.

Alex’s dad drove a commuter train for a living, which meant he was in charge of steering a half-million pounds of steel and aluminum through a tunnel underneath the Hudson River at seventy miles per hour, so it took a lot to impress him.

“If you get a dog,” his parents would correct him. But he was relentless, and before long they stopped saying “If” and would just trade exasperated looks.

“If you get a dog,” his parents would correct him. But he was relentless, and before long they stopped saying “If” and would just trade exasperated looks.

Dead silence. Alex withered slightly, then rebounded. He could usually get out of a tough spot by making his mother laugh.

“How do you know that time travel isn’t possible and I didn’t just time-warp two hours into the past, do my chores, and then time-warp right back into my chair?”
“Call it maternal instinct.”

Which meant that he never went anywhere without Lolly and her missing eye and that one ear Nunu had chewed on until it was practically gone, worn down to a hard, spit-dark, threadbare nub.

Which meant that he never went anywhere without Lolly and her missing eye and that one ear Nunu had chewed on until it was practically gone, worn down to a hard, spit-dark, threadbare nub.

Alex sighed but sprinted back off the bus and snatched up the soggy-eared doll.
Just as Jordan McCreevey sauntered up.

Jordan snatched the pink doll out of Alex’s hand. Alex made a half-hearted attempt to take it back, but Jordan held it way up high, out of reach, as he stared down at Alex.

Then Jordan slapped the doll onto Alex’s head like a dunce cap.

His mind had a tendency to wander.

“But it’s my birthday tomorrow,” he wheedled.

As usual, he took the shortcut, stepping from arm to arm of the lounge chair and then vaulting over the back of the sofa.

He grabbed the back of his chair and dragged it out from under the table, like he’d been told a thousand times not to, but never remembered. The legs made a loud, honking noise as they scraped across the linoleum.

It gave him more time to plan his charm offensive.

“Daddy!” Nunu’s happy voice penetrated the thin walls.

Alex sat up straight with his English book and forced a studious look onto his face.

A sliver of light spilled in from the hallway.

Alex groaned and rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head. “I hate that stupid song,” came his muffled voice.

He knew it was coming, but Alex still winced as Nunu sang out her favorite line, just like she did every single solitary stupid night.

He knew it was coming, but Alex still winced as Nunu sang out her favorite line, just like she did every single solitary stupid night.

Peering through the crack under his pillow, Alex could see bits and pieces of his father: the heel of his left shoe, worn down so far it curved underneath; the light from the hallway reflecting off a shiny spot on his pants knee, where the crease in the fabric just seemed to disappear; two loose threads standing straight up off the cuff of his stark white shirt.

Peering through the crack under his pillow, Alex could see bits and pieces of his father: the heel of his left shoe, worn down so far it curved underneath; the light from the hallway reflecting off a shiny spot on his pants knee, where the crease in the fabric just seemed to disappear; two loose threads standing straight up off the cuff of his stark white shirt.

Alex felt a surge of panic. It was all slipping away.