Anyway, it’s nice having Tim around again. He makes my mom really happy. And he’s smart too. Like, when he says stuff, I always listen.
For example, a long time ago, at the beginning of the school year when I first moved here, Tim and I were sitting together on the couch and Mom had gone out somewhere. And he said to me, “There’s something really important I need to tell you, Josh.”
“What?” I said. I put on a serious face so that he could tell I was old enough to hear something important.
“You need to know,” Tim said, “there’s a man named Shane Nelson who might contact you someday and want to hurt your mom. This man, Shane Nelson—he’s a really bad man. Really bad. So if you ever see him or hear from him, you need to know that he’s dangerous.”
I nodded very seriously. I was glad Tim trusted me enough to tell me that. Even though I didn’t really expect to ever meet a man named Shane Nelson.
So you can imagine I was super surprised when mom brought home that houseguest named Shane Nelson. He seemed nice enough, but I kept thinking about what Tim told me. That Shane wanted to hurt my mom. Tim said it was really important.
And I trusted Tim.
So when Shane took me out into the woods to make that snowman, I noticed that all the trees had a lot of icicles. They looked really heavy and pointy. Shane was a lot bigger than me, so I figured if I wanted to protect my mom, this was my only chance.
I waited until Shane was standing under one of the branches. I reached up and shook the branches, and all the ice fell on him.
It was a lot of snow and ice. It was enough to make him fall down. I walked over to see if it had knocked him out, like in Little League last year when Jaden threw that ball at Oliver’s head （accidentally）。 But it didn’t knock Shane out. He was on the floor, rubbing his head, but he was still fine.
That’s when I saw the large icicle on the ground.
It was at least three inches thick. Maybe two feet long. It was about the same size as the bat in Little League, where I’m the best hitter on the whole team. So I picked it up with my gloved hands and I swung it—the way Tim showed me when we practiced in the fall. And I swung it again. And again. And again.
I thought it might break, but the ice was pretty strong. It didn’t break. It held together really well.
The first time the icicle hit Shane’s head, he shouted. But not the second time. Or the third. Eventually, Shane stopped moving at all. I can’t remember how many times it took before that happened.
When I do something bad, Mom always tells me to say I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry I hit Shane in the head with that icicle. I had to do it. Tim said he was dangerous and that he was going to hurt my mom. And I could hear when he was talking on his phone that he wasn’t being nice to her. Tim was right.
I had to do what I did.
After all, I would do anything for my mom.
THE END
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Acknowledgments
My husband just caught me writing this.
I admitted to him that writing the acknowledgments can be the hardest part of the book. I save it until the bitter end—as close as possible to release as I can get without risking forgetting about it entirely. I am always scared of thanking people inadequately.
“Do you have to write an acknowledgment for every book?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“Are you asking me why I have to thank the people who helped me? Are you asking me why that’s important to do? Is this a serious question?”