Jackson Jones Read online

  Jackson Jones

  written by

  Jenn Kelly

  illustrated by

  Ariane Elsammak

  For My three boys: God, Danny, and Jackson I adore you.

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Chapter 1 The First Chapter

  Chapter 2 No Longer the First Chapter

  Chapter 3 A Chapter that Has a Secret in It

  Chapter 4 A Chapter that Involves an Awful Mishap with a Kangaroo

  Chapter 5 A Very Hairy Chapter

  Chapter 6 In Which We Learn about Diplomacy

  Chapter 7 In Which This Book Begins

  Chapter 8 In Which This Book Really Begins

  Chapter 9 In Which There Will Be Absolutely No Crying

  Chapter 10 In Which Nothing Makes Sense

  Chapter 11 In Which We Meet Meeka and Her Dead, Smelly Fish

  Chapter 12 In Which the Tour Begins

  Chapter 13 In Which We Enter the Book Room

  Chapter 14 The Chapter after That

  Chapter 15 In Which There Are Too Many Books (As if That’s Possible)

  Chapter 16 In Which There Is Frustration, Annoyance, Irritation, and Exasperation

  Chapter 17 In Which We Find a Doorknob

  Chapter 18 In Which We Visit the Cafeteria

  Chapter 19 In Which There Is a Lot of Meat

  Chapter 20 WARNING: There Is Throw Up in This Chapter!

  Chapter 21 In Which There Is an Important Conversation

  Chapter 22 ANOTHER WARNING: This Chapter Has Gargantuan, Hairy-Backed Spiders in It!

  Chapter 23 A Really Short Chapter

  Chapter 24 A Rather Long Chapter

  Chapter 25 In Which There Is a Bathroom Break

  Chapter 26 In Which Jackson Cannot Believe His Eyes

  Chapter 27 A Very Sticky Chapter

  Chapter 28 A Chapter with Lots of Shrieking (Perhaps You Should Put in Earplugs before Continuing)

  Chapter 29 In Which There Is a Great Deal of Important Talk. Also, Feathers.

  Chapter 30 In Which We Need a Key. Do You Happen to Have One We Could Borrow?

  Chapter 31 In Which We Meet a Scowl

  Chapter 32 A Chapter That Has Many Portraits

  Chapter 33 In Which Jackson Wonders if He’s Losing His Mind

  Chapter 34 In Which Nothing Particularly Important Happens

  Chapter 35 In Which Something Small Happens

  Chapter 36 In Which There Is Another Room

  Chapter 37 In Which We Learn about the Book, the Author, and Fred the Turtle

  Chapter 38 A Chapter that Is Not Nearly as Long as the Last One

  Chapter 39 I Bet You Thought I Forgot

  Chapter 40 In Which There Is a Secret

  Chapter 41 In Which the Writer Prepares You

  Chapter 42 A Chapter that Requires a Key Again

  Chapter 43 In Which the Story Continues

  Chapter 44 A Chapter that Is Terribly Mean

  Chapter 45 A Chapter that Is Even More Mean

  Chapter 46 In Which No One Can Find a Light Switch

  Chapter 47 A Chapter that Explains a Lot

  Chapter 48 In Which the Quest Begins

  Chapter 49 A Chapter that Involves More Questing

  Chapter 50 A Very Gloomy Chapter

  Chapter 51 In Which a Hero Is Needed

  Chapter 52 In Which Steps Are Taken to Become a Hero

  Chapter 53 A Chapter that Is a Little Scary

  Chapter 54 In Which a Hero Is Born

  Chapter 55 In Which We Wait for Death

  Chapter 56 In Which We Meet Another Hero

  Chapter 57 In Which No One Dies

  Chapter 58 In Which There Is a Great Deal of Dancing

  Chapter 59 In Which Meeka Is Bossy

  Chapter 60 In Which Jackson Hurries

  Chapter 61 In Which No Questions Are Answered

  Chapter 62 In Which a Heart Hurts

  Chapter 63 In Which Things Are Not as They Seem

  Chapter 64 A Chapter that Explains the Author…Even More!

  Chapter 65 In Which Jackson May Drink Bugs

  Chapter 66 In Which They Rush Home

  Chapter 67 In Which Jackson Hits the Floor

  Chapter 68 A Chapter that Has a Key, a Book, and a Picture

  Chapter 69 In Which Jackson Has an Idea

  Chapter 70 A Chapter that Involves the High Price of Lattes

  Chapter 71 A Chapter that Involves Anticipation, a Car Ride, and Cow Poop

  Chapter 72 A Chapter that Has More Words in the Title than in the Chapter

  Chapter 73 In Which a House Is Found

  Chapter 74 In Which Birds Are Very Loud

  Chapter 75 In Which Jackson Finds Another Door

  Chapter 76 A Chapter that Involves Another Place

  Chapter 77 In Which We Learn More

  Chapter 78 In Which We Learn Even More

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Share Your Thoughts

  Chapter 1

  The First Chapter

  Jackson didn’t know it yet, but in a faraway place, closer than he could imagine, a little creature was sighing in frustration.

  This little creature was sighing because she had absolutely no idea what to do. This wasn’t a surprise in itself, especially if you knew her. She never had any idea what to do.

  The trap door was shut.

  Locked, in fact.

  It wasn’t supposed to be locked.

  It was supposed to be unlocked.

  And wide open.

  She was supposed to unlock it and open it, so that it would no longer be locked and unopened.

  But given that Meeka was just that kind of elf, she had forgotten the key.

  So there she stood, at the top of a thirty-foot ladder, trying to unlock a trap door with a dead, smelly fish.

  Chapter 2

  No Longer the First Chapter

  Jackson rolled over and opened his eyes. He looked at the clock. Still early. His eyes closed. He began to dream again, but then something tickled his mind. What was so important about today?

  Oh yes.

  Family reunion day.

  Chapter 3

  A Chapter that Has a Secret in It

  Jackson had a lot of family members.

  That didn’t mean his dad had four arms or his aunt had twelve legs, but what it did mean was there were a lot of people in his family.

  He had a mom, a dad, one brother, one sister, seven aunts, eight uncles, and twenty-four cousins. They were a close family. Jackson saw his family all the time. What with birthdays, anniversaries, soccer games, talent shows, science fairs, and vacations, life was…insane. And Christmas was just an imbroglio, as you can imagine. (Imbroglio is like when you’re playing tag with twenty other kids…in the kitchen…and your mom is cooking…and the dog just threw up.)

  However (and this is a rather large however, meaning you are about to read something that is a big deal, so pay attention), HOWEVER, Jackson had just moved. Not just him, but his entire family. Not all of his aunts and uncles and cousins and all of their imbroglios, but just Jackson and his mom, dad, brother, and sister. Not only did they just move, but they moved far, far away. This meant no more imbroglios for a while.

  Of course Jackson should have been mad. But as hard as he tried to be mad, he couldn’t be. You see, Jackson’s mom was a writer. And not just any writer,

  but a really good one. Not only was she a really good writer, she was also a kind-hearted writer. This meant she didn’t turn into one of those writers who demand first-class treatment everywhere they go, like demanding steak and chocolate ice cream on a plane when they are only serving peanuts
. But because Jackson’s mom was such a good writer, she had to do research in a place that was far away. But the reason Jackson couldn’t be mad was because he understood. He understood how important writing was to his mom…because writing was important to him.

  You see, Jackson had a secret. A secret only he and his mom knew about.

  Jackson wanted to be a writer too.

  Every Sunday night, after church was finished and the huge lunch was finished and they had all gone for a healthy walk, admiring trees and ponds and silly little ducks, after everyone had gone into their own rooms to just “take it down a notch,” Jackson would go into his mother’s studio, sit in the huge leather chair, and drink hot chocolate while she read his stories and talked to him as a writer, but with the kind heart of a mom. Sometimes they would talk about important things, like what he would write about next, about the clouds they had seen that day, and about how fast he was growing. Maybe growing fast isn’t important to a ten-and-a-half-year old, but it’s always important to a mom. And sometimes they would talk about unimportant things, such as…well, actually, there’s no such thing as unimportant things to talk about.

  But I suppose you’re wondering more about Jackson.

  Jackson was an average-looking ten-and-a-half-year-old boy. He was a little on the small side. He had blondish-brown hair and his eyes were a bluish-grayish-greenish brown. He did have very straight teeth, however, which meant he had a very nice smile.

  Jackson was in sixth grade. Yes, he should have been in fifth grade, but after a ten-minute coffee break (which included an unpleasant piece of fruitcake), the principal decided Jackson would be in sixth grade. They had more desks, you see. That was a ridiculous decision of course, but one makes ridiculous decisions when eating unpleasant cake. Wars have been known to break out over leaders eating dry sponge cake, and there is speculation that King Henry VIII had his fifth wife disposed of because she served him plain white cake instead of the raspberry he craved.

  So Jackson didn’t really fit in at his new school. All of the other kids had known each other for a long time and Jackson was the new kid. And he was the smallest. He got picked last for games at recess. He made the baseball team only because they were short a player. And when he did play, I’m sorry to tell you, he was terrible. And he knew he was terrible.

  Jackson loved to read. It passed the time at recess when he didn’t feel like being picked last that day. He

  also loved writing stories. Oh, the stories he’d written! Jackson was always the hero, of course.

  The unassuming hero who stepped in at the last minute to save the universe.

  The unassuming hero who saved the entire village from a raging fire.

  The unassuming hero who saved the cat up the tree, received a medal from the mayor, and got a thank-you parade that included those old guys who drove around in little cars.

  The unassuming hero who could figure out algebra.

  Chapter 4

  A Chapter that Involves an Awful Mishap with a Kangaroo

  Jackson! Time to get up!” his mother yelled from the downstairs kitchen.

  Jackson slid out of bed. As he put on his jeans and a clean-ish shirt, he thought about what the day would entail.

  Family reunion day meant that Jackson’s whole entire family (aunts, uncles, cousins, and all of their arms and legs) were coming over for a big party. He hadn’t seen them all in months! They would eat barbecued tofu dogs and bean burgers (his Aunt Gertrude had become a vegetarian after an awful mishap with a kangaroo, but we won’t get into that right now), fresh-cut veggies (obviously), baked potato chips (you got used to them), and baked beet risotto (don’t even ask).

  They would play Hide-and-Seek and Capture the Flag and swim in the creek. At night they would sit around the bonfire, roasting tofu marshmallows and catch fireflies in their hands. They would squish their little glowing bodies between their fingers and smear the goop on their teeth and have glow-in-the-dark smiles.

  Good times.

  When Jackson came down to the kitchen his mom already had her anxious face on. Her hair was a big frizz ball, getting frizzier by the second as she stirred the beet risotto over the hot stove. His sister poured the baked potato chips into party bowls. A mound of vegetables waited on the counter to be cut up. Jackson’s sister looked up and stuck her tongue out at him. He scowled at her. What else can you do to a six-year-old? Actually, don’t answer that.

  “Mom! Jackson’s making that face again!” she whined.

  Jackson’s mom didn’t even turn around. “Jackson, quit picking on your sister.”

  “But Mom, I’m not! She’s the one…” he protested.

  “Look, it’s a really big day for everyone, okay? And we are definitely behind schedule. Just go upstairs and get your room ready for your aunt. You can cut the vegetables when you’re done.”

  Jackson ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. But his steps faltered. He had forgotten.

  Great-Aunt Harriett would be

  …staying

  …in

  …Jackson’s

  …room.

  Chapter 5

  A Very Hairy Chapter

  Great-Aunt Harriett always made Jackson a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t because she wore funny dresses. It wasn’t because she smelled like mothballs. And it wasn’t even because she was “Oh-So-Very Old.” And she was “Oh-So-Very Old.” Jackson figured she was a hundred and twelve years old. Now that’s old. Especially if you’re a dog. Why, that’s seven hundred eighty-four years old!

  No, it wasn’t the funny dresses, the mothballs, or being seven hundred eighty-four years old.

  It was her hair.

  Yes, you read that correctly: her hair.

  Jackson was uncomfortable because of her hair.

  I’m sure you must think he was overreacting. How could anyone be afraid of hair? But you don’t understand. She had very, very, very, very, very, very, very big hair.

  Oh, I know you’ve seen some big hair before. At proms and debutante balls, most cheerleaders, in ’80s music videos, in southern Texas, and on the woman who sits right in front of you at the movie theater. But her hair was even bigger.

  Imagine, if you will, a very large wedding cake. You know the kind they serve at all the best weddings? Not at the boring weddings where you eat dry chicken and listen to hours of speeches about how the bride cut her first tooth. And the wedding cake is flavorless enough to invoke a full-blown political revolt.

  I’m talking about the awesome weddings where your parents let you run around without your suit jacket on. Where you have the option of dancing the Hokey Pokey or touring the buffet again. And where the wedding cake is big enough for everyone to get a blue sugary rose to stain their teeth.

  Great-Aunt Harriet’s hair was even bigger than that. It was a strange grayish-red color and it was oh-so-very thick. So thick, in fact, that when the wind blew, it stood completely still. Once, during a tornado, she hid a little dog in there and afterward they had tea.

  Great-Aunt Harriett was also very, very, very, very, very, very, very short.

  So short, in fact, that if you stood up straight you would talk to hair. If you bent over at the waist you would talk to hair. If you sat on the ground you could see her scrunched-up little face, crinkled-apple cheeks, squinty eyes behind her very thick glasses, and her toothless mouth.

  If Jackson didn’t sit on the floor to talk to her, she would talk directly to his belly button. It is never a pleasant sensation having someone talk to your belly button. Unless, of course, they want to talk to your belly button. But we won’t get into that right now.

  Great-Aunt Harriett loved to talk. She would chatter on and on about old houses, birds, and keys. (Not piano keys, but keys that open doors.) She didn’t have any teeth in her tiny, puckered mouth, so she mumbled and lisped a lot. And when she mumbled and lisped, bits of spit sprayed all over everything. This usually made for messy (and wet) conversations. And she would go on and on, sometimes asking a que
stion, but since she was very, very, very hard of hearing (maybe it was all that hair?), she never really heard the answers. For example:

  Great-Aunt Harriett: “So how are you doing in school, Jackson?” (Actually, it sounded like “Tho how aw you doin thcoo, Jackthon?” but I’ve translated for you.)

  Jackson: “It’s summertime, Great-Aunt Harriett. I’m not in school right now.”

  Great-Aunt Harriett: “You’re captain of the tuba-bassoon group?”

  Jackson: “No, I said I’m not in school right now. I don’t even like the tuba! Or the bassoon! I don’t even play an instrument!”

  Great-Aunt Harriett: “You know, that reminds me of the birds I saw last night. They were so lovely. They just kept singing the most beautiful songs. Maybe you can play those songs on your bassoon for me?”

  And so on.

  One thing Great-Aunt Harriett always said was, “Find your story!”

  But there was a slight problem. It was lovely that she told him to find his own story, because that was a very nice thing to say, and it was very encouraging, especially for people who were, at that moment, living their stories or perhaps on the verge of making the decision to do just that.

  The slight problem was that:

  Jackson…

  did…

  not…

  have…

  a…

  story.

  He was only ten and a half, for goodness’ sakes! How on earth could he tell his story if he didn’t know what it was? I mean, sure, he’d like to play baseball a little better. Who wouldn’t? And of course it would be pretty neat to see his stories published, but all writers want that. It would also be nice to have a few friends…but that’s not really a story.

  Is it?

  Chapter 6

  In Which We Learn about Diplomacy

  It’s never fun to share your room with relatives, especially when you have a smallish bed in your smallish room. You end up on the floor, possibly even under your bed. And the food wrappers that you forgot to throw out are crackling under your sleeping bag, and something seems to be growing on that banana peel. What’s worse is when you sleep with your cousin on the sofa bed in the basement, and he’s twitching and snoring and drooling on your pillow the whole night. No, that’s not much fun at all. Relatives should just stay in a hotel, but asking them to do so is just not hospitable. So they’ll stay in your room, and you’ll just learn to like it.