Jackson Jones, Book 1_ The Tale of a Boy, an Elf, and a Very Stinky Fish - Jenn L. Kelly [35]
A black stone twinkled at him in the water. He bent down and picked it up.
Chapter 49
A Chapter that Involves More Questing
The black stone was smooth and fit snuggly into Jackson’s hand. Words were etched into it. Jackson squinted to read.
You have ugly hair.
Jackson laughed out loud. Okay, that was silly. That definitely couldn’t be his stone. It was too ridiculous. He skipped the stone beautifully on the water before it slipped under the surface. Jackson smiled to himself. His throwing was getting better!
He shifted his satchel. It was a little uncomfortable. Keep moving.
Jackson’s eyes caught on another rock, so he picked it up.
You play baseball atrociously.
What a ridiculous thing to write on a stone! Jackson laughed, but it was a hollow laugh. He swallowed, a little self-conscious. What a strange coincidence. How would a rock know if he was a good baseball player or not? Jackson knew he wasn’t a great baseball player. But still. This couldn’t be his rock. He tossed it into the water, watching uneasily as ripples bounced off the shore.
Jackson walked more slowly. He shifted his satchel, the strap digging into his shoulders. A stone winked at him from the water. He slowly picked it up. It was a dark gray with black writing.
You are stupid.
Jackson felt sick. He almost sat down in the water he felt so sick. A big lead ball had rolled into his belly, and it wasn’t leaving.
“I’m not stupid! I can read and I’m a great writer and I…” Jackson’s voice faltered.
But he didn’t understand algebra. He couldn’t remember what all the countries’ capitals were. He couldn’t remember all the countries, for that matter. He didn’t know the cosine of 7.88. And he definitely did not know what “couch” was in Spanish.
Jackson frowned at the stone in his hand. It was smooth, and his thumb fit right into a groove, like it was meant to. Was this his stone? It couldn’t be.
Could it?
Jackson watched the stone slip from his fingers into the water. It splashed, the water soaking the front of his legs. Great. He shifted his satchel. It was cramping
him in crampable places. (Yes, I know that’s not a word, but it should be.)
Jackson walked slowly and pensively around the river’s bend. (Pensive is like when you’re concentrating so hard, you don’t notice that your sister has dropped an ice cube down your back until it’s too late.)
Chapter 50
A Very Gloomy Chapter
Jackson surveyed the river gloomily, barely noticing the change in scenery. His head was full of thoughts. And not many of them were pleasant. He glanced up at the weeping willows (Salix alba var. vitellina), not noticing that their branches were less full, less weeping, and not as trailing. He squinted into the bright sky as beads of sweat dripped down his back. Jackson rubbed his arm across his forehead. His wet pajamas were beginning to scratch his legs. He walked on, dragging his feet.
The stream was no longer refreshing. He could feel little blisters popping up on his heels. He wanted to take his shoes off, to feel the soft, sandy bottom, but the soft, sandy bottom was now rocky and slippery. He found a few smaller stones hidden in crevices, but they were just stones.
About half an hour passed before Jackson spotted another etched stone. He picked it up hesitantly.
You have no friends.
Jackson’s mouth felt like it was full of cotton. He tried to swallow but he couldn’t. He laughed but the empty sky sucked away the sound.
It was true.
He didn’t have any friends. Lunchtime at school meant hiding in the library. If it was nice out, he’d walk to the highway bridge and sit on the stairs, alone. He was