Maxed Out by Daphne Greer

Chapter One
    The sound of the back door banging against the side of the house pounds in my ears. Maybe I am only hearing my heart beating in my chest as I pick up my pace. I trudge up the driveway with my sleeping bag hanging over my shoulder. I kick snow away from the step.
    â€œMom!” I yell. “I’m home.”
    The house is quiet. I dump my back-pack on the floor and flick my boots off. The cold air has made a home in the kitchen. I can see my breath. Dishes are piled in the sink, and breakfast stuff is still all over the counter. When I walk down the hall, I glance into the living room. It looks like time has stopped. Mom doesn’t go in there much anymore. It used to be her favorite place.
    At the bottom of the stairs, I stop to listen. I’m relieved when I hear Duncan talking to himself in his room. It sounds like he is acting out all the characters in a movie. When I reach the landing, I notice Mom’s bedroom door is closed.
    I take a deep breath and knock. “Mom?”
    I can hear her stirring, so I open the door. She is lying in bed with heaps of blankets piled all over her. “Oh, Max. You’re home. I didn’t hear you come in.” She tries to sit up, but she only gets as far as propping herself onto her elbows before she flops back down. She pulls the blankets up to her neck. “It’s freezing in here. Can you check the heat?” She yawns and then says, “What time is it?”
    â€œI don’t know. Probably close to four. The bus was a little late.”
    â€œDid you say four ? That can’t be right! I only laid down for a few minutes. Oh, I can’t believe it!” She looks like she’s about to cry. “I have to work tonight, and I feel like a truck hit me.”
    â€œI’ll go check the heat,” I say. I don’t bother telling her that the back door was wide open or that I had a great time at the school winter-survival trip at Big Cove Camp. I don’t tell her about making banana boats around the campfire, like we used to do with Dad, or how we stayed up late telling ghost stories. No one wanted to go home— especially me.
    The next morning I’m in a rush. I’m still not used to having to do everything by myself.
    â€œDuncan!” I yell up the stairs. “Turn off the tv. We’re going to be late!” I wait at the the bottom of the stairs for a few more minutes. Duncan is deep into one of his movies. I shake my head and walk back toward the kitchen. The sun floods in through the window, making it really warm.
    Duncan eventually shuffles into the kitchen with his Spider-Man T-shirt on backward and his hair sticking up. “I’m not Duncan. I’m Spider-Man!”
    â€œNo one will know you’re Spider-Man with your shirt on that way,” I say.
    Duncan stands perfectly still while I stand on my tiptoes to turn his shirt around. “Where is Mom?” he asks.
    I glance at the clock. “She’s at work,” I say.
    â€œI don’t like her work,” he says.
    â€œNeither do I. Come on, we’ve got to hurry.” I pour cereal into his bowl. Usually I let him do it, but we’re already late. I don’t have time for him to pour it, spill it and then pick up each piece of cereal.
    â€œDo you wanna race?” I ask.
    â€œI’m not racing,” he grumbles.
    I inhale my cereal and then start running around grabbing our stuff. When I open the back door, the cold air hits me smack in the face. “Man, that’s freezing. You’re going to need a hat today, Duncan.”
    â€œI don’t want one,” he mumbles.
    â€œI hear ya. But remember your ears hurt when it’s really cold. Besides, Spider-Man wouldn’t be caught dead going out without his hat.”
    Duncan shovels another mouthful of his cereal into his mouth. I can tell he is thinking about what I said. “I want my hat,” he says.
    â€œI figured you would.” I