Rebel's Tag by K. L. Denman Page A

find his arms reaching down. I caught hold of his leg and he flinched. He shoved me aside, sent me sprawling and marched away. I called after him. He didn’t look back.
    â€œMom?” I say.
    â€œYes?”
    But I don’t know what to say next. I want to crumple that letter, shred it, burn it. That jerk—who does he think he is? I lift the paper to my nose and inhale.
    â€œSam, we need to talk.” Mom perches on the couch beside me. She shoves both hands into her hair and scrubs her head, a sure sign she’s thinking hard.
    â€œSo you read the letter?” I ask.
    She nods. She stops scrubbing but keeps holding her head in her hands. “Do you remember him at all?”
    I shrug. “Not much.”
    â€œWe haven’t talked about him for a long time. You used to ask for them...” Her voice trails into silence.
    Memories of my dad are barely more than those flash images of Grandpa. Maybe I only remember Dad because Mom keeps pictures of him around the house.
    Mom straightens, draws in a deep breath, exhales. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I ask.
    â€œWell,” she says, “part of me feels sorry for Grandpa Max. But I don’t believe we owe him anything. Just thinking about him makes me angry.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause of what he did to you,” she says. “He knew how much you loved him, and there you were, just a small boy, losing both your heroes at once. I was so shocked at how cruel it was.”
    Her face is flushed pink and her eyes are shiny. Man I hate it when my mom cries. I tell her, “Don’t worry about it. It’s history. Who cares?”
    â€œI care!” she says. “It was wrong. You needed him, and he just left you. And now here he is, expecting us to forgive him, like it was nothing.”
    â€œSo, why don’t we just tell him to go to hell?” I ask.
    â€œSam!” She stares at me for a long moment. Finally she says, “Because I want to be better than that. And I want you to be better than that.”
    I don’t know what she’s talking about. I don’t want to waste time on stuff like this. I get to my feet and say, “I just remembered, Mom. I promised Indi I’d come over.”
    â€œSam, wait. Maybe we should give him a chance?”
    I really want to be out of there so I say, “Sure.” Sometimes, that’s the only way to stop her: I just agree.
    â€œOkay,” she murmurs. Then she reaches into the envelope and pulls out another folded sheet of paper. She looks at it, sighs and then slowly stretches out her arm. “Here. Take it.”
    I take the paper and stuff it into my pocket. “Catch you later, Mom. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
    And I’m gone before she can say anymore. There’s no way I want anything to do with the old geezer. But then I remember he said he’s got something for me. Maybe I should get it and
then
tell him to go to hell. Why not? Seems fair to me.

chapter two
    Indi’s black brows slant down as she scans Grandpa’s second letter. The only sound in her kitchen comes from her long fingers tapping a random beat on the tabletop. Finally she shrugs and sits back. “So, are you going or what?”
    â€œI don’t know. I want to find out what the old man has for me, but this seems like a stupid game. Why doesn’t he just give it to me?”
    â€œI guess because he doesn’t want to,” she says. “If it was me, I’d go. What’s the big deal? He sends you money and says go to this place and have a burger. Doesn’t sound too harsh.”
    No, it doesn’t sound too harsh. Grandpa’s second letter was wrapped around a twenty-dollar bill and all it says is that I should go to the Café Soleil on Broadway Street, order a burger and ask for Joe, the cook.
    â€œWhat if I don’t want a burger?” I ask. “I