The Struggles of Johnny Cannon by Isaiah Campbell Page A

at the letter like it was a snake that had fallen asleep on his desk. He folded it back up and pinned it back to his wall, then he sat down on his bed.
    â€œSo, what do you think he meant?” he asked.
    I thought for a bit.
    â€œMaybe he’s talking about the price tag,” I said.
    â€œThe what?”
    Even though it was probably the sort of thing I was supposed to keep secret, I went ahead and told him all about the meeting and Santo Trafficante and the price tag on Captain Morris and everything.
    When I was done, he sat down on his bed and let out a whistle.
    â€œWow. This is serious,” he said. “For real, this ain’t good.”
    â€œYeah, but maybe it ain’t as bad as we’re thinking,” I said. “I mean, as long as nobody finds out about me being his son, I’m probably safe.”
    He didn’t look too convinced.
    â€œAnd here I thought Captain Morris was the biggest bad guy we’d ever meet,” he said. “Ain’t that just how it is?”
    â€œWhat you mean?”
    â€œLike in the comic books, the hero goes and he beats the bad guy and everybody thinks it’s all amazing. But then he finds out the bad guy he beat was just the messenger boy or something, and he’s got to fight an even scarier, bigger, meaner bad guy in the next comic.”
    â€œExcept I ain’t ever going to have to fight Mr. Trafficante,” I said.
    â€œAs long as he don’t ever find out the truth about you,” he said.
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œBut that’s why I’m worried,” he said. “ ’Cause if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the truth has a pesky way of getting found out, whether you want it to or not.”
    I tried to brush him off, but deep down, I knew he was right. Lies never last as long as you want them to, and the truth never stays buried no matter how deep you dig the hole.
    Except for this time. Hopefully.

CHAPTER FOUR
TOM AND HUCK
    I t was only lunchtime on Friday, but it was already a really bad day.
    First of all, I’d overslept, which meant I didn’t get to eat no breakfast, so I was about ready to faint when it was time for me to do the This Day in History thing for the class. Then, while I was telling them all about how September 1 was the day that Narcissa Whitman and Eliza Spalding became the first white women to cross the Rockies back in 1836, I got all mixed up and said they rocked the Crossies and everybody laughed their heads off.
    Which then meant I failed the math pop quiz ’cause I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And then I missed hearing Mr. Braswell call my name for extra credit, so I missed that, too.
    And now it was lunchtime, and it should have been perfect, but it wasn’t. I was sitting at a table alone with Martha, and it was sort of like how I’d always wanted it to be. Except she had Willie’s tape recorder and she was getting ready to ask me all about my life’s story.
    And I just wasn’t feeling up to doing no storytelling.
    It was also tuna surprise in the lunchroom, which was icing on the cake. I couldn’t catch a break at all that day. Oh well, at least we had a three-day weekend, thanks to Labor Day on Monday. And there’d be a fireworks show. Maybe I’d get blown up or something.
    I sat there, poking my food with a fork, and I was so hungry I almost was willing to eat it. Martha got the microphone set up in front of me and was fiddling with the tape.
    â€œOkay, I think I’ve got this set up now,” she said. “Are you ready?”
    â€œI guess,” I said. “Why can’t you do your biography on somebody else? Like your ma or something?”
    She laughed.
    â€œMy mom? Yeah, I’m going to do a biography on the single most boring person that’s ever lived.” She shook her head and started the tape recorder. “I mean, if I want to learn how to bake cookies or dress so I