3 Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Of course, even though he was grounded, Kyle Keeley still had to go to school. "Mike, Curtis, Kyle, time to wake up!" his mother called from down in the kitchen. Kyle plopped his feet on the floor, rubbed his eyes, and sleepily looked around his room. The computer handed down from his brother Curtis was sitting on the desk that used to belong to his other brother, Mike. The rug on the floor, with its Cincinnati Reds logo, had also been Mike's when he was twelve years old. The books

lined up in his bookcase had been lined up on Mike's and Curtis's shelves, except for the ones Kyle got each year for Christmas from his grandmother. He still hadn't read last year's addition. Kyle wasn't big on books. Unless they were the instruction manual or hint guide to a video game. He had a Sony PlayStation set up in the family room. It wasn't the high-def, Blu-ray PS3. It was the one Santa had brought Mike maybe four years earlier. (Mike kept the brand-new Blu-ray model locked up in his bedroom.) But still, clunker that it was, the four-year-old gaming console in the family room worked. Except this week. Well, it worked, but Kyle's dad had taken away his TV and computer privileges, so unless he just wanted to hear the hard drive hum, there was really no point in firing up the PlayStation until the next Sunday, when his sentence ended. "When you're grounded in this house," his father had said, "you're grounded."

If Kyle needed a computer for homework during this last week of school, he could use his mom's, the one in the kitchen. His mom had no games on her computer. Okay, she had Diner Dash, but that didn't really count. Being grounded in the Keeley household meant you couldn't do anything except, as his dad put it, "think about what you did that caused you to be grounded." Kyle knew what he had done: He'd broken a window. But hey—I also beat my big brothers! "Good morning, Kyle," his mom said when he hit the kitchen. She was sitting at her computer desk, sipping coffee and tapping keys. "Grab a Toaster Tart for breakfast." Curtis and Mike were already in the kitchen, chowing down on the last of the good Toaster Tarts—the frosted cupcake swirls. They'd left

Kyle the unfrosted brown sugar cinnamon. The ones that tasted like the box they came in. "New library opens Friday, just in time for summer vacation," Kyle's mom mumbled, reading her computer screen. "Been twelve years since they tore down the old one. Listen to this, boys: Dr. Yanina Zinchenko, the new public library's head librarian, promises that 'patrons will be surprised' by what they find inside." "Really?" said Kyle, who always liked a good surprise. "I wonder what they'll have in there." "Um, books maybe?" said Mike. "It's a library, Kyle." "Still," said Curtis, "I can't wait to get my new library card!" "Because you're a nerd," said Mike. "I prefer the term 'geek,' " said Curtis. "Well, I gotta go," said Kyle, grabbing his backpack. "Don't want to miss the bus." He hurried out the door. What Kyle really didn't want to miss were his friends. A lot of them had Sony PSPs and Nintendo 3DSs. Loaded with lots and lots of games!

Kyle fist-bumped and knuckle-knocked his way up the bus aisle to his usual seat. Almost everybody wanted to say "Hey" to him, except, of course, Sierra Russell. Like always, Sierra, who was also a seventh grader, was sitting in the back of the bus, her nose buried in a book—probably one of those about girls who lived in tiny homes on the prairie or something. Ever since her parents divorced and her dad moved out of town, Sierra Russell had been incredibly quiet and spent all her free time reading. "Nice shirt," said Akimi Hughes as Kyle slid into the seat beside her. "Thanks. It used to be Mike's." "Doesn't matter. It's still cool." Akimi's mother was Asian, her dad Irish. She had very long jet-black hair, extremely blue eyes, and a ton of freckles. "What're you playing?" Kyle asked, because Akimi was frantically working the controls on her

PSP 3000. "Squirrel Squad," said Akimi. "One of Mr. Lemoncello's best," said Kyle, who had the same game on his PlayStation. The one he couldn't play with for a week. "You need a hand?" "Nah." "Watch out for the beehives.…" "I know about the beehives, Kyle." "I'm just saying …" "Yes!" "What?" "I cleared level six! Finally." "Awesome." Kyle did not mention that he was up to level twenty-seven. Akimi was his best friend. Friends don't gloat to friends. "When I shot the squirrels at the falcons," said Akimi, "the pilots parachuted. If a squirrel bit the pilot in the butt, I got a fifty-point bonus." Yes, in Mr. Lemoncello's catapulting critters game, there were all sorts of wacky jokes. The falcons weren't birds; they were F-16 Falcon Fighter Jets. And the squirrels? They were nuts. Totally bonkers. With swirly whirlpool eyes. They