Cross Roads of Logan Michaels Book Tour & Giveaway

—
James Frey, best-selling author of A Million Little Pieces

 

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Being in a new town, and leaving all of my old friends, scared me. I knew I was good at baseball and
basketball, but I worried whether I would still be good in North Andover.
Summer was ending, but I couldn’t complain. We’d had fun times camping in Maine, while my little
brother, Jared, and I got into mischief. My friends from Andover called me and said we should still hang
out, even though we would be in different towns.
The summer came to an end and I was ready for third grade at my new school. Monday arrived and I
looked out the window at the playground and saw all the kids. Living across the street from the school
wasn’t all that bad. I grabbed my bag and kissed my mother and high-fived my dad before walking over to
the school yard. There was a steep hill I slowly ran down, and then I ran across a field of kids kicking a
soccer ball. I aimlessly walked around, checking out the playground, kicking my feet, and watching the
kids play before the bell rang. Our house was so close that I could see my mom staring through the
window at me.
The bell rang as I watched kids line up. We “pledged allegiance” outside and then walked to class. Being
the new kid sucks, I thought, as I sat down next beside a boy named Grant.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Logan,” I said.
“Got a last name?”
“Michaels. My name is Logan Michaels.”
“You play any sports?”
“Yeah, baseball and basketball,” I replied.
“You any good?”
I laughed and said, “Let’s play at recess and find out.”
Recess arrived; we grabbed the basketball immediately and ran over to the hoops. After a couple of shots,
the fifth-graders came over and tried to kick us off the court. Grant and I were not giving up that easily,
though, and we said, “Let’s play for it.”
They laughed as they confidently threw the ball to me.
I caught it and shot. SWISH!! The game started out with two people watching, and by the end of recess,
Grant and I had the whole recess crowd around us cheering. “ICE! ICE! ICE!” the older kids yelled. My
last shot was in the air as everyone was watching: game point and SWISH!
We won by one point, and that day established my new nickname, Ice, because I had taken about twenty
shots and had missed only two. The older kids said that we could play with them anytime, and I became
popular on my first day. I ran home right after school, ready to tell my mom everything.
I walked in the house and saw Jared playing in the kitchen while my mom prepared dinner. The fall air
was warm and crisp, with a sourdough bread smell lingering. I threw my bag down and told my mother
about my day. She smiled and looked content as she continued to cook dinner. My mother would always
smile when she saw me and Jared. We would hang out until dinnertime, and wait for Dad to come home.
We would play video games, run around the house, and play in the yard; we always had so much energy.
My dad would come home, kick off his work boots, kiss my mom, and roughhouse with us. We typically
tackled him as soon as he came through the door. Jared and I would lose to Dad, of course; he seemed
like the strongest guy in the world.
After dinner, we would rush outside to play basketball with our small hoop in the yard until it got dark.
My mom would yell out the window about how we needed to do our homework, and we would come
inside once the sun set.
Realizing that I might have a career in basketball, I had Dad sign me up for the North Andover booster
club team. We walked into tryouts; he was definitely the youngest father in there, being only twenty-eight
years old. Most dads were in their late thirties.
As tryouts began, he introduced himself to the fathers. Everyone made the team, but I guess the tryouts
were to see how they could split up the kids to make fair teams.
After waiting a week for the results, I finally received a call from Mr. Stone, the coach of the Hawks. He
welcomed me onto the team, told me the practice schedule, and said, “See you there, Logan.” I hopped off
the phone and ran into my parents’ room to tell them the good news. I jumped on the bed and then
noticed something strange: my mother was crying and my father was rubbing her back with a worried
look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. My mom hugged me. My brother walked in quietly, looking unsettled as he
hugged my mom and dad.
“It’s my mom, Nana,” she said. “She’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and is very sick.”
“What’s Alzheimer’s?” I asked.
“It makes you forget who you are, Logan.” I was confused, but just hugged my mother back as she wiped
her tears.
We had been a tight-knit family before moving. My mom and dad grew up on the same street and met
when they were children.My grandparents on both sides were always coming over to visit us, and we would go to their houses. We
even went to church with them on Sundays. Jared and I called my mother’s parents “Nana” and “Papa;”
we called my father’s parents “Granpy” and “Grammy.” I was closest to Nana.
Sitting in my room that night, I didn’t know whether I should be excited for basketball season, or sad for
my Nana. It made me understand that pleasure and pain always went hand in hand.
One minute you’re up, and the next, you’re down, I thought as
I shut my eyes.

 

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