Remember Dippy
Copyright © 2013 by Shirley Reva Vernick
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations for reviews. For information, write Cinco Puntos Press, 701 Texas Avenue, El Paso, TX 79901 or call at (915) 838-1625. Printed in the United States.
First Edition
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Vernick, Shirley Reva.
Remember Dippy / by Shirley Reva Vernick.—First edition.
pages cm
Summary: While reluctantly agreeing to help out with his autistic older cousin during the last summer before high school, Johnny discovers a new friend in his cousin, as well as an appreciation for what really matters in a person.
ISBN 978-1-935955-48-1 (Hardback); ISBN 978-1-935955-58-0 (Paper); E-ISBN 978-1-935955-49-8
[1. Cousins—Fiction. 2. Autism—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.V5974Re 2013
[Fic]--dc23
2012043174
Book and cover design by Anne M. Giangiulio
Layout by the House Compositor: she’s learning from the best!
Thanks to Richard Horak for his heroic help with the cover.
Electronic edition handcrafted at Pajarito Studios.
For Annie and Zoe
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Hull, Vermont, should be named Dull, Vermont. More cows than houses. No mall, no roller rink, not even a mini-putt. So I knew my thirteenth summer was going to be a boring one like all the others. What I didn’t know was that it was going to be a rotten summer. My mother didn’t drop the bomb until I got home after the last day of school.
Mom was making her famous black-cherry iced tea when I strolled into the kitchen at quarter past three. “Hi,” I said with my nose already in the ’fridge. I grabbed a pint of fudge ripple, snatched a spoon off the drying rack, and dove in.
“Hey Johnny, happy summer vacation,” she said. “When you come up for air, I’ve got some good news.”
“What’s up?” I asked, hopping up on the counter.
“I got a new client this week. A big one.”
“Sweet,” I said. Mom is an interior decorator, and since she and Dad split two years ago, she’s really been trying to amp up her business. “Whose house?” “Not a house.” She stirred the iced tea hard, like she was nervous or something. “It’s not a house and, well, it’s not around here. It’s a museum, an entire museum, in Upstate New York. I’ll need to go there. Be there. Most of the summer probably.”
“New York? We’re going to New York—as in, a real city with real things to do?”
“Not us, Johnny. Me. It wouldn’t work for you to—”
My chest clamped. “So you’re shipping me off to Dad’s.” My father lives in Northern Maine now, a nothing place like Hull except that I don’t have any friends there. And ever since my father met his girlfriend Kim, it’s not much fun when I visit—which isn’t very often.
“No, don’t worry,” Mom said. “Your dad isn’t even available. He’s going on a cruise next month, remember? You’ll stay with my sister.”
I felt myself start to relax. Aunt Collette is awesome, plus she’s local, not to mention that she manages the 7-11, where slushies are on the house for family. Mom could do her thing all summer, and I could do mine. A perfect plan.
Or so I thought.
“There’s more good news, Johnny.” She tried to smile, but she didn’t really mean it, so it came out as a grimace. “I found you a job.”
I plunged the spoon into the ice cream and raised an eyebrow. “What kind of job?”
“Helping out with your cousin.”
“What?” I jumped off the counter.
“Just while Collette’s at work, that’s all. Then you’re free.”
“But Mom—”
“No buts. If you don’t watch him, Collette will have to take in a college student from Burlington to do it, and then she won’t have room for you, and then I won’t be able to go to New York. It’s the only way, Johnny. Now go pack. I’m dropping you off at five.”
That is how the perfect plan turned into the perfect disaster.
Now, before you go thinking I’m a selfish brat, you’ve got to understand about my cousin Remember. Yes, that’s right, his name is Remember—straight out of some New Age baby-naming book. He’s two years older than me, and he’s what polite people call different. I call him weird. He doesn’t have friends. He looks the wrong way when you speak to him. He either talks a mile a minute or not at all. He’s stubborn and high-strung. I could go on and on. Not that it’s his fault. Mom says he’s wired differently. Aunt Collette says he’s just who he is. But fault or no fault, he’s hard even to be around, much less look after.