Jamie Sumner - One Kids Trash

author of Roll with It

Jamie Sumner

One Kids Trash

Roll with It

Tune It Out

ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Childrens Publishing Division

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www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Text 2021 by Jamie Sumner

Jacket illustration 2021 by Karyn Lee

Jacket design by Karyn Lee 2021 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

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Interior design by Karyn Lee

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Sumner, Jamie, author.

Title: One kids trash / Jamie Sumner.

Description: First edition. | New York : Atheneum Books for Young Readers, [2021] | Audience: Ages 10 and Up. | Summary: When his father moves them halfway across Colorado, eleven-year-old Hugo Shorts ODonnell is surprised that his remarkable talent for garbology makes him popular for the first time in his life.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020046451 | ISBN 9781534457034 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781534457058 (ebook)

Subjects: CYAC: BullyingFiction. | PopularityFiction. | Middle schoolsFiction. | SchoolsFiction. | Moving, HouseholdFiction.

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S8545 One 2021 | DDC [Fic]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020046451

To Dad

Love you. Race you to the bottom.

And for the kids whove ever been bullied

I feel you. Be brave. Be better than them.

T he beautiful and terrible thing about having your bedroom in the basement is that you never know what time it is. So when Mom yells down the stairs, Hugo, if you dont get up this minute, you will miss the bus! I assume that I am already late. And if I miss the bus, there is only one other option: Mom drives me. Which isnt really an option at all. I am not having my mother drive me to the first day of middle school. Thats social suicide. A guy like me cant afford to take chances.

I sprint to the bathroom and take the fastest shower in the history of showers. And then I run up the stairs with socks in my mouth and my arms full of jacket, shoes, and backpack. Mom takes one look at me in the hallway and says, You cant go out with your hair wet.

I spit the socks onto the floor.

Either I catch the bus, or I dry my hair. You cant have it both ways, Mom.

I start yanking on a sock, slightly damp from my mouth. Mom watches in her pink fuzzy bathrobe. Back home she was the first one up and dressed and out the door. She had her own private therapy practice in an office building downtown. Client appointments started at eight a.m., which I never understood. If I could set my own schedule, nothing would begin before eleven.

She crouches down and hands me my other sock. Then she reaches out like shes going to fix my hair. Its shooting in a million different directions. I bob and weave like a boxer.

Mom. No.

Okay, I just Do you have your phone?

The phone is new. They said I couldnt have one until I turned twelve, which isnt until April, but I guess with the move they thought Id need it sooner. So uprooting my entire life came with one bonus.

Yeah, I got it. I stand and grab my bag.

Here, take this. She tosses me a chocolate PediaSure.

No. Uh-uh. I throw it back to her like a hot potato. Im too old for this.

Youre only too old when Dr. Ross says youre too old. She stuffs the bottle in my bag.

Dr. Ross is my pediatrician. Shes had me on a weight-gain plan since, well, when I came out of the womb two months too soon. I bet Ive drunk approximately four thousand shakes. Creamy chocolate, French vanilla, very berry strawberrythey all taste like chalk. And they dont work obviously. Im the dot on the growth chart that cant reach a line. Im Ant-Man if he couldnt unshrink himself. My aunt once bought me age-appropriate athletic shorts for my birthday. They came to my shins. Adam, the meanest kid in second grade, took one look at me and said, Nice pants, Shorts. That was my name for the next two years. Please, please, please, I say to the universe as I head out the door, dont let me be Shorts again. The universe probably isnt listening. I bet it doesnt take client calls until eleven.

Text if you need anything, okay? Mom says. I sigh but give her a side hug as Dad comes skidding down the hall at a run.

Hes in jeans and hes fighting the zipper on his Patagonia jacket. The zipper seems to be winning. Its weird to see him without a tie. Come on, Ill walk you to He checks his watch. Er, well jog to the bus stop. Thats the other new thing. We sold Moms Tahoe to help save money while she builds up her practice again and Dad does whatever Dad plans to do. Now he has to catch the bus, just like me. Except his bus carries him to his new job in Creekside, the resort town at the top of the mountain, and mine takes me to purgatoryI mean, middle school.

I follow him out the door. His hair may be a totally different color, carroty red compared to my dark brown, but it looks just as bad as minepermanent bedhead. Outside, the wind is fierce and yellow birch leaves dart through the air like angry hummingbirds. Its only the beginning of September, but you can smell the cold coming.

We jog toward the end of the block and then break into a sprint when the bus passes us on its way to the corner. It screeches to a halt in a cloud of exhaustthe little engine that couldntand I barely make it before it chugs off again. This is good. Im so late I dont have time to be nervous. I hurl myself into the heat of the bus before the doors whoosh closed behind me. I dart up the steps as fast as I can, praying for invisibility. But when I turn down the aisle, the bus driver says, Hey, little fella, theres plenty of room up front. She points to the empty seat right behind her. Little fella. Two girls across the aisle giggle. I dont even dare to look at anybody else. I walk all the way to an unoccupied row near the back. Outside on the sidewalk, Dad waves and waves and waves. I ignore him and blink back the tears that could only make this situation worse.