Jenn L. Kelly - Jackson Jones, Book 1: The Tale of a Boy, an Elf, and a Very Stinky Fish

J ackson had a lot of family members.

That didnt mean his dad had four arms or his aunt had twelve legs, but what it did mean was there were a lot of people in his family.

He had a mom, a dad, one brother, one sister, seven aunts, eight uncles, and twenty-four cousins. They were a close family. Jackson saw his family all the time. What with birthdays, anniversaries, soccer games, talent shows, science fairs, and vacations, life wasinsane. And Christmas was just an imbroglio, as you can imagine. (Imbroglio is like when youre playing tag with twenty other kidsin the kitchenand your mom is cookingand the dog just threw up.)

However (and this is a rather large however, meaning you are about to read something that is a big deal, so pay attention), HOWEVER, Jackson had just moved. Not just him, but his entire family. Not all of his aunts and uncles and cousins and all of their imbroglios, but just Jackson and his mom, dad, brother, and sister. Not only did they just move, but they moved far, far away. This meant no more imbroglios for a while.

Of course Jackson should have been mad. But as hard as he tried to be mad, he couldnt be. You see, Jacksons mom was a writer. And not just any writer,

but a really good one. Not only was she a really good writer, she was also a kind-hearted writer. This meant she didnt turn into one of those writers who demand first-class treatment everywhere they go, like demanding steak and chocolate ice cream on a plane when they are only serving peanuts. But because Jacksons mom was such a good writer, she had to do research in a place that was far away. But the reason Jackson couldnt be mad was because he understood. He understood how important writing was to his mombecause writing was important to him.

You see, Jackson had a secret. A secret only he and his mom knew about.

Jackson wanted to be a writer too.

Every Sunday night, after church was finished and the huge lunch was finished and they had all gone for a healthy walk, admiring trees and ponds and silly little ducks, after everyone had gone into their own rooms to just take it down a notch, Jackson would go into his mothers studio, sit in the huge leather chair, and drink hot chocolate while she read his stories and talked to him as a writer, but with the kind heart of a mom. Sometimes they would talk about important things, like what he would write about next, about the clouds they had seen that day, and about how fast he was growing. Maybe growing fast isnt important to a ten-and-a-half-year old, but its always important to a mom. And sometimes they would talk about unimportant things, such aswell, actually, theres no such thing as unimportant things to talk about.

But I suppose youre wondering more about Jackson.

Jackson was an average-looking ten-and-a-half-year-old boy. He was a little on the small side. He had blondish-brown hair and his eyes were a bluish-grayish-greenish brown. He did have very straight teeth, however, which meant he had a very nice smile.

Jackson was in sixth grade. Yes, he should have been in fifth grade, but after a ten-minute coffee break (which included an unpleasant piece of fruitcake), the principal decided Jackson would be in sixth grade. They had more desks, you see. That was a ridiculous decision of course, but one makes ridiculous decisions when eating unpleasant cake. Wars have been known to break out over leaders eating dry sponge cake, and there is speculation that King Henry VIII had his fifth wife disposed of because she served him plain white cake instead of the raspberry he craved.

So Jackson didnt really fit in at his new school. All of the other kids had known each other for a long time and Jackson was the new kid. And he was the smallest. He got picked last for games at recess. He made the baseball team only because they were short a player. And when he did play, Im sorry to tell you, he was terrible. And he knew he was terrible.

Jackson loved to read. It passed the time at recess when he didnt feel like being picked last that day. He

also loved writing stories. Oh, the stories hed written! Jackson was always the hero, of course.

The unassuming hero who stepped in at the last minute to save the universe.

The unassuming hero who saved the entire village from a raging fire.

The unassuming hero who saved the cat up the tree, received a medal from the mayor, and got a thank-you parade that included those old guys who drove around in little cars.

The unassuming hero who could figure out algebra.