This Isn't What It Looks Like (25 page)

“She must remember this on her own—for two reasons,” said the old magician. “First, there is the danger you would learn the
Secret. I do not say you would do so on purpose, but… it is a danger. Second, if she is pushed too hard, we do not know, her
brain, it is fragile. The coma, it might return. We could lose her again to the past.”

Even if he’d wanted to disobey Pietro, Max-Ernest
immediately became far too busy to spend much time with Cass. The very night that she recovered from her coma, Max-Ernest
found himself returning to the hospital to visit another patient. This time, he didn’t have to sneak in; the patient was an
official family member. His baby brother. Born several weeks prematurely. And very small. But nonetheless thriving.

“He looks like a peanut, a really old peanut,” he told Cass the next day. “Why do newborns always look so old?”

His parents, alas, did not fare quite as well as their new son. It seems they’d been avoiding the subject of names up until
now, knowing how problematic it had been in the past (when their inability to settle on a name for Max-Ernest had resulted
in his having two names and in their having two households). Sadly, avoidance had not healed old wounds. No sooner had their
baby arrived than they started fighting about what to name him.

“We have to name him after my Uncle Clay,” declared Max-Ernest’s mother.

“No, we must give him the name of my Uncle Paul,” countered Max-Ernest’s father.

In the end, when neither parent would give in, their second son was given two names like their first: Max-Ernest’s brother
became Paul-Clay.

Max-Ernest was not surprised and was only somewhat disappointed to see their argument escalate so quickly. He had been expecting
them to fall out of love and re-divorce sooner or later—although perhaps not in the space of a single hour with a newborn
baby crying one foot away.

Needless to say, once they were again living on opposite sides of their house, Max-Ernest’s father was not about to let Max-Ernest’s
mother take care of
his
baby. And Max-Ernest’s mother refused to let Max-Ernest’s father take care of
her
baby. The situation called for a Solomonic solution.
^*
Yet Max-Ernest feared if he offered to split Paul-Clay in half, they would take him up on it. After all, they had split their
house in half more than once. The only way Max-Ernest could make peace, and also ensure Paul-Clay remained in one piece, was
to offer to feed and care for the baby himself. They gratefully agreed.

Knowing how much he’d always disliked having two names, Max-Ernest shortened the tiny baby’s name to PC and proceeded to take
charge of his little life.

For Max-Ernest, the next month was a nonstop series of diapers and bottles and burp cloths and sponge baths. I won’t go into
detail about the first diaper change. Or even the second. Or third. Or
fourth. Or fifth. But I will tell you that the sixth went smoothly, as did
most
diaper changes thereafter. Perhaps Max-Ernest was not the most natural caregiver in the world, but what he lacked in instinct
he made up for in determination. When the baby was asleep, Max-Ernest read baby how-to books and watched videos and consulted
medical professionals (the receptionist at the hospital was particularly helpful). During school hours, he arranged for his
parents to “babysit” their own child according to a schedule so evenly divided and so strictly enforced that neither parent
could complain of unfairness. Max-Ernest was such an efficient and unbending taskmaster that his parents, each of whom had
previously been desperate to hold on to the baby, began to rebel and started to skip out on their babysitting sessions. In
order to keep them in line, he had to start paying them to babysit with the allowance money they gave him.

By the end of the month, I am proud to say, Max-Ernest may well have been the most expert baby wrangler in middle school.

3. Yo-Yoji and the Nuts Table

Of our three young heroes, only Yo-Yoji had much contact with the older Terces members during the ensuing weeks. Violin master
and Terces chief of
physical defense Lily Wei had finally deemed his violin playing sufficiently advanced that he might forgo one hour of violin
practice a day and devote it to martial-arts training. Yo-Yoji was ecstatic and spent as much time as he could under her martial/musical-arts
tutelage. As Cass mentioned, Yo-Yoji had once eaten Sir Hugo’s chocolate and had visited his ancestral past himself; it seemed
now that whatever samurai spirit had then possessed him had left Yo-Yoji with a residue of samurai skills.

When, three weeks after her recovery, Cass’s mother at last allowed Cass to return to school, and the three friends were reunited
once more at the Nuts Table, Yo-Yoji gave a whispered update on the doings of the Terces Society. The report was not long.
Owen, as usual, was away on assignment. Mr. Wallace, the certified public accountant who was secretly the Terces Society archivist,
was spending every waking hour buried in files, searching for documents for Pietro. Pietro, meanwhile, was obsessively playing
Tarocchino
day and night.

“He says he’s trying to figure something out about the Midnight Sun, but I think that old dude just likes to gamble.”

“He wouldn’t tell you what he’s worried about?” asked Cass, hoping that she, Cass, wasn’t the subject that Pietro was losing
sleep over.

Yo-Yoji shook his head. “I guess it’s really top secret. He said he sent Max-Ernest a warning about it.”

Max-Ernest frowned. “Me? What warning?”

Yo-Yoji shrugged. “No idea. All I know is, he’s really hoping Cass remembers more stuff. It’s almost like he thinks she’s
the only one who can stop whatever it is—Oh wait. I wasn’t supposed to say that. He doesn’t want to—”

“He doesn’t want to put any more pressure on me, I know,” said Cass, miserable. “Thanks for telling me anyway.”

“Sorry—”

The conversation got cut short by the arrival of Glob and Daniel-not-Danielle at the Nuts Table.

“OK, who wants a free dinner at Medieval Days after Ren-Faire next week?” asked Glob, laying a couple of restaurant coupons
in front of Max-Ernest. “Oh, I forgot—” He picked up the coupons before Max-Ernest could grab one. “You’re not interested
in Medieval Days, are you, Max-Ernest?”

“C’mon, Glob, give it a break,” said Daniel-not-Danielle from behind his dreadlocks. “Either give him the coupons or don’t.
It’s not that big a deal.”

“Free dinner? I don’t know about Max-Ernest, but I’m all over it,” said Yo-Yoji.

“Me, too,” said Cass.

Cass wasn’t sure how she felt about Max-Ernest’s new non-friends at the Nuts Table. She couldn’t help resenting a little their
intrusion on her life, and she didn’t relish the prospect of dinner with Glob. But, she thought, if the Renaissance Faire
doesn’t help my memory, maybe Medieval Days will. Who cares if Renaissance and medieval aren’t the same thing?

“Oh well, guess you’re out of luck, Max-Ernest,” said Glob. “Only had two.”

“Actually, if he wants, he can have mine… I can’t go,” said Daniel-not-Danielle.

“You’re not going to Ren-Faire?” Glob looked horrified.

“Sorry, man. There’s that comic book convention, remember? My dad is so desperate for me to read anything with the word
book
in it, he said I could go even if I had to skip school.”

“I-I don’t know what to say,” Glob sputtered. “That’s… that’s betrayal!” Reeling from the shock, he sat down at the table.

Rolling his dreadlock-covered eyes, Daniel-not-Danielle sat down across from him.

There was no way for the others to continue talking without the newcomers hearing. The question of Pietro’s warning would
have to wait.

The Nuts Table had rarely been so silent.

But that night, Cass dreamed about an eye, dark green and almost reptilian, staring at her through the Double Monocle. She
awoke with a sense of foreboding, wondering just what Pietro’s warning might have been.

Wassup, Munchers? If you’re reading this you probably know who I am, and if you don’t, like, where have you been, man? No,
seriously, just in case you stumbled on this website by accident or, like, you did a search for “best blog in the universe”
and wound up here, lol, I’m that guy you know who will eat anything once. And a lot of things twice. Just nothing that grows
in dirt. Veggies suck!!!!! But I will make an exception for potatoes because some total genius figured out how to turn them
into French fries. French fries rule! Especially the curly kind. And Cajun seasoning never hurts. Just sayin’. But enough
about me—get ready to munch! Oh wait. I’m the one munching. Get ready for ME to munch! Don’t be jealous. Or not TOO jealous.
Ha ha.

Bubble Gum •
BURGERS
• Candy (old school, like Raisinets) CANDY (new kinds) • Chips • CHURROS • Cookies
Corndogs
• COTTON CANDY • Cupcakes • DONUTS (filled) DONUTS (normal) •
Donut Holes
• DRIED MEATS • French Fries Hot Dogs •
HOT WINGS
• Nachos • PIZZA • Pizza Pockets POPCORN • Pretzels (hot) • PRETZELS (chocolate or yogurt-covered) •
Soda
• TACOS • Weird-Colored Food •
WRAPS

Medieval Days Family Restaurants:
“Where every table is the Round Table, and you’re a knight every night!”

September X, XXXX

THE RENAISSANCE FAIRE

LIVE BLOGGING

Hear ye! Hear ye!

Ha ha. Did you think I was going to go all Shakespearean on you? Actually, I thought about it but it’s too hard to write like
that. Anyway, welcome to the Glob Blog’s official live blogcast of the Xxxxx School Annual Field Trip to the Renaissance Faire.
We’re about to get off the bus and me and my handheld computational device are ready for some tasty Ren-Faire eats. Wait,
what’s that I hear? Methinks it’s Ye Olde Bloomin’ Onion calling my name!

OK, right now they’re walking us through the “village square” and I just stopped at a place where they’re selling bongo drums
and bracelets and other hippie stuff ’cause there’s a plug where I can charge up. It’s supposed to be “market day” but I’m
pretty sure in the Renaissance they weren’t selling tie-dye T-shirts. Next to the square is a big outdoor stage. “Theater
in the round” they call it ’cause it’s, duh, round. Onstage now there’s some guy juggling and telling jokes but nobody’s really
listening.

So Mrs. Johnson, our principal, is Queen Elizabeth again and she’s walking around making everybody bow and curtsy. Amber
and Veronica (surprise surprise) are her ladies-in-waiting. They keep fanning her with these big feathers and holding her
dress. This is what I want to know, why does Mrs. Johnson get to be Queen? Not that I want to be Queen!! King for the day,
that would be me. But not King Elizabeth!!! That would be Daniel-not-Danielle. Heh. Just kidding! Or how about King Egbert-not-Elizabeth??
Kidding. Sorry, dude. But you got to admit it was funny. That’s what you get for staying home “sick” today!

By the way, kind of off the subject, but did you know that in Shakespeare’s time, all the actors playing the girl parts were
guys? Our new school secretary, who’s kind of our Ren-Faire escort, just told us that. Which is pretty funny considering she’s
a girl dressed as a guy today—sort of. She’s got a jester outfit on and she’s calling herself Lady Fool.

Oops. Better unplug. Everybody’s moving.

So what about the chow, you ask? I keep thinking there’s going to be some of those big drumsticks you see in those pictures
of King Henry the whatever-eth. Or maybe a pig roasting on a spit. But the closest thing I see in Her Majesty’s Food Court
is a hot-dog stand with one of those old-fashioned British signs calling it the Regal Beagle. Oh, wait—they have corn dogs!
My favorite kind of dog. Well them and my cocker spaniel, Munchie, lol. Let’s see, what else? There’s Sir Lancelot’s Chicken
on a Stick… the Fishwife’s Fish and Chips… Btw, Glob Blog Tip: Malt vinegar = awesome on fries, which is actually
what chips are. (English people sound all smart but they don’t even know the difference between a chip and a fry! Ha ha.)