A moving, voice-driven novel about friendship, responsibility, and fighting against unfair expectations, for fans of Rebecca Stead and Erin Entrada Kelly.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from A Perfect Mistake by Melanie Conklin, which is out now!
Max wishes he could go back in time to before he was diagnosed with ADHD, before he grew to be the tallest kid in his class, and before he and his best friends went into the woods in the middle of the night. Max doesn’t remember what happened after he left his friends Will and Joey and the older kids who took them there. He’s not sure if he wants to remember. Knowing isn’t going to make Joey talk to him again, or bring Will out of his coma.
When the local authorities run out of leads, Max realizes that without his help, they may never know what really happened to Will. Charged by the idea that he may be the key to uncovering the truth, Max pairs up with classmate and aspiring journalist Sam to investigate what really happened that night. But not everyone in the community wants that night to be remembered.
2
Frenemies
I wasn’t always this tall. Up until last year, I was just a little big for my age. Then the growth spurt hit. By the end of fifth grade, I was head and shoulders above everyone else. I grew four more inches over the summer, which makes me five-ten now. Grown-up size, and I’m only eleven. Everyone expects me to act like a grown-up, too.
Too bad I’m not one.
If I was, maybe people wouldn’t be so disappointed in me all the time.
In eighth period, instead of going to my advisory session, I go to see Ms. Chen, the school social worker. Her papers are in neat stacks. Her bangs are a straight line. She clicks her pen open. “It’s nice to meet you, Max. I wanted to check in with you regarding Will Schwartz’s hospitalization. I’m here to support you however you may need, okay?”
While she’s talking, I’m repeating what she’s saying in my head, and also thinking about what I have to say, as well as the birds tweeting outside her open window.
I realize she’s waiting for me to answer, so I say, “Okay.” “I understand you and Will are very close. How are you feeling?”
“I’m good. I mean, it sucks, but I’m fine, I guess.…”
Meanwhile, my palms are sweating. Will’s accident wasn’t my fault, but I still feel like it was. Every time I think about it, my stomach twists.
“How are you sleeping?” Ms. Chen asks.
“Pretty good.”
“Any trouble focusing in class?”
I bark out a laugh, and her brow furrows.
“I have ADHD,” I say.
“Oh, yes. That’s right. I have your 504 form right here. Are you experiencing any additional difficulties?”
I shake my head and she marks something down, then clicks her pen shut. I’m exhausted from paying attention all day. My brain feels like Jell-O.
She offers me a mint while I fight back a yawn.
“Want to play UNO?” she asks.
A wave of energy lifts me up. I love games.
***
There’s this arcade on the way home from school called Yestercades. It’s filled with old games that my parents played when they were kids. PAC-MAN, Joust, and Q*bert, but also Skee-Ball and air hockey, plus sodas and snacks. Lots of kids go there after school. Joey does. Will did.
And so did I, until now.
Five days ago, Will and Joey were my best friends.
Now Will’s in the hospital and Joey’s treating me like I’m dirt.
When I get to the arcade, I slow down, my eyes catching on a group of kids inside. Joey’s light blond hair glows in the neon lights. My heart sinks. I’ve played video games at Yestercades my entire life, but now I can’t even go in to check the high scores. Not while Joey’s in there, taking up all the space with his new friends. I’ve known Joey since we were three years old, but he’s always been the kind of friend who can turn on you when things aren’t going his way. I guess that makes us frenemies.
I can’t play right now, anyway. After what happened to Will, Mom will freak out if I don’t get home on time. Here in Oakwood, New Jersey, we walk to and from school every day, unless your parents drive you. Mom offered to drive me today, but I passed. I don’t need her crying her eyes out in front of everyone at school right now.
I take a step back and notice a bunch of handwritten signs taped to the arcade’s windows.
we love you, will!
we’re thinking of you!
get better soon!
The words hit me like slaps.
Will’s mom’s voice echoes in my ears.
What happened to him? What did you do?
This gross, slimy feeling gathers in the pit of my stomach. I’m not the one in the hospital, so I should be okay, but I’m not. None of this is okay.
Joey’s head swivels my way.
I scram before he sees me standing there, watching through the window like a loser.
***
When I get home, it’s way later than it should be, and there’s this huge van parked in front of our house. It’s super long, like someone took a normal van and stretched it. The supervan is grass green with tan stripes and a framed picture of a cat hanging from the rearview mirror.
“Whose van is that?” I ask as I rush through the back door into the kitchen, where my sister Shelley is stationed at our little round breakfast table, surrounded by textbooks.
“Launch pad,” she says, without lifting her eyes from her laptop.
I groan and hurry back to the door to drop my bag on the launch pad we set up for school, to help me keep up with my stuff on the way in and out.
“Is that you, Max?” Mom calls. “We’re in here.”
I grab a banana and peel it as I half jog to the living room, where I find Mom sitting with my uncle, who I haven’t seen in years. “Sorry I’m late—”
“Holy smokes!” my uncle shouts. “What have you been feeding this kid, Em? The last time I saw him, he was half this size. How tall are you now, buddy?”
“Five-ten.”
“Wow! That’s something else.” He sits there grinning.
Mom smooths her perfectly neat hair. “Max, you remember your uncle Calvin?”
I do, but not the way she means. My memories take a while to dig up and sometimes they go missing. Mom remembers everything she’s ever said or done. Her brain is like a computer, not a bunch of TV channels playing all at once.
“Please, it’s Cal.” He lifts his hand for a high five. His face is sunburned. Greasy hair peeks out from under his knit cap. His flowered shirt hangs open over a stained white tank top, and instead of shoes, he’s wearing cheap yellow flip-flops.
I give him the five and he grins.
“How was your first day of school?” Mom asks.
I take a deep breath. I’m so tired. “It was good.”
“You met the social worker?”
“Yep. She’s nice.”
Mom smiles. “Do you like your teachers so far?”
“Yeah, they’re okay.”
“That’s great, honey. Do you want to go see Will this afternoon?”
Cold slime pours through me.
Mom’s still talking. “Gina says they don’t need any food for tonight, thanks to the meal train, but I was thinking we could bring them some—”
“I don’t want to go to the hospital!” I blurt out. This happens with ADHD. Sometimes I say things before I think, and sometimes I say them too loud.
“That’s fine,” Mom says. “Are you all right, honey?”
I force a smile. “I’m good. Just tired.”
I’m tired of feeling sick every time someone says Will’s name, and I’m tired of feeling guilty for not visiting him in the hospital—because Will’s not just in the hospital, he’s in a medically induced coma, and we won’t know for sure if he’s okay until they wake him up. All I know is that I let him down and I feel terrible about it.
Uncle Cal takes my silence as his cue. “Tell you what, buddy. How about we crack open a couple of brewskies and shoot the breeze, man to man.”
Mom is so shocked her mouth falls open. “Go on, Max,” she says, waving me away.
“What?” Cal is all wide-eyed innocence. “I was kidding.”
Mom glares at him like she’s about to commit a murder.
I guess Mom has frenemies, too.
