Kid Island
Author: Colleen Miller

Chapter 4
Nick Being Nick

“You can go home,” said Katherine. “In three hours there will be a second challenge.” 
All the sudden we were back in my—I mean “our”bedroom.


“Hey,” said Nick, “where’s my diary?” Our window opened and a pink diary came flying through it and landed at my feet. I picked it up and opened it. 
***Dear Diary, 
Today mamy showed me how to mak cookys I did good then I burnened somthing i don’t remember what it was. Oooooooooooooooooo yeahhhhhhhh it was mamy’s hand i i dont no whart hapened! 
“What? I asked, “That’s why mom had to go to the emergency room last month?” 
“Wait a minute, there’s two challenges?” asked Nathalie, trying to change the subject. 
“Yeah,” I said, “since when?” 
“There’s one thing I’m wondering,” said Molly. “If we really did go to the moon, how did we get there so fast and how did Nick survive without air?” 
Nick ignored Molly’s question and asked, “Can we play a game now? Oh, I have an idea! We can be like dogs and play poker or we could be like fish and play go fish! Let’s play poker fish!” I groaned. 
“Okay,” said Nick, “you guys are fish and I’m the poker. If I poke you, you die and you can’t move, got it?” He went around poking us and saying, “Dead, Wegmans, Tuna Can, Eaten, Tummy, Potty, Sewer!” 
“First of all,” I started as I got up. 
“You moved!” interrupted Nick angrily. 
“A fish goes in a tuna can before it goes to Wegmans,” I said, completely ignoring him. “And, second, that was not fun at all.” 
Nick rolled his eyes at me.

“Yesterday I asked Daddy and he said the fish goes to Wegmans then gets put in a can.” 
“Weren’t you listening to the Mets game on your headphones yesterday?” I asked with a smile. “Did you have them on when you asked Dad that?” 
“Yes,” he replied with a shrug. 
“When you wear those you can’t hear a thing! Mom called you down for dinner seven times last week!” 
“Well Mommy says little boys should not watch too much TV. Let’s play go fish; I don’t know how to play poker.” 

Two hours later Nick had won seven games of go fish, played on the swing set, listened to part of a baseball game, and made us make his lunch—a peanut butter sandwich dropped in olive oil, and with chips, Chex Mix, Cheetos, and chocolate syrup.

For a drink he wanted Root Beer with chocolate syrup, granola bars, and he wanted it put in the freezer for exactly twenty seconds. When I gave it to him he gave the sandwich a disgusted face. 
“There is too much olive oil on this!” he shouted. 
I was about to shout at him, but we all heard a voice say “It’s time” and all we saw was a green flash. 



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