Adam Canfield of the Slash Read Online Free PDF

a new Boxcar book every day! She’s up to number forty-seven! She must be the smartest kid in first grade!”
    That was Phoebe.
    “Don’t you feel bad now, for giving her such a hard time about that story?” Jennifer asked.
    “I don’t know,” said Adam. “You’ve got to bring a third grader along slow. I don’t care if she’s read a thousand Boxcar books. Third graders — it is a scientific fact — their brains are not fully developed yet; their frontal lobes are still like Jell-O. When I came out for the
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in third grade, I felt honored — I mean honored —”
    “‘If they assigned me a one-paragraph news brief, blah, blah, blah.’ You are so full of bull, Adam Canfield,” said Jennifer. “I know for a fact, you were the moaningest, most complaining third-grade cub reporter who ever lived.”
    “So what are we supposed to do?” said Adam. “Turn the
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over to the third-grade Phoebes? You know what a pain in the butt she is.”
    “Good reporters are,” said Jennifer.
    “Come on,” said Adam. “Am I a pain in the butt?”
    “You want to know a secret?” said Jennifer. She leaned close. Jennifer’s head smelled good, a mix of fruity apricot shampoo and sweat. “Don’t make eyeballs at me, young man!” she whispered, and once again they collapsed on the sofa.
    It had been a long day. The room was getting dark, but neither moved to turn on a light. The only sound in the house was the crunch of Adam eating Cheez Doodles.
    “I’ve been thinking,” said Jennifer.
    Adam was, too — about how spending a few hours with Jennifer was really not that bad.
    “About that smiling contest we assigned Phoebe to do at the mall,” said Jennifer.
    “No,” said Adam.
    “No, what?” said Jennifer.
    “No, I’m not going to the mall to help her do the story,” said Adam.
    “How did you know I was going to say that?” asked Jennifer.
    Adam shrugged, but lately he felt like they shared the same brain stem. He dropped a half-eaten Cheez Doodle back in the bag. His fingers were stained orange; his stomach felt too full. He burped.
    “We can’t let her go alone,” said Jennifer. “She’s in third grade.”
    “You just told me how she was quote-unquote ‘terrific’ and quote-unquote ‘legendary.’”
    “Adam,” said Jennifer. “Adam!”
    “Jennifer,”
mimicked Adam.
“Jennifer!”
    “Adam, this isn’t like you,” said Jennifer. “You’re jealous. You are.”
    “Right,” said Adam.
    “You knew she couldn’t do that story when you gave it to her. You wanted her to fail.”
    “No way,” said Adam.
    “Yes, way,” said Jennifer.
    “If it’s such a big deal,” said Adam, “why don’t you go with her to the mall?”
    “I will,” said Jennifer. “But I thought it would be nice if you came, too. She could learn so much from a reporter with your experience. The
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’s star journeyman reporter teaching the star cub how it’s done.”
    Adam didn’t say anything.
    “Oh, come on, just do it,” she said, smiling at him.
    “Oh no. No,” said Adam. “Last time you said that — I wound up being the coeditor.”
    “And that’s such a terrible thing!” said Jennifer. She grabbed the cordless phone and called her parents to come get her. Then she stuffed all her things into her backpack and stomped off. “Jennifer,” Adam kept saying as he trailed behind her. “Jennifer. Come on, Jennifer, you know what I mean.”
    But Jennifer had gone mum.
    “Jennifer, at least wait inside until your folks get here,” said Adam. But he was alone now, staring at the closed front door.

All day Friday, Adam kept waiting for Jennifer to apologize. But every time he tried to catch her eye to let her know that it was OK for her to approach him, so he could forgive her, she immediately looked away, like he was diseased goods. That was the problem with Jennifer — she was such an editor type, she wanted to hold all the little Phoebes’ hands and do it all for them. Didn’t she