Return of the Jed Read Online Free PDF Page B

here,” I said.
    “Exactly. Road trip!”
    I picked up the menu and looked for only one thing. Brains. If they actually had it, I was in big trouble because, knowing Dad, he’d make me eat them. Clean my plate.
    “I don’t see brains,” Dad said, looking up. “You are one lucky zombie, hombre.”
    “I know.”
    Nothing really stood out. Burgers. Sandwiches. When you’re out in the middle of nowhere knowing only a zombie apocalypse is going to increase business, you don’t take too many culinary risks.
    Luke jabbed the menu. “Cheeseburger, French dip, fried chicken, ribs, potato salad, fries.”
    “I don’t need someone to read the menu out loud,” Dad said, slipping his reading glasses out of his pocket. “Thanks anyway.”
    “What? No, that’s what I want. In that order.”
    “No,” Dad said without taking his eyes off the menu. “Choose one and a side. This is not a pleasure cruise. This is work. Well, for me. And you guys are along for the ride. So get that whole vacation-think out of your brain.”
    Luke shook his head, but Dad was right. My buddy and I had to quit thinking about this as a trip with souvenirs and expensive meals and unaffordable activities involving rafts or parachutes or Jet Skis.
    Dad was going to Mexico to make money, not spend it. That’s when it hit me. I really had no idea what he was going to do in his summer job. Not exactly.
    Now was as good a time as any to ask.
    “Dad—”
    “Have you gentlemen made up your minds?”
    Elena appeared at our table as if de-cloaking. Stealth server.
    “Burger, please,” I said.
    “Brains or no brains?” Elena said.
    “Brainless, please.”
    “That you are.”
    I hated walking into a made-to-order insult, just like a stereotypical zombie. I didn’t have to look at Luke to know he was fist-bumping with Elena again.
    Dad ordered the ribs, Luke the French dip. Elena collected the menus and disappeared, allowing me to get back to the subject.
    “Dad, what’s in Mexico?”
    “Great food, a thriving culture, mariachi music—”
    “Come on, you know what I mean.”
    “I’m pretty curious too,” Luke said. “Tell me more about this great food.”
    “Luke, shut up for once. Dad, seriously, what’s going on in Mexico? I’m excited and all, but are you going to be working long hours, or get any days off? And how long are we going to be down there?”
    Dad leaned back, clasped his hands behind his neck and assumed the classic “Let me explain it to you, son” pose.
    “First, I really have no idea how much time I’ll be putting in,” he said. “It just depends on the project.”
    “What kind of project?”
    “Surveying, mostly. Lots of construction going on, and I’m going to be testing a lot of soil, probably some sonar detection too. Did you know a lot of Mexico sits on a combination of—”
    Dad went on and on, and I heard it all. “Blah blah blah, bedrock, something something something, earthmovers—”
    “But why you?” I said because it didn’t seem like Dad was going to stop talking anytime soon. “Doesn’t Mexico have its own geologists?”
    “Of course,” he said. “But none as charming as me.”
    Dad’s opinion of himself was like the temperature outside—way up there and pretty unbearable.
    “No, really. Why you?” I insisted.
    “I worked with these guys a long time ago, way before you were born. We get along really well. The pay is pretty good because so am I, and they knew I’d be happy to help. I know just enough Spanish to get by. And no,” he turned to Luke, “I won’t teach you bad words.”
    “Dang,” Luke muttered.
    “How much are you getting?” I said.
    Luke sat up. “Enough that I can order another side? And maybe some chicken fingers?” Luke looked at me. “No offense, you know, about wanting to eat fingers.”
    “Seriously?” I said.
    “Enough to pay for a nice place and make sure all expenses are met for the summer,” Dad said. “To be honest, Jed, the biggest chunk is