Smiles to Go Read Online Free

losing, deep water, uncertainty, being buried alive, being caught being afraid, myself…
    I could see my epitaph:
    HERE LIES WILLIAM JAY TUPPENCE HE WAS AFRAID
    Of course, that wouldn’t really happen, because no one knows this about me, not even my parents. What everyone sees is a pretty normal-looking kid, 5 feet 9 ½ inches, brown hair, brown eyes, ears a little big, a little stuckout but not enough to mock. Likes science, especially astronomy. Best friends: Anthony Bontempo (aka BT) and Mi-Su Kelly. Runs cross-country. Chess Club. Good at it. Won a trophy. Calls his skateboard Black Viper. Rides it to school. A little shy, on the quiet side, but friendly enough. Not the life of the party, but not a hermit either. Somewhere in the middle. Sensible.
    If I’m famous for anything, I guess that’s it. I’m sensible. Other kids ask my advice about stuff. To me common sense is just that: common. But some kids seem to think it’s this rare gift. They seem to see me as a substitute adult. A homeroom kid wrote in my eighth-grade yearbook: “Thank you for your wisdom & wise ways.” Doug Lawson, a cross-country running mate, calls me “Old Man.”
    That’s the macro view. Down here on quantum level, where I live by myself, my fears quiver like leaping electrons. I send my questions up to the surface, but they fizzle long before they reach the top. Why can’t I be like other kids? Why can’t I believe I’m indestructible? Why can’t I believe I’ll live forever?Why do I stare at the sky at night?
    Suddenly the sun was blinding. I panicked. Had I gone too far? The clock tower wobbled. I kicked Black Viper back. I stepped away from the terrifying drop. I climbed on my board and pushed off, back to where I belonged, my wheels whirring over the asphalt.
    PD8
    S aturday morning. Downtown. Hicks’ Sporting Goods.
    Mr. Hicks handed me the trophy. This was my father’s idea. When I won the chess tournament last spring, my father looked at the inscription—
    HOPE COUNTY CHESS CHAMPION AGES 13–15
    —and said, “They should have put your name on it.”
    “How could they?” I said. “They didn’t know I was going to win.”
    “I knew,” he said.
    So typical. My father has so much confidence in me, it’s scary. They say that when I was a baby, one year old, he tossed me into the deep end of the Crescent Club pool (my mother screaming), and I swam.
    It’s been kind of like that ever since. He knows what I can do before I know. In fifth grade he told me I would be the school spelling champion, and I was. He said I would learn to ride a bicycle in one hour. I did. I wish I could be as fearless for myself as he is for me.
    “Here ya go,” said Mr. Hicks.
    I looked at the inscription, added at the bottom of the black mirror plate:
    WILL TUPPENCE
    “Congratulations,” he said. “I never got the hang of chess myself.” He chuckled. “Checkers for me.” He was still holding it.
    The trophy was beautiful. It was topped by a pewter King Arthur–looking figure standingon a board of little black-and-white squares. The five-inch base was blue marbled stone and held the inscription plate. I already had a space for it on the bookcase in my room.
    Finally he let go. “It’s figuring out all those moves ahead of time,” he said. “I don’t know how you do it. I hear the real experts—”
    “Grand masters.”
    “Yeah, the grand masters, they know what they’re gonna do—what, three moves ahead?”
    “Try ten,” I said.
    His eyes boggled. He whistled.
    “Well, thanks again,” I said.
    I headed home on foot. I wasn’t taking a chance on crashing Black Viper with priceless freight on board. I walked past the old Brimley Building clock tower. It said 11:45. My watch said 11:55. The clock tower is famous for being right. I reset my watch. Hopefully, in a couple of months, I won’t have this problem. I’ve told my parents I want a radio-controlled Exacta watch for Christmas. I showed them the ad in Discover . Every