Reynolds Stuntboy, In the Meantime

1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 978-1-915820-21-1
Verlag: Knights Of
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, Band 1, 272 Seiten

Reihe: Stuntboy

The new book from the 2021 CILIP Carnegie Medal Winner Jason Reynolds A hilarious, hopeful, and action-packed middle grade novel about the greatest young superhero you've never heard of. Portico Reeves's superpower is making sure all the other superheroes - like his parents and two best friends - stay super. And safe. Super safe. And he does this all in secret. No one in his civilian llfe knows he's actually... Stuntboy!

A New York Times bestselling author, Jason Reynolds is the winner of more than 30 US and international awards, including the Edgar Award and LA Times Book Prize, Newbery Award, Printz Award, Walter Dean Myers Award and the 2021 CILIP Carnegie Medal.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Reynolds, Jason

Leseproben

This is STUNTBOY.
This guy, right here.
HIM.

You can’t tell just looking at him, but he’s the greatest superhero you’ve never ever heard of. And the reason you’ve never ever heard of him is because his superpower is making sure all the other heroes stay super. And safe. Supersafe. And he does it all on the hush. That’s right—it’s a secret. A secret secret. But now, because of my big mouth, you know. So if you see him, don’t call him Stuntboy. At least not when his mum, or his dad, or his granny, or any other heroes are around. Because they only know him by his secret identity. By his household name. His human name. But I clearly can’t keep secrets (or secret secrets), so I might as well tell you that name, too, which happens to be the best human name that a superhero can have—

Portico Reeves.

But in order to understand how he became the greatest superhero you’ve never ever heard of, you first have to know where it all started—

in a castle.

THE BIGGEST HOUSE Portico Reeves lives in the biggest house on the block. The biggest house in the whole wide neighborhood. Maybe even the biggest house in the whole wide city.

IN THE WHOLE WIDE EVERYWHERE Don’t know if you would consider it a castle or nothin’ fancy like that, but to Portico, it sure seems like one. A giant castle of rectangles made from the glassiest glass and the brickiest bricks on Earth.

Okay, so some people call where Portico Reeves lives an apartment building—Skylight Gardens. And that’s fine, too. No matter what it’s called, Portico feels lucky to live there. And why wouldn’t he? Living in an apartment building is the best. It’s like living in a television where behind every door is a new TV show.

And Portico knows all the characters.

Like Mr. Mister, who stands outside apartment 1B all day long tying and retying and re-retying and re-re-retying his shoes, tighter and tighter each time. He does this because he’s scared he’ll leave his feet somewhere, and as long as he has on shoes, he knows he’s still … feeted (which is way better than being de-feeted)!

Or Frisbee Foster in apartment 3G, who got her nickname from being thrown back and forth by her big sisters when she was a baby.

Or even the kooky characters in Portico’s apartment, like his grandma Gran Gran, who was so old, her hair had changed colors from black to gray to white to … purple!

Oh, and let’s not forget about the smarty, arty, purry, furry family cat who’s called

A New Name Every Day.

But enough about them. Portico’s granny and cat are cool—especially the cat—but the best thing climbing walls and jumping off counters in apartment 4D is Portico himself.

Only problem is, he also has a terrible case of …

What?

You’ve never heard of the frets?

You’re kidding, right?

The un-sit-stillables? The worry wiggles? The bowling ball belly bottoms? The jumpy grumpies? (Or the grumpy jumpies, depending on who you ask.) The hairy scaries, or worse, the VERY hairy scaries?

No?

Maybe it’s because your mum probably calls it what Portico’s grandma calls it—”anxiety.” (That X is tricky, ain’t it? Might cause some anxiety.

Try this: ang-ZY-uh-tee.)

Just means there’s nervous in the brain that makes nervous in the body. That’s … THE FRETS!

And the only person who ever seems to be able to help Portico get unnervous and de-fret is the other best person in the building—the one and only, only and one …

drumroll, please …

Zola Brawner!

Zola lives one and a half doors down from Portico. They’re best friends. Like, best best. Two fingers on a two-finger hand. Known each other for, let me think … 163 days (163 days?!), and declared themselves best friends on day number one, which is all the time you really need to know if someone’s your best friend or not.

It all happened after the first day of school. Zola was new, just moved in to Skylight Gardens. She hopped off the bus, and guess who came chiming and sliming up like the stinkiest, weenaged snot-bot ever, who thinks he’s not the stinkiest, weenaged snot-bot ever, just because he got an earring he swears he put in his ear all by himself and didn’t even cry—Herbert Singletary the Worst. (Yes, that’s his real name.)

When Herbert Singletary the Worst saw Zola, he couldn’t help himself.

This is NOT what he was going to say.

But before he could get out whatever mean joke he was going to say, Portico came jumping off the bus. And once Herbert Singletary the Worst saw Portico, his face went from regular mean, to jokey-jaw, teasy-teeth, haha-head mean. The worst.

“Look who it is. Snortico Sneeze,” Herbert said instead.

That one threw Portico for a loop. He’d never actually smelled the back of his ear. Toe jam, well, that’s a different story.

Herbert Singletary the Worst followed Portico and Zola into their apartment building and onto the elevator. “And what about your mum? She still cutting hair?”

“Yeah.” Portico looked down at his own feet. His brain started churning and the inside-mixup got going. His heart dropped to where his stomach was. And his stomach jumped up to his heart space, which meant his stomach started beating and his heart started growling. Oh no … here come …

“Then why yours look like a chewed up pencil eraser?” Herbert kept mocking, slapping Portico on the back of the head.

He went on and on, boasting and roasting, all while trailing Portico and Zola down the hall. “With parents like that, who you gonna be when you grow up?” Herbert taunted. “Oh, I know. Probably … n o b o d y!”

Portico wanted to turn around and tie Herbert Singletary the Worst into the best knot ever. A triangle double-half hitch you-can’t-get-this-knot-out knot, like the one Mr. Mister showed him how to make for his trainers. But Portico tried fighting back once before, and … let’s just say it didn’t work out so well.

After an eon, Portico finally arrived at 4D, his apartment, and tapped on the door lightly. His grandma was always home.

“Gran Gran,” Portico called. His voice, breaky and shaky. “I’m home. Let me in, please.” But Gran Gran never came. Portico was pretty sure she was resting her eyes. She was so old and had seen so much—she used to be a nurse and looked at balloons and tubes and squigglies for a thousand years—her eyes always needed rest. Only problem was, whenever she was resting her eyes, her ears seemed to be resting too. And … her mouth seemed to snore. Or is that her nose?
        Weird.

Luckily—what with Herbert now whispering insults to Portico like sour secrets, and the frets turning Portico’s insides into a tower of terrible—Zola’s mum opened the door to their apartment, 4E. Phew!

“Hey, kids, how was the first day of school?” Mrs. Brawner asked.

“Fine,” said Zola.

“Most educational,” said Herbert Singletary the Worst, pretending to be Herbert Singletary the Angel, which was NOT a thing. “See y’all...