Born Weird

Born Weird
Andrew Kaufman

A family drama unlike any other from the internationally acclaimed author of All My Friends are Superheroes.The Weirds have always been a little peculiar, but not one of them suspected that they’d been cursed by their grandmother.At the moment of their birth Annie Weird gave each of her five grandchildren a special power that she thought was a blessing. Richard, the oldest, always keeps safe; Abba always has hope; Lucy is never lost and Kent can beat anyone in a fight. As for Angie, she always forgives, instantly. But over the years these blessings have proved to be curses and ruined their lives.Now Annie is dying and she has one last task for Angie, her favourite grandchild. Angie has to gather her far-flung brothers and sisters and assemble them in her Grandmother’s hospital room so that at the moment of her death, she can lift these blessings turned curses.

For Phoenix, Frida and Marlo

Contents

Title Page (#u331717bd-b171-5171-ae42-7b05260467af)

Dedication (#u1015881c-43b7-504e-94ca-15a744bd1cd6)

Prologue (#u4df2985d-2e4f-5e35-85c2-a2cedf0a321e)

Book One: Blessing + Curse = Blursing (#u830e46d6-e226-5961-b568-cd87ce4be302)

Book Two: Triple Terror (#litres_trial_promo)

Book Three: The Theory of Snakes and Sharks (#litres_trial_promo)

Book Four: The L ove Motel (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

(#ulink_d7e1da23-7f83-58fe-bd2d-65b3ce1724c3)

THE WEIRDS ACQUIRED THEIR SURNAME through a series of events that some would call coincidence and others would call fate.

Sterling D. Wyird, in the process of emigrating from England to Canada, worked his way across the Atlantic aboard the Icelandic fishing trawler Örlög. Inclement weather and empty nets made the six-week journey three months long. When Sterling finally stepped onto the freshly built planks of Pier 21 in Halifax he presented his papers to an immigration guard who, just that morning, had met the woman destined to become his wife. This guard, in a stroke of either inspiration or absent-mindedness, changed the y in Sterling’s last name to an e. Seventy-seven years later, as his great-grandchildren gathered for the final game of their high school football team’s season, the spelling mistake remained. They were still Weird.

The four oldest siblings—Richard, nineteen; Lucy, seventeen; Abba, sixteen; and Angie, fourteen—were in the stands, ready to watch Kent, the youngest, play football. Or rather to watch Kent sit on the bench as his teammates played football. Kent was in Grade Nine but he’d skipped Grade Six, so he was only thirteen—yet he’d somehow managed to earn a spot as the third-string quarterback. That Kent had spent the season sitting on the bench didn’t bother the Weird siblings in the least. They preferred that he should never make it onto the field. The idea of having to watch him play filled them all with anxiety. Which is why the last game of the season was the first they’d come to see.

They stood in the crowd, feeling awkward. Theirs were the only faces not painted blue and white, the school’s colours. Their classmates chanted fight songs that they didn’t know the words to. But Kent remained safely on the bench.

Then, with fifty-seven seconds left in the game, the team’s star quarterback, Kevin Halleck, received a stunning sack and had to be carried off the field. Mike Bloomfield, the second-string quarterback, had just been diagnosed with mononucleosis, and therefore was home. The coach looked at Kent and gave him the nod. Kent ran onto the field for the first time that season, failing to notice that his shoes were untied.

The home team was losing by a field goal. Or, to put it another way, a touchdown would give them the game. The idea that Kent had been given this chance seemed unbelievable to his brother and sisters. It’s not as if the Weird children were outcasts. They were popular. They just weren’t A-list. To reach the zenith of teenage popularity, at least at F.E. Madill Secondary School, athletic accomplishment was a non-negotiable prerequisite. The sort of popularity that, should Kent win this game, would instantaneously be transferred on to each of them. Angie was very aware that this was the strange thing about excelling in high school—it made you more normal, not more exceptional. And normalcy was what she craved more than anything else.

But did she yell and cheer for Kent? No, she did not. None of them did. They didn’t even call out his name. They were terrified. Not one of them spoke as Kent bent down and tied his shoes. Angie searched the crowd but she couldn’t see their mother, father or grandmother. Her parents had gone to the airport, or so she believed, to pick up her grandmother, arriving for her annual month-long Christmas visit. The plan had been for everyone to meet in the parking lot before the game. But her parents and grandmother had never arrived. The thought that they were missing Kent’s potential moment of triumph was greatly upsetting to Angie. But then she forgave them, instantly. And as Kent called the play she forgot about them completely.

The teams got into position. The siblings remained silent. The blue and white faces surrounding them cheered their heads off.

“Hut!” Kent called.

The centre flicked the ball into his hands. The clock ticked. Kent went back. He threw a pass. It tumbled through the air and into the stands.

The teams huddled again. Kent clapped his hands. Everyone went into formation. Second down with thirty-six seconds left on the clock. The ball was snapped. Kent faked a pass. Then he handed the football to a running back, who was quickly tackled just behind the line of play. It was a loss of two yards.

Twenty-three seconds were left on the clock, which continued to tick. Last down and last chance. The centre snapped the ball into Kent’s hands. His brother and sisters still didn’t cheer. They were terrified that Kent was going to drop the football. He took two steps back and then a third. He turned his head to the right and raised the ball but he didn’t throw it. Angie glanced at the clock. It ticked down through the number thirteen. When she looked back at Kent, she saw him do a very odd thing: he shut his eyes. They remained closed as he tucked the ball against his chest and began to run.

Their breaths held, Richard, Abba, Lucy and Angie watched Kent as he ran forwards. His head was down. His eyes were still closed. He ran directly into the defensive line. For a moment he disappeared behind opposition uniforms—and then there he was, on the other side.

Less than twenty yards separated Kent and the goal line. At the five-yard line a lanky safety caught up to him. The opposing player leapt into the air. He landed heavily on Kent’s back. Kent didn’t seem to notice. With the safety’s arms wrapped around his waist Kent ran over the goal line and into the end zone.

Kent didn’t open his eyes until he heard the roar of the crowd. He saw the cheering fans and his astonished siblings and his overjoyed teammates running towards him. Then he saw his grandmother. She stood at the edge of the field. Her face wordlessly conveyed that something horrible had happened. The ball fell out of Kent’s hands just as his teammates reached the end zone. They tried to hoist him on their shoulders. But Kent evaded their grasp. He walked to the sidelines, took off his helmet and approached his grandmother.

And so Kent was the first of the Weirds to learn that everything had changed forever.

Their father was dead.

BOOK ONE: Blessing + Curse = Blursing (#ulink_50b32f14-1a7c-504d-9311-8c9ae09f0de9)

ON APRIL 7, 2010, eight and a half years after Kent scored his first and only touchdown, Angie Weird stood in a hallway on the fourth floor of the Vancouver and District General Hospital, eavesdropping on her grandmother as she dictated her epitaph. “Until you realize that coincidences don’t exist, your life will be filled with them,” Grandmother Weird said. “Everywhere you look there coincidences will be. Coincidence! Coincidence! Coincidence! But the moment you accept there is no such thing, they will disappear forever and you’ll never encounter another.”

Angie tried not to vomit. The corridor, in fact the whole hospital, smelled like artificial pine. But her grandmother’s ridiculous speech was as nausea-making as the smell of disinfectant. Hearing her grandmother’s words reminded Angie of everything she disliked about her family, and why she had avoided all contact with them for so many years. Even though she’d just flown from New York, five and a half hours in the air with a two-hour stopover in Toronto, Angie decided to head back to the airport.

She turned away from her grandmother’s hospital room and towards the elevators. It was at this exact moment that an orderly was checking his phone as he pushed a cart down the hall. He did not look up until his shoulder struck Angie’s. Knocked off balance, Angie was sent stumbling into her grandmother’s room.

Each of the four beds in Room 4-206 was occupied by an elderly lady. Grandmother Weird was in the bed closest to the door and Angie’s stumble concluded at the foot of it. She looked her grandmother over. Her cheeks were rosy. Her eyes were bright. No tubes were attached to her, not even an intravenous line. In no way did Grandmother Weird appear to be on her deathbed.

“That’s an awful lot of text,” said a male voice. It came from the speaker in the telephone.

“Then make the letters small,” Grandmother Weird said. She rolled her eyes. She saw Angie. She looked back at the telephone.

“No name? No date?” the speakerphone voice asked.

“Neither.”

“It’ll still be really small.”

“I’ll need it in thirteen days,” Grandmother Weird said. She reached out her tiny arm. She jabbed her index finger to the telephone, ending the call. Shuffling her body back into the middle of the bed she looked her granddaughter over.

“Does it have a father?” Grandmother Weird asked.

“Are you asking if this is the child of God?”

“How far along?”

“They looked at me funny in the airport.”

“But no ring …”