The Long, Hot Summer: The Continuing Adventures of Charlie Draper and the Blt

By Jeff Shade

Charlie Draper has been struggling to be normal all his life. Hes successfully hidden his extraordinary brain power until the 6th grade. One day in Mr. Twiddles class, his boredom and frustration finally reach a boiling point. The in-class melt down results in his expulsion from normal school to date the best day of Charlies young life.

He was sent for a psychological exam. The results reveal his abnormal intellect and lead to his placement in a special school for the gifted but behaviorally challenged, The Brain Learning Trust or BLT for short.

Here, Charlie finds a home a place where he can be his brilliant self and not be scrutinized for cheating. Charlie and the other BLT members are allowed to explore their interests with almost unlimited government funding. But there were strings attached and Charlie had no idea that his education would include risking his life!

The summer of his entrance to the BLT has been extraordinarily hot an unprecedented, world-wide, heat wave the scientific community cant explain as simple global warming. The BLT is called upon to travel to England (from which the heatwave seems to be emanating) on an undercover mission to find the source and destroy it. An insane adventure begins involving all the assets of the BLT group and involves Charlie up to his eyeballs in telepathy, telekinesis, and the ancient power of Gia, Mother Earth as wielded by a modern, Druid Priestess! Can Charlie and his group save the Earth from destruction?!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Nov 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781480812420

Jeff Shade

Jeff Shade is a special education teacher and brain injury survivor. After many years of struggle, he has finally returned to his passion—writing fiction. He likes to create over summer break so he can edit and submit during the school year. Shade lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Book preview

Chapter 1—

Where’s home?

C harlie woke with a start. On opening his eyes, it took him a moment to realize where he was. This was home—his own bedroom, the house he’d grown up in—but somehow it had changed.

Charlie considered this while lying on his bed in the early morning light that filtered through the shades. A poster of Albert Einstein hung over the bed, a childhood stuffed-animal collection lay heaped in a corner. Barney the rabbit—whom he’d raised from a kit—slowly chewed his morning lettuce in his cage on the floor.

Charlie turned and saw his old computer and the pictures of his family sitting on his desk. His mom smiled at him from the pictures, and a twinge of sadness ran through him. Even with all this past surrounding him, Charlie realized what was different—the cold hard reality of his life hit him right between the eyes. In a way, he was a visitor—a visitor in his own house.

It was the first night spent at home in almost a year. Charlie thought fondly of his other room at the institute, the Whipshank Institute, a secret government program for behaviorally challenged, gifted youth. A small pang of longing came over him as he thought of Leah, Gretchen, Tommy, and David—his new family. Charlie wondered what they were doing and hoped Dr. Whipshank, the head of the institute, was keeping them in line.

He wondered if this was how it felt to come home after being away at college, making a new life with new friends, forming a new family. Charlie supposed it probably was very similar. He did have a new home but was glad to be in his old one. He kicked off the covers, got up, and strolled the familiar path to the bathroom. Charlie chuckled as he remembered the uproar he’d caused the first night at the institute when he, almost unconsciously, taking the same route, wound up in Gretchen’s room. What a mess! Thank goodness for Smitty, his friend and one of the live-in security guards at the institute. Charlie wondered if Smitty was playing chess with someone new now that he was gone.

He stepped into the bathroom and had almost started his morning business when he realized he hadn’t closed the door. In his dormitory apartment at the institute, he had his own private bathroom.

As his butt hit the cold porcelain, Charlie was jolted out of his memory into the present. He noticed for the first time in a long while the pastel, flowered wallpaper. Struck by another pang of memory, Charlie could see himself helping his mother put up the wallpaper when he was only four years old. It had held up pretty well over the past nine years. He liked it. Dad had considered changing it after … after she’d … disappeared … but couldn’t bring himself to do it, and now Charlie was glad he hadn’t. It was a memory of her he wanted to cling to.

Charlie reached to his right without looking and grabbed the newspaper. His dad still left it in the same spot. On the front page, a pair of headlines caught his attention:

CORNELIUS TWIDDLE TO RETIRE and HEAT WAVE CONTINUES

So old Twiddle’s calling it quits, he thought. About time. Mr. Twiddle was the teacher who had finally pushed Charlie over the edge. I should really thank him, Charlie thought. In a way, Mr. Twiddle was responsible for his being at the institute and for his new life. Charlie remembered, almost joyfully, the day he’d mooned Twiddle in class and had been sent to the Whipshank Institute for a psychological exam.

Boy, I’ll bet that would send old Twiddle into one of his tirades, getting a congratulation card from me.

His dad’s voice came from the kitchen below. Charlie, are you dressed yet? You’d better step on it, son. Breakfast’s almost ready. I made your favorite.

I’ll be right down, Dad! Charlie yelled. Oh boy, he thought as his mouth began to salivate. Pork medallions with poached eggs and toast. I just—Charlie’s mind screeched to a stop in midthought. Wait a minute. That was my favorite at the institute.

He actually had to stop and think about it before he remembered what his favorite was at home. The salty, sweet smell of bacon spurred his memory as he finished dressing. Oh yeah. Bacon and blueberry pancakes smothered in maple syrup. They’ll be great, he thought as he leapt down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Good morning, Dad, he said cheerfully. This was great! There stood his dad at the stove flipping pancakes and watching the bacon. Mr. Draper had pulled out all the stops, even put on the old blue and white apron. A graying chef’s hat sat like a squashed loaf of bread atop his head.

Good morning, Charlie. I haven’t had this much fun making breakfast since … well, since you moved up to the institute. You haven’t forgotten our Saturday morning ritual, have you?

Are you kidding? How could I forget all this? Are we going for our walk along the river too? And stop by Mr. Clemons’s house?

Well of course, son—that is, if you want to. I called Bob yesterday, and he was really excited about it. We haven’t played much since you moved away, I really don’t know why. I guess it just lost some of its appeal without you there to give us pointers.

Almost every Saturday morning since Charlie could remember, he’d gotten up early to chow on bacon and pancakes before strolling to Mr. Clemons’s house to watch his dad and Mr. Clemons play chess. It was a ritual he’d almost forgotten while he was away. He loved giving quiet, strategic advice to both players and waiting to see his advice taken—and then who won. It was the only place he felt comfortable, allowing is true intelligence to show. Most often, though, neither man took his advice, and Charlie tried to play his own game in his head, imagining his opponent’s moves.

I hope your feeding bag’s tied on, his dad said as a plate piled high with pancakes appeared on the table.

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At the Whipshank Institute, all those present (Charlie and Gretchen were both on home visitation) were rudely awakened by the constant buzz of an alarm and flashing strobes.

The BLT group (Brain Learning Trust)—Tommy, Leah, David, Smitty, Ms. Fairweather, and Dr. Whipshank—gathered in the dining room, groggily rubbing their eyes. Smitty turned off the alarm.

Tommy, the youngest and a musical genius, wore a large Beethoven sleep shirt. Leah, a talented telepath who slept in the nude, was wrapped in a sheet. David, the physically gifted fourteen-year-old, wore a 49ers jersey over his boxers. Smitty, one of the two security guards, wore only blue checked boxers. Ms. Fairweather, the female security guard, had on Tweety Bird PJs. And finally, a fully clothed Dr. Whipshank addressed the group.

I apologize for this interruption, he said, but the BLT has just received an emergency fax from the government. We’re leaving for London in two hours. Smitty, you go retrieve Charlie, and Ms. Fairweather, go after Gretchen. The rest of us will leave this morning and will all meet in London as soon as possible. Take only an overnight bag with essentials. All will be provided for once we arrive. Okay, you know the routine. Let’s get to it.

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After wolfing down pancakes and bacon, the stroll along the river was just what Charlie and his dad needed. Both had already been slightly overexcited, so the leisurely movement was welcome. If only it wasn’t so blasted hot. Both Charlie and his dad were dripping sweat after only two blocks.

Just as they turned onto the pathway toward Mr. Clemons’s house, a large, black SUV with Whipshank Institute emblazoned on its door panels came to a screeching halt beside them.

Smitty jumped out from behind the wheel. Sorry Mr. Draper, Charlie, but there’s an emergency at the institute, and I’ve been sent to take you back immediately.

Dumbfounded, Charlie and his dad stood with mouths hanging open, unable to speak.

I’m sorry, but you both know the contract you signed. I can’t say more. The rest of the group are already en route. I know I can trust your discretion, Mr. Draper. Charlie, let’s go. We’re already four hours behind.

But, Smitty, Charlie said as he watched the large man climb into the SUV. There was nothing to be done. He looked toward his dad, whose eyes already acknowledged the inevitable. They had both signed the government’s contract and knew they had no choice.

The passenger window of the SUV made a slight electronic hissing as it slithered down. Come on, Charlie, you have to move it. I’m sorry, Mr. Draper.

Charlie turned to face his dad. Resignation formed a melancholic smile on his dad’s lips. He reached over and gave Charlie an emotion-filled bear hug. You’ve got to go, son. I love you.

I love you too, dad. Good-bye. Charlie climbed into the open door and hardly had time to wave before the SUV sped off down the street.

Chapter 2—

On the Road Again

C harlie knew he should sleep but couldn’t. He was again amazed at Smitty’s ability to catch some zzzzs almost anywhere, anytime. The rugged face next to him slumbered peacefully as the airplane sped across the Atlantic.

How can he do that? He knows no more than I do, only that we’re going to London, yet he sleeps like a baby. Probably his years of survival training—get sleep when you can because you never know when the next