On Long Beach Island, the beach my family has been going to as far back as I–and even my mom—can remember, there’s a free newspaper called the Sand Paper. (Ha. Yes. I get it.) This publication has a ton of coupons for awesome beachy places like the ice cream parlor one block from the beach house, Bay Village Pizza (the best pizza I’ve ever had), and the Chowda Hut, where my favorite New England Clam Chowda is made.

So when I got a call from someone who introduced himself as a reporter from the Sand Paper, I knew what he meant. He asked me some questions about my writing and my book and my upcoming visit at the LBI library. This was about a week before we left for the beach, and in the days leading up to it, I couldn’t find any article on the Sand Paper’s site that mentioned me, so I didn’t know if it had run. In fact, by the time we arrived on the island, I’d forgotten there was even the possibility of a story.

(Yum.)

The second night we were in LBI, after the library talk Monday and a good day shopping Tuesday, my family was walking back from the beach (which is about one and a half blocks from the beach house. Love). My sister and I decided to go and get ice cream, like always, and my mom told us to get a Sand paper from the free bin beside us and see if they had a coupon.

I sat next to my mom on the nearby bench. She was flipping through it, and I was watching over her shoulder. All of a sudden I put out a hand to stop her from turning the page.

“You found it?” she asked.

“Um, no, but, was that me?” I pointed to the top square of the page. It was me. It was my READ poster from Bookfest PA, so I was staring back at myself from behind pink sunglasses. The pink sunglasses I happened to be wearing at that moment, which was, admittedly, very weird.

The picture was part of a short, really awesome article about me and my visit at the library, which hadn’t happened at the time of the publication. Needless to say, my mom got extra copies and kept them (but not after my sister and I tore out the ice cream coupons). That has to be one of the most bizarre, but also one of the most awesome experiences I’ve had as an author.

Kieryn

www.kierynnicolas.com

www.kierynnicolas.blogspot.com

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Sure-foot Sam is a klutzy bank teller who desperately longs to be the next Indiana Jones. His intelligent, detail-oriented English bulldog, Sir Reginald Higgins, would much rather he not succeed–at least not in the adventure department.

Much to Sir Reginald’s dismay, Sure-foot Sam has been assigned a new project. Sam is to help the bank’s newest investor, a smooth-talking Aussie (that’s a man from Australia), recover his family’s treasure. Which means Sure-Foot Sam and Sir Reginald are heading off to the Amazon rain forest.

Along the way, Sure-foot and Sir Reginald encounter the Amazon’s diverse and dangerous wildlife, and learn that the investor is not all he appears.

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Katie Pasek was inspired to write “Sure-foot Sam in Jeopardy” from a game her dad created. Every Sunday morning during brunch, her dad would create a seemingly impossible situation and list the items the hero had at his disposal, then ask Katie and her brother to each come up with a possible solution. 

Katie is a graduate of Susquehanna University currently living near Philadelphia, Pa.

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Excerpt
Another Day at the Bank 

When I sent him off to the bank that morning, showered, dressed and looking more like a teller than a 28-year-old klutz, I didn’t imagine anything out of the ordinary would happen to him. Don’t let his name fool you. Sure-foot Sam is an average, boring guy, who just happens to have a natural tendency to drop rolls of quarters on the foot of Mr. Flitzgard, the bank owner, but somehow manages to escape being fired. 

Sure-foot came home earlier than usual that day, interrupting my afternoon nap. 

“You won’t believe what happened today, Reggie,” he said, practically bouncing around the kitchen. 

Pretending not to notice he once again used the nickname I detest, I raised one sleepy eyelid and waited for him to tell me the big news so I could finish my nap. He whirled around and picked me up by my forearms (which I did not appreciate, by the way) and said, “We’re going to the Amazon!” 

Now being an avid hiker, Sure-foot has come up with some hokey destinations for our vacations in the past–camping in mountain lion infested woods, for instance (I don’t recommend it). But this was the middle of October and I still had the rash from our adventure in Bug Country, USA, two months ago. 

So I was curious as to why he was venturing into a rainforest and, more importantly, how I could keep from being dragged along with him. 

Sure-foot put me down to continue his story. “There I was, at my teller’s window, minding my own business, when across the bank I spot Mr. Flitzgard talking with a man in a very expensive white suit. Well, okay, I can’t be sure it was an expensive suit, but it looked like he had a lot of money. 

“Anyhow,” he continued when I yawned, “as they walked in my direction I heard Mr. Flitzgard say, ‘Here’s the man for the job.’ The man in the white suit looked at me for a minute before saying, ‘I hear you’re quite the adventurer of the bank.’ 

I glanced at Mr. Flitzgard and said, “Well, I wouldn’t really say that, sir–” 

“Nonsense,” Mr. Flitzgard said. “Why this boy once wrestled a mountain lion off a cliff!” 

“Actually, I just sort-of ducked and he jumped off the cliff by accident,” I said, quietly of course. 

“But Mr. Flitzgard wasn’t paying any attention to me,” Sure-foot continued, changing the pattern he was pacing around the kitchen so he walked right past my basket every 4.15 seconds. I think he was trying to keep me awake.

“So the guy in the white suit, who really wasn’t paying attention to Mr. Flitzgard, finally says, “He’ll be perfect,” to no one in particular. But then to me he says, “Stop by my office at two o’clock and we’ll go over the details.” 

“He flips me a business card and leaves–real smooth like, too,” Sure-foot said, looking out the kitchen window like he half-expected this mystery person to climb the fire escape. 

“Now I have to admit I was really confused at this point, Reggie,” he continued, recovering from whatever sent him staring out the window in the first place. “Then Mr. Flitzgard took me into his office to explain the situation. 

“He said the man in the white suit was named Brad St. Collins and he was a big-time investor who had taken an interest in our bank. But before he could make a deposit, he was going to need help transporting his family fortune, which consists of a large collection of antiquities.  According to Mr. Flitzgard, the St. Collins’ fortune was tied up in the Amazon rainforest, guarded by a family friend named Pönshaw. 

“And that’s where I come in,” Sure-foot said, stopping by my basket with his thumbs pointed at his chest (in case I might confuse him for another klutzy owner of mine). 

“Apparently,” Sure-foot continued in a louder tone since the yawn I gave him wasn’t the response he was looking for, “the goods are held in a secure location and only an expert climber can get to it. Mr. Flitzgard remembered our mountain-climbing escapade and immediately recommended me for the job. When I stopped at Mr. St. Collins’ office, he said we leave tomorrow! 

“Don’t worry, Reggie, Mr. Flitzgard gave me the time off,” he added, noticing my open-mouthed protest. “This is going to be great! Just think: we’ve never been to the rainforest before, Reggie.” 

With good reason, too, I thought. There are bugs bigger than me in the rainforest. Bugs that could swallow me whole–if a dog-eating plant doesn’t get to me first. 

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