Hunter Moran Saves the Universe

by Patricia Reilly Giff

We’re soup.

  But no, I hear a voice outside. Whose voice? Who knows?

  “Is somebody in there?”

  We begin to yell, to pound, to bang our heels against the side.

  There’s a grating sound. The cover moves slowly, so slowly I’m not even sure it’s really edging across the top of the pot.

  An inch. Another inch. I see a head. Eyes peering in at us. And teeth.

  Sarah Yulefski!

  “What are you guys doing in there?” she asks.

  “Just cleaning up,” I say.

  “I could see you needed help,” she says, throwing down the rope ladder.

  I look up at her braces, festooned with spinach, or maybe broccoli. I open my mouth to say we didn’t need any help, but she saved our lives, after all.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Zack grips the ladder. He’s up and over. He reaches down and I grab his hand. I boost myself up and I’m out.

  Still breathing.

  And there’s Diglio disappearing at the far end of the town round.

  “My brother’s looking for me,” Sarah says. “But don’t worry, I’ll catch up to you.”

  That’s all we need.

  “See you tomorrow,” Zack says.

  “Or maybe when school starts in the fall,” I tell her.

  Zack nudges me. A pair of fat gray squirrels chase each other across the steps, then under the pot, and out the other side.

  “No one was trying to burn us alive,” Zack says, reaching for his shirt, which has footprints all over it.

  I nod. “Just squirrels.”

  We head down the path, leaving the broom to fend for itself in the bottom of the pot.

  It may even add to the taste of the soup.

  Chapter 16

  We head across the street. “There’s something to think about,” I say.

  “Shirt’s full of grit.” Zack scratches away. “Who pushed the cover over the pot?”

  We stare at each other. It’s very disturbing.

  Diglio, of course, trying to warn us.

  “But he’s lost again,” Zack says, pumping his skinny arm. “We are so tough. It’s unbelievable.”

  “Right.” And talk about tough, there go Fred and Old Lady Campbell, Fred snapping furiously at a mosquito.

  Mom and Pop are almost a block away on their nightly walk. I can almost guess what Zack’s thinking. No one knows where we are. Pop will think we’ve gone home, and, like a miracle, Linny is stuck with Steadman.

  Freedom.

  “We should go over to Vinny’s Vegetables. Get the bomb and bury it somewhere,” Zack says.

  “Maybe the woods. It’ll just blast out a couple of rocks and a lot of dirt.”

  We snake our way around the town round like a pair of cobras so Mom and Pop, who are getting closer, won’t see us.

  We’re on our way. Vinny’s is closed. He doesn’t spend one extra minute there for hungry people who need vegetables and much more. The back is lit up like a prison exercise yard. Vinny’s showing off his garbage pile to the whole world. It’s so high, it almost reaches the top of the fence, a good frog’s leap from one to the other.

  “No problem,” Zack says. “We climb up and jump right in.”

  We’ve had a lot of experience climbing and jumping, but never into piles of slimy carrots and broccoli before. In two seconds we find out about this cyclone fence. The holes are made for Mary’s size feet, and the whole thing sways as we begin to shinny up.

  “It must be ten feet high,” Zack says between breaths.

  Then we’re almost at the top. It’s a weird world up there. I can see right into the library, and if I angle my head, I can see the filthy tooth that sways over Diglio’s office.

  Behind us is a voice. I can’t look down, but I know who it is. Of course I do.

  “Hi, Hunter,” says Sarah Yulefski. “What are you doing up there? Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall?”

  And that’s what I do. Right into the arms of Sarah, who has a rim of chocolate around her mouth. At least, I hope it’s chocolate. I can’t imagine she’d be growing a mustache before she reaches sixth grade.

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ve got you.”

  She looks down at me. “So do you just like to climb fences?” she asks.

  I begin to shake my head, but I see her smiling with those teeth that would give anyone nightmares. “I saw the sign you painted on the grandstand,” she says.

  “I never … It wasn’t …”

  “Why didn’t you just open the gate?”

  What is she talking about? She points. And now I do see. The lock on the fence is gone.

  At the same moment, Zack reaches the top; he teeters there for an instant, then sails across into a pile of banana peels. “Yeow!” he yells.

  I move away from Sarah Yulefski. “See you.” I head for the gate.

  Sarah goes along with me.

  “See you,” I say again, a little louder.

  Zack takes giant steps down the hill of rotten vegetables, wiping his sneakers off as he goes. “So long, Sarah,” he calls.

  “Are you looking for something?” she asks.

  We try to ignore her.

  “It must be in there pretty deep,” Zack says. “We’ll have to move a ton of stuff.”

  He begins to push garbage around. He’s filthy and it’s getting late. If Mom and Pop get home from their walk before we do, there will be a major inquisition.

  “Maybe I can help,” Sarah says. “Is it gold? Diamonds? Cash?”

  Zack and I look at each other. We could use someone to crawl around in that mess.

  “A black box,” I say.

  “Bomb size,” Zack says.

  Sarah makes a large square with her hands. “Like this? Rope wrapped around it about a hundred times?”

  “That’s it,” I say. “Dive right in.”

  Sarah kicks at the fence with one sneaker. “Too late. It’s gone.”

  “It’s here,” Zack says. “It didn’t walk off by itself.”

  Sarah shakes her head. “No, it walked off with someone else.”

  I straighten up. “Who?”

  “Someone took it. The whole thing was a little sneaky, if you ask me.”

  “Who?”

  She holds up her crossed fingers. “I can’t tell. I promised. Crossed fingers three times.”

  I’d like to say it really is a bomb. I’d like to say this is Sarah Yulefski’s chance to save Newfield. But there’s no time. Sarah’s big brother, Jerry, comes up the street and spots her. “Wait till I get you!” he yells.

  He reminds me of William.

  Sarah splits. Halfway down the alley she calls back, “I loved the sign.”

  She disappears and we’re left with Vinny’s old vegetables and much more.

  HERE COMES DAY FOUR.…

  Tinwitty Night and maybe …

  Chapter 17

  “Doomsday,” Zack says, rolling out of bed. We stare at each other.

  “We have to find that bomb,” I say.

  Zack does that thing with his teeth. “Diglio really means business, locking us up like that. We could have been there until tonight.”

  I nod, picturing the lid coming off and a pair of skinny skeletons huddled inside.

  The door opens and Steadman lands on my bed. “What’s that horrible smell?” He high jumps, aiming for the ceiling.

  “Tinwitty soup,” I say.

  With one gigantic jump, Steadman’s fingers graze the ceiling, leaving a chocolate print.

  Downstairs Mom is clanging pots in the kitchen. The bell will be ringing all morning with last-minute entrants. Bowls of soup, pots of soup, vats of soup, everyone hoping to win the trip to the Ozark Mountains.

  Outside the noise is deafening. Seven Guys Over Seventy are weaving down Murdock Avenue practicing, with horns blaring and drums pounding.

  And is that Old Lady Campbell marching behind them? A flimsy-looking scarf and a pair of goggles are looped around her neck. Fred
bucks along next to her.

  Zack and I throw on shorts and go downstairs for breakfast, with Steadman closer than a shadow. The kitchen is steaming. Mom stands at the counter as Linny dips a spoon into a swampy soup and holds it out to her.

  “If only I had Lester’s recipe,” Mom says, then shudders. “Oh, put this on the back step. There’s a rooster head floating on top; its dead eyes are staring at me.”

  Steadman follows me outside, making google eyes, imitating the rooster, as Pop comes around the side of the house. “Where are the troops?” he calls. “I need help out here.”

  I back into the house, tiptoe down the hall past William’s garish painting, and slide into Mom’s bill-paying room. From the kitchen, I hear Mom. “Eureka!” she shouts. “I have a winner.”

  And there goes Mom’s phone. I grab it before the second ring and listen to the static. I whisper-snarl into it, “Yeah?”

  “It’s Agent Five,” the voice says.

  I don’t believe it. I roll right into “Six.”

  “By tomorrow the whole thing will be over,” the voice says.

  Who is it? I know that voice.

  But do I really? I can’t even tell if it’s a boy or a girl, a man or a woman.

  “I know it,” I say. “The population gone in one blast.”

  “Six?” the voice asks.

  “Mmmm,” I say in my deepest, breathiest voice.

  Still he/she hesitates.

  Could it possibly be Sarah Yulefski? Sarah, a federal agent? Talk about the bottom of the barrel.

  “What do you want me to do?” I whisper to keep things going.

  A pair of planes from Sturgis Air Force Base zoom overhead. The windows rattle; it sounds as if the roof is ready to cave in. How can I hear?

  The caller goes on. “Maybe we’ll find the original. I’ll search …”

  I hear Pop’s footsteps. “Is someone in there?” he asks.

  I dive behind the desk, cradling the phone in my arms, and stop breathing.

  “Are you looking for Hunter?” Linny’s voice calls.

  Pop doesn’t answer. I’m sure he’s nodding.

  “He’s so crafty,” Linny says.

  Is the doorknob turning? I set the phone back on the desk. But Pop keeps going down the hall. I head for the kitchen in back of him. I need a massive breakfast for what’s ahead of me.

  Mom is still at the stove. “A perfect Lester Tinwitty soup,” she says.

  I peer into the huge pot. The soup is the color of Zack’s favorite socks, almost purple. Small black things float around on top. And is that an eye? I jump back. Yes, it’s an eye.

  “Exactly the kind of soup Lester ate on his way here,” Mom says. “The same soup he fed the pioneers.”

  “Whose soup is it?” I ask.

  Mom shakes her head; so does reliable Linny. “Top secret,” Linny says.

  We shovel in what may be our last breakfast as Pop tells us what’s going on: the fifty-year-old air force bomber from Sturgis, the fire department truck with its huge ladder, and Lester Tinwitty’s balloon are all at the town round.

  “That balloon is ready to fall apart.” Pop takes a chunk of granola. “Worse, the strings that tie it down look as if they’re ready to snap any minute.”

  But Mom is frowning. “Strange. This soup seems to match the original recipe perfectly.” She stares into the pot. “It’s almost as if someone found the recipe and—”

  “That would be cheating,” Linny says.

  “More than cheating,” Pop says. “More like stealing a free vacation to the Ozark Mountains.”

  Zack’s eyes widen. He gives me a kick under the table. What am I missing? But there’s no time for more. Pop turns to Zack. “Better practice. Tonight is your big night.”

  It’s a big night, all right, a night to be blown to smithereens.

  Zack scrapes back his chair. He’s still looking at me.

  “Go,” Mom tells him.

  Pop leans over the stove. “Want to help me carry the soup?” he asks me.

  The pot is huge; the soup is gross. But why not?

  “S-T-U,” Zack whispers as he goes down the hall.

  That would be St. Ursula’s.

  But he gives me a quick head shake over his shoulder. He knows what I’m thinking. Too bad I haven’t a clue about what he’s thinking.

  Mom shuts the living room door behind him. “Zack needs to concentrate,” she says.

  Pop and I wrestle the pot onto the shopping cart.

  Pop is whistling. “Ah,” he says after a moment. “You were going to build a playhouse for Steadman.”

  I’ve almost forgotten saying that. I have no idea how to begin. A playhouse. Good grief.

  “That was a good thought,” Pop says. “We’ll do it together. You, me, and Zack.”

  “I guess so,” I say.

  “It’ll make up for the computer.” He begins to whistle again.

  I try to think of what to say to that, but I’m speechless. I try a grin.

  Is he grinning back? I can’t tell. He’s too smart for that.

  Steadman comes after us in his rabbit pj’s, singing the alphabet song at the top of his lungs. We pass St. Ursula’s and get soaked by Father Elmo’s sprinkler. “It won’t hurt to dilute the soup a little,” Pop says.

  The town round is like an anthill, everyone getting ready, buzzing and cackling: Seven Guys Over Seventy tooting, and not one on the same note; Sarah Yulefski tuning up her violin; Mr. and Mrs. Wu setting up their frankfurter stand—those homemade hot dogs that taste like dead dogs.

  On one side of us looms Lester’s old balloon. It’s green, and moldy, and billows in the wind. Good thing it isn’t going anywhere. I see a small rip in the canvas.

  A little farther down is the town’s fire engine, with its huge ladder halfway up.

  Steadman’s almost finished singing. “P-Q-R …” He stops for a breath. “T-U-V …”

  “S-T-U,” I say aloud.

  “Sturgis Air Force Base?” Steadman says.

  How does he think of these things? But this time he’s wrong; this time I get what Zack was trying to tell me. I think about Lester Tinwitty’s picture hanging over the S-T-U section in the library. It would be just like Mrs. Wu to hide the original recipe there. And from the dentist’s office, Diglio could see just what she was doing.

  Is that what this is all about? The Diglios stealing a secret recipe just to get to the Ozark Mountains? But why set off a bomb? Maybe half the town owes him money for filling in their cavities. He’s into revenge.

  That has to be it.

  Pop and I hoist the pot of soup to the top of Lester Tinwitty’s kettle. “Not much soup for the town to taste.”

  “Are you kidding?” Pop says. “Who’d want to eat this swill? It’s just for the idea of it.”

  But we all have something to do now: Zack has to create a masterpiece, Steadman has to get dressed, and I have to find a bomb and dismantle it.

  Chapter 18

  Instead Pop sets me to work on bunting. That’s what he calls it. We zigzag along with a huge roll of red-white-and-blue stuff to loop around the telephone poles.

  I spend the day tacking, until my fingers have dents in them. Over my head, William splashes orange paint around, finishing up the grandstand.

  I hope it’s quick-drying paint.

  Sarah gets herself right in there, looping and tacking along with me and talking about her contribution to the musical world. “Wait until they hear me,” she says. “It will be like Mozart’s debut.”

  At last everything is ready. Pop rolls in the popcorn machine. I hope last year’s leftover popcorn is gone. It tasted stale even then.

  It’s getting dark; lights go on overhead and the signal comes from the fire department: a blast to keep your ears ringing for an hour. Tinwitty Night is ready to begin.

  Seven Guys Over Seventy go at it with horns and drums. It’s music that must be seventy years old, but actually not bad if you don’t get too close.
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br />   People come from all over. Diglio wears his white jacket with I’M THE DOCTOR embroidered on the pocket, and Mrs. Diglio is decked out like a wedding cake in white net. And here comes my buddy Zack with his hair slicked down; he’s wearing a new T-shirt and lugging Old Lady Campbell’s cello along. He looks like a nervous wreck.

  It’s really noisy. We have the Seven Guys, Mrs. Wu calling, “Get your hot dogs while they’re hot,” and Pop yelling, “Popcorn here. Hurry before it’s gone.”

  I keep watching Diglio. He acts as if he’s the mayor of the world, shaking everyone’s hands with fingers as fat as Mrs. Wu’s hot dogs. Imagine, I have to be ready to deck him when the action gets hot.

  But for now, the action is the concert. Too bad the pilots at Sturgis Air Force Base have mixed up the timing. They begin their show, twirling and diving over the town round so you can hardly hear Sarah’s contribution to the music world. But who could listen for that long, anyway? People begin to yawn as Sarah saws on.

  Mom and the other kids are sitting in the grandstand, but Pop has disappeared under the popcorn machine. It must have broken down again. I can see his legs and feet and a bunch of tools scattered around.

  Mrs. Diglio’s eyes are closed. She’s fallen asleep with all this noise? But then Diglio inches away from the grandstand. He takes a step at a time, looking back, looking guilty?

  I search for a weapon. I may have to bash him over the head. I’ve had a lot of practice with that because of William. But all I see is a stick on the ground. You couldn’t even bash a mosquito with it.

  Desperately, I motion to Zack. We have to save Newfield. Eyes closed, he’s plinking his fingers in the air, playing an imaginary cello, mouthing notes to himself. But Steadman’s right there, backing me up.

  Everyone claps for Sarah, probably because she’s finished at last. And Zack gets to his feet. He looks as if he’s a hundred years old. It takes him that long to get to the stand.

  Old Lady Campbell is nodding. Her scarf flows. She loops Fred’s leash around the edge of the grandstand, pins a note to his collar, and moves away. Her whole seat is orange. Not fast-drying paint after all.

  Steadman and I follow Diglio across the round, but we lose sight of him as he circles Tinwitty’s balloon.