by Lorri Horn
Claire began to call the number and then stopped.
“Can I at least go to the bathroom first?”
“By all means.”
As she walked away, she looked at Adam and motioned for him to follow her.
He shrugged at her, indicating a sort of ‘what do you want?’ look.
When he didn’t follow, she motioned more frantically, so he followed.
“What?” Her red-alert level seemed disproportionate to the circumstances.
She pulled him into the bathroom and closed the door.
“Oh no. Oh no. This is bad. This is bad.” She paced in the small space of the bathroom floor.
“What?” he repeated.
“You can’t tell Dad.”
“What?” He really thought she was making a big deal over nothing. He’d be glad to call the police.
“Promise you won’t tell.”
“Won’t tell what?”
“Adam!”
“Yes. Promise. What?”
“My bike wasn’t stolen. I, er, gave it to a friend.”
Keep Your Eye
on the Ball
“You gave it away?”
“Shhh! Not so loud. Not away. Just to . . . borrow.”
“Why’d you tell me it was taken? We got that letter. You’re not making any sense.”
Downstairs, they could hear the doorbell ring and Mr. Knickerbocker talking at the door.
“Claire, Adam. Come on down, would you? I have a situation at work. I’m going to have to go handle it. We’ll deal with your bike when I get back.”
Claire began to cry real tears, whether from relief that she’d gotten a momentary reprieve or from panic, she wasn’t sure herself, only that they wouldn’t stop flowing.
“Okay, Dad,” Adam called down. They heard the door close after him.
“Come on,” Claire said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
“Where?” Adam asked.
“No more questions. Just come on.”
They slid one after the other like a pair of penguins down a hill into Dewey’s office. Adam looked around, totally amazed. He used the tip of his tongue to get the remaining cookie out of his back molars.
“What is all this?” he asked, looking around as his eyes took in as much information as he could. One piece of vital information had just become clear. Claire’s bike leaned up against the wall.
Dewey, who wasn’t expecting Claire, let alone Adam, stood up to greet them.
“Hey, Claire. What’s up?” He looked to her to fill in the blanks.
“Oh, Dewey. It’s all messed up. As soon as my dad gets home from work he’s making us call the police to report my bike stolen.”
Stolen. Well, this was an unexpected development.
“Sit down, you two,” Dewey offered Adam a seat and dragged Clara’s over for Claire. Clara, of course, wasn’t in since it was Sunday. In fact, it was only by chance that Dewey had been in the office himself. He’d come in to try and figure out what to do about this whole Stephanie/Pooh Bear problem. He felt maybe if he stood there and stared at the space, it might somehow inspire him with a way to ensure they didn’t ruin his entire operation.
He went to the freezer to pull out some cookies and put them on a plate.
“Oh, there were some along the way,” Claire reassured.
“That’s Clara. Always ready. Here. These are a bit chilled, but give them a minute or two.”
Adam didn’t wait. Nothing wrong with a frozen cookie in his book.
Dewey sat back down. “Catch me up.”
“Catch me up,” Adam said, munching on the cookie by putting it to the back outside of his teeth where he could bite down on its hard surface.
Claire looked at Dewey. Dewey looked at Adam. Adam looked at Claire who looked back at Dewey.
“Ugh. Let me catch Dewey up first, Adam. It was going fine. Great, actually, until my dad saw your note and then he w—”
“‘Your note?’”
“That’s right,” Dewey nodded.
“And now he wants me to call the police! The POLICE, Dewey!”
“Yes. I agree. This isn’t good. Lemme think.”
“Could someone please explain to me what is going on around here?”
Dewey handed Adam another cookie, which he happily took. He tried a full front tooth bite now, which worked as they were getting softer, and he broke a second one in half and shoved it into his mouth, letting out a pleasurable sigh.
“Can you think fast?” Claire asked, starting to feel her throat tightening up just thinking about having to call the police or tell her dad what she’d done if they showed up before she could stop him.
Dewey didn’t feel prepared to answer her. He wasn’t even supposed to be working today. Suddenly, he felt like that kid in the book, like he’d swum out too far without the floor beneath him. He took a slow breath in, not because he thought it would help, but because his mom always swore that it does and he didn’t have a better idea. He let it out. Dewey, he coached himself. Baboons don’t laugh at each other’s bottoms. Two peas in a pod. We’re almost there for real now. They really did need Adam’s help to solve the problem. Nothing was messed up with their plan at all. They just needed to stick with it.
“Adam,” Dewey began, “We’re in too deep. Claire played a practical joke that clearly has gotten out of hand. She was trying to get you back for the whole pancake-in-the-slippers-soda-can-thing and—.”
“You told him ’bout that?” Adam smiled.
Claire rolled her eyes.
“So? I don’t get it? You hired this guy to steal your bike and what?” Adam asked Claire.
Claire looked to Dewey to reply.
“And make a donkey out of you.”
Adam tilted his head, trying to absorb what sounded an awful like it might be an insult.
Dewey tried again.
“And send you on a wild goose chase.” Why did all these animals keep flying out of his mouth?
“And I’m supposed to help you now?” Adam scoffed.
“Adam! I’m going to get arrested for making a false police report!” she wailed.
“Is that a thing?” Adam asked.
Claire sobbed harder, and this time real tears came out.
“Okay, okay! Don’t worry,” Adam reassured. “I’ll tell dad I hid your bike, and wrote that ransom note. I’ll take the fall.”
They had him.
“Whatever punishment you get, I’ll stand by you,” she promised, throwing her arms around his neck. More cookies all around, and Dewey said he’d meet them outside with the bike. He couldn’t very well get the bike to go through the air ducts.
“Sure,” Adam said. “But what is all of this, anyway?”
“This? This is my office. Dewey Fairchild, Problem Solver at your service.”
He wasn’t about to announce himself to Adam as a Sibling Problem Solver and blow his cover. But, as Adam and Claire made their way out of the air ducts and Dewey rolled the bike carefully down the stairs through his family’s house and out the back door, it had become clear to him that was just what he’d become.
Undercover
Before the bell rang in study hall, Colin motioned for Dewey to come look at his phone. Dewey looked, and he screamed. He screamed again. There were a series of pictures of Dewey riding Claire’s hot pink bike and on his head, he wore her pink, purple, and blue splatter bike helmet.
Colin laughed so hard he bent over, clutching his side.
“Give me that!” Dewey grabbed at Colin’s phone. “How did you get those?”
“No! Look, don’t touch!” he laughed.
“The mini-drone? You followed me?! That’s amazing! And horrible! That’s both amazing and horrible.”
“It’s awesome.”
“It’s fearsome!”
“I know. The possibilities are endless!”
“Okay, delete them now!”
“Our first test run?”
“It was too perfect!”
“I was on a job!”
“I know, I know.”
“What are you two talking about?” Seraphina plopped down and leaned in to look.
“Noth’n,” Colin said. “Just some drone stuff we’re working on.”
At least he’s loyal, Dewey thought.
“Come on, lemme see,” she persisted. The bell rang.
Geez, Dewey thought. A man thinks he’s minding his own business riding along on a hot pink bike in a splattered paint helmet, and the next thing you know it’s gone viral.
Dewey pulled out his computer math practice problems. His mind kept drifting to everything he had to do this week. Clara had messaged she had a full case load for him they needed to start soon. What was he doing about Pooh Bear, and now Stephanie? If Pooh had told Stephanie, who would be next? He didn’t have time to deal with this right now. He didn’t have time not to deal with this, though. Thinking about all this was sure making it hard to focus on homework.
A small crumpled piece of paper landed in front of him and snapped him out of his ruminations.
“Can I show Seraphina the pictures?”
“Fine,” Dewey wrote back. She smiled at him, making the embarrassment he was about to endure worthwhile.
“What makes pink a ‘girl’ color?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“I mean,” she held the phone up to Colin’s face so closely his eyes began to cross, “Why do you think this is a girl’s bike?”
“Isn’t it just obvious?” he said, adjusting the phone so he could see it. “Just look at it.”
“That’s just stupid, Colin.”
“I don’t know,” Dewey said. “I just watched a bunch of YouTube videos where parents did these reveals of the new baby coming and they popped balloons with blue or pink confetti or had pink or blue frosting. Those kids knew just want they wanted. Blue for a brother and pink for a sister.”
“What? No! They’re already brainwashed to think that way.”
Seraphina began to search on her laptop to get some proof.
“Here! Look. Before two years old, babies don’t show any more interest in pink than anything else!”1 They pick any color, not just pink.”
“Before two years old, they don’t know how to pick their own nose!” Colin said.
“Oh, yeah they do,” Dewey laughed.
“Well, once they hit two they know what they want. And what they want is to be a boy on a blue bike.”
“Ugh. Because society tells them so.”
“At two years old?”
“Read.”
Their teacher shot them a look which said settle down and work.
“Oh, hmm,” Colin whispered, reading. “It’s still funny.” He held the picture up suppressing his laughter as Dewey pushed his hand down so the whole study hall class didn’t see.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s funny,” Dewey whispered back.
“It’s funny,” Seraphina admitted.
“Oh, I’m so glad you could both finally agree.”
Long Tail
Dear Efren C. Disk,
I have no clue what is going on in your brain. I don’t like it very much when you are mean to me. I hope that someday you will be very nice to me. I hope that someday we will be playing basketball together. It would be better for both of us if you would be a little bit nicer. I know that deep down inside you, you are defindely a griffin dor.
Love,
Louise
P.S. I hope you read this letter. A nice person would.
Dewey laughed. “A ‘griffin dor’?”
“Charming, right?” Clara said as Dewey handed her back the letter.
“So, is Efren coming in today?”
“Should be here any minute.”
Clara stepped into the kitchen to pull out a plate of toffee almond sandies as Dewey put his feet up on his desk and reread Louise’s letter.
Suddenly Dewey heard a rumpus coming from the air ducts, like a tennis shoe in a dryer thumping around. He looked up expecting to see Efren, and for the third time this semester his brain tried to process how his expectations didn’t match the reality before him.
Julie and Charles Disk came tumbling out of the ducts one on top of the other onto the lime green pillows: first Julie Disk and then her husband Charles. Mrs. Disk, whose hair had been neatly combed when she began her journey this morning to meet Dewey, now looked like she’d been through a wind storm, and her husband’s pressed navy-blue suit was a now a wrinkled mess.
Mrs. Disk tried to smooth her hair. She had one leg folded behind her and the other stuck out straight ahead. She attempted to stand up and regain her composure, but found it difficult due to the pillow’s ample fluff and her husband nearly landing upon her.
Dewey, himself attempting to regain composure, removed his feet from the desk, stood up, and offered Mrs. Disk a hand to pull her up.
“Mrs. Disk?” he confirmed as he heaved her off the floor pillow. Wolfie, who beyond Dewey’s comprehension had somehow managed to sleep through all this ruckus, discovered their arrival and chose this moment to greet them by licking Mrs. Disk’s calf.
“Yes, hello,” she said, smoothing her hair again and her skirt. “Oh, what a cute dog!” The color began to return to her cheeks which moments before looked white as a sheet of paper.
“Wolfie, knock it off.”
Mr. Disk smiled. He nodded and got onto all fours to transition his body off the big floor pillow. Wolfie took this as a game and ran over to get his miniature tennis ball, dropping it at Mr. Disk’s feet.
Dewey wished Clara would hurry up and come out. She was only a few feet away, but once she got her head in the oven she got focused until she had her plate of cookies to bring out. Meanwhile, Dewey worked hard to bring all of this into clear focus.
“Please,” Dewey gestured to the small loveseat they had in front of the screen. The tall wide screen served to separate the sitting area and the kitchen and provided for their movie viewing needs. “Have a seat.” Were these two adults really here? How strange. Dewey felt almost out of his own body as he watched himself talk to them.
“Thank you. You got our daughter’s letter,” Mr. Disk began. His black rimmed rectangular glasses sat crooked on his bulb-shaped nose.
Their daughter’s letter. Dewey went and grabbed it off his desk and pulled up his chair. He still felt like he was walking behind their conversation, not with it yet. He needed to catch up.
“We’re at our wits’ end. The only one worse to one is the other. From the moment they wake up, until the blessed moment they fall asleep, all they do is fight. I’m ready to flush them both down the toilet.” Mrs. Disk threw Wolfie’s ball for him. Somehow, even amid her own misery, she kept aware of that silly dog’s needs. Dewey thought that was awful nice.
Mr. Disk patted her on the back.
They both looked at Dewey and waited.
The room was quiet. Light shined in through the small attic windows warming the Berber carpet and Wolfie sat down on a sunny spot.
Dewey began to feel that rudderless floating out at sea feeling. Where was Clara? Where was Efren? Why were they here?
And then Mrs. Disk spoke again.
“Can you help?”
Dewey began to feel his hands and feet again. Oh. Oh! They wanted him to solve their sibling problem? Holy cow! It wasn’t Efren who was his client. It was Efren’s parents!
Dewey found his sea legs and dove in.
“Sibling problems are one of my specialties. You’ve come to the right place. I have some paperwork for you to fill out, but if you don’t mind, can you tell me how you learned of my professional services?”
Mr. and Mrs. Disk looked at one another.
“Well, I
don’t quite know, dear,” Mr. Disk said to Mrs. Disk. “How did we end up here?”
“We grounded our son Efen for a week and he simply begged us to come meet with you since he couldn’t leave the house. Was that inappropriate? Should we not have come?” Mrs. Disk asked, looking around the room for signs that he’d been expecting them.
“Oh, no, no. Not at all. Quite appropriate,” Dewey said using her own words back to reassure her.
So, Efren had just told them to come in his place. He did wish Efren had asked him first.
“Just give me a sec,” Dewey said, sitting down at the computer to adjust his form. Where the deuce was Clara, he thought again. He skimmed the form quickly.
‘Name’ and ‘address,’ stays, ‘school’ and ‘grade’ come out, he decided. Oh, shoot. No, he thought, hitting the ‘undo typing’ button. I’ll just change them to ‘Children’s grade and school.’ He put them back and fixed it. Did he need to keep the questions about how to get into the home without being noticed and top hiding places? Yes, yes, he reasoned quickly. Still needed to observe unnoticed. Okay. Change ‘Parent’s names and problems’ to ‘Siblings’ and it would be all set. Geez, thought Dewey, exhaling. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.
Then, he added one final line: ‘Non-Disclosure Agreement: All transactions between the clients and Dewey Fairchild, Sibling Problem Solver to be kept in strict confidentiality. Please sign here:’
He let out a silent sigh, and felt himself propel forward again.
“They are going to kill one another,” their father said. “And if they don’t, I may.”
Mrs. Disk slowly nodded in agreement.
“Here,” Dewey said, handing them the form attached to a clipboard. “Just fill this out, and I’ll handle the rest.”
Before they left, Dewey knew where to enter, where to hide, that they had a cat, and that these parents wanted him to solve the problem of their two kids and their death-match wrestling. The Disks signed, agreeing to keep Dewey’s business with their family confidential.
“I’ll be there after school tomorrow,” Dewey said shaking each of their hands. If Dewey ever felt grateful that he and Clara had installed the Garage Gator Electric Motorized Lift it was now. He could only imagine the two of them crawling up on Clara’s shoulders to get back into the air ducts!