by Doug Cornett
I was struck by how different Peephole seemed. He was quick to smile and laugh. He was constantly whispering into Trill’s ear, even though he knew she had no idea what he was telling her. Being a big brother suited him; it gave him a responsibility, and he seemed to have lost a lot of his fear and anxiety. When the cake was passed around, though, he did wonder out loud whether one could be allergic to icing and not know it, and whether such an icing allergy might result in facial swelling or hives.
Watching Peephole hold Trill above his head, laughing and making wacky faces, then passing her gingerly over to Shanks, who took her turn making wacky faces, made me realize that the best thing that ever happened to the One and Onlys was no longer being the One and Onlys.
* * *
The next day the Honest Bratwurst food cart officially raised its window for business, and my mom and I spent the morning grilling up sausages and serving them to a small but steady stream of customers, while my dad manned the hardware store and sent shoppers our way. Ronald did his part by lapping up any morsels that fell on the pavement. The truck was hot and a bit cramped, with my mom and me swerving around each other (each in an I’M THE WIENER! T-shirt), the oldies were cranking from the radio in the corner, and the sweet smell of butter and syrup filled the air.
Portnoy stopped by to have lunch. He enjoyed his first Swine in a Sleeping Bag so much that he ordered another. “Now, this is a champion bratwurst,” he said, syrup dripping from his mustache onto his uniform.
At three in the afternoon, my mom told me to clock out for the day, and I hung up my apron and biked home. I was late to meet Shanks and Peephole at our new secret headquarters, but I didn’t feel like riding my bike there. Nope. Today, I was going to arrive in style.
Riding on the GrassMaster 3000 was like strapping an engine to a cloud and cruising around the heavens. The machine purred like a kitten and cornered like a dream. There were three speeds, each indicated by a small picture next to the gearshift: tortoise, squirrel, and hare. I started on squirrel for a few loops before slamming it up to hare, letting the wind blow through my hair as I zipped and zapped my way across our property, cackling like a mad scientist as I zoomed toward the forest service road at the end of Munchaus Avenue.
That’s right. Earlier that morning, my dad finally came to his senses and gave me permission to use the Cadillac of lawn-maintenance vehicles.
“Paul,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder, “today you become a man. Or at least close to it.” And that’s when he handed me the keys. I’d never felt such lawn-related excitement in all my life.
Of course, I think he meant for me to mow the grass with it, not drive it a quarter of a mile away down a dirt road to a swamp. But can you blame a guy for being enthusiastic?
I settled to a stop at our new headquarters. It was far enough out of town that nobody would find it, and it was guarded by an army of little rubber warriors, stacked in a pile with the hand-carved ONE AND ONLYS sign placed on the top.
Shanks and Peephole sat on tree stumps a small distance from the duckies, away from the mud—Peephole’s idea, of course. They greeted me with a salute. I sat down on an empty stump.
“I heard you have to run a mile every day,” Shanks was saying, “and if you don’t do it fast enough, you don’t get to eat lunch.”
“Really?” Peephole looked nauseous.
“Yup. And I heard that you have to write ten-page papers every week.”
“Ten pages?” Peephole asked. He was definitely pale.
“And they don’t serve cupcakes for dessert anymore at lunch. They only have kale pudding or seaweed shakes.”
“Kale pudding?” Peephole looked like he was perched on the edge of a vomit explosion.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Sixth grade,” Peephole said. “It sounds like it’s going to be rough.”
“Nah,” I said. “Every year we think school’s going to be harder, but we always get used to it, don’t we?”
“Pauly Sweet is right,” Shanks said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Well, there’s lots to be afraid of—”
“Like kale pudding,” Peephole interjected.
“—but at least we’ve got each other’s backs, right?”
“Right,” I said. “And we’ve got to set good examples for Trill. Hey, Peephole, what do you think she’s going to be when she grows up?”
“I bet she’ll be an astronaut,” Shanks said immediately, tossing a rock into the mud in front of us. It went gloop. “She’ll do something cool, like become the first human to sneeze on Mars.”
“Astronaut? She can’t go two hours without pooping in her diapers.”
“She’s got some time to figure it out,” I said.
We stared beyond the duckies into the thick forest of trees and lush green growth. We sat there in silence for a few minutes, thinking back on the most interesting summer we’d ever had. There were rubber ducks appearing out of nowhere, and fish flopping in the limbs of trees. There was the world’s tallest man and Bellwood’s littlest sister. There were telltale bath toys in giant tubas, ruined tomato gardens, and megastores blooming in empty fields. There was bratwurst and wildfires and llama-smooching grouches. There were investigations that revealed that the most mysterious people in our town were just like us: human. This was the summer that the weirdness had come to Bellwood, and I loved every minute of it.
Now, the only thing for the One and Onlys to do was sit back and wait for the next case to drop from the sky. Something told me it wouldn’t be long at all.
This book truly was a collaborative project, and I owe a debt of gratitude to so many people who helped it along on its journey to publication.
To my agent, Penelope Burns: your passion, patience, tenacity, and keen eye willed this book to life. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: you helped me make a dream come true, and I couldn’t have done it without you.
To my editor, Julia Maguire, and the Knopf Books for Young Readers team: your editorial wisdom helped crack the mysteries of the story for me. Thank you for believing in this book and for working so hard to make it the best it could be.
Thank you to the Northwest Academy community for inspiring me daily, and to David Schonfeld for all the commiseration. Also thanks to the Globe Foundation and the Creative Production grant for allowing me more time and resources to work on this book.
Thank you to Steven Millhauser, Kathryn Davis, Tom Bissell, and all my teachers who modeled the writing life and pushed me to get better.
To my friends who read early versions of this and other books: your feedback and excitement have been invaluable to me.
To the Shapiro family, thank you for your support. And especially to Sondra (Nana), for being my unofficial publicist.
To my parents, Harry and Lynda, and my siblings, Jen, Adam, and Rachael: thank you for your love and encouragement, and for making my childhood just strange enough to give me inspiration. And to Jack, Riley, Eli, and Charlie for keeping the strangeness alive.
And finally, to Anna, my first reader and biggest fan, and Leo: I owe you more than I could ever say. You make it all worthwhile.
When he’s not teaching high school English, Doug Cornett enjoys playing Ping-Pong, solving mysteries, and rooting for the Cleveland Cavaliers. Originally from Hudson, Ohio, Doug lives with his wife and son in Portland, Oregon. Finally, Something Mysterious is his debut novel.
@MrDougCornett
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.