One More Sale
“We haven’t had any customers since you went in for lunch,” Grandma said when DJ came back outside. “Can I leave you in charge while I make a cup of tea?”
“No problem-o, Grandma,” said DJ. DJ loved to be left in charge.
Minutes passed. No one else came by. Being in charge was no fun if there was nothing to be in charge of.
DJ got Speedwell from the closet. He zipped up and down the street. He spun around and did a wheelie. That’s when he saw Sam. She was looking through Ms. Rowbottom’s jewelry box.
Sam had a pink bag with green cats on it slung over her shoulder. She was still wearing her paint-splattered jeans. Now her T-shirt was splattered with yellow paint too.
“Hi ya,” she said when she saw DJ. She sniffed as he came closer. “Are you wearing perfume? You smell like a banana.”
“I am not wearing perfume!” DJ told her. He explained about the squished banana.
“I like bananas too,” said Sam. “But I don’t want to smell like one.” She held up the jewelry box. “I’ll give you two dollars for it.”
“Two dollars?” DJ shook his head. “No way. It’s marked five dollars.”
“Garage sales are for bargaining,” said Sam.
“I can’t,” said DJ. “I’m selling it for Ms. Rowbottom. She wants five dollars for it.”
Sam picked out a couple of necklaces and put them on. “What do you think?”
DJ thought they were the ugliest necklaces he had ever seen, but he didn’t want to hurt Sam’s feelings. “They look really funny on you,” he said.
Sam rolled her eyes. She reached into her bag and took out an envelope marked Happy Birthday, Samantha. She pulled a five-dollar bill from the envelope and handed it to DJ. Then she scooped up the jewelry box and put it into her bag. “I’m helping my dad paint our garage door. See ya.” She ran down the street with the bag swinging on her shoulder.
DJ was impressed. Sam ran almost as fast as he could move on Speedwell.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Another Disaster
The garage sale was over. Grandma started packing up the leftovers.
“I’ll get the sign,” said DJ. “We can save it for next year.”
When DJ came back, Ms. Rowbottom’s car was parked in her driveway.
“Rita’s home,” said Grandma. “She’ll be over as soon as she feeds Tiger.”
DJ wondered what Ms. Rowbottom fed Tiger the Terrible. He hoped it wasn’t anything that was alive.
Moments later, Ms. Rowbottom came hurrying across the driveway. She had a box in her hand. “You forgot my jewelry,” she said.
Grandma looked at her in surprise. “Rita, we did get your jewelry.”
Ms. Rowbottom shook her head. “When I came home, the box was still on the kitchen table where I left it.”
“But I found the jewelry box on the hall table,” said DJ.
Ms. Rowbottom let out a piercing shriek. Her eyes were two jack-o’-lantern Os of shock. “DJ, please tell me you did not sell the box of jewelry I left on the hall table.”
DJ gulped. The leftover tuna, provolone, avocado dip, pepper jelly, pineapple, something curly that looked like lettuce, and peanut butter Super Stacker churned in his stomach. “Yes, I did,” he said in a not-another-disaster voice.
“Didn’t you see the box on the kitchen table?” asked Ms. Rowbottom.
“I…I didn’t go into the kitchen.” DJ swallowed. “I saw the box on the hall table. I thought you had left it there instead.” He got the five-dollar bill from the money box to hand to Ms. Rowbottom.
Ms. Rowbottom scarcely glanced at the bill. “This is a disaster! A horrible disaster!” she cried. “My favorite necklaces were in that box.”
Grandma clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Rita, I am so sorry. I feel terrible about this.”
“A disaster! A horrible disaster!” Ms. Rowbottom moaned. “How could this have happened?”
“I am so sorry,” Grandma repeated. “It’s all my fault.”
DJ felt sick with misery. It wasn’t Grandma’s fault. It was his fault.
Grandma turned to him. “DJ, do you remember who bought that box?”
“Yes, I do!” DJ breathed a huge sigh of relief. “It was that girl, Sam.”
“Do you know where she lives?” asked Grandma.
“Not exactly,” said DJ, “but I’ll find her.” He stuffed the five-dollar bill into his pocket and hopped onto Speedwell. “Don’t worry, Ms. Rowbottom,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll get your jewelry back no matter what.”
CHAPTER NINE
A Clue
DJ sped toward Huckleberry Lane. All I have to do is find Sam, he told himself. I’ll explain what happened. I will give her money back. She will give Ms. Rowbottom’s jewelry back. No problem-o.
As DJ turned onto Huckleberry Lane, a horrible thought struck him. Problem-o. Major problem-o! He had no idea which house was Sam’s.
Huckleberry Lane was a short street, but even a short street has lots of houses. How could he find Sam’s house? There was only one way. He would have to knock on every door until he found her.
DJ walked up to the first house. A man answered the door.
“Does Sam live here?” DJ asked.
The man shook his head. “Not anymore.”
Not anymore? “Where did she go?” DJ asked.
“She?” The man looked at DJ. “My son Sam is a he. And he is away at university.”
“Your Sam isn’t the Sam I’m looking for,” said DJ.
“Good luck finding her,” said the man as he closed the door.
To DJ’s surprise, Sam was a popular name on Huckleberry Lane. He asked a woman working in her garden if she knew where Sam lived.
“Next door,” said the woman, “in the backyard.”
“Sam lives in the backyard?” DJ gasped.
The woman pointed. “There’s Sam now.”
DJ followed her finger. Standing at the fence was the biggest dog DJ had ever seen. The dog barked. It sounded like rumbling thunder.
“Don’t be afraid of him,” said the woman. “He’s a big old pussycat. He’s very friendly.”
DJ thought of Tiger the Terrible. “Big old pussycats aren’t always friendly,” he said.
Next, DJ asked a teenager walking his dog. “Sorry, kid,” said the teenager. “I don’t have a clue where Sam lives.”
“A clue where Sam lives…” The words blared through DJ’s head. He looked up and down the street. Then he saw it.
The teenager didn’t have a clue where Sam lived, but DJ did. In fact, he knew exactly where Sam lived. He took off down the street.
CHAPTER TEN
All Sales Final
When Sam came to Grandma’s garage sale, she had been wearing jeans splattered with yellow paint. She had said she was helping her dad paint their garage door. The house DJ was standing in front of had a yellow garage door. Above it was a Wet Paint sign.
DJ raced up the steps and rang the bell.
A woman opened the door. She had dark springy curls all over her head, like Sam. She was wearing a jumble-of-colors T-shirt, like Sam’s.
DJ held back an earsplitting whoop. “Does Sam live here?” he asked.
“Yes, she does,” said the woman. “Samantha!” she called into the house.
Sam came to the door. She had three clunky, chunky necklaces around her neck. She looked at DJ in surprise. “How did you know where I live?”
“Easy peasy detective work,” said DJ. He told Sam about the yellow-paint clue. Then he told her about the jewelry-box mix-up. “So I have to get the jewelry back,” he said.
“No way,” said Sam. “Your sign said All sales final.”
Sam shrugged. “Sorry. All sales final.”
DJ was desperate. “I’ll do anything to get that jewelry back.”
A lopsided grin spread across Sam’s face. “How about a trade?”
“Fan-tabulous,” said DJ. “What do you want to trade?”
Sam pointed to Speedwell.
DJ’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “I can’t trade Speedwell,” he said. “No way. No how.”
Sam shrugged again. “It’s up to you. If you really want the jewelry back, you’ll have to give me your skateboard.”
Ms. Rowbottom’s words flashed across DJ’s mind. “A horrible disaster.” That’s exactly what this was. Grandma thought it was her fault. But it was his fault. He was the one who had taken the wrong box.
DJ had no choice. A promise was a promise. With a sinking heart, he handed Speedwell to Sam.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Speedwell
“My hero!” Ms. Rowbottom shrieked when DJ returned with her jewelry box. She hugged DJ so hard, she knocked off his helmet. Ms. Rowbottom was too excited to notice.
DJ picked up his helmet. A golf ball-sized lump formed in his throat. Without Speedwell, he wouldn’t need his helmet anymore. Next summer he would probably sell it at Grandma’s garage sale.
When he got home, DJ went to his room. He put Sam’s five dollars into his monkey bank.
In bed that night, he told Sockster what had happened. “This was the worst, most tragic day of my whole life,” he said. “It was a horrible, terrible disaster.” DJ and Sockster tossed and turned until late into the night.
The next morning, DJ trudged into the kitchen. “Good morning, Mom,” he said in a quiet indoor voice. He sat at the table and propped his chin on his hands.
Mom was surprised. DJ never walked into a room. He ran. He never sat in a chair. He straddled it, pretending it was a wild bronco. And he hardly ever spoke in an indoor voice.
“What kind of cereal would you like?” Mom asked.
DJ sighed so hard, he blew a couple of leaves off Mom’s plant. “I may never eat again,” he said.
Mom poured some Crispy Crunchies into a bowl. She sliced a banana on top and put it in front of DJ.
DJ forced himself to eat, one small spoonful at a time.
“Your friend Riley will be back next week,” Mom said to cheer him up. “Then you’ll have someone to skateboard with.”
DJ dropped the spoon halfway to his mouth. He slumped so low, he almost slid out of his chair. He hadn’t told Mom about Speedwell yet. Now was as bad a time as any.
“Mom…” DJ began.
The phone rang. Then the doorbell chimed.
Mom reached for the phone.
DJ dragged himself to the door.
Sam stood on the porch. She had on a bright orange helmet with a happy face. Sam’s face was anything but happy. Under one arm was Speedwell.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ah-mazing!
“What are you doing here?” asked DJ. “How did you know where I live?”
“Easy peasy detective work,” said Sam. “Your name and phone number are on the bottom of your skateboard. And speaking of your skateboard, you can have it back.” She shoved Speedwell into DJ’s arms.
DJ was too stunned to speak.
“I want my five dollars back,” said Sam.
DJ found his voice. “Wait right here. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. I’ll be back. Pronto.”
DJ raced past the kitchen, up the stairs and into his room. He grabbed his monkey bank and dug out Sam’s money. He snatched up his helmet and charged downstairs, whooping like a cheerleader for a winning team.
Mom looked out of the kitchen. “Is everything okay?”
DJ stopped long enough to give her a high five. “Everything isn’t okay, Mom. It’s fan-tabulous!” he said as he ran out the door.
Sam put the money into her pocket. “There’s something wrong with your skateboard,” she said.
“What are you talking about?” said DJ. “Speedwell is the best skateboard in the whole world.”
“I keep falling off,” said Sam.
DJ put Speedwell on the ground. He zipped up and down the driveway. He did wheelies. He jumped off, flipped Speedwell and caught it in one hand. “Speedwell works perfectly,” he said. “No problem-o.”
“You are ah-mazing,” said Sam. She grinned her lopsided grin. “I wish I could skateboard like that.”
DJ grinned too. No one had ever called him ah-mazing before. “I could teach you how,” he said.
“Would you?” asked Sam
“No problem-o,” said DJ.
For the next hour, Sam and DJ took turns on Speedwell.
Sam learned quickly. “I love skateboarding,” she said, zipping along like a pro. She still couldn’t do wheelies though.
DJ showed her again. He loved teaching people how to do things.
“I need more practice,” said Sam. “It’s lunchtime. I have to go home. Can we skateboard tomorrow?”
“Sure,” said DJ. Teaching Sam to skateboard was fun. Having someone to skateboard with, especially someone who thought he was ah-mazing, was even more fun.
“Come over to my house tomorrow morning,” said Sam. She took off running.
DJ watched. That Sam was one fast runner. Maybe he would challenge her to a race tomorrow. He watched as she flew down the street. Or maybe not.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sam’s House
DJ raced into the kitchen. He made a peanut butter, banana, kiwi, blueberry, honey and yogurt Super Stacker. Had he missed anything? Yes, liverwurst. He heaped some on.
He was finishing the last delicious bite when the phone rang.
“DJ, it’s Sam…something ah-mazing…you’re not going to believe it.” Sam’s words tumbled over one another.
“What happened?” asked DJ.
“You’ll see when you get here. Hurry up.” Sam hung up without saying goodbye.
Something ah-mazing? Fan-tabulous! DJ went to the den to tell his mom where he was going.
Mom looked up from her computer. “Have fun,” she said. “Remember you have to clean the garage this afternoon.”
DJ groaned. He had forgotten. He often forgot chores like that. “Can I do it tomorrow?” he asked.
“No way,” said Mom in her not-budging voice. “I want it cleaned this afternoon for sure.”
DJ sighed. “I’ll remember,” he promised.
He grabbed Speedwell and headed for Sam’s.
When he turned onto Huckleberry Lane, he stopped in surprise. Sam was coming to meet him—on a skateboard.
“Guess what?” said Sam. “My cousin got a new skateboard for his birthday. He sold me his old one.” She gave DJ a high five. “Let’s race,” she said and zipped off.
DJ and Sam skateboarded for the rest of the morning. When they went in for a drink, Sam’s mom invited DJ to stay for lunch.
DJ loved eating at other people’s houses. He called his mom.
“You can stay, but you’ll have to come right home afterward,” said Mom.
“Why?” asked DJ.
Mom sighed. “You have to clean the garage. Remember? It needs to be done this afternoon for sure. Oh, and remember to say thank you and be polite.”
“Okay,” DJ promised. How was he supposed to remember all that stuff?
“Do you want to see my room?” Sam asked when he hung up. “I decorated it myself.”
DJ shrugged. Bedrooms were boring. Then he remembered what Mom had said about being polite. “Sure, okay,
great,” he said. “I love looking at bedrooms.” Mom would have been proud of him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Super Stackers and Roll-ups
DJ followed Sam down the hall. He stopped in the doorway. He had never seen a bedroom like Sam’s before. It was like stepping into a giant paint box.
The walls were purple. The carpet was bright green. A rainbow-colored quilt covered the bed. In one corner, a huge orange bear sat on a yellow chair beside a pink dresser.
“My dad says I have a wild imagination,” said Sam.
“My dad says the same about me,” said DJ. Actually, a lot of people said DJ had a wild imagination. DJ didn’t mind. People with wild imaginations were his favorite kind.
DJ noticed a picture on Sam’s dresser. It was a photo of a large black-and-white cat. The cat had a scowly face. It reminded DJ of Tiger the Terrible.
“That was my cat Hairball,” said Sam. “He was kind of grumpy.”
DJ told Sam about Tiger the Terrible and the jewelry box.
“Were you afraid of her?” Sam asked.
“Well…” DJ hesitated.
“Don’t feel bad,” said Sam. “Everyone on our street was afraid of Hairball.”
DJ grinned. Sam understood.
“I’m hungry,” said Sam. “Let’s have lunch.”
Sam’s mom was in the kitchen making coffee.
“Can we make our own sandwiches?” Sam asked.
“Okay,” said Sam’s mom. “But maybe DJ would prefer a plain sandwich rather than one of your quirky creations.”
DJ’s stomach growled. A quirky-creation sandwich sounded interesting and delicious.
“I’ll get back to unpacking,” said Sam’s mom. She smiled at DJ. “Good luck.”
Sam opened the fridge door. She took out a container marked Spicy Chicken. She took out salsa, two kinds of cheese, half a sausage, a raw onion, grainy mustard and chickpeas. She took out tortilla wraps. “I’m going to make Roll-Ups,” she said.
The Great Garage Sale Page 2