The Midnight War of Mateo Martinez

by Robin Yardi

  The third time I got up to go to the bathroom, the dishwasher was still running in the kitchen but the couch was empty. All the lights were off. I listened for a second over the little clink, clink, clink of dishes in the washer. Nothing. Everybody was asleep.

  Except me.

  I hurried to the hall closet and collected Dad’s industrial-strength, ultra-bright work light. Then I grabbed a container of leftover tamales from the kitchen—the most perfect bait ever. When I put my shoes on by the door, my heart thumped fast. I slid the deadbolt open with a click and stopped to listen.

  Still quiet.

  It was go time.

  9.

  The Night Watch

  When the door thumped closed behind me and I stepped onto the front porch in the dark, I shivered a little even though it was a pretty warm night. Balancing the heavy light and the container of leftovers in my hands, I snuck along the driveway, careful not to set off the motion sensor, which is pretty easy if you know where to walk. I moved past the trash cans and scattered the leftover tamales in front of the empty spot in the driveway where the old trike should have been. Then I sat crouched in my old red sweatpants and too-thin T-shirt behind the trash cans and waited.

  For a long time.

  So long that the stars got brighter.

  So long my legs started to cramp up.

  Soon I was shivering and kind of freaked out. But I didn’t turn on the light. I knew I would need it to surprise the skunks. I read on the Internet skunks don’t see very well and get confused in bright lights. That’s why they are always getting squashed on the side of the road—they get blinded in the headlights of speeding cars. That’s what I was going to do. Not squash them, but, you know, blind them in a speedy attack and then … get the trike back somehow. I thought I had the perfect plan.

  But every tiny sound made me jerk a little. Bark. Rustle. Thump. Then a stray cat screamed somewhere down the street. When my heart stopped beating funny, I took a couple slow, deep breaths.

  My nose wrinkled.

  They were coming.

  There’s this jasmine vine that grows right behind the trash cans. It blooms every January. I could smell the skunks even over that white, warm-night winter smell. The first whiffs weren’t so bad. Not like when skunks are flat on the side of the road and your car smells for a few miles—just kind of musky, like Dad when he comes in sweaty from work. The smell got stronger—they must have been getting closer—so I held my breath and listened. I heard them rustling through the leftovers. Then this slurpy gnawing noise came my way. Gross! I gripped the light tighter but didn’t peek around the side of the trash can yet. I hadn’t heard the trike creak up, so if I wanted it back, I was going to have to follow the skunks.

  “Think we should appropriate the silver bike too, sir?” someone asked in a squeaky voice.

  “Negative,” someone else whispered. “Can’t use more than one vehicle unless we figure out how to maneuver them on our own. Besides, we couldn’t get the bike without triggering their light again. That was an amateur error …”

  What the heck was going on? I put Dad’s work light down in front of me and leaned out around the edge of the blue recycle bin. I leaned so far forward that I accidentally clicked the light’s on-button with my knee. And I saw them. Two skunks, chomping on the tamale bits. The little black skunk stopped munching on my leftover tamale and twitched its whiskers. It did not seem confused or blinded or anything.

  “Rotting snail-bait, Sergeant Buggies—we’ve got a problem!” the little skunk grunted.

  The bigger skunk kept chewing for a minute. I thought I really was dreaming or just going totally insane—actually, that’s a lie. I didn’t have time to think anything.

  “You know what needs to be done, Nuts,” the big one said.

  “Yes sir, Sergeant Buggies,” the little guy said. The skunk turned around and actually stood on its hands.

  A handstand—I am not joking.

  It lifted its tail.

  “Bringing the stink,” the upside-down skunk squeaked.

  I picked up my dad’s light, trying to shine it in the upside-down skunk’s face, and stood there with my mouth open. I mean wide open.

  The skunk squirted right in my face. In my eyes, up my nose, in my mouth.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhh,” I screamed and dropped the light. It went scrunch on the concrete, and I knew it was broken. My eyes stung so much I could barely see, and my nose and mouth burned with the horrible smell.

  The little upside-down skunk flipped back down to its feet with a wiggle.

  “Excellent shot, Nuts,” the big skunk said.

  The burning in my eyes kept getting worse. I tried to wipe the skunk spray off my face with the sleeve of my shirt. Then I heard the skunks scampering down the concrete driveway. I couldn’t let them get away! I opened my eyes, but they stung so much I couldn’t keep them open. Every breath I took made me cough and gag.

  It was worse than the time Mila found that old Easter egg. Worse than moldy lengua in a container I thought had cake in it. Worse than being in a headlock and smelling Mike Feltcher’s armpit.

  I lunged forward anyway, scattering bits and pieces of my dad’s broken light. The glass crunched under my sneakers as I sped down the driveway after the skunks—or whatever they were. I rubbed my eyes and reopened them just as I was about to trip onto the street. I wasn’t sure where they’d gone, so I just ran in the direction I saw them take the trike the other night. I skidded around the corner, hoping I’d guessed right. After half a block, I saw the skunks ahead of me. They zipped through the crosswalk at Castillo and started scuttling down the far sidewalk, between these bright patches under the streetlights. But they weren’t riding the trike.

  Skunks under a streetlight.

  Disappear in the dark.

  Skunks under a streetlight.

  Disappear in the dark.

  When the skunks scampered into that last dark patch, I lost track of them. They didn’t reappear under the next streetlight. I ran faster and kept my eyes on the bright circle where they should have shown up, but they didn’t. I was coughing when I got to the spot where the skunks disappeared.

  I stopped and rubbed at my watering eyes, spinning around, checking every direction. I looked across the street, scanning up and down the sidewalk. I bent down to peek under all the parked cars. Then, foopsh … I turned to see the two little skunks burst out of Mr. Mendoza’s hydrangea hedge on my old trike!

  The skunks zoomed up Mr. Mendoza’s driveway and then shot onto the path that went through his backyard. I ran after them, and my sneakers made loud smacking noises on the concrete. Too loud for whatever o’clock it was. I skidded to a stop where Mr. Mendoza’s garden path started. I knew the path curved through his little “orchard” and emptied out on the other side of the block, right next to Oak Park. But even though it’s a shortcut to school, nobody cuts through Mr. Mendoza’s yard. Ever.

  He’s always accusing some neighborhood kid of stealing his fruit. Which I never do. I only take the stuff from the ground, like with the persimmons, which doesn’t count, but I wondered … Should I do it? Should I go through?

  I had to. I could hear the creak of my old trike shooting across Mr. Mendoza’s garden. The skunks had almost slipped through to the other side. They were getting away. If I didn’t follow them, I’d never know which way they went.

  I stepped one sneaker onto Mr. Mendoza’s gravel path. Crunch.

  His porch light snapped on.

  I froze.

  “Ahhhhg, geezer farts,” I groaned under my breath.

  10.

  The Pink Polka Dots

  I dove into Mr. Mendoza’s blue hydrangea bushes in an explosion of blossoms. I know they were hydrangeas because he’s always shouting at us kids on the way home, “Stay out of my hydrangeas or I’ll call your parents!” Whatever, he basically has two whole blocks of hydrangeas. So what if a few blossoms get knocked off?

  I crouched down on the ground, with my nose
inches from the dirt, and shook the ruined flowers off my head. Mr. Mendoza’s porch light stayed on, but I didn’t hear anything. Maybe he wouldn’t come out.

  Smack!

  The screen door crashed against the house. Mr. Mendoza stood on his doorstep in a robe and ratty slippers, glaring across the yard. Maybe he wouldn’t spot me. He let the screen door slam shut behind him and lurched across the porch. “I see you out there, you little monster!” He headed straight for the hydrangea hedges.

  I had no choice. I had to run for it. No way was I letting Mr. Mendoza bring me home in the middle of the night, not smelling like a skunk’s butt, not ever. I stood up and tore through the bushes in another explosion of blossoms. I thumped down the driveway, and Mr. Mendoza shuffled after me, his slippers scraping on the concrete.

  “I see you, you little thug! I know who you are! Get your butt back here right now or …”

  I careened around the corner of his driveway and out onto the sidewalk.

  I ran as fast as I could down the block, hoping I would make it to the street corner before Mr. Mendoza really got a good look at me. Even during the day, Mr. Mendoza can’t tell me from Ashwin when Ashwin forgets his backpack. That night, there was no backpack. So maybe he wouldn’t know it was me. I ran faster. So fast my ears shook.

  I was almost there. Almost home.

  I could still hear Mr. Mendoza yelling, but I wasn’t sure what he was saying anymore.

  At the corner closest to my house, I hopped over the big rock. By the time I made it to our driveway, I was breathing too hard to hear anything.

  Was he still behind me?

  No way could he run that fast. Mr. Mendoza couldn’t even stand up straight. But I knew almost nothing would keep him from trying to get a kid in trouble. If your parents weren’t home, he’d still find someone to yell at.

  Halfway up my driveway, I stopped and tried to catch my breath. Then I heard his slippers on the sidewalk. Scrutch-scrutch-scrutch. I dove behind the trash cans again, little bits of my dad’s ruined work light pricking through my sweats when I landed.

  The sound of Mr. Mendoza’s slippers stopped.

  I held my breath.

  I couldn’t hear anything.

  No cars. No steps. No crickets.

  Then I heard the scrutch of Mr. Mendoza’s slippers start up again. He kept going up the block—away from his house, away from my house, still searching. I guess he didn’t know it was me. Maybe he thought Ashwin had been the one. Maybe he thought I was that kid who lived over on Bath Street. Maybe.

  I waited and listened. Too scared to go back into my house. What if Mr. Mendoza walking away was just a trick? What if he was only waiting for me to make some noise?

  After a while, I heard Mr. Mendoza’s slippers coming back again. Scrutch-scrutch-scrutch. When he got to the end of my driveway, I was sure I was lunch meat. But all of the sudden, he started shuffling faster, like he’d seen something. Scrutch-scrutch-scrutch-scrutch. He was gone. I know, ’cause I waited. My heart stopped thumping too fast in my chest.

  By then, I felt kinda cold and miserable. I started to realize how bad the night watch had gone. No trike, and for a bunch of reasons, I was definitely in trouble.

  Number 1. I stank.

  Number 2. My dad’s ultra-bright work light was a busted-up mess.

  Number 3. Mr. Mendoza was definitely gonna tell somebody’s parents. Probably everybody’s, until he figured out who I was.

  Number 4. No way was I going to be able to explain it all away by saying two talking skunks stole the old trike. Anyway, Mom and Dad already thought I took it.

  There was only one thing to do. I was going to have to lie to Mom. Again.

  I brushed the broken bits of plastic and glass off my pajamas and snuck past the light sensor. I’d almost made it to the front steps when I saw her.

  Mila, standing on something, peeking out my window. Mila, in her dumb pink footie pajamas with polka dots. I saw her, and she definitely saw me.

  “Reason number five that I’m in big trouble.”

  11.

  The Stink

  “Did you see?” I asked Mila.

  She was sitting on the edge of my bed, arms crossed, little feet tapping against the mattress.

  “The skunks?” she asked.

  “Of course the skunks, dummy!”

  “Yep! I saw.” She nodded like ten times.

  “Did you hear them?”

  “Hear them what? Are they squeaky? I’m gonna call the little one Squeaky,” Mila said, bouncing a little on my bed.

  “No … I think that one is Nuts.”

  “Nuts?” she asked, tilting her head.

  “Yeah, and the big one is Buggies.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Buggies’?”

  “That’s the skunk’s name: Buggies.”

  “Buggies is not a name. You’re the one who’s nuts!”

  “Aaagh! You sure you didn’t hear anything?” I asked.

  “I heard you scream like you did when you found that spider on your toothbrush. That’s what I heard.”

  I shook my head like there was water stuck in my ear. Did I really hear what I thought I had heard? Was I totally nuts? Mila was definitely looking at me like I was nuts. “Never mind,” I said. “Go to bed, Mila.”

  Mila kicked her feet against my mattress. “I’m gonna tell.”

  “I know.”

  “Why was Mr. Mendoza chasing you?” she asked.

  “It’s not important.”

  “I’m gonna tell that too.”

  “I know,” I said. “Now go to back to sleep!”

  “You stink,” said Mila, hopping off my bed.

  “Thanks.”

  Mila picked up my half-empty glass of water from the nightstand, took a sip, and smacked her little lips. “You’re welcome. G’night, Mateo.” She put down the cup and padded out of my room in her footie pajamas.

  I stripped off my stinky sweats and shirt and stuffed them under my bed, but their stink was still making me want to choke. A few minutes later, I shoved the sweats into the corner of my closet. It didn’t help. Everything smelled like skunk.

  I didn’t care. I went to sleep with my face in my pillow, trying not to think about how I was probably, definitely, in the biggest trouble of my whole life.

  I kept falling asleep and waking back up. All night, I had nightmares about running after talking skunks. In my dreams, I always got sprayed and the skunks always got away. In the morning, I woke up with a jerk. Mila’s face hovered like two inches from mine.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  My legs were tangled up in my sheets. Light slanted into my room from the window.

  “I was having a dream,” I said, kicking the covers off. “What are you doing in my room again?”

  “So, I decided I’m not gonna tell,” Mila said.

  “Why not?” I sat up, and she hopped off my bed.

  “Mommy says I’m not supposed to go all around the neighborhood without you. So I need you to help me get my trike back. I have an idea for those little stinkers, but I can’t do it all by myself.”

  I was tired of telling her that old trike was not hers. Still, I needed her to keep quiet. “You really won’t tell?” I asked.

  “Nope. But you have to help me find my trike.”

  I smushed my mouth into a little crooked line. “All right, but you have to help me too,” I said, climbing out of bed.

  Mila followed me to my closet doing a little skippy-hoppy dance. “Yeah, yeah, yeah! I’m going to need my own flashlight, and I’ll catch both skunks like fooopsh, fooopsh, and I’m going to call the little one Squeaky and the big one Stinky.”

  “That’s not the kind of help I mean. Come on, Mila. We have to hurry.”

  “It still really smells in here,” she said, crossing her arms.

  “I know. That’s why we have to hurry. It’s my sweats.”

  I got down on my hands and knees and dragged them out of the closet. “Go to the
pantry and get some tomato soup,” I said. “The kind Dad likes with grilled cheese sandwiches.”

  “Soup? Do skunks like soup? How can skunks drink soup if they don’t have spoons?”

  “Ahhhg! Mila, just go do it before Mom wakes up! And bring the soup to the garage.”

  She pattered off to the pantry. I ran through the kitchen and into the garage, grabbing a dustpan and hand broom from the pegboard. I slammed them down on top of the washer, flinched at the clangy noise, and then listened for a minute. The concrete floor was freezing, I was only in my tighty whities, and little chicken dots covered my skin. I could hear Mila shuffling things around in the pantry down the hall, but I couldn’t hear Mom. I crossed my fingers and hoped she was still sleeping. I threw my sweats into the wash and clicked the big round door shut as quietly as possible.

  Mila came in holding two cans of tomato soup high over her head.

  “Found them,” she said loudly.

  “Shhhh! Good—now get the can opener.” I grabbed the cans of soup. “And be quiet!”

  She padded back a second later, waving the can opener around.

  I opened one can of soup, shaking my hand out when it got tired of turning the dial.

  “Here goes,” I said, getting on my toes.

  Mila’s eyes went wide. “Mateo,” she whispered. “You’re putting it in the washer?”

  “Yep,” I said, tipping the can of soup into the soap bin.

  “In the washer?” she asked again.

  “Yes,” I hissed, putting some soap in too.

  “This is a really bad idea.”

  “I know,” I said, pushing the start button. The Internet had already been wrong about one thing, but maybe it would be right about the soup!

  Click—the door locked.