The Fix-It Friends--Wish You Were Here

by Nicole C. Kear

  “HEY!” he shouted. “WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING MY STUFF?”

  Pearl made a low growling noise. Her top lip was curled up in a sneer so you could see her teeth. She looked like a dog ready to attack.

  “Gimme Wicawdo!” she yelled.

  “WHO’S WICAWDO?” Little Nicky asked.

  “Ricardo is Pearl’s stuffed rat and you know it,” I said.

  “WHY WOULD I TOUCH A RAT?” replied Little Nicky. “RATS ARE STUPID!”

  “Wicawdo’s NOT stupid!” The words exploded out of Pearl. Then she leaped up and pushed Little Nicky down with all her might.

  “Pearl!” Gramps scolded, pulling her off Little Nicky. “What’s the matter?”

  “Ricardo’s missing, and the only person who’s been in Pearl’s room all day was Little Nicky,” I explained. Then I turned to Little Nicky and said, “You have to give Ricardo back to her! She needs him! It’s not a funny joke!”

  “BUT I DON’T HAVE HIM!” Little Nicky’s face was getting all red.

  “Now, let’s just hold our horses for a second,” Gramps said. He never raises his voice, but you can tell when he means business. “I reckon that’s enough slinging around accusations without any proof. Most likely, Pearl just put the critter down somewhere and forgot about it. Let’s hunker down and look for him.”

  So we did. I searched the living room, where Ezra and Jude were sitting on the couch, doing homework. They were not talking at all.

  Ezra’s eyes looked red, and his face was shiny from crying. I felt terrible about what I’d done. I wanted to apologize, but I figured I should probably leave them alone. So after I searched the living room for Ricardo, I just went into my bedroom and did my homework, too. I even did the double-sided math sheet. When I came out, Ezra had gone home.

  Guess who found Ricardo?

  No one.

  And guess who couldn’t go to sleep that night?

  Everyone!

  Pearl lay on the air mattress in our room and asked for Ricardo over and over again. Then she started asking for Mom and Dad.

  Granny read Pearl about twenty books, and then Gramps sang her about thirty verses of the song “Froggy Went A-Courting.” They gave her three pacis—one to suck on and one to hold in each hand. But she was just too sad to sleep. So finally, way after her bedtime—way after my bedtime, even—Granny and Gramps let her sleep in bed with them.

  I thought that finding Ricardo might be a good job for the Fix-It Friends—but then I thought that if Shimmy had reminded Ezra of Ziggy, Ricardo would probably do the same thing. If I wanted to ever get any sleep, I’d just have to find Ricardo myself.

  Chapter 9

  The next day at lunch, I almost fell asleep while I was eating the pimiento cheese sandwich Granny had packed for me.

  I heard a voice next to me ask, “Miss Conti, are you ill?”

  I knew who it was before I opened my eyes. Only one person calls me Miss Conti.

  Standing before me was Miss Tibbs, the most dreaded recess and lunch teacher on the planet. Miss Tibbs’s beady black eyes were staring at me from behind her big black glasses. She is super strict, and she always has her eye on me.

  Her voice was like a bucket of cold water in my face. It woke me right up!

  “I’m not sick,” I replied. “I’m tust jired, I mean, just tired.”

  Miss Tibbs made a harrumph sound, which is her favorite sound to make.

  “A good night’s rest is essential to your health,” she lectured me. “I, myself, am always in bed by eight p.m. sharp.”

  “Uh-huh, good idea. Sorry,” I said.

  This is what I have learned to do when Miss Tibbs lectures me.

  1. Agree with whatever she says.

  2. Apologize even if I don’t know what I did wrong.

  When I do that, she usually leaves me alone.

  After Miss Tibbs walked away, my friend Minnie, who was sitting next to me, asked, “Why are you so tired, anyway?”

  “Because Little Nicky stole Ricardo, which meant Pearl couldn’t sleep—which meant I couldn’t sleep, either.”

  Minnie and I have been friends since we were toddlers, and she knows all about Little Nicky’s mischief and Pearl’s love for Ricardo.

  “Ooooooh,” she said, her big brown eyes getting wide. “That’s serious.”

  Cora was sitting across from Minnie, peeling a clementine.

  “Why would Little Nicky want Ricardo?” she asked in her squeaky chipmunk voice. “No offense, but…”

  Cora is so polite that she couldn’t bring herself to say what she was thinking. So Minnie said it for her: “Ricardo looks like something the cat dragged in. I mean, actually dragged, with his teeth. Through the mud and dirt and garbage and stuff.”

  Cora nodded as she peeled a second clementine.

  “Who knows why Little Nicky does anything? He’s a madman!” I sighed. “And as if that isn’t bad enough, I made Ezra cry yesterday. I was trying to cheer him up about Ziggy, but I made him more sad!”

  “I’m sure it was an accident!” chirped Cora as she took a third clementine out of her lunch box.

  Minnie twirled one of her long black braids and said, “Uh-oh. Looks like someone has a Loco Lunch Box today.”

  “Loco Lunch Box” is what we call it when Cora’s mom throws weird stuff in her lunch box, which she does a lot. Sometimes it’s great, but usually a Loco Lunch Box is just terrible. Like this day, when Cora’s mom packed three clementines, a tub of cream cheese, and a chunk of cauliflower.

  “Want to trade?” Cora asked me, holding out the cauliflower.

  Cora is my best, best, best friend. I would do almost anything for her. But I will not take even one bite of cauliflower, not even for Cora. That is where I draw the line.

  I despise cauliflower! I detest cauliflower! I deplore cauliflower!

  It’s exactly like broccoli, only in disguise with a beautiful name and a pretty white color. Well, you’re not tricking this girl, cauliflower! Not for a second!

  “No thanks,” I told Cora. “But you can have some of my sandwich.”

  I handed her a piece of my sandwich and also one of the pickles Granny put in a sandwich bag. Minnie gave her half a banana.

  “So what are we going to do about Ez?” I asked as we munched. “He’s supposed to come over again today.”

  “It’s like they say—laughter is the best medicine,” said Minnie. “Unless you have strep throat. Then laughing makes your throat feel like it’s on fire.”

  “Bingo!” I nodded in excitement. “You know, you really should join the Fix-It Friends, Minnie. You’re a natural.”

  “Thanks,” said Minnie, “but I’m too busy. I have to go to Chess Club and fencing and baking class … and then of course there’s piano. I only have lessons twice a week, but I have to practice every day.”

  “Ay caramba!” I exclaimed. It’s Spanish for “Darn it!” Minnie taught it to me. “Don’t you ever get bored of playing piano?”

  “It’s just the opposite!” she replied. “I get bored when I don’t play piano.”

  “I think Minnie’s right. Ezra needs to laugh,” said Cora. “When me and Camille or Bo and Lou are sad, my parents put on funny TV shows. I love the show that has home videos of people and animals making mistakes. Bloopers!”

  “Yes! Bloopers are super-duper!” I agreed. “Come over after school today, and we’ll watch some with Ezra!”

  “Can’t,” said Minnie. “I have piano.”

  I groaned a loud groan, and she laughed.

  “I can come over,” said Cora. “Especially if your grandma can make more pimiento cheese sandwiches. This stuff is scrumptious!”

  “Oh, she’ll make sandwiches,” I promised. “Granny stuffs us full of food.”

  Chapter 10

  Sure enough, as soon as we got home, Granny asked, “Y’all hungry?”

  Cora, Ezra, Jude, and I devoured a whole stack of pimiento cheese sandwiches. Then Gramps handed us a big bowl of kettle corn to share, and w
e all piled onto the couch to watch the bloopers show—even Pearl.

  Kettle corn is Gramps’s specialty. He makes it exactly the same way he makes regular popcorn, with one difference. Instead of just covering the popcorn with mouthwatering butter, he also covers it with mouthwatering sugar! It’s salty and sweet.

  Kettle corn is so heavenly that it is impossible to be sad when you are eating it. So everyone was in great spirits, even Ezra. What made me extra happy was that Little Nicky wasn’t bothering us. He was splashing around in the bathtub with his shark collection.

  The first section of the bloopers show was all about people falling down. A bride tripped on her long veil. A toddler toppled over, and his face landed right in a bowl of chocolate ice cream! We were all laughing our heads off.

  Then it was time for commercials. My mom cannot stand commercials, but I like them. It’s how I learn about new toys I want Mom and Dad to get me.

  We watched a funny commercial for car insurance with a talking porcupine and a commercial for a machine you can use to make your own taffy. I decided I would put it on next year’s Christmas list.

  Then a commercial popped up that showed a woman lying on a beach, wearing a yellow swimsuit and sun hat. There was a pretty song playing in the background, about three little birds on someone’s doorstep. It was bright and cheery and very relaxing. So I was surprised when I heard a gasping sound coming from Ezra.

  When I looked over, he was crying.

  “What’s the matter?” Cora asked.

  “This song—” Ezra choked out. “This was Ziggy’s favorite. Whenever Mom played it, he would run in circles.” He dropped his head into his hands and cried.

  I grabbed the remote control and tried to make the volume lower. But I accidentally pressed the “up” button instead of the “down” one, so the volume got louder. The song about the three little birds blasted through the living room. Ezra’s crying got louder, too.

  “TOO WOWD!” Pearl shouted, covering her ears.

  “Turn it off!” yelled Jude.

  “I’m TRYING!”

  I really was, too. But the batteries in the remote control are old, and sometimes the buttons don’t work so well. So the TV was stuck on the So-Loud-You-Might-Go-Deaf setting.

  Finally, Gramps came in and pressed the power button to turn off the TV.

  “I’m so sorry, Ezra!” I cried. “I had no idea that was going to happen.”

  “It’s okay,” sniffed Ezra. “I’m sorry I’m crying.”

  Everyone talked at the same time:

  “It’s all right!”

  “Of course you can cry!”

  “Don’t worry about it!”

  “Gary Grotowski said it’s weird that I’m so upset,” said Ezra. “He said Ziggy was just a guinea pig and I should get over it.”

  “Gary Grotowski’s a blockhead,” said Jude. “You know that.”

  “When I see Gary Grotowski, I’m going to knock him into tomorrow,” I promised.

  “Sounds like Gary just never had a pet,” Gramps piped up. “Because, Ezra, anybody who ever lost a pet has felt just what you feel now. Don’t matter if it’s a horse or a potbellied pig or a little, bitty field mouse.”

  Just then, who should barge in but Little Nicky, soaking wet from his bath. He was wearing goggles, a silver swim cap, and absolutely nothing else.

  “WHAT IS ALL THIS NOISE?” Little Nicky shouted. “MY SHARKS CAN’T EAT DINNER WITH THIS RACKET!”

  Little Nicky looked so funny like that, blazing mad and naked as a mole rat. Naturally, Ezra burst out laughing.

  For once in my life, I did not want to clobber Little Nicky. In fact, I wanted to hug him.

  Chapter 11

  That night, I barely slept. Pearl couldn’t fall asleep again, because she missed Ricardo so much. I wished Mom and Dad were home, because they’d know how to get her to sleep and they’d also know how to find Ricardo. But they weren’t coming home for another two days. So it was up to me.

  “Pearl,” I whispered finally, “come sleep with me.”

  The good news was, she went right to sleep as soon as she climbed into my bed. The bad news is, I did not! How could I sleep with a little body kicking and smacking me all night long?

  I never knew this before, but when she sleeps, Pearl flops around like a fish out of water. She is tiny, but boy, can she pack a punch!

  She sleep-kicked me in my ribs. Then she sleep-slapped me in my face. Then she sleep-rolled right on top of me so I couldn’t breathe!

  I finally drifted off for a while, until a loud snoring sound woke me up. For a second, I thought that an elephant or a rhinoceros had sneaked into my bed. That’s how loud the snoring was. But when I opened my eyes, I realized it was just Pearl.

  After that, I just lay in bed, thinking. I thought about how much I missed Mom and Dad and how much Pearl missed Ricardo. I thought about how much Ezra missed Ziggy.

  I wished there was something we could do to stop Ezra from being sad. I really wanted to call an emergency Fix-It meeting, but it was only 6:13 a.m. And besides, none of our other Fix-It ideas had worked for Ezra. In fact, they’d made everything worse. After all, Ezra was one of the Fix-It Friends’ secret weapons; it was hard to fix stuff without him helping.

  I thought and I thought. I tapped my fingers on the wall next to my bed because tapping always helps me concentrate. I had to tap them softly so I didn’t wake Pearl up, but it worked anyway. At 6:30 a.m., I had a Eureka! moment. That’s what my dad calls it when he gets a sensational idea.

  I carefully rolled Pearl off me and climbed up to the top bunk, where Jude was sleeping. It was too early to bother the whole Fix-It crew, but it’s never too early to bother Jude.

  I shook him awake.

  “No! Please!” he yelped, batting me away with his eyes closed. “Not my brain! Eat my liver! Eat my spleen! Just leave the brain!”

  “Shhhh!” I whispered. “It’s your sister, not a zombie. Wake up! I know how to fix Ezra, but I need your help.”

  And after a little more zombie-begging, and a lot of grumbling, good old Jude did help me. By the time we left for school, we were nearly done with the cure for Ezra.

  I could not wait to show Principal Powell what we’d done. So when Miss Mabel asked for a volunteer to take the attendance down to the office, I waved my hand in the air frantically. When I got to the office, I handed Mrs. Rose or Mackenzie the attendance and then I asked her oh-so-politely if I could talk to Principal Powell.

  Mrs. Rose or Mackenzie peered at me over the tops of her red eyeglasses: “She’s talking to someone, so you’ll have to wait. You can read some more about removing warts.”

  So I did. I learned some interesting stuff, too. Like, to get rid of a wart, you have to freeze it off. I wondered if you really needed a doctor to do that, or if it might happen all on its own, on very cold days. I was thinking that it was probably cold enough right then to freeze warts off, and maybe lots of people would find ice-cold warts rolling around in their socks and gloves and pants. That would be so weird!

  My wondering was interrupted when the door to the principal’s office opened. I saw Principal Powell and the back of a boy’s head. I recognized that brown buzz cut right away.

  Matthew Sawyer!

  The thorn in my side!

  “So it’s agreed, then?” Principal Powell was saying to him. “Someone else will feed the ants for a while.”

  “But it was an accident!” Matthew Sawyer whined.

  “Of course, Matt,” said Principal Powell with a smile, “but it is the second time you left the lid open.”

  Oh brother, I thought, Matthew Sawyer let the ants in the ant farm loose again!

  Miss Mabel had put him in charge of the ant farm because he loves bugs and he begged her. The trouble is, he is so forgetful! Almost every day, he leaves his homework folder at school. At least once a week, he forgets his winter jacket at school! Practically the whole Lost and Found belongs to him.

  A few weeks ago, afte
r he fed the ants, Matthew Sawyer forgot to put the top back on the ant farm. The whole ant army just marched out! For weeks, there were ants everywhere: in our book bins, in the paint jars, and on the whiteboard. When I opened up my math textbook, what do you think crawled out? A whole line of ants! Math is bad enough without an ant attack, too.

  And now he’d gone and done it again!

  “It could happen to anyone!” grumbled Matthew Sawyer.

  “It’s all right, Matt.” Principal Powell patted his shoulder. “We all make mistakes.”

  Matthew Sawyer sighed and turned around. Then he saw me and made a grimace.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you supposed to be my punishment?”

  I wanted to do a big kung fu kick at him, but I knew Principal Powell was watching so I just smiled sweetly and said, “Oh, Matthew Sawyer, you’re so silly! A laugh riot!”

  Then I turned to Principal Powell and told her I had an urgent matter to discuss, and we both walked into her office.

  Chapter 12

  “So what can I help you with, my dear?” Principal Powell asked.

  “It’s about Ezra,” I said as I sank onto the strawberry cloud couch. “He’s sad. Too sad. I haven’t even seen him crack his knuckles in days! You know he’s always cracking those knuckles when he’s excited. And he’s not humming music like he always does when he’s happy.”

  Principal Powell nodded.

  “The trouble is, he just keeps thinking about Ziggy. Sooooooo—”

  I pulled a folded packet of paper out of my pocket.

  “I made a list!”

  “A list?” asked Principal Powell. She took a sip from her mug. “What kind of list?”

  “The title is…” I cleared my throat and read out loud. “Every Single Possible Word That Might Remind Ezra of Ziggy, Arranged Alphabetically.”