Trouble with a Tiny t

by Merriam Sarcia Saunders

  “Dude, seriously?” Frankie asks. “You’ve been building that, like, forever.”

  “I’ve loaded a bazillion wads of explosives, and it’s ready to blow. Gonna be epic.” Snake frowns my way. “Geez, man, quit shaking the table.”

  “Can I watch?” I ask.

  “I’m going to blow the sheep up too. Everything.”

  “Beastly!” Josh reaches over the table to high-five Snake. “I’ll turn on cheats, and teleport in.”

  “What time are you going to do it?” Alex pushes his glasses up his nose. “We’re not allowed on the computer until after we finish homework.”

  “Whose server is it on?” I ask. I look at Josh, but he won’t make eye contact.

  “I’ll text when I’m ready and wait until all you guys are there,” Snake tells them.

  “What’s the IP address?” I ask. “Josh?”

  Frankie leans his giant head over and whispers to me. “Hello? It’s a private server.”

  “No duh. Hey, Josh, text me the address?” If anyone will tell me, it’s him.

  “Look up the definition of private, Hyper,” Frankie whispers.

  “‘Look up the definition of private,’” I mimic. I can so top a video game explosion. “I have a live T. rex in my room.”

  Everyone goes quiet.

  Snake rolls his eyes at Josh. Frankie swats Alex on the arm, and they snicker.

  “No, really. I do.”

  “Sure you do,” Snake says. “It’s probably gnawing on that alien hand you said your uncle had.”

  “I swear. It crawled out of a magic pouch I found at Gram’s. I made it come to life.” I look from face to face. They’re leaning away from me like I’m contagious. “Look, he bit me. And my sneakers.”

  I lift my knee to show off the mark on my leg and shoes, but I accidentally nudge Josh. He spills his drink everywhere.

  “Dude!” Josh looks annoyed.

  “Godzilla’s in my room,” Alex laughs. “He crawled out of my mom’s purse.”

  “And I have the Loch Ness monster in my bathtub,” Snake says. “Lean over the edge and maybe he’ll eat your face off.” He pretend-coughs “doofus” into his fist.

  “At least then our annoying torture will finally be over,” Alex says.

  What’s he talking about?

  Josh shoves the last of his sandwich into his mouth and scrunches his lunch bag into a wad. “Hoops time, animals.” He does a three-pointer into the trash can and jumps up from the table. Everyone follows.

  I’m not done with my lunch yet, but I throw it away too and run after them. “Wait up!” I can tell they don’t believe me. Whatever. None of them has a T. rex in their room.

  I catch up to Josh. “Hey, you should come over this week.”

  “This week? I don’t know.…”

  “You can see the T. rex. You gotta believe me.”

  Snake snorts a laugh.

  “Sorry.” Josh starts to walk faster. “Basketball practice.”

  “Every day?”

  He runs onto the court. “Yeah,” he says over his shoulder. “It’s a special league.”

  “But it’s really amazing.”

  “Take a picture and show me.”

  Snake throws Josh the ball, and he does a layup. There are ten boys on the court already, so I sit on the grass and watch.

  A picture. Why didn’t I think of that? I should’ve taken a photo with my phone before I trapped the T. rex in my closet. Then they’d know he was real.

  Someone knocks my baseball cap off from behind. “Hey.” It’s Lenora. “You’re coming over today, right? The Friendship Group thing?”

  I sigh. I’d rather get home to the T. rex, so I can take a picture of him for Josh. “I guess.”

  “Since we have to get it over with, meet over by the library after school. My dad will be in a blue pickup truck. See ya.”

  She walks back toward the quad, and I check if any of the guys saw her talking to me. None of them seem to notice or care. All eyes are on Josh as he takes a long shot. It swooshes through the net.

  “Hey, can I play soon?” I yell.

  No one answers.

  TUESDAY—AFTER SCHOOL

  Lenora’s hand flies to her mouth like she might cry. Or puke. In the center of the mahogany dining table lies her prized chicken, Bobbie—cooked, on an orange-and-blue platter, surrounded by steaming broccoli.

  “Grannie! NO!” Lenora walks to the table to get a closer look. Her voice is thin and shaky. “You cooked Bobbie?”

  The minute we got out of her dad’s truck, Lenora practically dragged me to the coop. Her face turned ashen when Bobbie wasn’t there—like she knew.

  “That bird was a menace. Meanest of the bunch,” Grannie says. She slams the masher into the pot of potatoes, stirring and banging the edges. “Hand me the cream.”

  Lenora’s face turns Red Sox red as she shoves the cream at her grandmother. Her eyes fill, and I wait for her head to pop off at the neck.

  “But—it was Bobbie.” Lenora wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Couldn’t you have picked Jojo? Or that ugly one we never bothered naming?”

  “I don’t name my food, child. That’s you. Now put the glasses on the table and call your dad down for dinner. And use your loud voice. Man’s got his mind in the clouds, I swear.”

  Lenora’s head hangs as she slams the glasses on the table, and I wait for one to shatter. She rattled on about Bobbie the whole ride home from school. Turns out she was entering Bobbie into the county fair, like she said in Friendship Group. The lie was that Bobbie was a brown chicken. Bobbie was white—before she got cooked anyway. Now she actually is brown.

  “Who’s this?” Grannie wipes her hands on her apron and reaches out to shake mine. Hers is sticky and rough. She eyes me head to toe with the same sharp blue eyes as Lenora. Bet she and Pops would get along.

  “West.” Lenora’s lower lip sticks out and quivers a little. She glances back at poor Bobbie. “How could you? I loved her.” Her voice gets quiet.

  “Me too. Mmm, mmm, good.” Grannie lets out a cackle, and I jump.

  Lenora darts daggers at Grannie and stomps toward the stairs. “DAD! DINNER!” She comes back and pulls on my sleeve, yanking me to the back door.

  “Don’t go all pouting and sulking,” Grannie says. “Makes your face look like a raisin.”

  “You cooked my favorite chicken!” Steam puffs out of Lenora’s ears. “Mom would have never done that to me. She loved animals!”

  “Ha!” Grannie slops the pot of potatoes into a bowl, and it lands with a thud.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Lenora stops in her tracks.

  Grannie tosses her pot into the sink. “Ask your father. Where is he, anyway?” She looks at me. “You staying for dinner, young man?”

  Lenora growls in frustration. “No!” The screen door squeaks as she pushes it open, and it slams hard behind us.

  “Isn’t it early for dinner?” I ask. It’s only four-thirty.

  “They eat early. Farmers. Come on.”

  Lenora continues pulling on my sleeve until we get to the barn. Once there, she leans over the wooden corral and kicks hard at the bottom of the post. A waft of dust and rocks blows up and startles a brown horse slurping at the trough.

  “I hate it here. And I hate her. She knew I loved that chicken.” She scrunches her face hard, like she’s trying to hold back tears with sheer force.

  I don’t know what to say. I’m not crazy about my own two-house family either, but I’m not going to talk to her about it. “Sorry,” I say. I stand there, not sure what to do with myself. I wish I’d worn shorts with pockets. Stuffing my hands into pockets is always a great fallback.

  “We live in this awful place because Dad thought the farm would be better than the city. Fresh air or someth
ing.” Lenora continues kicking the dirt, and I choke at the chalky inhale of dust. “Stupid farm.”

  “Oh.” Best I can come up with.

  “I had friends at my old school. People aren’t nice here. Girls especially. Bunch of Barbie dolls. They say I’m bossy. Me!”

  “Really?” I fiddle with the fence latch because I don’t know what else to do with my hands.

  “Don’t touch that!”

  I yank my hands back. “What?”

  “You’ll unhinge it, and the horses will get out.”

  “I wasn’t going to… sorry.” Yeah, why would anyone call her bossy?

  “You know we’re in this group because they think we have social problems. They call it Friendship Group, but Ms. Molly’s just trying to teach us to behave like all the other robots. ‘Group, is that expected or unexpected behavior?’” Lenora adds a nervous smile, a great impression of Ms. Molly.

  “Guess maybe punching that girl was a bit unexpected?” Crud, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

  But Lenora laughs. “I just said that to get Steve to back off.”

  I laugh too. Guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t like Friendship Group… or Steve.

  “So, you didn’t punch anyone?” I ask.

  She glances sideways. “Well… maybe I shoved her a little. Mom did mixed martial arts, so that kind of reaction is a genetic instinct. Couldn’t help myself. But anyway, she deserved it.”

  I raise an eyebrow. Her mom did ballet and martial arts?

  “She said I should try dressing more like a girl.”

  “That’s silly.” The Red Sox cap goes without saying, and she also has on perfectly fine soccer shorts and sneakers. Totally legit. “Some people don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  That makes her smile. “I know, right? Grannie says I have to go to the group, so they can keep an eye on me. To make sure I’m adjusting.” She uses air quotes around the last word. “What’s your deal? You seem regular. Why do you have to go?”

  “I dunno.” I scratch my scalp. I hope this doesn’t drag on too long. Lenora is nice and all, but I have a formerly extinct creature wreaking havoc on tiny plastic men in my closet. I need to get this over with and get back to my small dinosaur problem. “I don’t pay attention well. And I can’t sit still. I have ADHD. I do stuff and say stuff without thinking first and wind up getting detention. Which I was supposed to go to but didn’t, so I’ll probably be in worse trouble now. It’s like my brain is on vacation. You’re new, so maybe you didn’t see Snake’s black eye the first week of school? That was Vacation Brain’s fault.”

  She nods. “Yeah, I saw it. What happened?”

  “Alex threw a hard pass when we were playing basketball, and Snake thought I was going to catch it. But I was zoning out, and it went right past me. Into his face.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Snake’s so mad at me, he didn’t even invite me to his birthday party. He thinks I’m annoying now.”

  “Wow, I’m sorry. Why do they call him Snake, anyway?”

  “He brought a pet snake to show-and-tell in kindergarten. It escaped, and the whole school went nuts. No one ever found it, and he became ‘that snake kid.’” I shrug. “That was before we were friends.”

  “Hope the snake lived happily ever after,” Lenora says. “Who else are you friends with?”

  “Josh Farmer. Since we were babies. He became friends with Snake last year and so I did too. Snake has been friends with these guys, Alex and Frankie, since preschool. So we all sort of hang out.”

  “Sort of?”

  “Well, I mean, I never do anything with just Alex and Frankie. Or with Snake without Josh,” I say.

  “If you never do anything alone with them, it doesn’t sound like you’re friends. It sounds like they’re Josh’s friends, and you tag along.” She shrugs. “Just sayin’.”

  She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. “No, we’re totally friends. They’re just mad because of the basketball thing.”

  Lenora makes a weird face, like I said something that makes no sense. I get that a lot.

  “I think you’d be an interesting friend, all fun and impulsive,” she says. “Who knows what you’d do.”

  “I guess.” I pause. I’m all for making a new friend, and it’s cool looking at her farm animals, but… I gotta go. “How much longer do you think we have to do this? You think it’s been long enough?”

  Lenora flinches, almost like I punched her. “You’re kidding, right? Is that what you mean by saying stuff without thinking? Because that was super rude, and I was just starting to like you.” She turns back to the house and marches off. “Dad! We need to drive this joker home. Now!”

  Dang it. Gosh darn Vacation Brain seriously needs to check out of the Ramada Inn and check back into my head.

  TUESDAY—LATER

  Lenora and I rattle down the gravel driveway in her dad’s old, blue pickup truck, me sandwiched between them in the front seat. Lenora stopped talking to me the instant I asked when the hangout would end. Geez, it was just a question. She made her dad gobble his dinner down in two seconds so he could drive me home. Guess she’s bossy at home too.

  Mr. Pickering has close-cut hair and a scruffy mustache that looks like a fat caterpillar hanging over his lips. “Awfully nice of you to come over, Westin!” he shouts over the truck’s loud engine.

  Lenora looks out the window, leaning away so no part of her touches any part of me. That’s fine with me but difficult because the ancient truck doesn’t have the smoothest ride. I keep bouncing into her.

  “You play sports?” Mr. Pickering asks, glancing briefly at me while trying to keep his squinty eyes on the road.

  “Baseball. At least, I used to.”

  Lenora crosses her arms.

  “Used to?” he asks. “That’s too bad. Lenora used to play softball. Maybe you could ‘used to’ play ball together sometime. Happy to coach you. I ‘used to’ know a thing or two about it.”

  “Ah…”

  Lenora turns even more toward the window. I don’t think we’ll “used to” be doing anything together.

  “Nora doesn’t know anyone yet, so I’m glad she’s finally made a friend. It’d be real nice if you’d watch out for her at school,” her dad continues. “She’s a little grumpy sometimes, but she can be lots of fun. Can’t you, Nora bear?”

  “Dad!” Lenora juts her chin out, then turns back to the window.

  “Okay, okay. Just trying to help.”

  We drive on in awkward silence.

  “Um…” I glance at Mr. Pickering, then at Lenora. “You mad at me?” I say under my breath, as low as possible over the gravelly engine. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings and make her so upset. Who knew she was actually taking this Friendship Group seriously?

  No reply.

  “It’s just…” I shift so I don’t knock into her again. “I have a lot of homework.”

  “So do I.”

  “Which is why I figured you didn’t want to do the hangout thingy for long either.”

  “Whatever. You don’t get it.”

  “Sorry. I have… a lot going on. My parents got divorced. And my favorite uncle is missing.”

  “Yeah? Well, my mom is dead.”

  Crud. She’s got me there.

  Before I can stop myself, I start blabbering. “Well, also, uh, I found this thing at my gram’s house, and it…” I glance at Mr. Pickering from the corner of my eye to make sure he’s not listening. I should just quit talking, but of course, I don’t. “I made something. I don’t know how to get rid of it. It’s kind of dangerous.” I exhale. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try me.”

  “You wouldn’t believe it.”

  “How do you know unless you try?” She tilts her head with a total smarty-pants expression.


  These are the situations that get me in trouble. Here, Vacation Brain should say, “Keep your mouth shut, dude! You barely know her!”

  But Vacation Brain is nowhere to be found. I lean close to her ear and blurt in a whisper, “I have a live T. rex in my room.”

  Lenora stares at me. “Fine. Don’t tell me. For a minute, I thought we could be friends.”

  I slump. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  We drive the rest of the torturous fifteen minutes to my house in a deafening silence. Lenora’s words clang loudly in my head. I thought we could be friends. Clearly, I wasn’t thinking at all. I wish I could pull time back like a fishing reel and get a do-over.

  Finally Mr. Pickering turns into my driveway. “Here you go, buddy. It was nice meeting you. Next time, stay for dinner.” He shakes my hand and winks.

  “Thanks, Mr. Pickering,” I say, even though I know there probably won’t be a next time. Even if there were, considering what happened to Bobbie, I’d probably pass on dinner.

  “Nah, call me Ned.” He slaps my back. “Walk him to the door, Nora. It’s polite.”

  Lenora slides out of the truck and stands there stiff, her arms crossed, waiting for me to get out. With her dad watching, she follows me to the front door, then says, “Have fun playing with your imaginary dinosaur. See ya.”

  Her words needle me, and I tug her shirt sleeve as she turns away. I want her to believe me. If she knows I’m telling the truth, maybe she won’t be so upset at me.

  “Wait. Come inside. I’ll prove I’m not lying.”

  Lenora thinks for a moment, then shrugs and shouts to her dad. “I’m going in for a sec, Dad. Be right back.”

  He shoots her a thumbs-up.

  Once in the house, I do my pet inventory. Check. Both alive and not missing any fur, paws, or tails. “That’s Fiddles and Cappuccino,” I say, pointing first to the cat, then to the hamster cage. “Do not, under any circumstances, let the cat in my room.”

  “Whatever.” Lenora kneels to scratch Fiddles’s chin.

  I grab a fistful of deli meat from the fridge, then lead the way down the hall. I open the door to my room slowly. Inside it’s the same disaster zone from the day before, but at least my closet door is still closed. Phew.