Remember Dippy

by Shirley Reva Vernick

  “Mem? What—how—”

  He jumped at the sound of my voice. “I was being careful with it, honest, Johnny,” he pleaded.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “But how do you know how to play?”

  He shrugged. “My friend Chip. And school.” Now that he sensed I wasn’t going to holler at him, he turned his attention back to the game.

  “You have video games at school?”

  “Yup. This one’s my favorite.” With that, he advanced to level 11. “I like Olympiad too.”

  I sat down next to him on the floor. “Sounds like a pretty cool school.”

  “It’s all right. I like summer better.”

  “Yeah, me too. You want to try a two-player round?”

  “Yup,” he said, handing me the other controller.

  Mem won three straight games before I top-scored him once. Then we switched to Air Angler, and he got my guy every time.

  “You should open your second parachute when I get that close,” he said at one point.

  “These guys have extra parachutes?” I asked.

  “Yup. And the plane’ll drop you a ladder if you go under the escape hatch.”

  Whoa. This was awesome. Not just the game, but being able to play it with Mem—I mean, really play it. In my whole life, Mem and I had never played a legitimate, regulation game together. Mom always made me play cards and checkers with him, and then she made me let him win. Aunt Collette would try to let me off the hook, but Mom would insist, or she’d pressure me into playing stupid games like hide-and-seek or Marco Polo with him. Mem never “got” hide-and-seek because he was never willing to come out of his hiding place, even when he got caught. And he wouldn’t keep his eyes closed for Marco Polo, so I always had to be It. Talk about lame. And boring.

  But this—this was a real competition. I was free to try my hardest, and I wasn’t guaranteed to win, not by a long shot. It was kind of like having Mo or Reed here. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it was definitely better than being by myself, and that was a first. We played until Aunt Collette got home.

  Chapter 5

  I had the next day free because Aunt Collette was off from work. A whole day to myself—no taking care of Mem, no cutting the grass, nothing but taking it easy. The first thing I did was sleep until I felt like getting up—I didn’t even hear Mem sneak in to get the ferrets—and then I wandered down to the kitchen to call Mo and Reed.

  Aunt Collette was scooping coffee beans into the grinder and humming some country western song. She was wearing a striped beach dress and looking tired again, or maybe she just didn’t have her lipstick on yet. “Morning, sunshine,” she said. “Your mom called earlier. Want some joe? It’s decaf.”

  “I’ll give it a try.”

  “The way I like it—black—or the way Remember likes it—with enough cream and sugar to rot out all your teeth?”

  “How about somewhere in between?”

  “You got it.” She turned on the grinder and took three mugs out of the dishwasher. They were the mugs Mom gave her last Christmas, with snowmen in Hawaiian shirts and sunglasses. The shirts reminded me of the one The Man was wearing yesterday, and I considered asking her about him, but then the phone rang.

  “Hello?” Aunt Collette said, turning off the grinder. “Sure thing. Johnny?”

  It was Mo. He wanted me to meet him and Reed at Niko’s. Then maybe we’d take a spin on the bike path over in Chesterton. I told Mo to count me in and to order extra cheese if he got to Niko’s first. I wanted plenty of sustenance for my first real day of summer vacation.

  “Smells good,” Mem said, taking a big theatrical whiff of air as he walked into the kitchen. Linguini toddled on one of his shoulders, and Jambalaya held on for dear life on the other.

  “Coffee’s almost ready,” Aunt Collette told him. “Hey, I thought we’d drive up to Sugar Loaf today, see if they got the water slides turned on yet.”

  “Yeah!” he shouted. “Shoe Garloaf!”

  “Sugar Loaf,” Aunt Collette corrected him. “How about you, Johnny? Want to join us?”

  “How about you, Johnny?” Mem chirped. “Shoe Garloaf. How about you?”

  Every summer they turn Sugar Loaf ski slope into this outrageous water park. It’s a blast—they even have go-carts you can take down the trails. I love that place, but I’d already made plans with my friends, so I couldn’t go…could I? No. I hadn’t gone biking with the guys in ages, and I was really looking forward to a whole day without Mr. Tag-Along. Still, the water slides were epic, and besides, Mem wasn’t totally terrible company. Then again, what would Mo and Reed think?

  “Thanks, Aunt Collette,” I finally answered, “but I’m busy.”

  “All right,” she said, pouring our drinks. “Long as you have something to do. I brought some turkey roll-ups home last night. You can help yourself.”

  “Okay,” I said, but what I was really in the mood for were those steak and pepper subs they sell at Sugar Loaf.

  • • •

  No sign of Dirk when I headed out to meet the guys. His mailbox still said A. DUMBSTER, and ours still said OPE. The suspense was starting to get to me, I’ll admit. Well, at least Mem would be out of the house most of the day, away from those pesky decals he was hiding somewhere. I was going to have to keep a careful eye on him.

  Mo’s and Reed’s bikes were already parked in front of Niko’s when I got there, so I hopped off mine and strolled in. They were hanging out at our usual table—taking up two seats each—and watching some golf tournament on the little black-and-white counter TV. That part of the scene was normal. But in the opposite corner lurked unexpected catastrophe: Jo and Patsy were standing by the jukebox with none other than Dirk the Jerk, and they were all talking to each other! Granted, it was mostly Patsy and Dirk talking, but Jo was definitely part of it, laughing and waving her freshly painted nails around when she spoke.

  So Dirk wasn’t out of town. He must have seen his mailbox. And now he was chitchatting with Jo. I didn’t like this one bit. Dirk Dempster was nothing but trouble, and now that he was buddying up to Jo, I hated him even more. I turned my face away from him, but I’m pretty sure he noticed me, even if the girls didn’t. Once I made it to the table with Mo and Reed, I tried to ignore what was going on by the jukebox, but I couldn’t. The more I told myself to tune them out, the closer I listened. Patsy was saying that her brother just got his driver’s license and was going to drive himself to a jazz concert in Burlington next week.

  “Can’t wait to get my license,” Dirk said. “Wheels are freedom. I need some of that.”

  “Freedom from what?” Patsy asked.

  “From home.”

  Jo and Patsy murmured something in agreement, and then Dirk started feeding money into the jukebox. “Here,” he said. “I’ll play you my theme song.” In a minute, an old rock ’n’ roll tune came on where this guy with a funny voice sings, “We gotta get out of this place, if it’s the last thing we ever do. We gotta get out of this place. Girl, there’s a better life for me and you.”

  I knew if I looked up, I’d see Patsy blushing—and Jo too probably. He was flirting with both of them.

  “Hey Johnny,” Mo said, tearing me away from my spying, “how about we try Demolition Hill after this?”

  “You kidding?” I asked. “It’s more like Suicide Hill unless you have a dirt bike, and last time I checked, none of us does.” There’s only so much rock and rut you can put regular wheels through without a trip to the emergency room—which, by the way, is four towns over. It was bad enough spending the summer working; I didn’t want to spend it in a cast too.

  “C’mon,” Reed baited. “You aren’t scared, are you?”

  “Not scared. Smart.” I pulled the menu out from between the salt-and-pepper shakers, pretending to read it. I felt my eyes being pulled to the jukebox though, and it took all my strength to keep them on the menu. Stay focused, I kept telling myself. Stay focused. I studied the list of pizza toppings: olives, eggpla
nt, peppers, onions, mushrooms, bacon, pesto, pepperoni, BBQ chicken, artichokes. I read the appetizer list: garden salad, mozzarella sticks, antipasto, black bean dip. I was just about to start on the beverage list, but Jo was suddenly standing at our table. Now, that was more like it.

  “Did you see Niko?” she asked.

  I couldn’t tell whether she was talking to all of us or just me, but Mo and Reed kept right on yakking about bikes, so I said, “No, I just got here. Why?”

  “He looks awful,” she whispered, taking the chair next to mine. “Check him out—there, over by the oven. See what I mean?”

  Jo was right. Niko probably hadn’t shaved in a week, and from the way his hair was sticking out from under his baseball cap, I bet he hadn’t picked up a comb lately either. “You think he’s sick?” I asked.

  “You’re not allowed to work around food if you’re sick—with something catchy, anyway. I think he’s got drama.” She said the last word long and slow, like she was savoring the taste of it.

  Then, as if he sensed us talking about him, Niko called out to us, “Hey, no feet on chairs. I tell you a hundred times.”

  “He’s never told us that once,” Mo complained, putting his feet on the floor. “What’s his problem anyway?”

  “Exactly,” Jo said. She looked beautiful. Too bad Mo and Reed had to be here, but at least Mem wasn’t around to hog her attention.

  “Maybe he does have drama,” I said. “He’s even smoking cigarettes again. I saw him buy a couple of packs at my aunt’s store.”

  “I wonder what it is,” Jo said. “I wonder what we should do. Should we do something?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t try asking him about it, that’s for sure,” I said. “Not now, anyway. He’s liable to bite your head off if you get too close.”

  “I guess.” Suddenly Patsy was at her side, and they nodded to each other. Great, just when Jo and I were having an actual conversation. Just when I was able to make complete sentences that made some kind of sense. What were the chances of that happening again any time soon? Slim at best. “Okay, Johnny,” Jo said. “Gotta run. See ya.”

  “See ya. Hey, we might be going to the lake later, so maybe…”

  “Cool,” she smiled.

  Wow, I thought, really? She really thinks it’s a cool idea?

  “But I can’t. C’mon Patsy.” And she was gone.

  As if getting turned down—in front of my friends—wasn’t humiliating enough, Dirk the Jerk overheard it all, and he boomed, “Maybe it’s your breath, Johnny boy.” Even Mo and Reed laughed at that. My face felt as red as Niko’s pizza sauce. If only I could turn back the clock and opt for Sugar Loaf, I could be skimming the water slides now instead of drowning in embarrassment.

  “Forget Jo,” Mo said when he finally stopped snickering. “What does she know, anyway?”

  “More than you do,” I answered. I didn’t even get a chance to tell her I liked her nails.

  “Let’s just order,” Reed offered. “C’mon, Johnny, you’ve got all summer to work your way into Jo’s schedule. And look—Dirk’s leaving too.”

  The rest of the day went a lot better once Dirk was out of my hair. For one thing, the pizza was primo—crispy crust, loads of pepperoni, perfectly gooey cheese. Whatever was wrong with Niko, he was still in good enough shape to turn out a great pie. I’d have to let Jo know that. For another thing, we had an awesome bike ride. Reed actually did try Demolition Hill and made it to the bottom with nothing worse than a scraped knee. And to top it all off, Mo’s mom made us a batch of her famous hotdog lasagna and invited Reed and me to spend the night.

  Jo was sleeping over at Patsy’s—rats—but the guys and I had a good time hanging out. I clobbered them in Scene It and stood my ground in Treasure Seekers, and then Mo brought out his golf clubs and indoor putting green. He cleared off the playroom floor, rolled out the fake grass, and plugged in the automatic ball return only to realize he couldn’t find any balls.

  “Well, that’s the end of that,” Reed griped.

  “Not so fast,” said Mo. “Hold on.” He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a handful of eggs.

  “Mo, you’ve got to be kidding,” I laughed.

  “No worries,” he said. “They’re hard-boiled. Mom’s making egg salad tomorrow. She’ll never miss a few.”

  So that’s how we invented a new sport called Egg Whack. Mo actually wanted to call it Egg Roll, but Reed and I vetoed it on the grounds that it sounded like Chinese take-out. Anyway, if you think golf balls are hard to shoot into little holes, you should try it with eggs. They wobble all over the place and then abruptly stop. Their shells crack open, and the room starts to smell like sulfur. They’re slow and unpredictable. It’s a blast.

  “Hey, you think it’s true about a golf course coming to town?” Mo asked.

  “No way,” I said.

  “The ground’s all wrong for it,” Reed agreed, “plus the season’s way too short up here.”

  “Too bad,” grumbled Mo, pushing his egg into the cup. Mo loves golf, but the only time he gets to play on a real course is during the first week of August, when he visits his grandparents in South Carolina. It’s hard to get any good if you only play one week out of the year.

  When our eggs refused to roll another inch, we DustBusted the fake grass and opened a window to get rid of the stink. “Well, boys,” said Mo in a voice exactly like his mother’s, “I see it’s past midnight. Shouldn’t you be off to bed?” Reed and I cracked up, and then we decided to play video games.

  After endless rounds of Guitar Hero, Night Drive, and Game On—most of which I lost—we put on Air Angler. “Prepare to get creamed, boys,” I told them.

  “No way,” said Mo. “I’ve been practicing.”

  “Really? What level are you at?” I asked.

  “Nine. Two levels higher than you.”

  “Sheesh,” complained Reed, “I’m stuck at six.”

  “Well,” I said, “you’re both about to be blown out of the water.”

  We all manned our controls robotically for a while—we’ve played this game so much, we could probably do it with our backs to the screen. Then I pulled out my first secret weapon: the extra parachute.

  “What the heck was that?” Mo asked as I captured his glider.

  “Just what it looked like—a second chute.”

  “I never knew—”

  “Now watch this,” I said, dropping the escape ladder to dodge Reed’s attack.

  “Wait a minute,” Reed said. “Is this a new version or something? My version doesn’t have this stuff.”

  “Yup, it does,” I said. I captured Mo’s avatar and wasted Reed’s satellite, ending the game with a stellar victory. “You just didn’t know it. Neither did I, until Mem showed me.”

  “Mem?” they both said.

  “Yeah, he’s like a wizard or something. You should’ve seen him trounce me in Olympiad. We played for hours last night. New round?”

  “Might as well,” Reed said. Then, shaking his head, he added, “Must be nice having someone to hang out with at home. My brother’s too young to be any use.”

  I rolled my eyes. “We’re talking video games, Reed. It’s not like he’s normal. It’s not like we can talk to each other or anything. He’s still Mem.”

  Reed just shrugged and pressed the restart button.

  We hit the hay late. I fell asleep thinking how great it would be to have the kind of older cousin who could teach me how to talk to girls and deal with cranky old neighbor dogs. But that was about as realistic as a golf course coming to Hull. Not happening.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning I was asleep on Mo’s bedroom rug when something started tickling my arm. I tried brushing the fly—or whatever it was—away and rolled over to go back to sleep, but then I realized someone was whispering at me. “Johnny, Johnny wake up.” Apparently it wasn’t a bug.

  I opened my eyes and saw Jo holding the phone over my face. “It’s for you,” she said, looking lik
e she was fighting off laughter. I must’ve had major bed head or maybe drool running down my chin, but she was out of the room before I had a chance to be too embarrassed.

  “Hello?” I croaked in my scratchy morning voice.

  “Johnny.” It was Aunt Collette, and she sounded serious. “I told you I had to be at work at nine today.”

  I squinted up at Mo’s alarm clock—9:20. “Oh man, I’m sorry, Aunt Collette,” I said, jumping up from under the blanket. “I’ll be right home. Give me five minutes.”

  “I’m already at the store, sweetie.” This time she didn’t sound so mad. “Mem’s with me. So get yourself over here, but don’t break your neck doing it. And don’t do this again, deal?”

  “Deal.”

  “Oh. And Johnny, swing by the house on your way and pick up my 7-11 sweatshirt, will you? The AC’s on overdrive today.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Mo and Reed were still sound asleep—Mo was even snoring a little—so I threw my blanket on the bed and headed downstairs. Jo was pouring herself a bowl of some healthy-looking cereal when I walked through the kitchen. “Thanks,” I said, handing her back the phone.

  “What did you guys do yesterday?” she asked.

  It was awesome that she wanted to know. And I wanted to tell her, but then I remembered what Dirk the Jerk had said about my breath, and I knew I hadn’t brushed my teeth since the hotdog lasagna last night, so I took a few steps back and said, “Nothing. You?”

  “Patsy’s mom had to take her car into the dealer in Burlington, so we tagged along and she dropped us off at the movies. They were showing the original Star Wars.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah, it was great—worth having to listen to Patsy talk about Dirk Dempster the whole way there and back.”