“No, actually I just stopped by to use the—are you sure you’re all right?” I stepped into the kitchen. As I did, I realized he’d been bent over the heating vent. I looked at the floor and then over to Niko’s pitiful face, and I knew something bad was going on.
“No, I am not all right,” he snorted, leaning against the dishwasher and staring at the vent. “Not one little bit all right. My whole life is down that pipe.” He took off his baseball cap and rubbed his bald spot. “Gone. Kaput.”
“What are you talking about, Niko?”
“It is not your worry.”
“Maybe I can help.”
He emitted a small laugh to let me know how ridiculous he thought that was.
“Why don’t you just tell me?” I said.
“Okay, fine. You want to know? I tell you.” He massaged his sagging eyebrows. “It is my grandmother’s ring. I was to give it to my Carmelita, ask her to marry me. Last week I stand here, right here, and hold it up to the light. I clean it, make it ready for Carmelita. But I drop it, and it runs across floor.” He made two fingers run through the air. “When I chase after ring, I kick it by accident, and it slips down that pipe. Damn pipe.”
I stood over the vent. “Have you tried— ?”
“I try everything. Day and night I try. And I try to get help. But everyone tells me how old and—what is the word?—delicate these pipes are, and tangled up too. Would cost thousands and thousands to dig up and replace—more than ring is worth. I have not slept since Thursday last.”
Wow, this was bad. Niko’s love life was literally down the drain. “What did the ring look like?” I asked.
“Beautiful, gorgeous. Round diamond in middle with rubies on sides. Platinum, not gold. Platinum is better than gold, stronger. My grandfather knew jewelry.”
“You should propose anyway,” I said.
“No.” He stared at me with burning eyes. “Not without ring. I will not.”
Just then, a man’s voice came from the counter, “Hello? You open?”
Niko shrugged and put his cap back on. “First customer of day. I need every customer I can get if I am to buy another ring for Carmelita.”
Poor Niko. No wonder he was grouchy these days. Well, at least this gave me something to talk to Jo about. She was dying to know what was up with him, and I might be the only person in town who knew.
I found Mem twirling the plastic foosball players and had to coax him away by challenging him to a race back to the house. As soon as we got home, I ran straight into the shower to rinse off those loose hairs you get after a haircut. I took an extra long soak to try to wash away my rotten morning. Rotten oversleeping, rotten mailbox, rotten haircut, rotten luck for Niko. What else could possibly go wrong? I wondered sourly. And what did I do to deserve all this?
The hot water ran out after twenty minutes, so I grudgingly got out of the shower. When I went to my room for a change of clothes, a pleasant surprise lifted my spirits a little: Mem had used his letter decals to spell LINGUINI and JAMBALAYA on the ferrets’ cage—not to deface anyone’s mailbox. Was I ever relieved.
I held the furry guys and gave them each a bit of a chocolate kiss, then stretched out on the bed with them—I hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep last night. The next thing I knew, I was dreaming about swimming in the lake, only the lake was filled with hair gel, and when I stepped out, my hair looked like a peacock’s tail so I covered my head with seaweed until I got home. Weird. That girl Leesha really did a number on me.
When I woke up, the ferrets were walking around on the floor, and the crayon clock said almost two. Two o’clock. The movie with Jo! My first date with her, and I slept right through it. How stupid could I be? I bolted downstairs to phone her house—not that she’d be there, but at least I could leave a message. As I cut through the living room, I expected to see Mem parked in front of the TV, but he wasn’t. Oh well, I’d look for him after my call. Fortunately, Mo was home, and he picked up.
“Mo, sorry for running out this morning—I had to work.”
“No prob. What’s up?”
“Listen, would you give Jo a message? Would you tell her I’m sorry. Like, really, really sorry.”
“Why, what’d you do?”
“Nothing, I just forgot—no, don’t say that. Don’t say I forgot. Tell her, I don’t know, tell her something came up.”
“Whatever.”
“Look, I gotta go find Mem.”
“Later.”
“Yeah.” I really hoped he’d say the right thing to Jo.
Mem, it turned out, was sitting on the front steps drinking a Dr. Pepper. “Whatcha been up to?” I asked, perching myself on the railing.
“Nothing. My friend Chip stopped by. We played Olympiad.”
“Is he any good?”
“Yup, but I’m better.”
“Did he give you any money this time?”
Mem shaded his eyes with one hand and peered up at me. “That was for my birthday. Usually he just brings gum.”
“Oh.”
“He gave me gumballs this time, a whole box. Want some?”
“No, no thanks.”
“Hey Johnny, do you think the branch up there on that tree would hold me?” He pointed to a slender, leafy limb that grew parallel to the ground and made a puddle of shade on the yard.
“Don’t know,” I said. “Looks a little skinny. Why?”
“Why?” He gazed at the branch admiringly. “Why? Nothing, it just looks like a special place.”
“Yeah, well, let’s not try out any new special places, not when you’re with me, okay?”
“Wanna play Apples to Apples?” he asked. I didn’t know whether that meant he’d heard me or not. But there wasn’t anything else to do, so we played.
I tried calling Jo again after supper, but her mom said she couldn’t come to the phone right now. She didn’t call me back either.
Chapter 7
The next day it turned July, and that whole week passed in a blur. Aunt Collette was working extra hours because she had to fire the kid she called the punk, which meant she had to fill in the hours herself. Mo and Jo went away with their parents for the Independence Day holiday, and Reed had to help his grandmother move in with his family. I mowed Aunt Collette’s yard and my yard (with old Mr. Boots glaring at me from his front porch), and my dad called to say hi on his way to his cruise, but mostly it was Mem and me knocking around the house. We hit the lake once, and I tried to teach him how to ride my bike a couple of times, but that was a flop. Dirk the Jerk didn’t seem to be around so we didn’t have him hassling us. I didn’t do anything about the mailboxes, mostly because I didn’t have any good ideas.
Then finally it was the weekend, and although I was still doing double shifts with Mem, at least my friends were back. Of course they were back—no one misses the Hull Berry Blast. Every year on the Sunday after the Fourth of July, the farmers’ co-op throws a big strawberry shortcake festival at Imogene Park. If you can stand the mosquitoes, you don’t want to miss it. One dollar buys you all the strawberry shortcake you can eat, and for a little extra, you can add hotdogs, fries, soda and ice cream. Almost everyone shows up.
Imogene Park was already packed when Mo, Reed, Mem and I arrived. Families had spread blankets on the grass and were feasting on the food they’d bought or brought. Kids and grown-ups were lined up at the shortcake table, waiting for the co-op people to dish them out a heaping dessert. And in the corner, Hull’s own oldies band, Purple Rush, was playing “Heat Wave.”
Mo and Reed dashed to the hotdog cart, but Mem and I had already demolished a box of toaster waffles at home, so we went straight to the shortcake line. Ahead of us were some other kids from school, our mailman and his family, my old baseball coach, and—holy cow—Leesha, the giant Goth girl who’d massacred my hair. She was standing alone near the front of the line, still wearing twice her weight in jewelry, and this time she’d added a black headscarf and boots to her get-up. Fortunately, she didn’t see me, or
maybe she was ignoring me. I didn’t care either way.
Mem, who was busy scanning the crowd on the lawn, didn’t notice Leesha, but soon he started grinning from ear to ear, which could only mean one thing. Sure enough, Jo was just arriving, with Patsy. “Jo! Hi, Jo!” he hollered, waving both hands. “Jo, over here!”
“Cut it out, Mem,” I hissed, pulling his arms down.
“Why?”
“Because you’re embarrassing me.”
“But I want Jo to come on over and have shortcut with us. Don’t you? Don’t you want her to have strawberry shortcut with us?”
“Yes. No. I mean, I don’t know, but acting like a goof isn’t going to get her over here.”
“Yes, it is.” He was grinning again, and when I turned around, Jo and Patsy were getting in line with us.
“Hi, guys,” Jo said. Did this mean Jo didn’t hate me for blowing off the movie?
“Hi! Hi, Jo! Hi, Patsy!” Mem glowed, although he was looking at the grass, not at them. “Told you, Johnny.”
“Told him what?” asked Jo.
“Nothing,” I said.
“I told him—”
“Nothing. Listen, about the movie last week…”
“I’m over it,” she said, but she didn’t look particularly over it.
“Okay, but let me tell you what happened. See, I…first of all…well…” Why couldn’t I form sentences with her? “I screwed up. Sorry.”
“It was boring anyway,” Patsy said. “You’re lucky you didn’t have to sit through it.”
Jo gave her a look, only I didn’t know what it meant.
“I told you, Johnny, I told you!” Mem started in again.
I had to change the subject pronto. Fortunately, I remembered I had actual news to tell her. “Hey Jo, I found out why Niko’s been looking so bad.”
Jo’s eyes widened, and she and Patsy stepped closer. Mem zeroed in on a brown mutt that had wandered over. He plunked himself on the ground to play with it.
“So yeah,” I said, “I talked to him. Turns out he lost something really important. The diamond ring he was going to give to his girlfriend.”
“He lost it?” Jo asked.
“He has a girlfriend?” Patsy asked.
And then they were both talking at once. “Who is she?” they wanted to know. “How’d he lose it? Did he lose it, or was he robbed? How’d you get him to tell you?”
“Who?” Mem asked, tuning back in for the moment.
“Mem and I were there the other day,” I said. “I found Niko on his hands and knees in the kitchen—the ring fell down a floor vent. It was his grandmother’s. He wanted to give it to this Carmelita lady, but he doesn’t think he can get it back.”
“Why not? Why can’t he just—” Patsy started, but then someone was calling her name. It was Dirk. He was standing by the dinner cart with a hotdog in one hand and a bottle of mustard in the other. “Hey Patsy!” he shouted again. He was wearing his basketball uniform, so he must have just come from a practice. Or maybe not. Maybe he just wanted to make sure everyone knew he was the captain of the ball team.
Patsy glanced up, but she was so engrossed in Niko’s problems, she didn’t give Dirk the hero’s welcome he probably expected. Instead, she held up a wait-a-minute finger.
“Does Niko’s grandmother know this happened—is she still alive?” Jo asked, and Patsy leaned in to hear the answer.
“Is she still alive?” Mem parroted, still stroking the dog. “Still alive, still alive?”
“Don’t know.” That’s what I said, but what I was thinking was, good—Dirk gets to see me with Jo and Patsy. Patsy had raised her pointer finger to him, so there was nothing he could do but glare my way and give his mustard bottle a shake. This was awesome, and then it got even better…
The wrong end of Dirk’s mustard bottle was pointing up, so when he shook the bottle, instead of smothering his hotdog in mustard, he drenched his face and hair with it. Yellow nose, yellow chin, yellow cowlicks, gooey yellow everything. He was seething. It was hilarious. Too bad the others didn’t see it. Too bad I didn’t have a camera.
Dirk used his shirt to wipe the mustard off himself, and when his face reappeared, it was ketchup red. Scowling and mouthing words I couldn’t make out, he flung his hotdog on the grass and vanished. Instantly, the brown mutt Mem had been petting plowed over and devoured the meat and the bun, leaving no sign that Dirk the Jerk had ever been there.
“So yeah, I don’t know about the grandmother,” I said, “but I do know he won’t ask Carmelita to marry him until he can afford a new ring.”
“That’s dumb,” said Patsy.
“That’s romantic,” said Jo.
Now we were at the front of the line. Jo and Patsy got their shortcake, and then Jo said, “Thanks for the scoop, guys. We’re gonna go find Dirk now. Keep us posted though, okay?”
“But…” I said, then realized there was no point protesting. I had to be satisfied knowing Dirk had run away with egg—I mean, mustard—on his face.
“Wishing you blue skies and starry nights,” Mem said, but they were already lost in the crowd.
Mem and I got our cake and caught up with Mo and Reed near the band. I noticed Leesha sitting with her Aunt Holly at the picnic table across the park, but I couldn’t spot Jo anywhere. Oh well, it had been nice while it lasted.
The guys and I ate ourselves silly on shortcake—well, Mem only ate the whipped cream part, the same way he eats Twinkies. In between mouthfuls, he sang along with the band at the top of his lungs, even though he didn’t know the lyrics, even though he couldn’t carry a tune. He thought the words to “Satisfaction” were “I can’t get no chain reaction,” and when the band played “America the Beautiful,” he crooned, “Oh beautiful voracious pies, forever waves of pain.” At first, I pretended I didn’t know him, but that was pretty impossible since he was either right next to me or calling to me every other minute. So I decided to ignore the people who were looking at us funny and just have fun tossing around the Frisbee Mo had brought. It’s a free country, after all—Mem could sing if he wanted to. And he did want to. Finally, when it got too buggy for comfort, we called it a night.
• • •
Sometimes my best ideas hit me when I’m not thinking about them, and that’s what happened on the way home from Imogene Park. I’d been racking my brains for a week without any inspiration for Dirk the Jerk’s mailbox, and then, right when I forgot about it, Eureka!
“Mem, you wait here,” I said when we got to our driveway.
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because…because I need you to count for me. I need you to stand there and count, and see if I can do what I need to do before you get to a hundred. Can you do that? Please?”
“Can you do that please?” he said solemnly. “One, two, three—”
“Not that fast. Try one thousand one, one thousand two, like that.”
“Okay. One thousand, two thousand, three thousand…”
“Good, Mem. Keep going.” I didn’t have any decals, but I didn’t need any. I ran over to Dirk’s mailbox, which still said A. DUMBSTER, and peeled off the B and the E so it said A. DUM_ST_R. Then I rearranged those letters to spell MUSTARD. Mustard! This was going to burn Dirk to a crisp. I was beaming when I got back to Mem. Revenge tasted sweeter than strawberry shortcake.
“Eighty-three thousand,” he said.
“So I did it—cool.”
“What was that, anyhow?” he asked as we walked up the driveway.
“Huh? Oh, I was just, you know, sending Dirk some more letters.”
“No, you weren’t.” He stopped on the front step and stared at me under the porch light. “My friend Chip says somebody’s up to no good.”
“Tell your friend Chip to lighten up,” I said, holding the door open for him. But Mem just stood there, and I began to worry that he was going to squeal on me to Aunt Collette. “It’s supposed to be funny, that’s al
l,” I added. “Come on, let’s play StarBender.” Finally, he followed me.
As we walked inside, I heard Aunt Collette in the kitchen saying, “Oops, gotta go,” and hanging up the phone. “Howdy, boys,” she called to us. “Was the park rocking tonight?”
“Yup,” Mem answered, and that was all he said. Mem may be a lot of things, but I guess he’s not a snitch.
“Maybe I’ll make it there next year,” she said, joining us in the living room. “If I can get some decent help at the store by then. You guys gonna crash?”
“Yeah, I’m wiped,” I said.
“But what about StarBender?” Mem asked.
“Oh, right. I’m gonna pound him at this game first.”
Mem thought that was hysterical, and he started guffawing in big coughs. “I’ll cream you, Johnny! I’ll cream you, you wait!”
“Well, I’m zonked,” Aunt Collette said. “There’s cauliflower chowder in the ’fridge if you get hungry.”
Hungry? I felt like it would be days before I could think about eating again, especially when the menu was cauliflower chowder. So Mem set up StarBender, and we played video games until we couldn’t keep our eyes open. I lost by a landslide, but I still felt triumphant…in a mustardy, dastardly way. Dirk Dempster probably went to bed tonight thinking no one had seen him make a mess of himself at the park. That would all change in the morning. One look at his mailbox and he’d know just how wrong he’d been. Then he’d have to wonder who else I might have told, only he couldn’t ask anyone because then he’d be spilling the beans himself. This was perfect.
When Mem and I finally dragged ourselves upstairs, I noticed that Aunt Collette’s light was still on, which was pretty unusual at this hour, so I poked my head in. She was in her bathrobe, standing in front of her closet and thumbing through her clothes.
“Hi,” I said from the doorway.
“Hey,” she said, turning around. “C’mon in.”
I sat down on her bed, which was covered with magazines and crossword puzzle books, like she was prepared for a night of insomnia.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, fine. You going somewhere?” I motioned toward the closet.
Remember Dippy Page 6