Remember Dippy

by Shirley Reva Vernick

  To top it all off, Leesha stopped by in the afternoon with more bad news. Mem and I were playing Olympiad when she showed up wearing ebony rhinestone sunglasses that I soon realized were meant to hide her puffy, bloodshot eyes. “It’s official,” she muttered, squeezing her six feet in between Mem and me on the couch. “My summer’s over.”

  “Huh?” said Mem, studying her black high-heeled sneakers. “Summer’s over? It’s gonna get cold?”

  “No, it’s not gonna get cold yet. But I’m going home on Sunday.”

  “What?” he cried. “Sunday? Why?”

  She sniffled and lifted her shades long enough to rub her eyes. “Because I don’t have a job, that’s why.”

  “But, but,” Mem faltered, “you can still find one. We’ll help you find one. Right, Johnny? Leesha has to stay. Here. Right, Johnny? We’ll find Leesha a job, right?”

  Leesha put her arm around his shoulder. “Thanks Mem, but my parents already bought the airplane ticket so unless you can find me a job in the next three days, I’m history.”

  What rotten luck. “Are you sure you’ve tried everywhere?” I asked.

  “I even went back to Niko’s, hoping he might feel, you know, obligated,” she sighed. “You were right, Johnny. He can’t afford it. But I did find out Carmelita said yes. Nice to know somebody’s life is going right.”

  “That’s not fair!” Mem howled and started stamping his feet. “I won’t let you go! It’s not fair! It’s not fairrrrrrr!” On the last “not fair” he picked up his GameCube controller and hurled it at the entertainment center. It hit a framed baby photo of Mem, shattering the glass.

  “Mem!” I yelled, and he knew I was mad. He started whimpering that he didn’t mean it, he was sorry, he didn’t mean it. “Mem, calm down,” I ordered. “It’s not that big a deal. I’ll clean it up.”

  “I’ll clean it up,” he said. I thought he was just parroting me, but then he went over to the entertainment center and started picking up the glass shards with clumsy motions of his bare hands.

  “Mem, stop!” Leesha and I said at the same time.

  “I’m sorry,” he moaned. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too,” Leesha told him, leading him away from the glass. “Sorry I brought bad news. Sorry it made you upset. But hey, we can always hope for a miracle, right? A blue skies and starry nights miracle, for me.”

  Mem did a double take when he heard Leesha quoting Martin the Meteorologist. “Yeah,” he said dreamily, “maybe a miracle. A blue sky miracle. For you. For Linguini. Hey, we should go out and call for her again. Wanna help us?”

  “Can’t. Aunt Holly took the afternoon off because, well, the shop’s dead, and she wants me to mind the phone. Hey, why don’t you guys keep me company?”

  Mem drew his shoulders up to his ears and let them fall limply back into position. He didn’t want to leave his ferret vigil, but I, for one, needed a change of scenery, and as long as Leesha wasn’t going to touch my hair, I was up for helping her babysit the shop.

  “C’mon, Mem,” I coaxed. “We’ll stop by the store and visit your mom too.”

  I kept trying to talk him into it while I cleaned up the glass. He finally agreed, and that’s how we wound up spending the next few hours at Hair by Holly. The phone didn’t ring once, but Holly had some decent magazines and a deck of cards, and I got us some slushies at the 7-11 after I crushed everyone at Go Fish.

  When Holly returned to lock up the shop, Mem and I caught a ride home with Aunt Collette, and, after a late spaghetti supper, I put dry sheets on my bed and slept like a log all night.

  • • •

  To my surprise, I was the first one up the next morning—I guess that’s what ten straight hours of sleep will do for you—and that’s when I first noticed it. I was sitting on the front steps eating cereal out of the box when my eye caught our mailbox. The letters used to spell NOPE, but now they spelled—I had to squint and shade my eyes from the sun for a minute—they spelled OPEN. Someone—it had to be Dirk—had rearranged the letters and apparently wanted me to open up the mailbox.

  As I walked toward the box, I realized the door was already pried open a little. Memories of mouthwash gurgled through my mind. Here we go again, I thought, pulling the door gingerly, not knowing whether I was going to find a thank-you note or a dumb prank inside. It was neither.

  It was Linguini!

  Her shiny brown eyes glimmered at me from the darkness of the box, and I think she was actually smiling. I know I was. She was standing on a pile of what looked like confetti, and some of the confetti fell to the ground as I scooped her up and locked her in my arms. I checked her over for cuts or bites or other injuries, and she seemed fine—thin but fine. I couldn’t believe it. And I couldn’t wait to tell Mem.

  Then a dark thought struck me. How did Dirk get Linguini anyway, and how long had he been holding onto her? Maybe he’d found her outside yesterday or the day before and kidnapped her. Maybe that’s why we couldn’t find her ourselves. Maybe he was going to keep her forever, except his parents said no or it was too much work or he decided to go honest after getting a second chance at life. What other explanation could there be?

  I decided not to tell Mem my suspicions. Let him be happy to get his pet back. I’d figure out some way to deal with Dirk on my own. I ran inside and tiptoed upstairs into Mem’s room—he was lying on his back snoring lightly—and set Linguini on his chest. He must’ve been out cold because he didn’t move a muscle as Linguini stepped onto his pillow and curled up in a ball next to his ear. I left them that way, figuring the one would wake the other soon enough.

  Soon enough happened a half-hour later, and I knew it because Mem screamed at the top of his lungs, “Linguini! Linguini, you’re back! I thought you’d never come back! Blue skies! It’s a blue sky miracle!”

  I raced upstairs to tell him to lose the theatrics—Aunt Collette still didn’t know Linguini had been missing—but she got there first. “Remember, honey, what’s wrong?” she asked urgently.

  “I felt something against my face,” he glowed, “and it was Linguini! She was in my bed.”

  “Now, how many times have I told you not to take those ferrets to bed with you?” she scolded. “We’re going to end up losing them that way.”

  “But Ma, I—”

  “It’s my fault, Aunt Collette,” I cut in before Mem could give our secret away. “I brought her into my bed. She must’ve climbed into Mem’s room in the middle of the night. I won’t do it again.”

  “Good,” she said. “Now that that’s straightened out, I have to get ready for work.” She started toward the door, then turned around. “But I’m taking the weekend off for a change. You boys feel like going up to Sugar Loaf? TJ wants to see it.”

  “Sounds great,” I answered. Mem was too busy smothering Linguini with kisses to say anything, so I added, “Ditto for Mem.”

  • • •

  With Linguini safe at home, the Dippy family was complete again. Mem’s funk dissolved, and Aunt Collette never had to know about the ferret fiasco. What a relief. When it got to be a decent hour, Mem called Leesha, who said we should celebrate the good news over lunch at Niko’s. I left a message on Reed’s voicemail, then called Mo’s house. Jo answered the phone.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Jo, hi, it’s Johnny. Guess what—Linguini’s back.”

  “Hey Mo, the ferret’s home,” I heard her say. “That’s great, Johnny. Thanks for letting us know.”

  “We’re going to Niko’s for lunch if you, y’know, want to come.”

  “Hold on. Patsy, do you want to—” Jo must have put her hand over the receiver then, because her voice got muffled. Then she came back on. “Sounds good. Around noon?”

  “Sure. You’ll tell Mo?”

  “He can’t. He’s got to work on the deck with our dad, and Patsy’s going home, so it’ll just be me, I guess. See ya.”

  Sweet. “See ya.”

  The only thing still nagging at me
now was the Dirk factor. Who did he think he was, stealing a living thing? I didn’t care if he almost drowned—he was still a jerk. Did he even know that Mem had probably saved his life? As the morning dragged on, I got madder and madder, until I realized what I had to do. Before I could go to Niko’s or anywhere else, I had to settle things with Dirk. Face to face. I had to—for Mem and Linguini’s sake, for Aunt Collette and TJ’s sake, and yes, for my sake too.

  • • •

  As soon as I rang Dirk’s bell, I wanted to abort the mission, but I didn’t get the chance. He opened the door so fast I got the feeling he’d been watching me out the window. Now he was standing in the doorway, a head taller and a lot broader than me. I took a step back, wondering how fast I could run if I needed to.

  We watched each other without a word. Dirk’s skin was pale, which made his freckles look an even brighter shade of orange, and his nose looked like he’d blown it all night. Served him right. He could’ve ended up with a lot worse than a head cold, that’s for sure.

  I inspected Dirk’s eyes, hoping to locate a trace of regret or gratitude or embarrassment—something that would give me the confidence to say what I’d come to tell him. But there was nothing. His whole face was a blank. Who knows, maybe his whole personality was a blank, a big empty nothing, in which case it would be futile to talk to him. I was ready to cut my losses and scram, but then he spoke.

  “Hi,” he said in a froggy voice. Funny, he’d never said that word to me before, that simple word friends always use. It threw me off guard.

  “H-hi,” I stammered. “Listen, Dirk—”

  “C’mon in. The teapot’s whistling.”

  Had Dirk the Jerk actually invited me into his house? Maybe this was a trick. Or maybe aliens had abducted the real Dirk and replaced him with a look-alike who knew some manners. I took one step through the doorway and hesitated, but Dirk was already walking down the hall, assuming I’d follow, so I did.

  In the kitchen, Dirk had lined up a mug, a tin of tea, a lemon, and a jar of honey. Apparently, he knew my grandmother’s remedy for whatever ails you. “You sick?” I asked.

  “Getting better,” he coughed. “At least I can talk now.” He poured the hot water, then scooped the loose tea leaves into a strainer and dropped it into the mug. “The lemon and the honey, they really work.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Want some?” he asked, stirring the honey ball into his drink.

  “No thanks.” This was weird—he was actually being polite to me. “Listen Dirk, I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Might as well sit then,” he said. He hopped onto a nearby stool and put his bare feet up on the kitchen island, which was covered with video games, a pile of colored paper, and a slew of pens. “Shoot.”

  I decided to stay standing. “It’s about my cousin’s ferret—what did you do with her, anyway?”

  “What are you talking about?” he croaked.

  “C’mon Dirk, you put Linguini in our mailbox this morning. How’d you get a hold of her?” I couldn’t believe he was going to deny the whole thing. What an idiot.

  “I didn’t put any ferret in your mailbox. I didn’t even know you had a ferret.”

  The blood rushed to my cheeks in hot waves. “Didn’t you see Mem carrying Linguini the other night? When you practically plowed us down with your bike?”

  “What? No. No way.” He started sipping his tea and coughing again, and I had to admit he looked genuinely mystified. “Sorry about that, by the way, about not looking where I was going. I was just, I don’t know, blowing off some steam.”

  “Steam? You mean, because of me?”

  He let out a little snort. “Sorry to disappoint you, Johnny, but you’re the least of my troubles. It’s my parents. Screaming all the time. At each other. At me. Sometimes they’re both screaming at me at once, but for different things. Drives me bonkers.”

  Well, there was something I could relate to. My parents were at each other’s throats—and mine—for at least a year before they separated. “Are they going to split?” I asked.

  “Don’t know,” he shrugged. “Sometimes I think they’re on the brink of it, and sometimes I think they’re working it out. I wish they’d just make up their minds already.”

  “Been there.”

  “Yeah…so what’s this about your ferret?” he asked.

  “It’s just,” I shifted my weight to my other foot, “aren’t you the one who wrote OPEN on our mailbox?”

  “Yeah…”

  “But you say you didn’t put anything in the mailbox?”

  “Sure I did,” he said, slapping his mug on the counter. “I put two notes in there, one from me and one from my mom. To…say thanks…for, you know, helping me the other day.”

  “Oh…”

  Dirk pointed to the stationery on the counter. “We used this stuff from my mom’s art store—cotton paper and scented pens. Didn’t you get the notes?”

  “Uh…” I stepped closer to the counter and ran my hand over the pile of paper. It didn’t feel like cotton to me, but it did feel fancy. Then I uncapped one of the pens, a red one, and sniffed it: cherry. The green, purple and black ones were marked lime, grape and licorice. There must have been two or three dozen of them. I picked up the brown one and inhaled: chocolate. “Is this the pen you used?” I asked.

  “Hmm? Yeah, I think so. Why?”

  I burst out laughing. Chocolate. Now it all computed.

  “So you didn’t get the notes?” he asked.

  “No, but I know who did. Linguini. She loves chocolate.” I pulled up a stool. “Your note lured Mem’s ferret back.”

  Dirk studied his lap. “I guess I owed you guys the favor.”

  “How’d you know it was us—the cops tell you?”

  “No, Patsy did.”

  “Oh. Hey, did you tell your dad yet?”

  “That I nearly drowned? Yeah, I think it came up in conversation.”

  “No, I mean, did you tell him about us—about Mem and me—making the call for help?”

  Dirk repositioned his feet on the counter and crossed his arms. I couldn’t tell whether my question annoyed or amused him. “My mom might’ve mentioned it to him. Why, you worried about getting credit?”

  “No, that’s not it, not exactly. It’s just that, well, my Aunt Collette might be asking your dad for a favor of her own soon.”

  “Oh.” He uncrossed his arms. “Well, he’s been away on business all week, but he’s coming home tomorrow.”

  “Cool.”

  It seemed like there should be something more to say, but I didn’t know what. After all, I’d accomplished my mission. The Linguini mystery was solved, and Dirk’s family knew they owed Mem’s family. So that was that. Dirk and I could go our separate ways—out of each other’s faces and each other’s mailboxes. We never had to talk to each other again.

  I stood up to leave. “Well, I guess I’ll—”

  Dirk nodded, “Later.”

  I turned to go, but I kept hearing Mr. Boots’ words. “You have StarBender?” I asked, pointing to the stack of video games on the island.

  “Both versions.”

  “What level you at?”

  “Nine. I can’t get past that black hole to save my life.”

  “Y’know, Mem’s a wiz at it. He got my Star-Bender to level 12 and my Olympiad to the decathlon.”

  “Mem did?”

  “Yup, and he did the same for Mo and Reed. If you want to bring over your memory card sometime…”

  Dirk swallowed a long drink of tea as he thought over the proposition. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  Then I heard myself saying something that didn’t seem to come from my own brain. “Hey,” the words started, “some of us are going to Niko’s for lunch. You wanna come?”

  Dirk looked as surprised as I was. “Can’t,” he said. “I’m grounded for three weeks.”

  “Ouch.”

  He carried his mug to the sink. “Tell me about it.”

&
nbsp; “Well, there’ll still be some summer left when you’re freed, so…”

  “Yeah, save me some pizza, will ya?”

  Dirk walked me to the door, and as I stepped out, I said, “I gotta say, Dirk, I’m impressed. Your mom’s at work, your dad’s away, no one would have to find out, and you’re still toeing the line.”

  “Don’t get too impressed. My mother calls me every twenty minutes. In fact, she’s due right about now. Anyway, see ya.”

  “Yup,” I said. “Oh, and Dirk?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I hope things work out with your parents. One way or the other, I mean.”

  “Thanks.”

  Wow, Dirk Dempster said thanks twice in one day. Not bad.

  Chapter 14

  Fixing things with Dirk unraveled such a tight knot in my stomach that by the time I walked across the street and into the house to get Mem, I was ravenous. Fortunately, it was almost time to meet Jo at Niko’s. I ran upstairs to comb my hair, and we were about to head out when someone knocked—no, more like scratched—on the front door. Mem arrived first and found Millie with her front paws pressed against the screen, her tail wagging so hard her whole body shook. “Hiya, Millie!” Mem said, opening the door and stepping onto the porch. “Hey, where’s Mr. Boots? Johnny, Millie’s here but Mr. Boots isn’t. I think she ran away.”

  “Does she ever do that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, let’s get her in and call Mr. Boots before he gets worried.” I gripped Millie’s collar so I could lead her inside, but she wouldn’t budge. She woofed urgently, her ears perked and twitching, and then she tried to run down the front steps. “Okay, have it your way,” I said. “Mem, you watch her out here. I’ll call Mr. Boots. We don’t have much time.”

  No one answered at Mr. Boots’, and he doesn’t have voicemail. Ratfinks. I didn’t want Millie following us downtown, but I didn’t want to sit around waiting for Mr. Boots to get home either. I ran outside to see what Mem wanted to do, and that’s when I saw what a lather Millie had worked herself into—barking and yelping and practically dragging Mem to the street.