Parts & Labor

by Mark Gimenez

  "They won't believe us."

  "I'm not sure I believe you."

  "You will when you meet Norbert."

  "When?"

  "Today. After school. We need to commence our plan to save the world immediately."

  Sunny shook her head. "I can't today."

  "You're too busy to save the world? Why?"

  "STAAR test. My mother won't let me do anything after school when we have achievement tests."

  "Sunny, we're trying to save the world, for Pete's sake!"

  "And my mother's trying to get me into Stanford."

  After lunch, we walked to the doors where Vic and his gang were loitering like the homeless people in downtown asking every passing pedestrian for money. But homeless people were happy when you gave them a buck. Vic wanted six hundred bucks from me. He stepped toward me just as we headed out the doors, but I held out an open hand like the crossing guard and kept walking.

  "Not today, Vic. I don't have time."

  I walked outside but heard his stunned voice behind me.

  "You don't have time for me to bully you? What's the world coming to?"

  Vic didn't know that there might not be a world much longer.

  "How is Norbert home schooled," Mom asked, "if he doesn't have a mother and his father is working all the time?"

  "Mom," I said, "his brain is far more advanced than humans'. He doesn't need to go to school. Especially not ours."

  She ignored that and popped the cork on another long bottle.

  "You think Norbert would like asparagus?" she asked.

  I was setting the table that evening. Five places, including one for Norbert. He was a regular at dinner now. Free-range chicken tacos.

  "Might give him gas."

  "Apparently everything gives him gas."

  "Alien."

  She ignored that, too.

  "Oh, Randy from behind us, he came over and said you ruined Butch."

  "How?"

  "He said Butch is scared of people now. Won't bite anyone."

  "Good."

  "That's what I said."

  Mom was like that, small but spunky.

  "Mom, did you know my Legend sneakers were made in Vietnam?"

  "I know most of our apparel is made overseas."

  "Why?"

  "Cheap labor."

  "Like Kim-Ly."

  "Who's Kim-Ly?"

  "A girl in Vietnam. She's about Scarlett's age, but she doesn't go to school. She works all day making Legend sneakers."

  "How do you know all that about a girl in Vietnam?"

  "Norbert showed me on his computers."

  Mom just frowned.

  "How do you stop something that's not right?"

  "Well, with sneakers, you just don't buy them."

  "I won't, because I saw Kim-Ly. But other kids don't know about her. How can we get them to stop buying Legends?"

  "A boycott."

  "What's that?"

  "You tell people about Kim-Ly, convince them not to buy Legend sneakers because they're made by people getting paid only pennies an hour. If enough people stop buying them, the sneaker company will have to pay better wages."

  "A boycott, huh?"

  eleven

  " 'To combine in abstaining from, or preventing dealings with, as a means of intimidation or coercion.' "

  Sunny was reading the definition of "boycott" from the Webster's dictionary on her laptop. We were eating lunch under the table in the cafeteria. A food fight had broken out, so we bailed. Food landed around us, but not on us. You didn't want to get nailed by an errant pudding cup. I did one time; it took me ten minutes to lick it all off my face.

  "Is a boycott legal?" she asked.

  "I don't know. But we're kids. They can't send us to jail. Can they?"

  "If I get arrested, I won't get into Stanford. I want a legal opinion from a lawyer."

  "I can ask Andy."

  "Close enough."

  "We're in fourth grade, Sunny. We're not going to get arrested. We're going to stop something bad."

  "Max, I'm from Asia. I know all about sweatshops. But it doesn't matter. Kids aren't going to stop wearing Legend sneakers."

  "I am." I held up my feet. I was wearing my red flip-flops. "Made in America. My mom checked. She thinks a boycott is a great idea. She called it social activism."

  "Why do you want to do this?"

  "Before my dad deployed, I asked him why he had to go. He said, 'Max, I'm going over there to make a difference for those people.' Well, I'm doing this to make a difference for Kim-Ly."

  "Who's Kim-Ly?"

  "A girl in Vietnam who makes Legend sneakers."

  "How'd you meet her?"

  "I didn't. Norbert showed me a video of her working in the factory."

  "Everything we wear is made in those places."

  "From now on, I'm buying all my clothes at St. Vincent de Paul," I said.

  "You're gonna wear used clothes?" Dee said.

  "Except underwear. But I'm going to look at every label first to make sure it didn't come from those places."

  "I'll do that, too," Dee said.

  "Me, too," Eddie said.

  "Count me in," Sunny said.

  "Okay. We'll organize a boycott."

  "I thought we were going to save the world."

  "We're going to do that, too."

  "And stop global warming in our spare time."

  Just then a big muffin landed on the floor next to Dee. He snatched it up.

  "Five second rule."

  He picked it up and examined it.

  "Aw, man, someone took a big bite out of it. And it's chocolate, my favorite."

  He held it up for us to see.

  "Just eat around it," I said.

  Dee shrugged. "Good idea."

  "Looks good," I said.

  Floyd T. was painting Ramon's storefront window frame. He had decided on red. I had stopped by after school.

  "Thanks."

  I pointed up. "Is Andy in?"

  "Yep. You got a traffic ticket?"

  "Law question."

  "Well, he's a lawyer … sort of."

  Andy Prescott was picking his nose when I climbed the stairs and entered his little office above Ramon's tattoo parlor.

  "You got a permit for that?" I said.

  Andy laughed. "Hey, dude. What's up?"

  "I'm organizing a boycott."

  "Against what?"

  "Sneakers made in foreign factories that pay the workers twenty cents an hour."

  "You mean against every sneaker sold in America?"

  "That's what I mean."

  "You want me to sign a petition?"

  "I want you to answer a legal question."

  "Shoot."

  "Will we get arrested, for boycotting sneakers?"

  "You won't get arrested, but you could get sued."

  "If they sue me, what can they do?"

  "If they win, they can take your assets."

  "What are assets?"

  "Your stuff."

  "I don't have much stuff. Just my Ripstik and some DVDs."

  "If that's all you own, you don't have to worry about getting sued."

  "Still, I'd hate to lose my Ripstik."

  Andy waved at his office. "Tell you what. If they sue you, you can hide your assets here."

  twelve

  The first target of our boycott was Legend Jones.

  Which was like picking a fight with Godzilla. Legend Jones was only the biggest star in the NBA. He had his own line of apparel and sneakers. His jerseys sold for a hundred dollars, his sneakers for up to one hundred fifty dollars. His stuff was real popular with kids all across America, but in Austin he was like a god because he lived here and played for the Armadillos, the local NBA team. We figured if we could embarrass Legend, he might stop endorsing stuff made in sweatshops.

  "Fat chance," Sunny said.

  She pointed at her laptop.

  "It says here that he makes fifty million a year endor
sing sneakers. He's not giving that up just because they're made by poor people in Vietnam."

  Legend had grown up really poor in East Austin out by the dump, but now he was really rich and lived in West Austin on the lake. Like most kids, I admired him because he scored a lot of points and he seemed like a really cool dude in his commercials. But that was before I knew about Kim-Ly.

  We altered our Legend Jones posters from "Buy Legend sneakers, be a star" to read "Buy Legend sneakers, starve a Vietnamese child." We brought them to school and taped them to the cafeteria wall next to the big blow-ups Norbert had made from the video that showed Kim-Ly and other kids her age making Legend jerseys and sneakers. Sunny researched the Internet and printed out articles about those factories—they were called "sweatshops" because the workers didn't get paid much and had to work long hours—to hand out. By lunch on Friday, we had a table in one corner of the cafeteria fixed up with pictures of the factory and the kids working there … and the biggest picture had one of the workers wearing a Legend "1" jersey and holding up a brand new pair of black Legend Jones All-Pro "1" signature competition sneakers. We wrote a caption: I made 5 cents making these sneakers. You paid $150. Legend Jones made $50 million. Cheap foreign workers: priceless.

  We put up a big banner that read: NO SNEAKERS FROM SWEATSHOPS! And a sign over a barrel that read: DUMP YOUR LEGEND JONES SNEAKERS HERE! Mrs. Broadus said the boycott could be our community service project, which was a lot more fun than picking up trash in a park.

  "Legend's gonna call the cops and get you arrested for putting this stuff up," Vic said.

  We were working our boycott table when Vic and his posse walked over during lunch.

  "He can't," I said. "I consulted my lawyer."

  "Who? Andy? He's a traffic-ticket lawyer."

  "He's still a lawyer. And he said they can't do anything to us."

  "Legend can. He's liable to send his people over."

  "What are they gonna do? Beat us up? We're just kids."

  "If he doesn't beat you up, I will."

  "Dude, we gotta do something about your clothes. You look like an alien."

  Norbert was waiting on our front porch when I got home.

  "My father examined your clothing catalogs to determine our attire."

  "Well, humans don't really dress like that. Come on, Mom and Maddy and Scarlett won't be home for a while, let's go over to the thrift shop, find you some real clothes."

  We walked the few blocks over to St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Store on Congress Avenue down from the Home Slice pizza shop. I had to drag Norbert away from the smell of fresh pizza. He loved human food. Norbert bought brown baggy cargo shorts that hung almost to the floor, a yellow "Keep Austin Weird" T-shirt, green clogs, and red sunglasses. He no longer looked like an alien from another planet, but just another tourist from New York.

  "Norbert, I like your new look," Mom said.

  We had just returned home when Mom pulled into the driveway with Scarlett and Maddy.

  "I've got to run over to Whole Foods. You boys want to come?"

  "Sure."

  We piled into the Suburban and drove north on Congress across the river into downtown and then over to Whole Foods. The downtown store is huge. We parked in the underground garage then took the escalator up into the store.

  "You boys can each get one treat," Mom said.

  Mom grabbed a big cart; she hefted Maddy into the seat. Mom, Maddy, and Scarlett headed over to the produce department. Vegetables didn't interest me, so Norbert and I dodged the tattooed-and-pierced shoppers and walked to the bakery on the other side of the store where we found the cupcake counter. Cupcakes interested me a lot.

  "Cupcakes, Norbert," I said.

  Whole Foods cupcakes aren't your mother's cupcakes. Their cupcakes are designer cupcakes with rich chocolate fillings and tall icing in the shape of lions and tigers and bears and even a dragon. They cost $2.99 each. We couldn't afford them anymore, so I planned to just stare through the glass display and drool for a while then select a $.99 cookie. But Norbert had other plans.

  "That one and that one and that one …"

  He was pointing out the cupcakes he wanted to the lady working behind the counter. She grabbed and bagged them.

  "Max, select your cupcakes."

  "I don't have any money."

  Norbert pulled out his wad of $100 bills. "Cha-ching. I have much money, laddie."

  He was buying so I picked out three cupcakes. Norbert bought a dozen. We each got down on one right in the middle of the food court. I loved the smell of the food court, all the scents mixing into one big scent. Fresh bread and pies, pizza and calzone and charcuterie (although I had no idea what that was), breakfast tacos and burritos, soups and sandwiches and sushi, muffins and cookies and donuts, and, of course, these delicious cupcakes.

  "You're adapting to our food pretty fast."

  "I like cupcakes—"

  He had icing all over his face.

  —"and hot dogs and pizza and ice cream … I like all human food."

  He scarfed down two more cupcakes. He had a good appetite for a little alien.

  "We need milk with these," I said.

  We walked past the breakfast tacos counter and the pizza ovens and over to the milk cooler. I pointed at the small milks.

  "These are my favorites—vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry milk."

  I selected a vanilla-flavored milk. Norbert went for a strawberry. They cost $1.49 each. I showed him how to insert the attached straw. I sucked my milk down slowly so I could enjoy the moment, but Norbert sucked his down in one continuous sucking maneuver. He smiled.

  "More."

  He grabbed a chocolate milk, inserted the straw, and sucked it down. Then he drank a vanilla milk.

  "I favor the strawberry," he said.

  He grabbed a hand basket and filled it with strawberry three-packs.

  "Take some, Max."

  "Norbert, we gotta pay for this stuff."

  "Cha-ching."

  I grabbed a vanilla three-pack. We drank another milk and observed the shoppers. Some were hippie types, like my mom. Some were the tattooed-and-pierced crowd. Some were wearing suits and ties like lawyers (well, not like my lawyer). Some were glamorous girls in gym outfits. Mom said they were really shopping for men, but I wasn't sure what she meant. Dad always liked shopping with us at Whole Foods, but if Mom caught him checking out the gym girls, she'd punch his arm (but not hard enough to hurt him) and say, "In your dreams, lover-boy." Then they'd laugh and shop for meat. A skinny blonde gym girl came over to the milk display and stood right next to us. Norbert stared at her from a foot away.

  "Dude," I whispered in his ear, "girls get mad if you stare at them that close. They like you to stare from a distance."

  "Oh."

  He took one step back. But he still stared. The blonde girl gave him a frown, but he just smiled back.

  "You are an incredible human specimen," he said to her.

  I thought she might slap him, but instead she patted his head.

  "You're cute, too, little man," she said.

  Wow. She touched him.

  Norbert sniffed the air like those bird dogs on that hunting show then followed the scent directly to the Bowie BBQ counter as if he were Han Solo's Millenium Falcon caught in the Death Star's tractor beam—and we all know you cannot escape a tractor beam. The barbecue man behind the counter looked like a cowboy; he had gray hair and a thick gray mustache, and he wore a plaid shirt and jeans.

  "What can I get you gents?"

  Norbert scanned the menu.

  "Two chopped beef sandwiches, three chicken drumsticks, a sausage, and barbecued beans."

  "To go?"

  "To eat."

  The man filled three plates and placed them in front of Norbert. His eyes got wide. He cleaned his plate—plates—in just a few minutes. The barbecue man watched with an amazed expression.

  "Good appetite for a little guy," he said.

  "He's an alien visit
ing our planet," I said.

  The barbecue man nodded and waved a hand at all the weird tattooed-and-pierced people in Whole Foods.

  "Welcome to my world."

  "Thank you," Norbert said.

  Then he farted.

  We caught up with Mom and Scarlett and Maddy at the check-out lane. They were piling groceries onto the conveyor belt, and the check-out lady was running each item over the scanner. Mom used to joke that Whole Foods meant "Whole Paycheck" because she spent so much money when she shopped here. We've had to be more frugal now.

  "Did you boys get a treat?"

  "Yes," Norbert said.

  He dumped the strawberry milk cartons onto the conveyer belt. Half were empty.

  "Dude," I said. "How many did you drink?"

  Norbert burped. "Nine. And I am purchasing more for later."

  Mom counted the cartons.

  "Norbert! You've got twenty-seven cartons."

  Norbert smiled. "They are excellent."

  "They're expensive. That's almost forty dollars!"

  "He likes human food," I said.

  "Yes, especially barbecue."

  He held out the receipt from the barbecue counter because you paid when you checked out. Mom looked at the receipt and gasped.

  "Thirty-two dollars! For barbecue?"

  "He eats a lot," I said.

  Norbert put the cupcake bag on the conveyor.

  "And cupcakes," he said.

  "Thirty-nine dollars?"

  Mom peeked in her wallet, and her face got the same expression as when she opened those PAST DUE bills.

  "How will I pay for all this?"

  "I have money," Norbert said.

  He handed Mom a $100 bill.

  "No, Norbert, I don't want your money."

  "I have many more such bills."

  He dug his money roll out of his pocket. Mom's eyes got wide.

  "He carries a lot of cash," I said.

  "Where'd you get all that money?"

  "My father."

  "Where'd he get it?"

  "Oh. We print it."

  "You print it?"

  Mom's eyes cut from the $100 bill to the pile of groceries on the conveyor belt to the other people standing in line and looking funny at us and then back to Norbert's money. She snatched the $100 bill from Norbert and handed it to the check-out lady—who was frowning big time. Now her eyes cut from Mom to Norbert to the $100 bill. Mom laughed like she did when we embarrassed her in public.