Читать книгу Remember Dippy - Shirley Reva Vernick - Страница 8

Chapter 2

“So, Mem,” I said once we were alone. I always call my cousin that. My aunt says when I was little and couldn’t say my R’s, I used to call him ’Memba, and from there it got shortened to Mem. “You want to help me unpack?”

“Nope.” He plunked himself on the floor and turned on the TV.

Okay, no problem, I didn’t really feel like unpacking anyway. Instead, I nabbed a bottle of bubbly water from the kitchen and joined Mem, who was watching Jeopardy. From the second I sprawled on the couch, he didn’t take his eyes off my water bottle, so finally I asked if he wanted a drink.

“Do you want a drink?” he echoed, which is one of his more annoying habits. I used to think he was mocking me when he parroted my questions until I realized he does it to everyone sooner or later. “Want a drink?” he repeated and ran to the kitchen. He came back a minute later with a can of Dr. Pepper, which must have been his own hidden stash because I sure hadn’t seen any sodas when I was nosing around the ’fridge.

I learned something about Mem while we watched the contestants butt brains: he can read. I was never sure what they taught him at that special school, but there he was, reading the answers right along with Alex Trebek. He didn’t get any of the questions, but heck, neither did I. Oh, and another thing I learned about my cousin: he can belch like a truck driver.

There’s not much else to tell about my first night. Aunt Collette got home around eight with a large pizza, as promised. I didn’t recognize the topping—it looked like squashed marshmallows, but Aunt Collette said it was tofu. Tofu, really? You’d think it would be illegal to put something so healthy, so rubbery on top of a pizza. At least the spongy squares were easy to pick off. Soon we were flopping on the couch, chowing slices, watching reality TV and debating what movie to watch On Demand (Mem decided on School of Rock). It was after midnight before we called it quits. I slept in my clothes on top of the made bed that night, looking forward to sleeping in.

• • •

Fat chance. The Crayola crayon clock on the wall said 7:50 when Aunt Collette flew in the next morning. “Rise ’n’ shine, darling,” she sang. “Sorry I have to wake you, but I’m due at the store. Remember’s been up for a couple hours already.”

“Doing what?” I yawned.

“Watching The Weather Channel. It’s his favorite, that and Jeopardy. Listen, I gotta go, but don’t worry, I don’t always have to work this early. See you around three.” She hit the stairs before I even sat up.

Sure enough, Mem was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor watching Martin the Meteorologist explain the weather map. He didn’t even glance my way when I walked in.

“You eat yet?” I asked, my voice scratchy from getting up too early.

“You eat yet?” he said, then whispered, “Eat yet?”

“Well, do you want something?” I asked.

No answer.

“I’ll take that for a yes.”

No one’s ever going to accuse Aunt Collette of keeping a well-stocked kitchen, that’s for sure—unless you crave things like plain yogurt, soy milk and flaxseed cereal, that is. I was about to give up when I happened to open the vegetable crisper and struck gold: a carton of Twinkies and a six-pack of strawberry milk. I gathered up the booty and brought it into the living room, where I set it between Mem and me on the floor. Mem broke off the tip of a Twinkie and sucked the cream filling out, then threw the spongy shell back in the box and took out another one.

“Mem, that’s disgusting.”

“I only like the middles,” he said with a mouthful of white stuff.

“Yeah, but can you put your rejects somewhere else?”

He looked at me wide-eyed, like he’d never thought of that, then hurried to deliver the shells to the kitchen. “Done,” he called, wiping a cloud of crumbs into the air as he returned. “Done done dee done.”

“Good. Hey, let’s watch something else.” I reached for the remote.

“No!” he yelled. And I mean yelled. His face turned red and mad, and he snatched the remote before I could touch it. “I’m watching this.”

“Fine—chill, will you?” Talk about touchy. I wondered what would happen if I rearranged his bedroom furniture or something.

At least I had Niko’s Pizza Palace to look forward to. A couple of my friends were meeting there for lunch. If I stretched out my shower, read some magazines cover to cover, and maybe played with the ferrets, I figured I could survive the morning while Weather Boy mind-melded with Martin the Meteorologist. I guzzled the last slug of pink milk and headed upstairs to dig out my toothbrush.

• • •

When the crayon clock finally said noon, I put Linguini back in her cage with Jambalaya and headed downstairs. Mem was still doing the lotus position in front of the tube.

“Let’s go,” I told him.

No response.

“C’mon, let’s get going.”

Finally he turned my way. “We’re going somewhere?”

“Yeah, Niko’s, lunch.”

I was afraid he’d throw another fit about having to leave his beloved show, but he actually smiled and turned off the set himself. “Let’s go. Let’s get going,” he beamed and started toward the door.

“Wait, Mem, you’ve got Twinkie guts on your face—here.” I handed him a tissue, and he scrubbed his face like he was trying to sand it off.

“Now?” he said.

“Now.” But I wasn’t at all sure how this was going to work. There were way too many things that could go wrong.

The first thing went wrong before we even made it to the curb. Dirk Dempster, the kid who lives across the street from Mem, happens to be a total jerk. In fourth grade, he blamed me for the class fishbowl he shattered, and he’s made trouble for me ever since—copying off my tests and then accusing me of being the cheater, making sure I get picked last on teams, cutting ahead in line, you name it. He’s the tallest, meanest kid I know. I think the reason he gets out of bed in the morning is to outdo his nastiness from the day before. I always steer clear of him, but now he was shooting hoops in his driveway. When he spotted us he shouted, “Hey, it’s The Dipp.”

I was going to ignore him, but then he started singing, “Dippity do da, dippity ay, my oh my, what a wonderful day.” To make things worse, Mem thought it was funny and started waving at the idiot and saying what a cool guy he was.

Obviously, I had to say something, and what came out of my mouth was, “Shut up, Dirk.” Dirk kept singing though, so I added extra loudly, “Come on, Mem, we’ll take care of him later.”

“Okay, we’ll take care of him later,” Mem said cheerfully and way too loudly. “We’ll take care of him. Later.”

“Yeah, right,” Dirk scoffed and went back to shooting hoops.

Yeah, right? That was all? No—no way. Knowing Dirk, it wasn’t going to be over that easy. But I didn’t have time to worry about it because the second thing went wrong a minute later. We weren’t halfway down the street when Mem scrunched up his face and came to a dead standstill in the middle of the road.

“What’s the matter?” I said.

“My shoes hurt.”

“You got a stone in them or something?”

“A stone or something? No, they just hurt.”

I eyed his sneakers, the same sneakers he was wearing yesterday and all morning today. “You gotta get rid of them then.”

“No!” he bellowed so fiercely you’d think I was trying to turn off The Weather Channel.

“Fine, we’ll keep them. But let’s go back and get you another pair for now.”

“Don’t have another pair,” he pouted, and then he just stood there, right in the middle of the road. Even when a car backed out of a driveway and headed toward him, he played statue, and I had to motion the car around him.

“All right, Mem,” I sighed once the collision was averted. “Here, you wear my flip flops.” I walked barefoot the rest of the way, carrying his sneakers and wishing I could throttle him on the spot. He was the reason I had to get up so early, the reason I’d gotten into it with Dirk, the reason I was going to be late to meet my friends, the reason my whole summer was going to be a bust. And what was he doing? Humming “Zippity Doo-Da,” that’s what.

When we finally reached Niko’s Pizza Palace, my best friends, Reed and Mo (for Montgomery), were lounging at our regular table by the window. And—what was this?—Mo’s twin sister Jo (for Josephine) was with them. The guys were negotiating pizza toppings, and Jo was inspecting a pile of coins in her hand.

“Mem, you know Mo and Reed,” I said, pulling up two chairs. “And this is Jo.”

“She’s pretty,” Mem said, his eyeballs popping out as if to touch her. It was the first time I ever saw him look someone in the eye for longer than a flash.

On cue, Mo started snickering and motioning Mem to take the seat next to Jo, sticking me at the far end of the table. Then Mo started whistling “Here Comes the Bride.”

“Knock it off, Mo,” Jo said. “I’ve seen Mem around. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Yup,” he said, staring at his lap. “Really, really nice. To meet you.”

“You’re not at Hull Central. Do you go to private school or something?”

“Yup.”

“Do you board?”

“I’m never bored.”

“No, I mean…” She glanced at me and back at Mem, who was still staring at her all gaga. Then she started studying her pocket change again.

“Whatcha doing with all that money?” Mem asked.

“Looking for American Samoa,” she answered, turning a coin over.

“American who?” he asked, and if he hadn’t, I would have.

“American Samoa,” she said. “I’m collecting all the state quarters. I have almost all of them, but not American Samoa.”

“Not American some more,” Mem said. “American some more.”

“Hey, let’s order already,” she said, standing up and shoving the coins in her pocket. “Half cheese, half pepperoni, right?”

“Can I come?” Mem asked, prompting more laughs from Mo and Reed.

“Uh, I’m only going to the counter, but sure.”

When the two of them were out of earshot, Mo leaned toward me and said, “How’s it feel, having your cousin move in on your crush?”

“Yeah, right.” I couldn’t think of any other comeback, so that’s how I answered, but I hated that it was the same comeback Dirk the Jerk had used on me just a few minutes ago. Truth is, I couldn’t deny liking Jo. Her family is part Abenaki Native American, and she’s got these big black eyes and long black hair and a killer smile. Mo does too, but it doesn’t look half as good on him.

“I don’t know what you see in her anyway,” Mo said.

“That’s because she’s your sister,” I answered.

“No, it’s because she’s the queen of mean.”

“Not true.”

“Dude, I live with her. Believe me, she’s a snob.”

“Well, I think—” I glanced up at Jo and lost my train of thought. She was looking at me from the counter. Smiling slightly. Curling her hair around one finger. When our eyes connected, she burst into a full smile, just for a second, then turned to Mem.

“What’s the deal, anyway?” Reed asked. “With Mem, I mean.”

“Huh?— Oh, my mom’s away on business, so I have to stay with my Aunt Collette and watch Mem while she works.”

Reed peeked over his shoulder at Mem, who was still staring down Jo at the counter. “How long?”

“All summer.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. And then Jo and Mem were back, Mem with a can of Dr. Pepper and Jo with a bunch of paper plates and napkins.

“You guys got quiet all of a sudden,” Jo smirked. “What are we interrupting?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Hey Reed, how about some foosball?”

“Sure,” he said, cracking his knuckles. We ended up playing until the pizza arrived.

“Is hot,” Niko said in his Italian accent as he set the pizza on the table. Niko is one of those guys who looks like he belongs on the football field or in the boxing ring—bulging biceps, massive hands, face etched with little scars. Lucky for us and everyone else, he’s as mellow as they come. He sliced the pie and was about to leave when he noticed Mem’s sneakers sitting on an empty chair behind us. “Who is barefoot?” he asked.

It took me a minute to realize it was me. “Oh, Niko, sorry.” I quickly forced my toes into Mem’s small shoes.

“Don’t do it again,” he barked grumpily and walked away.

Wow, where was the laid-back Niko I knew, and who was this imposter? “What’s up with him?” I asked.

“Maybe he’s hungry,” Mem suggested, helping himself to a slice.

“Yeah, maybe he’s hungry,” Jo pretended to agree.

“Whatever,” said Mo. “So, we going swimming later?”

“I’m in,” said Reed with a mouthful. “What about you, Johnny?”

“I—I’m free at three…uh, are you going, Jo?”

“Can’t—I’m due at Patsy’s in a few minutes.”

Before I could say anything else, Reed leaned into my ear and whispered, “Guess you’ll have to wait to find out how she looks in her bikini.”

“I heard that,” Jo glared at Reed. “You know what—I’m outta here. See you, Mem.” She stood up, put a slice of pizza on her napkin, and mouthed, “Sorry, Johnny,” before heading out the door.

“See you,” Mem said as the door jangled behind her.

“Nice going, Reed,” I said, but he only laughed and grabbed another slice.

“Nice going is right, Reed,” Mo chimed in. “She left without chipping in her share. Now we each gotta pay an extra buck.”

That’s when I realized I was stuck paying for both Mem and me. “Hey Mem, you got any money?” I asked on the off chance he might have a couple dollars.

“Yup, here.” He pulled a $50 bill out of his pocket. Fifty dollars.

“Jeez, where’d you get that—Aunt Collette?”

“Nope.”

“Where then?”

He produced a pack of Juicy Fruit gum. “Same place as this.”

“Where?” I asked for the third time.

“Where? My friend. My friend Chip.”

“That a kid at your school?”

“Your school? Nope.”

It didn’t really matter where it came from—cash is cash. Mo snatched the bill out of Mem’s hand and said, “We’ll get you change, buddy…unless you wanna buy us another pizza first, that is.”

“No way,” I snapped. “Don’t anybody ask Mem for money, except me. Got it?”

Mo shrugged, “Only kidding.” He scrambled to the counter and paid Niko, then we all hit the sidewalk together.

“See you later,” I told Reed and Mo, who were heading in the opposite direction. “Call me for—” and then to make sure Mem wouldn’t invite himself along, I stood behind him and mimed swimming. Mem turned around in time to catch the last bit of my aerial backstroke, but he didn’t get it—at least, I don’t think he did. At any rate, he didn’t say anything, and that was a relief.

It was a long walk home without any shoes, without any friends, without anything to fill the rest of my shift with Mem. Luckily, Mem closeted himself in his room when we got back, so I set up my GameCube and played a few rounds of StarBender. My mom called at one point just to check in; I did the good-doobie thing and told her, “Everything’s fine. We’re having a pretty all right time.”

“Really, Johnny?” she said.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Good. Because I can tell I’m going to love this project, but I can only do it if I know you’re happy.”

“Happy as a clam, Mom.” Not.

“I’ll call again in a couple of days then. Hi to Collette.”

“Got it.”

“And don’t forget to floss.”

“Goodbye, Mom.”

Aunt Collette got home a little late, her ruby lipstick gone and her eyes striped with those little veins that pop out when you’re tired. Mem gave her a celebrity’s welcome and begged her to play Trouble, which he’d already set up in his room. As for me, I hotfooted it to the lake to meet Mo and Reed, and I didn’t feel guilty at all for not taking Mem with me.

Well, hardly at all.