Читать книгу The One and Only - Valerie Tripp - Страница 8

aryellen’s eyes popped open. She slid out of bed and quietly, quietly, ever so quietly, she tiptoed outside into the balmy Florida night. She skittered over the grass in her bare feet and slid through the hedge that divided her yard from Davy’s.

Tap, tappety, tap, tap. Tap, tap. Maryellen used her fingernail to beat their secret signal on Davy’s bedroom window.

After a moment, Davy appeared. He took one look at Maryellen and climbed out his window. “What’s up, Doc?” he whispered.

Maryellen held one finger to her lips to signal quiet. With the other hand, she gestured to Davy to follow her.

The moon cast Davy’s and Maryellen’s shadows ahead of them as she led the way to the garage and to Dad’s workbench. She handed Davy the can of red paint and the paintbrush, and then gathered rags, a scrub brush, and the tin of turpentine in her own arms. She led Davy to the front of the house.

“Holy cow,” breathed Davy when he saw the mess. “What happened here?”

“It’s a long story,” Maryellen sighed sadly. “Anyway, would you mind painting the doors while I scrub the step?”

“Sure,” said Davy without hesitation. He began to say, “Let’s—” But just then Scooter, who had been banished from the house because his stripes of red paint were still wet, ambled into view. “Holy cow!” Davy exclaimed softly. “Get a load of Scooter! Stripes, for Pete’s sake!”

“Hi, old boy,” Maryellen said to Scooter. “I’m afraid your shampoo will have to wait. You’ll have those red stripes until tomorrow.” Scooter didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Maryellen thought he seemed rather pleased to have red stripes, as if he were a sporty, portly tiger.

The front of the house was bathed in moonlight. As Davy finished painting the screen door and started on the front door, Maryellen soaked her rags in turpentine and scrubbed and scrubbed. It was hard work to remove the red paint from the front step. How had it splattered so far and wide? She wouldn’t have thought there was quite so much red paint in the world, much less in that one can. The turpentine had a sharp smell that made her eyes and nose run. But Maryellen did not give up.

Davy, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy painting. “Hey, let’s pretend we’re in an episode of a TV show about pirates,” he suggested.

“Or how about if we’re explorers,” said Maryellen, perking up, “and we were sailing the seven seas when we were captured by the pirates? They make us work day and night! You’re painting the mast, and I’m swabbing the decks of the pirate ship. But pretty soon, with our brave companion, Sea Wolf—that’s Scooter—we’ll jump overboard and swim away.”

“Good idea,” said Davy. “Ahoy there, Sea Wolf!”

Scooter thumped his tail, to show that he was in on the game.

Pretending helped the time go faster, but it still felt to Maryellen as though she was scrubbing for hours. Scrubbing was very humbling work. Her knees hurt, her arm was sore, and her hands felt rubbed raw.

At last, most of the splattered red paint was gone. Maryellen thought the step looked a bit pinkish, but perhaps it was just a trick of the moonlight. Davy finished painting the doors, and then he and Maryellen wiped their hands on the turpentine rags and washed them with the hose. Maryellen dried her hands on her pajama bottoms, and Davy used his T-shirt.

When his hands were dry, Davy saluted and said quietly, “Anchors aweigh, matey.”

Maryellen saluted back. She sure hoped Joan was wrong about not being friends with a boy in fourth grade. Davy was such a good pal. “Anchors aweigh,” she said. “And Davy, thank you.”

Davy grinned. “Any time,” he said. He stooped over to give Scooter a quick pat—Scooter opened one eye, briefly—and then Davy zipped home.

Maryellen sneaked back to bed, tired and smelling of turpentine.

The next morning, Mom woke Maryellen with a kiss. She opened her eyes to see Mom smiling at her. “Hey, Ellie,” Mom said softly. “Are you the magic fairy who scrubbed away the red paint?”

Maryellen nodded. “And Davy painted the doors,” she said.