Abby and the Notorious Neighbor, Page 3

  The good news was that he’d given me some medicine and told me that I’d stop being contagious after I’d been on it for twenty-four hours. I’d have to stay home from school for at least the rest of the week, and probably for most of the next week too. If I didn’t take care of myself, he warned me, I could develop pneumonia and have to be hospitalized.

  There had been moments already when I’d wondered if that wouldn’t be more fun — or at least more interesting — than lying around at home.

  “I envy you,” Anna had said. “If I had all that free time, I’d finally be able to finish reading that biography of Beethoven. And I could catalog my CD collection and work on my composition for my Advanced Music Theory class.”

  I won’t tell you what I said to that, since it wasn’t very nice.

  In case you haven’t noticed, I do not cope well with being sick. While some people (Anna, for example) might welcome a break in their routine, I am not one of them. I need to be in constant motion. Sitting still for any length of time makes me nuts.

  Anyway, it was Wednesday afternoon. I’d already eaten my lunch (chicken noodle soup and some crackers, plus a nectarine) and finished the homework Anna had brought home for me the night before (thanks a lot, sis!). I’d watched enough TV to feel brainwashed (ever catch yourself singing a diaper commercial jingle while you’re doing the dishes?), and I wasn’t sleepy enough to take a nap.

  I looked out the window, hoping for inspiration. I was in my room, which has two windows. The one I was looking out faces Kristy’s house. I could just see it when I peered past Mrs. Porter’s, which sits between our houses. The other window faces toward the backyard, and I usually keep that shade pulled down, so the sun doesn’t wake me up too early.

  The window that looks toward Kristy’s has a built-in window seat, comfy cushions on top and a bookshelf below. I can curl up on the seat and read by the light of the window — when I’m in a reading kind of mood, that is. That day I wasn’t. I was in a tearing-my-hair-out-with-boredom kind of mood.

  There’s a big maple tree in our front yard, and a couple of its branches reach toward my window. I like looking out at the green and imagining what it would be like to be a squirrel, with a huge tree like that for my playground. I didn’t see any squirrels that day, but I did see something else.

  It was a flash of color — red, to be exact. With some black and white below. A bird clinging to the trunk of the tree. “Cool,” I said out loud. “Looks like that woodpecker is back.” A woodpecker had been hanging around all winter, and as a treat for it, Anna had put out suet (gross stuff that birds love — it’s like a big hunk of fat). But a couple of months ago, the woodpecker had disappeared. Anna would be happy to hear that it had returned.

  I hopped down off the window seat and headed into Anna’s room to find the binoculars. They used to be Dad’s, but now we all use them. Anna’s the one who does the most bird-watching, though. Probably because she has the most patience for it.

  Binoculars in hand, I settled back on the window seat and began to scan the tree. Within a couple of moments I’d brought the woodpecker into my sights. He was a cool-looking bird, all right, with his black and white stripes and bright red head.

  But you know what? He was kind of boring. All he was doing was walking up and down the trunk of the tree, stopping occasionally to drill his yellow beak into the bark, looking for insects to eat. One of those nature shows could probably make a whole hour of it, but I was yawning after thirty seconds.

  I was just about to put the binoculars down when something bright yellow caught my eye. Something yellow and huge. For a moment, I was confused. Then I lowered the binoculars and realized that I was staring at a school bus. I checked my watch. Sure enough, school was over.

  The bus stopped at the corner, and a few kids jumped out. A few minutes later, another bus pulled over. Kids were arriving home from Stoneybrook Elementary, Stoneybrook Academy, and Stoneybrook Day School. I lifted the binoculars again and watched. I saw Karen Brewer jump off her bus, looking a bit lonely. She’s Kristy’s stepsister, and she’s in second grade at Stoneybrook Academy. I think she misses her younger brother, Andrew, who’s living in Chicago now for a few months, with his mom and stepdad.

  Next, I saw Druscilla Porter. Druscilla is the same age as Karen. She headed straight to her grandmother’s house (her grandmother is Mrs. Porter, my next-door neighbor), looking glum. Druscilla is not the happiest child in the world. Her parents are in the midst of a nasty divorce, and it hasn’t been easy for her.

  I trained the binoculars on Karen again and watched her watch Druscilla go inside. I figured Karen was thinking about what it would be like to live with Morbidda Destiny, which is what she calls Mrs. Porter. Karen has a very active imagination, and she’s decided, for various reasons, that our elderly neighbor is a witch.

  I spotted the Hsu brothers too, Timmy and Scott, who live down the block. They’re members of Kristy’s Krushers, the softball team I comanage. With the binoculars I could see that Timmy had a skinned knee. Maybe he’d gotten that by sliding into second base at a recent practice I’d missed. Scott was wearing Hercules underwear (the waistband was poking out from the top of his jeans).

  I also saw Shannon Kilbourne’s little sisters, Tiffany and Maria, who go to Stoneybrook Day, as well as the Papadakis kids, Hannie and Linny, who have a preschool-age sister named Sari. They live next door to the Kilbournes, across the street from Kristy. Then I spotted the older Korman kids, Bill and Melody (they have a baby sister named Skylar), who live across from me. It was fun to check out what they were wearing, what kind of moods they seemed to be in, and what books they’d brought home from school. If I worked at it, maybe I could learn to lip-read, so I could “eavesdrop” on their conversations.

  I was starting to enjoy this. Why hadn’t I thought of watching my neighbors with binoculars before? (I didn’t want to call it spying. That made it sound wrong somehow. I was just … looking.)

  A sputtering, clanking sound made me swing the binoculars around until I saw the Junk Bucket come into view down the street. Charlie was at the wheel, and a very pretty red-haired girl sat next to him in the passenger seat. Did Charlie have a new girlfriend? I was going to have to ask Kristy about that. He pulled into their driveway and hopped out, but the girl waited in the car. Charlie was probably just running inside for something. At that moment, a jet roared by overhead, and Charlie glanced up to see it. I jerked back from the window, afraid he might see me and think I was snooping.

  Me? Snooping? Never!

  Kristy came home moments later. I knew she’d been dropped off at the corner by our school bus, which I like to call the Wheeze Wagon because of the way it chugs up hills, sounding as if it’s on its last legs. She ran inside without a glance around and soon after came back out, munching on an apple (a green Granny Smith, to be exact). Charlie was right behind her, and they both jumped into the Junk Bucket and took off. Suddenly I remembered. Kristy had a job with the Rodowskys, and Charlie must be driving her there.

  After the last sputters of the Junk Bucket faded away, activity in the neighborhood seemed to grind to a halt. I swept the binoculars back and forth but didn’t catch sight of any movement.

  Then I heard a familiar sound from the backyard. Snick, snick. Snick, snick. Was Mr. Finch trimming his grass again already?

  I moved to the other window and raised the shade. That window has no window seat, so I pulled my desk chair over in order to be comfortable. Then I raised the binoculars and looked.

  The snicking sound wasn’t coming from Mr. Finch’s house, after all. It was Ms. Fielding, our other backyard neighbor. She was out there in her big straw hat, pruning her prize rosebushes, the ones she fusses over all summer long. She feeds them and waters them and picks bugs off them and, if you ever start a conversation with her, talks your ear off about them.

  I swung the binoculars around, checking Mr. Finch’s backyard, just for kicks. I was a little surprised to see him lying in a lounge chai
r, relaxing. It seemed early for him to be home from work, but for all I knew he was always home that early. I’d never even glanced at his yard in the afternoon before. I was a little annoyed too. Why couldn’t he be mowing his lawn now, instead of at the crack of dawn?

  Maybe he was sick, like me. I focused the binoculars on his face to get a better look at him.

  And that’s when it hit me.

  That criminal I’d seen on Mystery Trackers? The one who looked familiar?

  He was the spitting image of Mr. Finch.

  But that was ridiculous.

  Wasn’t it?

  “Aww, poor Nicky.”

  “I know. I wish there was something we could do. But we can’t exactly make the triplets let him on their team.”

  While I was keeping an eye on my neighbors, Mal and Stacey were sitting in lawn chairs in the Pikes’ driveway, keeping an eye on the proceedings in the garage.

  Mal was watching some of her brothers and sisters while Mrs. Pike did some work inside. Stacey was sitting for Charlotte Johanssen, who happens to be one of her favorite charges. (Charlotte’s eight and an only child. She and Stacey are so close that they call each other “almost sisters.”) That afternoon, Charlotte’s dad had driven Charlotte, Becca Ramsey (Jessi’s sister), and Stacey to the Pikes’, since they were planning to work on their go-cart with Vanessa, Mal’s nine-year-old sister. They were pretty excited about their all-girl team. Meanwhile, the Pike triplets had formed a team of their own.

  The Pikes’ garage was overflowing with kids, tools, and go-cart parts, all in an incredible jumble.

  “Have you seen that wrench I was using?” Adam yelled to his brothers. Jordan and Byron were only three feet away, doing something with a screwdriver and a hammer, so Adam didn’t really have to yell. But the triplets are like that. They’re ten, and if you know ten-year-old boys, you know there’s nothing they like better than to be noisy.

  “Is this it?” Nicky Pike, who’s eight, picked up a tool and held it out to Adam.

  Adam scowled. “I thought we told you to stay out of here.”

  “You can’t make me,” said Nicky. “It’s my garage as much as yours.”

  Adam was still scowling. “Well, we don’t need your help, anyway. Our team is full. Go find another team to join.”

  Nicky shrugged. Stacey and Mal were watching and could tell that he was upset. But he didn’t say anything. He just set the wrench back on the shelf where he’d found it and walked away. As soon as his back was turned, Adam picked up the wrench.

  Mal scowled. “Poor Nicky,” she said. “All he wants is to feel as if he’s a part of things.” It’s an old story. The triplets are always teasing Nicky and leaving him out.

  Mal and Stacey watched as Nicky ambled over to where Vanessa, Charlotte, and Becca were examining an old washtub. “This could work,” Becca was saying excitedly. “I mean, it may not look super-cool, but it makes a good place for the driver to sit in. If we can figure out how to attach wheels …”

  “I have an idea,” Nicky offered.

  Vanessa turned to look at him. “Scram, scat, get out of town! We don’t need any boys around!”

  Have I mentioned that Vanessa wants to be a poet someday? She often talks in verse. But this was one poem that didn’t go over well with its audience. Mal told me later that she saw Nicky’s eyes fill with tears.

  “Maybe Claire and Margo would like to be on a team with you,” she suggested to Nicky. Claire is the youngest Pike, at five. Margo’s seven.

  Nicky just rolled his eyes. “Right,” he said. “Sure. Like they’d be any help at all.” He shook his head. “Anyway, they don’t want to build a go-cart. They just want to watch the races. That’s why they’re not around today.”

  Margo and Claire were off playing with friends. And Mal knew Nicky was right. Neither of the girls was interested in building a go-cart.

  “I bet you’ll find a team to join,” said Stacey. “Meanwhile, why don’t you hang out with us? You know we love your company.”

  Nicky blushed. Mal could tell he was flattered. “Okay,” he said. He pulled up a lawn chair. “Want to hear my idea for the fastest go-cart in the world?”

  With Stacey and Mal as a captive audience, Nicky forgot his troubles for the moment and rambled on and on. Meanwhile, construction — and arguments — continued as the other kids worked on their go-carts.

  “What about using these bicycle handlebars for steering?” Jordan asked, holding up a rusted piece of metal.

  “That must be one of the parts from our first tricycles,” said Adam, laughing. “Remember when we took them apart? Dad was so mad!”

  “But then he said it must mean we were ready for grown-up bikes,” said Jordan.

  “And we refused to have training wheels,” Byron said. He was laughing too.

  Mal was trying to pay attention to Nicky, but she heard the triplets. She couldn’t help cracking up as she remembered that time. Her mother kept complaining that she couldn’t seem to keep enough Band-Aids on hand to keep up with the cuts and scrapes. Mr. Pike said he wished he had stock in the company.

  Meanwhile, Jordan was digging through the pile of parts he’d come across. “Look,” he said. “There’re lots of wheels in here too. And pedals. I wonder if we’re allowed to have pedals.”

  “They didn’t say anything about pedals,” said Adam. “I saw the flyer. It just said the go-carts couldn’t be motorized.”

  So much for Nicky’s plans, which involved rocket fuel. Mal figured that just might fall into the “motorized” category.

  “I think the go-carts are just supposed to roll down the hill,” Stacey said. “Like a soapbox derby. So probably pedals would be out.”

  “Okay,” said Jordan, tossing the pedals over his shoulder.

  In another corner of the garage, Vanessa, Becca, and Charlotte were taking a short candy break. Suddenly, Becca let out a loud whoop.

  “What is it? What is it?” asked Mal. “Are you okay? Do you need the Heimlich maneuver?” (We’ve all learned how to save someone who’s choking. It’s a good thing for any baby-sitter — or any person, for that matter — to know how to do.)

  “No, no, I’m fine,” said Becca, who was up on her feet and dancing around. “But look! We’re definitely going to win this race.”

  She was waving a little square of red paper.

  “What’s that?” asked Stacey.

  “It’s the wrapper from a Tootsie Roll Pop,” said Becca, as if that explained everything.

  “And?” prompted Mal.

  “It has a Native American on it,” said Becca. “The one who’s shooting an arrow at a star.”

  “I still don’t understand,” said Stacey.

  “It means good luck!” said Charlotte. “Everybody knows that.”

  “The cowboy on the wrapper is good luck too,” added Vanessa. Then she started chanting: “The news is in! We’re going to win!”

  The other girls picked it up, and the three of them marched around, repeating the chant.

  The triplets ignored them. “You know what we need?” asked Adam, who’d been deep in thought. “A really good name for our team.”

  “Definitely,” said Byron.

  The boys put aside their tools and sat down to discuss the matter.

  “How about The Terrible Three?” Byron asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Adam. “It should be something that shows how fast we are, like The Pike Express.”

  Jordan wrinkled his nose. “The Pike Express?” he repeated. “Uh-uh. That sounds like a train.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” asked Adam.

  “Let me think,” said Jordan. He frowned at the girls, who were still marching around chanting, and put his hands over his ears. “I know, I know!” he said, after he’d thought for a moment. “How about The Speedy Three?”

  Adam nodded. So did Byron.

  “Excellent,” said Adam.

  “Awesome,” said Byron.

  The boys gave each othe
r high fives. Then they started sorting through parts again.

  Meanwhile, the girls had decided that their team also needed a name.

  “What about Wild Women?” asked Becca.

  Charlotte giggled. “We’re not women yet,” she said. “How about Glory Girls?”

  “I like it, I like it,” said Vanessa. “All those in favor?”

  Each of the girls raised a hand.

  “It’s unanimous!” cried Becca. “Go, Glory Girls!”

  “Go, Glory Girls!” echoed Vanessa and Charlotte. The triplets watched and shook their heads. And Mal and Stacey just smiled at each other.

  So far, an entire afternoon had passed without much actual work being done on the go-carts. But the squabbling had stopped and the kids were having fun. Now, if only Nicky could find a team that would take him in …

  “I hereby call this meeting to order!”

  Those words were music to my ears. It felt so incredibly good to be out of my house, to be with friends, to be at a BSC meeting.

  Even though I was still feeling pretty awful by Wednesday afternoon, I’d called my mother at work and begged her to let me go to the meeting. “It’s been almost twenty-four hours, so I’m not contagious anymore,” I’d pointed out. “And I think it would do me good to go out. I’ll only be out of bed for an hour or so — what harm could it do?”

  Reluctantly, she’d agreed. “But take it slow,” she’d said, “and I want you to come straight home afterward.”

  I’d promised I would.

  What I didn’t tell my mother was this: It wasn’t just that I wanted to go to the meeting for fun. No, there was more to it than that. I had an agenda. I needed my friends to help me catch a crook.

  First, though, I had to wait my turn. I tried to be patient while Stacey and Mal talked about the go-cart teams. I listened to everything Kristy had to say about her job with the Rodowsky boys. And I thanked Claudia for the Ring-Dings she was passing around.