Big Bad Beans (4 page)

“That's correct.” Jason handed the New Testament back. “Wow, I didn't know the Bible said stuff like that.”

“Me either,” said Dunkum. “Not till I found out at Abby's church.” He headed for the garage.

Jason followed. “So are you gonna do it?”

“Do what?” Dunkum reached for his basketball.

“You know, share some
real
food with me. Like it says in the Bible,” Jason said.

“Oh, no, you don't.” Dunkum shot two baskets. “I won't be responsible for messing with your mom's diet.”

“But it's a real yucky diet. Garbanzo beans and lettuce—junk like that. Nobody knows how horrible it is.” Jason sat on an old bench in the corner. He watched Dunkum do his fancy footwork.

Zing!
The ball went right in. Perfect shot.

“Your turn,” Dunkum said.

“Are you gonna win the grand prize at church on Sunday?” Jason asked.

“Hope so,” Dunkum answered. He whirled around and swished the ball through the hoop.

“What's the prize?” Jason asked.

“Hot new Rollerblades,” Dunkum said, out of breath.

“Really?” He bounced the ball and took a shot. In!

“That's what I'm trying for,” Dunkum said. “I'm tired of riding my bikes anyway. Playing ball is
my
thing. But blading . . . I could practice basketball on them.”

Jason stopped bouncing the ball. “Did you say
bikes?
You got more than one?”

“Sure. You remember my old road bike. Plus, my dad bought me a brandnew BMX. I hardly ever ride them anymore,” Dunkum said.

“How come?” Jason couldn't believe his ears.

“Basketball is my life.” Dunkum fired one up. The ball swished right through. Nothing but net!

At that moment, Jason had a new idea. He took a deep breath. “Wanna sell one of your bikes?”

Dunkum stopped. He wiped his face on his sleeve. “Hey, good idea. The road bike needs some paint. That's all.”

“Ya-hoo!” shouted Jason. “How much?”

“Whatever you got,” Dunkum said. He dribbled the ball behind his back.

“Don't go away!” Jason hurried home to get the money. He could trust Dunkum any day. He was not a double-crosser.

SEVEN

Jason flew to his room.

The place was a mess. Pajamas and towels were crumpled in a heap in the corner. The bed was lumpy. His dresser drawers yawned open, and jeans played peekaboo over the top.

He kicked away pieces of gum wrapper with his foot.

Gum wrappers?

What were
they
doing out?

He scrambled to his knees and pushed the comic books aside. The junk drawer was junkier than ever!

Searching, he found his bike money in the back of the drawer. The baseball cards divided his money on the right from Abby's on the . . .

“Wha-at's this?” he wailed.

Abby's money was all ripped up! Bits of garbanzo beans were mixed in with shredded dollar bills.

“What happened?” Jason cried. “Who did this?”

A trail of the scrappy mess led to the bathroom. He found his puppy whining in the corner of the shower.

“Bad, bad Muffie!” He wanted to shake her. No, that was too kind. He wanted to hang Muffle up by her doggie ears.

“How could you do this?” he shouted.

Muffle yipped and backed into the shower stall.

Jason slammed the bathroom door and looked in the mirror. He yelled at his own face. “Can't you do anything right?”

He slapped himself on the forehead.
“It was those big, bad beans!” Jason exclaimed. “I should've known . . . I should've . . .”

His mother knocked on the door. “Jason, are you all right?”

“I'm doomed. Abby's money is all gone! Muffle ate it!” he said over and over.

“I can't understand you,” his mother said.

“Everything's wrong,” he muttered. “Abby counted on me and now . . .”

He picked Muffle out of the shower. Her breath smelled like beans. “You little sneak,” he hollered in the pooch's face. “I oughta call the dog pound this minute!”

Poor little Muffle shook in his arms. He carried her to the back door and put her out. Then he slammed the kitchen door and headed for his room.

The junk drawer was sagging open. Half a garbanzo bean and some lettuce were scattered in the front—the reason for Muffle's mischief.

But deep inside, Jason knew it was his own fault.

He groaned.
Those good-for-nothing beans! If only I'd cleaned my plate.

Just then the doorbell rang.

“Jason,” called his mother. “Your friend Abby's here to see you.”

His heart sank. Abby had come for her Mother's Day money early. He was almost positive!

Jason breathed fast and hard. How much money had she given him? How many dollar bills?

On the floor behind the door he spied the sandwich baggie. The amount was written on a round pink sticker.

Twenty-two dollars!

Jason gasped. What could he do?

Quickly, he counted his own money. It was all there.

He thought about Dunkum's terrific road bike down the street. Just waiting to be his!

But he had no choice. Jason stuffed his own money into the sandwich bag. He would give it all to Abby Hunter. She'd never know what happened to her half-eaten money. Or worse—that he couldn't be counted on.

He shuffled down the hall. No bike for a kid with a health-food freak for a dog!

“I'm coming, Abby,” he called.

Jason tried to swallow the lump in his throat. It was very hard.

EIGHT

Br-ring!
The phone rang right after Abby left.

Jason ran to get it. “Hello,” he said.

“Where
are
you?” Dunkum asked. “I thought you were coming back to buy my road bike.”

“I was, but . . .” Jason stopped. “Mom is real sick and she needs me here.” It was a lie.

“Sorry about that,” Dunkum said. “Tomorrow after school, then?”

“Uh . . . no. I can't come then, either.” Jason quickly made up another story.
“Abby and I are working on a science project.”

“What project?” Dunkum asked.

“I . . . I . . . uh, have to go,” Jason said.

He stared at the phone and felt lousy. He'd lied to Dunkum. Two times!

The next day, Jason avoided Dunkum at morning recess.

But Dunkum cornered him in the afternoon. “You're acting weird,” Dunkum said. “How come?”

Jason's face felt hot. His hands were sweaty. “I guess I don't tell lies very well,” he confessed.

“You lied to me?” Dunkum looked puzzled. “About what?”

Jason stumbled over his words. “I lied . . . about. . . about why I didn't buy your bike.”

“You did?”

He didn't want to tell Dunkum about
Muffie eating Abby's money. He didn't want Abby to find out. She would think he couldn't be counted on. That would be horrible!

“It's a long story,” Jason said. “You'd never believe it anyway.”

“That's OK,” said Dunkum. “You don't have to buy my bike if you don't want to. I just thought . . .”

“But I
do
wanna buy it. More than anything,” Jason said.

“So . . . what's the problem?” Dunkum asked.

Jason thought about it. Should he spill the beans?

“I'll tell you if you keep it quiet,” he said at last.

Dunkum nodded. “I won't tell. Scout's honor.”

“No fooling?” Jason begged for a promise.

“No fooling,” Dunkum said.

Jason told the truth this time. Every bit of it.

Dunkum stared at him. “You're kidding. You used your own money so Abby wouldn't know hers got eaten by Muffle?”

Jason pulled out his pocket linings. “See? I'm broke,” he said. “Busted.”

“Let me get this straight,” Dunkum said. “You gave Abby the money you made from our recycling project? The bucks that were gonna buy you some cool wheels?”

“It wasn't easy, but that's the truth. The
real
story,” Jason said.

“Wow! That is some act of charity,” Dunkum said.

“Huh?” Jason pushed up his glasses.

“Charity. You know . . . kindness. When you give because you care.” Dunkum pushed his hair back.

Jason laughed. “Sounds like a Mother's Day card.”

“Hey, no kidding. We talked about that
in Sunday school last week,” Dunkum said.

“Really? You talk about stuff like that?” Jason asked.

“Sure. Have you ever heard this before: ‘It is better to give than to receive'?” Dunkum was grinning.

Jason snapped his fingers. “Some wise old saying, right?”

Dunkum nodded. “Better than wise. It's in the Bible.”

“Mixed in with those verses about sharing food?” Jason asked.

Dunkum laughed out loud.

“Gotcha,” teased Jason.

Dunkum's smile faded. “See you at church this Sunday?” he asked.

“If I come, will you say your verses? About sharing and feeding kids on dumb diets?” added Jason. “I wouldn't wanna miss that.”

“You bet!” Dunkum seemed pleased. “Bring your mother and get a rose.”

The school bell rang.

Jason and Dunkum hurried inside.

Jason felt super great. He wondered how he could pass a feeling like this on to Eric, the double-crosser. The new mountain-bike owner, the rotten . . .

No, he wouldn't even think that. He'd keep his thoughts to himself.

Miss Hershey stood up. She gave the math assignment. “Class, please turn to page 118,” she said. “Begin by solving problem number one. And be sure to show your work.”

Jason could hardly believe his eyes. The math problem was about four boys in a marathon bike race.

A mountain-bike race!