Authors: Louis Sachar
She eyed me dubiously.
About a half hour later we had gone through about a quarter of the boxes. If you're wondering what I was thinking, I wasn't. I was trying very hard not to think. So far, the closest thing I had found to a can of peas was an old vinyl record album by a band called Canned Heat.
Toni had temporarily given up on the boxes and was checking the refrigerator.
"You don't refrigerate a can of peas," I pointed out.
"No, you stick it in a box and hide it in the garage," she replied. "Just what are we supposed to do with this can of peas, anyway?"
I had no clue. Use it to smash a window so we could get inside the damn house? I guess I assumed it all would explain itself when we found the peas. Actually, I was beginning to doubt I'd heard Trapp correctly, but I didn't dare say that to Toni.
"Eureka!" she suddenly shouted.
I turned. In her hand she held not a can of peas, but a key.
"It was in the bike pouch," she said proudly.
I followed her to the rear of the garage. "You do it," she said, and handed the key to me.
It took a little jiggling, but I managed to insert the key into the lock. I tried turning it. At first it seemed stuck, but then the lock gave way and the door opened.
Toni held on to my forearm, in the same way Trapp used to, and we stepped inside.
We entered the laundry room, took a brief look around, then continued on to the kitchen, which was the more logical place to find peas, not that logic was playing too big a role in any of this. Pots and pans of all sizes hung from an iron rack. Knives stuck out of a butcher-block table.
We tried various cabinets and found dishes, glasses, and a bunch of coffee mugs that Trapp had evidently won at bridge tournaments. I opened a door and found a walk-in pantry filled with shelves of canned food.
"Eureka!" I said.
There were cans of tomato sauce, cans of fruit, cans of soup, but no peas. My "Eureka!" had been premature.
"Teodora only wanted him to eat fresh vegetables," said Toni, who joined me in the pantry. She pronounced Teodora's name the way Teodora said it, "Day-o-daughter."
Toni's voice was equally
alluring
.
"Okay, maybe he had a special craving for canned peas," I said, "but he had to keep them hidden from Teodora. So all we have to do is find his secret hiding place, and then . . ."
"Yes?" Toni asked eagerly.
I had no idea.
Toni smiled at me. "We don't know what the hell we're doing, do we?" she asked.
Her eyes were shining. I was reminded of Arnold's description of Annabel.
Her eyes sparkled like diamonds
.
"Not a clue," I admitted.
She didn't seem to mind. For a moment we just stood there, looking into each other's eyes. I took hold of her hands and felt her fingers wrap around mine. I no longer gave a damn about canned peas!
I became aware of the sound of birds chirping, quietly at first, then louder, with squawks and caws.
"My phone!" Toni exclaimed. She pulled her hands away and fished her phone out of a pocket.
The birds had been her ringtone. "Hello?" she said. "Oh, hi. No, I just . . ." Her voice softened as she stepped out of the pantry. "I've been thinking about you, too."
I slipped past her and on out of the kitchen to give her privacy. I found myself in the entry hall, at the place where Trapp had lain on the floor with the candle burning in his ear, sucking out his earwax.
I heard Toni say "That sounds great!" Then, "No, I better meet you there." She spoke in short bursts. "I'm not at home." "I'm at the mall." "With my mom." "She can take me." She stepped out into the hall. "Let me get a pencil."
I went through an archway into an office. The walls were lined with built-in bookshelves that were still crammed with books. There were two desks, an old roll-top and a more modern one with a computer.
I opened the rolltop, found a pen, and handed it to Toni, who had followed me into the office.
She giggled at something Cliff said—I assumed it was Cliff—and then she pantomimed the act of writing. She was asking me for a piece of paper.
There was a stack of papers on the computer desk, but I didn't know if they might be important. When I looked at the top page, I was surprised to see my name on it.
Toni reached out impatiently.
It was the e-mail confirmation of my flight to Chicago. Trapp's, Teodora's, and Gloria's were also there, as well as all of our hotel reservations.
Toni saw the look on my face. With the phone at her ear, she read the e-mails, then abruptly said, "I gotta go. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes. No, everything's fine. Bye."
She hung up. We looked at each other for what seemed like a long time.
"That's why he brought me here," I said at last.
"But what about the can of peas?" asked Toni.
"Who the hell knows?"
She thought awhile, then very quietly said, "Okay."
"You sure?" I asked.
"If you're sure, I'm sure," said Toni.
"I'm sure," I said. I wasn't sure at all.
I looked back at my plane reservation. I felt a shiver run through me as I spoke my next words. "Trapp and Annabel are going to play for the national championship."
"And this time, they'll win," said Toni.
A few minutes later I was driving her to a bookstore café for her rendezvous with Cliff. I agreed to let her off a block away so he wouldn't see my car.
I tried not to think back to Toni and me in the pantry, and what might have happened if Cliff hadn't called when he did. I just had to push those thoughts out of my mind. We had more important things to focus on, and after all, she was my best friend's girlfriend.
"It was lucky he called," Toni said quietly, almost as if she'd been reading my mind. "Or we might not have found those e-mails."
I didn't respond. I didn't know if Cliff's call had been good luck, bad luck, or synchronicity.
"I'm sorry," she said. She hesitantly touched my sleeve, then quickly withdrew her hand.
Over the next week and a half, Toni and I talked on the phone at least once a day as we got ready for the nationals. The hotel rooms were all paid for, since Trapp, or more likely Mrs. Mahoney, had used an online travel service. We had four rooms: mine, Trapp's, Teodora's, and Gloria's, although I wasn't completely sure Gloria's would be available. It was possible she still might be planning to go to the nationals.
We figured that as long as they didn't ask for ID, Toni could pretend to be Teodora. If that didn't work, then she could share my room.
Just so you know, it was Toni who mentioned we could share the room, not me.
As for the airline tickets, I could use mine, but Toni would have to purchase a new one, since airlines definitely required identification. We split the cost of a standby ticket, knowing for a fact there would be a seat available.
Toni went to the American Contract Bridge League's Web site and bought a membership under the name Annabel Finnick. I could still use Trapp's ACBL number, but I got a membership in my own name, just in case. Toni already had her own ACBL number.
The truth is, we still didn't know what the hell we were doing. We were simply going through the motions. We had a list of things to do, and we were doing them, but neither of us believed we would actually be flying off to Chicago to play in the nationals.
"Are we really going to do this?" Toni would ask me during one of our frequent phone calls.
I'd say, "Yeah, we really are," but then a few minutes later I would ask her the same thing. "We're really going to do this?"
"I think so," Toni would reply.
Maybe we would have felt more confident if there had been a can of peas sitting on top of these travel documents, like a paperweight. I hadn't perceived a word from Trapp since that day. Toni hadn't heard from Annabel either. A sign of encouragement would have been nice. Was that too much to ask?
If you're wondering how my parents reacted when I told them that I'd be going to Chicago with Toni Castaneda for three days, and maybe sharing a hotel room with her, then you're even crazier than I was beginning to think I was. I told them that Cliff and I would be driving up north to look at colleges.
They were all for that, since Trapp's estate was now footing the bill. Basically, they urged me to find the most expensive college that would admit a dolt like me. They told me to save my gas receipts.
I did learn that Trapp's house now belonged to Mrs. Mahoney. She returned from visiting her sister, and discovered that someone had been snooping around inside.
"Nothing was stolen, as far as she could tell," said my mother. "But boxes were strewn all over the garage, and every kitchen cabinet was open."
"That's scary," I said.
I told Leslie the truth. I thought someone ought to know, just in case the plane crashed or something. I told her everything, including hearing Trapp's voice.
She didn't doubt me for a second.
"Does he sound happy?" she asked me.
I explained that all I ever got from him were short two-or three-word phrases.
Nine of clubs. Two hearts. Turn right. Canned peas.
"Who knows if the concept of happiness is even relevant?" I asked.
That might seem like too philosophical a question for an eleven-year-old, but Leslie is a lot smarter than most people realize. I think most eleven-year-olds understand a lot more than we give them credit for.
Actually, I didn't tell Leslie
everything
. I didn't mention the pantry.
Leslie also helped me study my new batch of bidding conventions, and this time it wasn't just eleven pages. Toni e-mailed me sixty-one pages I had to learn for the nationals.
If you're wondering why I had to learn all the bidding conventions, since supposedly Trapp would be telling me what to bid, there were two reasons. Back at the bridge studio, there had been times when I'd had trouble perceiving him. If that happened during the national tournament, I'd have to be able to make the bid myself, without
undue hesitation.
Also, partners are not allowed to have any secret bidding agreements. The opponents would be allowed to ask me what a bid meant. I had to be prepared to answer.
Fortunately, all the bidding conventions used by Trapp and Annabel are pretty well known. They all have names. So if somebody asked me about a bid, I could just say "Roman key-card" or "Reverse Drury," and even if I didn't know what any of that meant, the opponents would.
"When you get back from Chicago," Leslie asked, "will you take me to the bridge studio sometime?"
I promised I would.
Two days before our supposed college tour, I still hadn't told Cliff anything about it. I obviously needed to tell him something, since he was part of my alibi, but how do you tell your best friend you're going to spend three nights in a hotel with his girlfriend?
"You don't have to worry about Cliff," Toni assured me. "I'll explain everything to him, in my own way."
I didn't ask for further detail. I didn't like thinking about the two of them together, or how she might
gently
break the news. Still, it would have helped to know what she told him. As it was, I stayed clear of Cliff, afraid I might say the wrong thing.
The night before we were to leave for Chicago, I was unable to fall asleep. I tossed and turned all night. At about three in the morning, I turned on the light and finished reading
Cannery Row,
the book that had brought Trapp and Annabel together. I found the quote that Trapp had told me about.
"It has always seemed strange to me," said Doc. "The things we admire in men, kindness and generosity, openness, honesty, understanding and feeling are the concomitants of failure in our system. And those traits we detest, sharpness, greed, acquisitiveness, meanness, egotism and self-interest are the traits of success."
We had a 10:05 a.m. flight. I picked Toni up at seven-thirty. She had baked some cranberry-walnut muffins, using her grandmother's recipe.
I ate a muffin on the way to the airport. It was hard and dry. Annabel was a better bridge player than muffin maker. Or maybe it was Toni who couldn't follow directions, but then again, who was I to complain? It wasn't as if I had baked any muffins for her.
We had no surprises at the airport. Toni had no problem using her standby ticket, and the seat next to mine was vacant, as we'd known it would be.
"So what did you tell Cliff?" I asked as we taxied to the runway.
"About what?"
"You, me, Chicago."
"I didn't tell him anything."
"What do you mean, you didn't tell him anything? My parents think he's with me checking out colleges."
"Here, have another muffin."
A moment later we were off the ground.
Cliff is smart, I realized. He's probably smarter than me, and definitely a quicker thinker. If my mother happened to run into him, I felt pretty certain that he'd figure it out and duck smoothly, like I had done on the phone with Katie. After all, he wouldn't know I was with Toni. I was fairly confident he'd come up with some good reason why, at the last minute, he hadn't been able to go with me to look at colleges.
Toni and I mostly spoke bridge gibberish from takeoff to touchdown as we went over the sixty-one pages of notes, eighty-one pages if you include her previous e-mails. There were three seats in our row. I had the aisle, Toni was in the center, and next to her was a man with a computer who glared at us from time to time because our constant yammering kept him from doing his work.
Our only luggage was carry-on. We were both feeling pretty excited when we deplaned and went looking for the shuttle bus to the hotel.
"Can you believe we're here?" she asked me.