Authors: Mavis Jukes
“A warning to all: if you get swooped down upon from above, do not launch objects into the air to defend yourself.”
She turned to Wes: “And next time you find my pen under a chair, mister, give it back to me! Finders Keepers does not apply at this school, as you well know. And may I add that you also well know that a pen is not a projectile. A pen should not be thrown under any circumstances. Plus, you broke it.”
She looked at Wes like she was boring a hole through his head with her eyeballs. “I didn’t even get to use it once.”
Then she said to the class, “If dive-bombed by a big belligerent bird with a slightly bashed-up beak, cover your head with your arm or hoodie hood and run away quickly. Then report the incident to the office. Carson?”
“Yes?”
“Ask your parent to buy you a Bob-proof lunch bag.”
“Go to Shop Rite,” said Eva. “It’s out by the fairgrounds.”
“And Atlas,” added Wes.
Mrs. Crabbly looked over at Mr. Lipman. “I’m thinking of stopping by the Spring Campout for the evening barbecue and bringing my husband, Lee. If that’s all right with you.”
“By all means,” said Mr. Lipman.
Carson couldn’t wait to tell his dad what happened with Bob.
“Animal quiz, Dad,” he said as he climbed into the car.
“Did they find out who trashed your lunch?”
“First clue: Claws. Carnivore.”
“Tiger?”
“Black. Attacks from above.”
“Panther?”
“Nope.”
“Bear?”
“Bears don’t attack from above, Dad. Next clue: Eats bears.”
“Eats
bears
?”
“Small juicy ones.”
“No way!”
“It does! It eats very small, very colorful juicy bears and large oatmeal cookies.… And tri-tip.”
“What?!?!”
“Yup. A bird named Bob got my lunch, Dad.”
“Weird. And he drank the guava juice?”
“Some of it.”
“So it wasn’t the girls or Wes who did it. That’s good to know.”
“I agree, but we need to get me a Nuisance Bird–proof canvas lunch bag, on the double.”
“You can say that again!”
“But we need to get me a Nuisance Bird–proof canvas lunch bag, on the double.”
They planned it perfectly. They would get the canvas bag, buy Wes a present, and pull into the entrance of Atlas Speedway at six o’clock sharp.
Late Saturday afternoon, Carson and his dad went to Shop Rite and selected a canvas lunch bag with a picture on it of two moose standing at the edge of a river with the Grand Teton mountain range in the background.
They bought a present for Wes and stuck it in a birthday bag with a tag on it. Carson borrowed
a pen from the cashier and signed it:
Your friend, Carson
.
Carson heard a voice squeal: “Carson! Hey!”
It was Eva, and she hurried over, followed by a stylish woman in a red dress and backless red high-heel shoes. She was even wearing a red felt hat with a red feather and a small black veil with a brim that sloped down a little over one eye!
And matching red lipstick, and lots of it.
“This is my aunt Liz.”
Everybody said hi.
“So I see you got a lunch bag,” Eva said. “Awesome. Did you see the shorts on sale?”
Eva waved them over to a rack of shorts, 75 percent off. “These would look
so
good on you, Carson.” She held up a big, baggy pair of navy blue shorts with a lot of pockets and zippers.
Aunt Liz stood back and put her finger on her cheek. “They look like they’d fit,” she said. She glanced at Carson’s dad.
Carson’s dad said, “Up to him!”
Aunt Liz walked a few feet away and waved a neon green T-shirt on a hanger at Carson’s dad. “Can you believe it?” She checked the tag. “Two bucks.”
She shook it at him. “Size L?”
“Sounds about right.”
They all walked outside together and waved good-bye in the parking lot. Eva and her aunt zoomed off in a little red convertible.
“To be honest, I don’t really know if I like baggy shorts with pockets and zippers all over them,” Carson said as they got into the car.
“No worries. I’m sure we can return them if they don’t work out.” Then Carson’s dad added, “Keep in mind that you don’t have to change your style in order to fit in. And you don’t have to fit in, regardless. Be yourself, son.”
“I will, Dad. Do you like your new T-shirt?”
“Not that much, but it’s the price of a greeting card.”
“I’ve never seen you wear a Day-Glo T-shirt with a Nor Cal logo on it before, Dad.”
“Well, we’ve never lived in Northern California before. And I’d also like to learn to snowboard sometime, since the mountains are closer now.”
“You would? Me too!”
“Maybe we can take a trip to the snow before it melts.”
“That’s a great idea, Dad!”
Wow.
A trip to the snow—now that would be newsworthy!
So would the demolition derby! “Don’t forget to take lots of pictures, okay, Dad? So we can email them to Case and Gavin!”
“I won’t.”
“Did I ever tell you that Abby Crabbly’s husband’s name is Lee? Lee and Abby Crabbly—see if you can say that five times fast without messing up!”
The brief T-shirt-and-shorts shopping expedition had thrown them off schedule, but not by much.
Before Carson’s dad could properly say Lee and Abby Crabbly, Lee and Abby Crabbly, Lee and Abby Crabbly, Lee and Abby Crabbly, Lee and Abby Crabbly, they had pulled into Atlas Speedway.
Minor detail: Wes and his grandma weren’t there. In fact, no one was there but them. There was no demolition derby at all—none. Nothing was going on. Just a chain-link fence, rickety bleachers, an empty racetrack, and a shut-down concession stand that had
PIZZA HOT DOGS BURGERS FRIES ICE CREAM
painted on the side. A sign that had fallen onto the ground said
CLOSED UNTIL JUNE
.
They went home.
Both had gotten into the mood for demolition-derby concession-stand food, so they picked up a package of hot dogs, a package of squishy buns, and a can of chili.
Carson’s dad said, “There must have been some mistake about the date of the birthday party.”
But there wasn’t a mistake.
Wes told a whopper and Carson fell for it—hook, line, and sinker.
He felt bad about that.
Mad, too!
It was mean of Wes.
After dinner, he ripped the
Your friend, Carson
tag off the birthday bag. And threw it away.
“I hate Wes,” Carson told his dad.
“Don’t say that, Carson.”
“I dislike Wes,” Carson told his dad. “Intensely!” he added.
“Have you called Case or Gavin recently? Why not touch base with them in the morning.”
“Last time we talked, Case said they were going camping together this weekend.”
“Ah.”
“In the mountains behind Pasadena. In an Air-stream trailer.”
“Ah.”
Carson felt a twinge.
Did Gavin and Case even miss him?
Probably not that much.
They had each other to hang out with now.
Carson had no one to hang out with, and nothing new to report.
He had hoped to be able to tell them about a demolition derby.
Why call them at all?
On Sunday morning as Carson was playing tug-of-war with Genevieve, the phone rang.
Carson heard his dad say, “Yup, he is. Hang on a minute.” His dad handed Carson the receiver, and Carson held on tight to the tug toy, with Genevieve growling on the end.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Patrick. Do you want to come with my mom and me to release Coop?”
Wow!
Did he ever!
“Sure! Can my dad come, too?”
Patrick spoke to his mom for a minute.
“My mom wants to talk to your dad.”
The two parents hatched a plan to meet at the northern entrance to Green Gulch Park.
Carson and his dad drove up and parked. Patrick and his mom had just arrived and were walking to the middle of an open field, not far from where Coop had been found injured. Ms. Tapp was holding the Pet Taxi.
Coop was agitated, ruffled up and calling out.
“He senses freedom is finally near,” Ms. Tapp told Carson and his dad. “Hi, I’m Ella.” She took off one glove and offered her hand.
Carson’s dad shook it. “Nick here. Great to meet you.”
She set the carrier in the grass. “Okay, everyone, stand back a little.” She put her glove back on. “Ready?”
Carson’s dad turned on his camera. “Yup.”
She carefully opened the door of the carrier and lifted Coop out with both hands. He gazed skyward.
Ella launched him into the air. Carson’s dad documented the flight as Coop flew off, flapping his wings and landing in the top of a nearby pine.
Ella looked over at Carson and his dad. “My job never gets old.”
“No, I don’t imagine it would.”
They chatted awhile about the rescue center; Ella wondered if Carson’s dad might like to drop by the center and see what the organization was up to.
Maybe he’d even consider volunteering.
Carson and Patrick played catch with a dried-up pinecone while their parents talked.
They all headed back to the cars.
Carson’s dad offered to treat at the International Yogurt Depot, and they met there for sundaes.
“Patrick is cool, isn’t he, Dad?” Carson said when they got home.
“Yes, he is.”
“And Ella is awesome, isn’t she, Dad?”
“Yes, very.”
“Have you ever seen anyone’s mom order cheesecake yogurt with M&M’s on top?”
“Never.”
“I can’t wait to email those Coop pictures! Do you think you got some good ones?”
Carson’s dad handed the camera to Carson to preview the shots.
“Too bad Patrick got scraped off a horse’s back and stung by a bunch of bees. Otherwise, I’d want to invite him and his mom on the trail ride.”
“Well, you’re supposed to get back on a horse again,” said Carson’s dad. “Once you fall off.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s going to happen in the near future. But I’m thinking maybe Nancy and her mom might want to come.”
“Who’s Nancy?”
“A girl.”
“Or I suppose there’s always Eva and her aunt,” said Carson’s dad. “They seem nice.”
“Do Eva and her aunt seem ‘horsey’ to you, Dad?”
“You can’t judge by appearances. Does Nancy seem horsey?”
“Totally.”
“What about her mom?”
“You can’t tell by appearances. But I can tell you this much. Definitely an ‘oh no!’ on Weston Walker. Anybody but Wes Walker.”
Carson slapped himself on the forehead. “I can’t believe I fell for the demolition-derby whopper.”
The host at Mi Pueblo said the wait would be ten minutes, but the minutes were passing like hours. “Dad. Would you ever consider babysitting Mr. Nibblenose? He’s a very good boy. He is!”
“No! No rats. No rodents of any kind.
No!
”
“Sometimes you get a little bit grumpy when you’re hungry, huh, Dad?”
“I’m sorry, son, but you know how I feel about rats. And with those horrible little yellow teeth.” He made rat teeth at Carson.
“They don’t have an opportunity to brush, Dad.”
Carson strolled up to the white cement fountain
in the enclosed courtyard and counted up the coins resting on the bottom: four dollars and sixty-eight cents.
From where he was standing, near a large potted palm in a colorful ceramic pot, Carson noticed that— What?! Was that Mrs. Crabbly? It was! Wearing a wide-brimmed pink straw hat decorated with a big, fake purple marguerite daisy.
Carson decided to hide from her. To spy on her, truthfully. He slipped behind the potted palm, close to the wall. Then he parted two palm fronds and peered out. He saw two tiny LED lights blinking on her collar.
Carson observed Mrs. Crabbly buy a bag of
buñuelos
. She whirled around and looked directly at him. “I had a funny feeling I was being watched. What are you doing behind that tree?”
“Waiting for a booth,” said Carson quietly.
Carson’s dad offered his hand. “Nicholas Blum.”
She shook it. “Abby Crabbly. Sorry about that darn crow incident.”
“Oh well. That’s the way the cookie crumbles,” said Carson’s dad.
“Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” said Mrs. Crabbly.
“But it did take me an hour to barbecue that tri-tip,” he admitted.
“What’s your marinade?”
“It’s posted on my blog,
Gourmet Grub
.”
“Have you blogged your way to Buster’s Barbecue? It’s just around the corner.”
“In fact, we have.”
“How ’bout them ranch beans, huh?”
Mrs. Crabbly untwisted the tie on the
buñuelos
bag. “Ever tried these?” She offered them to Carson and his dad and they each took one. “Bon appétit. See you at school, Carson.” She lifted her hat from her head, put it back on again, and walked out.
“She seems like something of a character,” Carson’s dad said.
“You can say that again,” said Carson.
“She seems like something of a character,” Carson’s dad said. “And what an unusual alien brooch,” he added.
“What’s a brooch?”
“A pin.”
“She got that one from the Mystery Lights of Marfa gift shop in Marfa, Texas. She has a cuckoo clock from Switzerland also. And a legendary dog I’ve heard about, but haven’t seen. She’s funny! She reminds me of Grandma.”
Through the glass door, Carson watched Mrs. Crabbly cross the street and head down the sidewalk. He liked Mrs. Crabbly and everything about her. He liked how grouchy she was with Wes.
He deserved it, the liar!
Carson savored the crispy, cinnamony, sugary
buñuelo
. He watched Mrs. Crabbly peer over a fence, then open a gate and stroll through. Maybe that’s where Mrs. Crabbly lived. Maybe they were neighbors. In fact, of course they were neighbors because they had all walked to Mi Pueblo!
Carson dug into his pocket for a coin to throw in the fountain.
This will make it four seventy-eight
, he told himself. He wasn’t great at math but he added money well. He threw a dime into the water and wished they could hurry up and sit down.