Double Fudge (3 page)

Fudge didn't seem at all worried about starting a new school. He and Melissa skipped all the way there. I wish Jimmy still lived in our building so we could walk to school together. Instead I walked with Sheila Tubman. Not that I wanted to but what choice did I have?

34

We went down in the elevator together. It would have been rude to cross the street just to avoid her, right? I was still hoping we wouldn't be in the same homeroom or any of the same classes.

The bad news is, Sheila's in my homeroom. She's in my science class and Spanish, too. But I'm trying to keep a positive attitude, like Mom said. The good news is, Jimmy's also in my homeroom and better yet, in my humanities section. We even have the same lunch period. And nobody at school acted like I was a new kid. Most kids either didn't remember I lived someplace else last year, or didn't care.

After school Jimmy came over, same as always. I told him about Melissa and her mother and how Henry painted the apartment and fixed up the kitchen. "They got a new refrigerator," I said, expecting Jimmy to laugh and make some joke about salami and onion sandwiches. But he didn't.

We hung out in the park for a while--at the top of our special rock--then, just like that, Jimmy said he had to go home. I forgot for a minute he'd moved, that he lived downtown now, that he had to take the subway home by himself. I walked him to Central Park West and Seventy-second Street.

Jimmy and I have been best friends since third grade. He lived around the corner then. It was the first

35

place in the city I was allowed to walk by myself. I really liked Jimmy's mom. She told me to call her Anita, not Mrs. Fargo. We had this special game. Every time I left her house she gave me a graham cracker, in case I got hungry on the way home. That was a big joke since it took about two minutes to get to my building. I was so mad at her when she took off for Vermont, leaving Jimmy with his dad. But then I was happy when Jimmy and his dad moved into our building. Then I was mad at her again, because Jimmy was.

Jimmy still doesn't like to talk about the divorce or his mother. He keeps everything to himself. He visits her at Christmas and for a month in the summer. I hope I never see her again because if I do, I'll tell her exactly what I think about what she did to Jimmy. And don't tell me there are two sides to every story, like Mom does, because I've seen Jimmy's side up close. Not that I want him to move to Vermont. That would be a lot worse than SoHo. I'd never get to see him then. Now I know how he felt when I left the city last year.

I watched as Jimmy disappeared down the stairs into the subway station. I wonder when Mom and Dad will let me take the subway to SoHo on my own?

That night at dinner, Fudge went on and on about his first day of school. "I have two teachers in my room,

36

William and Polly. And a library helper. That makes three."

"You need three teachers," I said, "maybe more."

"Because I'm smart, right?"

"Oh yeah... they don't come any smarter than you."

"How many teachers do you have, Pete?"

"A different one every hour."

"Wow... you're
really
smart."

Dad said, "When you're in seventh grade you'll have as many teachers as Peter."

"My library helper comes two times every week," Fudge said. "He's seventeen. Next year he's going to college. Know what his name is? Jonathan Girdle."

I laughed and said, "You probably got that wrong, Turkey Brain."

"Peter!" Mom said. "What did we discuss last night?"

"Uh ... I don't know."

"Self-esteem," Mom said. "Don't you remember?"

"What's that got to do with ..." I stopped before I finished. Was she talking about me calling Fudge
Turkey
Brain? Mom nodded like she could read my mind.

But Fudge didn't pay any attention. He went on as if he were the only one at the table. "Jonathan told us some people think his name is funny, so I told him

37

some people think
my
name is funny. Then this girl named Rebecca Noodle said a lot of people think
her
name is funny. Then Pluto Stevenson said
everybody
thinks his name is funny."

"Yes, Pluto. But he's not my new best friend. My new best friend is ..."

"Wait a minute," I said, interrupting. "One day of school and you have a new best friend?"

"Yeah, Pete. I do."

I have to hand it to Fudge. He always manages to find a friend. He never worries like I do, when I go someplace new, that maybe no one will like him. "Guess what my new best friend's name is?" Fudge asked later that night. I was at my desk. I'd just finished my math homework and was about to start on Spanish. We're having a vocabulary quiz on Friday.

"I'm doing my homework," I told him. "You're not supposed to bother me while I'm studying. And you're supposed to knock if my door is closed." Fudge and I each have half a bedroom. There's a divider wall with shelves between us. But we have our own doors to the hallway.

"I brought you a rice cake," Fudge said in his best-little-boy-in-the-world voice. He held it out to me.

He's the one who loves rice cakes, not me.

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They make me gag. They're like eating cardboard. "I don't want a rice cake," I told him. "You know how I feel about rice cakes. Anyway, aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

"I can't go to bed until you guess," he said, nibbling at the rice cake himself.

"Okay... what am I supposed to guess this time?"

"Pay attention, Pete!" he said. "You're supposed to guess my new friend's name."

"If you want me to guess, you have to give me a clue," I told him.

"Okay...his first name is what I want to be when I grow up."

"King?" I guessed.

"Wrong!"

"President?"

"Very funny, Pete. Try again."

"Let's see ..." I pretended to think about it. "Oh, I've got it.
Miser?"

"No!" He shoved half the rice cake into his mouth at once. "It's Rich." He waited for my reaction. When I didn't say anything he repeated, "His name is
Rich.
Get it, Pete? It's what I want to be when I grow up!" When I still didn't say anything, he added, "We call him Richie. And his last name is even better. Here's a clue. He's related to someone very famous. Someone we know." He stuffed the rest of the rice cake into his

39

mouth and brushed off his hands. The crumbs landed on my
Living Spanish
textbook.

"I don't know anyone really famous."

"Yes you do."

"I give up."

Fudge whispered in my ear. "He's
You-Kno
w-Who's cousin."

"We've been through this before," I told him, wiping off my ear. "Harry Potter isn't real. He's a ..."

But before I could finish Fudge spit on the back of his hand three times. "You said his name out loud? You have to spit three times or something terrible will happen. Hurry!" He spit on the back of his other hand. I don't know why Fudge thinks you're not supposed to say the name Harry Potter out loud, but he does. It's some kind of magic he invented. I knew he was too young to listen to the book on tape but Mom and Dad played it anyway, driving back from summer vacation. To tell the truth, it's easier to spit than argue with him. So I did. Three times on the back of my hand.

"Whew ..." Fudge said. "That was a close one."

"I hate to break it to you," I told him, "but Potter's a common name. I know at least two kids at school whose last name is Potter. It doesn't mean anything."

"You are so wrong, Pete!"

Uncle Feather agreed with Fudge.
"You are so wrong, Pete
... S0
wrong wrong wrong."

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"Cover Bird Brain's cage, will you?" I said. "I can't concentrate on my homework with him yakking."

"Yak yak yak
..." Uncle Feather said.

I reached for my headset and turned up the volume. Sometimes I wonder how I ever survived without it.

Richie Potter was at our apartment when I got home from school the next day. He's two heads taller than Fudge and so thin you can count his ribs through his shirt. He has a brush cut, and big eyes that blink a lot, like maybe he needs glasses. I could see why Fudge got the idea he was
You-Know-Who's
cousin.

He started wheezing right away. "Allergies," he explained, digging his inhaler out of his backpack and puffing twice. "You must have dust mites."

"I don't know," Fudge said. "But Pete has a dog."

"Dogs are okay as long as they don't lick me," Richie said. "If they lick me I get hives."

"What about brothers?" Fudge asked.

"Brothers are okay unless they lick their dogs." He and Fudge started laughing. "Does your brother lick his dog?"

"Maybe," Fudge said. "Hey, Pete, do you ..."

"No!" I said.

Fudge and Richie laughed themselves silly.

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"Want to see my bird?" Fudge asked. "He can talk." Richie followed Fudge and I followed Richie. I like to be around when Fudge introduces his bird to a new friend. "Presenting ..." Fudge said with a flourish, "the
one...
the
only...
Uncle Feather!"

"I have an Uncle Jocko," Richie said.

"Is your Uncle Jocko a bird?" Fudge asked.

"No," Richie said. "He's my mother's brother."

"Uncle Feather's not related to my mother or my father," Fudge said. "He's just related to me. He's all mine."

"So, what does he say?" Richie asked.

"Whatever you want him to say."

Richie thought about it. Then he said, "Zoopideezop."

Uncle Feather just stood there, his head cocked to one side.

"Try something else," Fudge said. "He likes real words. Especially
bad
words."

So Richie said all the bad words he knew but Uncle Feather wasn't impressed.

"You try," Richie told Fudge.

"What's up?" Fudge asked Uncle Feather. Usually Uncle Feather answers,
"Whassup... whassup... whassup
..." But this time, nothing.

"What's wrong?" I asked Uncle Feather. "Cat got your tongue?"

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I wouldn't say that in front of Tootsie or she'd start meowing. But Tootsie was taking her afternoon nap.

"Don't tease him, Pete!"

"I'm not teasing him. I'm trying to get him to talk."

"He's not in the mood," Fudge said. "Come on, Richie, let's get a snack."

I followed them to the kitchen. Mom was still in her whites from work.

"Are you a doctor?" Richie asked.

"No," Mom said, "a dental hygienist."

"One of my grandpas is a very famous neurosurgeon," Richie said. "He fixes brains."

"We know this girl who fell off her bike," Fudge said, "and her brains came out her ears."

"My grandpa could have put them back in," Richie said.

"Too bad she didn't know your grandpa," Fudge said.

"What's he talking about?" I asked Mom.

Mom shrugged and rolled her eyes as if she was wondering the same thing. Then she said, "Would you boys like a snack?"

"Yes, please," Richie answered. "I'll have broccoli."

"Broccoli," Mom repeated.

"Yes, please," Richie said. "I'd like lightly steamed florets."

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Mom seemed really surprised. "I don't think we have any broccoli in the house, but we do have carrots."

"Carrots are good," Richie said. "Dipped in either hummus or tahini."

Now Mom was really surprised. "We don't have hummus or tahini. But we have peanut butter and that tastes a lot like tahini."

"Don't you have a cook?" Richie asked.

"No, I'm afraid we don't," Mom said.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Richie said. "I didn't know you were poor."

"We're hardly poor." Mom said, serving him a bowl of baby carrots with a side of peanut butter. "We just don't have a cook."

Fudge watched as Richie took a carrot and swirled it in peanut butter. "Can I have peanut butter and banana?" he asked Mom.

"You know where the bananas are," she told him, pouring them each a glass of milk. "You can help yourself."

"Carrots are hard to eat with loose teeth," Richie told Fudge, as he wiggled his front top tooth. "Soon I'll look like you."

"What do you mean?" Fudge asked.

Richie pointed to his mouth. "No teeth on top."

That's when it dawned on me that Fudge's classmates

44

are finally catching up to him. They're losing their teeth.

"Know how much I got from the tooth fairy when I lost my first tooth?" Richie asked.

"How much?" Fudge said.

"Twenty dollars. And that was just from the tooth fairy. My grandma gave me another twenty and my twin uncles gave me twenty apiece."

Eighty dollars a tooth!
I was thinking.

"How much did I get, Mom?" Fudge asked.

"Well, Fudge ..." Mom began, "you didn't lose your teeth in the usual way."

"How'd he lose them?" Richie asked.

"He was trying to fly off the top of the climbing bars," I said.

"Fly?" Richie asked.

"He was only three," Mom explained.

"So what happened?" Richie asked.

"What do you think?" I answered. "He crash-landed and knocked out his top front teeth."

"But I didn't lose them," Fudge said. "I swallowed them."

"At least that's what we
think
happened," Mom said. "We're really not sure."

"So no tooth fairy came?" Richie asked.

"Mom ..." Fudge began, "how come the tooth fairy..."

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Mom answered quickly. "You were so young when you lost your teeth the tooth fairy put your money in the bank."

I gave Mom a look. She shot me one right back.

"So that means I have money in the bank?" Fudge asked.

"You certainly do."

"How much?"

"Let's talk about it later," Mom said.

"My mom doesn't like to talk about money," Fudge told Richie.

"My mom loves to talk about money," Richie said, sporting a milk moustache. "She's a designer. You can get clothes with her name on it. She's very famous. So's my father. He builds office buildings. And my grandma's filthy rich."

"You mean from counting her money?" Fudge asked.

"I don't know," Richie said. "Maybe."

"She should take her money to the bank to get it washed," Fudge told him.

"That's a good idea." Richie bit into a carrot with his back teeth.

"I have a lot of good ideas," Fudge said. "I know," Richie said. "That's why I want to be your friend."

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The next day Richie
Richest
was back. "So, where's the toy room?"

"What toy room?" Fudge asked.

"You know," Richie said, "the room where you keep all your toys."

"I keep my toys in
my
room."

"That's it? That's all the toys you have?"

"He has more than he needs," Mom told Richie. She was getting Tootsie up from her nap.