In the Land of the Lawn Weenies (13 page)

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Authors: David Lubar

BOOK: In the Land of the Lawn Weenies
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In the front of the building, the owner was dashing out the door. I had a feeling he would keep running, considering the mess he was leaving.
The door shut behind him, but not before some of the air inside drifted our way, telling me beyond any doubt that I was right. Until now, I'd thought Davey's cigars were the worst thing I'd ever smelled. I felt sorry for whoever had to clean up that mess. Instead of a burger and fries, I'd imagine that the only thing you could get there now would be a burger and flies.
“Come on, Davey,” I said. “We'd better get back to the shop. I have a feeling business is about to pick up.”
“I know what you mean.” Davey said. “I'm dying to get to work.”
That shook me for a second. But when I glanced back at him, he was smiling. I smiled, too. I was looking forward to the crowds. But I suspected it might be a while before I could eat another burger.
 
 
L
inda tiptoed into her brother's room. Behind her, she could hear Cheryl giggling. “Shhh,” Linda said, glancing back at her friend.
“No one's home. Why are you being so quiet?” Cheryl asked.
“Listen, I feel like he's going to jump out from behind the door and catch us.” She hated sneaking into Peter's room, but she really wanted to try his new game. She knew he wouldn't share it with her, and he certainly wouldn't let her share it with her friends.
Trying not to disturb any of the piles of clothing and magazines and papers on the floor, Linda crossed the room to Peter's desk and unplugged the game player. It was the newest sixty-four-bit model, complete with a built-in flat-panel screen that popped up from the base unit. She figured
her brother had probably delivered about ninety thousand newspapers to earn enough money for the game.
Out in the hall, she could hear Genna and Mimi talking. Hurrying, Linda gathered the game console, the power supply, and four joysticks. The SpaceMaster CD was already in the player. Wires dangled from her arms like an electronic octopus. “Here, take something,” Linda said to Cheryl.
Cheryl grabbed the joysticks and the two girls hurried from the room.
“It that it?” Genna asked when they got into the hall.
“Yup,” Linda said.
“Your room?” Mimi asked.
“No, I don't want to take any chance that Peter will catch us. He'd flip if he knew I was borrowing it.” Linda thought for a moment. “Let's take it to the attic. Nobody ever goes up there.” She headed down the hall.
“I hope this is good,” Mimi said as they climbed the narrow steps at the end of the hallway on the second floor.
“It's supposed to be great,” Cheryl said. “I heard it was better than anything that's been out so far.”
Linda opened the door and felt around for the light switch. The wall was dry and dusty beneath her fingers. The light, one small bulb, barely revealed half of the attic. “Help me find a place to plug it in,” she said, stepping toward the shadows.
The girls searched along the sides of the attic near the floor. “Got it,” Mimi said. “Over here.”
Linda carried the game to Mimi and tried to plug it in. The outlet looked old-fashioned. Linda started to force the plug.
“Maybe the wall thing is too old,” Genna said. “Some stuff doesn't fit in old ones.”
“It'll fit,” Linda said. There was no way she was going to give up so easily. She pushed harder. A tiny spark flashed from the outlet as the plug finally sank in. “See? No problem.”
They hooked up the joysticks and sat down to play. “Here goes,” Linda said, pressing the on/off switch. She watched as the title page came up, spinning toward them in stunning 3-D graphics. Stereo sound surrounded them, music mixed with the whooshing of rockets.
“Cool,” Mimi said. “Let's play.”
Linda, with joystick number one, selected a multi-player game. In a moment, the girls were piloting four ships through a deadly field of asteroids and enemy attackers.
“Whoa, this is tough,” Genna said as her ship took a hit.
Linda moved quickly to avoid a pair of asteroids, then fired at another that was closing in on her. “Got it,” she said.
“Great graphics,” Cheryl said. “Everything looks so real.”
“Ouch, hit again,” Genna said. “One more and I'm history.”
Linda checked her status bar. She was doing fine. No hits yet. “Hey, let's fly in front of Genna
so we can protect her,” she said. Just then, Genna's ship took another hit and exploded in a spectacular fireball.
“Too late,” Linda said. “Sorry, Genna.”
Genna didn't answer.
“No need to sulk,” Linda said. She glanced at her friend. But Genna wasn't there. “Hey, where'd she go?”
“Must have gone for a drink,” Cheryl said. “Oops,” she added as she got hit.
Linda turned her attention back to the game. It was funny—she didn't remember Genna leaving. But she really couldn't pay attention to anything besides the asteroids that were hurtling toward her ship—not if she wanted to stay alive. Another huge chunk of pitted rock sped toward her from the left, but she shot it just in time.
“Darn,” Cheryl said. Her ship took a final hit. It turned into a fireball, then faded to nothing.
Linda heard the thud of a joystick hitting the floor. “Hey, careful with that,” she said as she glanced over.
Cheryl wasn't there.
“What's going on?” Mimi said. “Where'd Cheryl go? She was right here.”
“I don't know.”
“That does it,” Mimi said, her voice rising in pitch. “I quit.” She put her joystick down and stepped back.
Her ship, unguided, took a hit.
“I'm not playing. That's not me anymore.” Mimi was shouting now. She took another step back.
Her ship got hit again. And again. It exploded.
Linda risked a glance at her friend. Just as she looked, Mimi vanished from sight, turning a glowing amber like the ship and then fading into nothingness. Her ship was gone. She was gone.
Linda reached one hand toward the power switch, then yanked it back in time to steer clear of two more asteroids. She wanted to turn the game off, but she was afraid.
“Oh no!” She took a hit from an enemy ship. She fired back and blew it up before it could cause more damage.
The game was getting harder. Linda tried to pay attention, but she could barely concentrate. The joystick shook in her hands, almost as if it wanted to squirm free. Her palms grew damp and her fingers began to ache.
“No!”
Another hit. One more and her ship would explode.
A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead and into the corner of her eye. She rubbed her eye against her arm, not daring to take a hand from the joystick. Even this motion was too much. An asteroid clipped the side of her ship. The power bar slid into nothingness. The ship glowed bright red and began to expand.
Linda's thumb slid across the joystick. She felt herself fading. She hit the pause button.
The game stopped.
The word PAUSE flashed on the screen. Behind it, the ship had just begun to break apart. It was frozen for the moment, but its fate was obvious.
She heard the front door open and close. “Linda,” her mom called. “Are you home?”
It was in that instant, as she tried to answer, that Linda knew what she had done. The game was halted, locked in place. So was Linda.
“Are you here?” her mom called.
She heard footsteps moving from room to room. She heard calls. The steps never came up the attic stairs. Linda was frozen, unable to answer. Eventually, the calls stopped. In front of her, the game hung suspended, waiting for someone to press a button—waiting patiently and forever.
 
 
M
y little brother is such a jerk. But I guess that's his role at the moment. Tommy's only six, and it's tough not to be a jerk at six. My friend Brian is a jerk, too. Brian's my age, so he has no excuse.
More than anything, Tommy is a jerk about those stupid catalogs of his. He's always saving his allowance and ordering junk that anyone with half a brain would know was worthless. Most of the stuff he gets never works or doesn't do what it's supposed to do. The few things that actually worked broke right away.
Tommy never learns. Every month or so, he'll start haunting the front window, looking for the
UPS truck, waiting for his order to come. The truck passes by all the time, but it usually doesn't have anything for us. Still as soon as he sees the
truck, Tommy will start to dance like a dog that has to pee.
If Brian's around, he'll almost always say, “Hey, you'd better let your brother out in the yard before he messes the carpet.”
Today, Brian was over. We'd been planning to put new valve-cover gaskets on Dad's junker Plymouth. Dad had offered us ten bucks each to do the job, which was just fine as far as we were concerned. We'd get up to our elbows in grease and get paid for the pleasure. What could be better?
We were standing in the driveway when the brown truck came by. This time, it squealed to a stop right in front of the house. I looked over at the window and smiled. Tommy was about to go ballistic. He was hopping so hard I thought his head would snap away from his body. Then he disappeared from the window. An instant later, he was out the door and flying down the porch. He practically pulled the box from the driver's hands, then rushed back into the house.
“Your brother needs to calm down a bit,” Brian said. He pawed through the tool kit, until he found the socket wrench.
“Hey, we were young once.” I sort of understood how Tommy felt.
“Yeah, but we were never that goofy.”
A few minutes later, Tommy came running out. “I need a jar for my smunkies,” he said.
“Smunkies?” I usually understood him, but this time I didn't have a clue.
“Look.” He held up a small package.
I read the label. SEA MONKEYS, it announced in
large letters. On the back, there was a picture of these playful, happy creatures dancing around in a tank of water.
“Tommy …” I wanted to tell him he'd probably just spent his money on some kind of tiny shrimp. I was pretty sure that's all they were. But he looked so happy and eager, I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth.
“I need ajar,” he said.
“There are plenty in the garage, right next to the rake,” I told him. “Just make sure you get a clean one. Don't take one that smells like paint thinner or gasoline. Okay?” I'd hate to see his new pets going belly up—or whatever went up on them—right at the start.
“Hey,” Brian walked around the car. “Whatcha got?”
“Nothing.” Tommy put his hand behind his back.
“Come on, let me see.”
Tommy looked at me. I shrugged. What harm could Brian do?
“Oh, wow,” Brian said when he'd taken the packet from Tommy. “How very, very cool.” He laughed and started to give the package back. At the last moment, he jerked his hand away. He did this a couple more times.
I could tell Tommy was about to cry. “Come on. Brian, knock it off.”
Brian didn't say anything, but he held his hand still so Tommy could grab the packet. As soon as Tommy got it back, he went running off to the garage.
A minute later, I heard him calling me. “There's something wrong,” he said.
I went in to see what the problem was.
“It's just sand.” He pointed to the jar he'd filled with water.
“Those are eggs. They'll hatch. You have to wait a little.”
“Smunkies come from eggs?” He looked at me like I'd told him spaghetti grew on trees.
“Yup. You have to wait for them to hatch.”
“How long?” he asked.
“I don't know. A couple of days, maybe a week. I'm not sure.”
“I bet we can speed it up.”
The voice caught me by surprise. I hadn't realized Brian had walked into the garage behind me.
“You just have to know what to add.” He looked around. Suddenly, his face lit up. He grabbed a box of plant fertilizer. “This will help,” he said. Before I could stop him, he sprinkled some into the jar.
“Don't worry, I know what I'm doing.” He grabbed a second container and shook something else into Tommy's jar. He was about to put in yet another powder when Tommy finally pulled the whole thing back, sloshing some of the water.
“Stop it! You'll kill them.” He snatched a lid from the shelf and put it on the jar. The way his lip was sticking out, I knew his eyes were real close to turning into a pair of miniature waterfalls.
“Tommy, why don't you put that down and help us with the car?”
“Really?” He looked at me, his face suddenly wiped free of all sorrow.
“Sure.” I shifted my gaze over to Brian, letting him know that he was in big trouble if he said a word.
So we went and changed Dad's valve-cover gaskets and got all covered with grease and had a wonderful time.
I guess I was wrong about the shrimp taking a while. They hatched during the night. Tommy came running into my room that morning to show me.
“Look—my smunkies,” he said, holding up the jar. “Big smunkies.”
“Yeah, they sure are big.” I watched the shrimp swimming around the jar. They were large enough that I could make out their legs and eyes.
“Maybe I need a bigger jar,” Tommy said.
“No, they won't grow that much.”
“They might,” he said. “Got a bigger jar?”
“Let's look.”
We went to the cellar, where we keep all the really good junk, and searched around. I finally found an old jar that must have been left over from when Mom had decided she could save a lot of money by buying really big bunches of everything. She'd gotten this gigantic vat of mayonnaise. It took up almost a whole shelf in the fridge. I think it went bad before we'd had a chance to use up even half of it. I was glad, too. For a while, we seemed to be living on tuna salad, chicken salad, potato salad, and anything else that needed mayonnaise.
“Perfect, isn't it?” I asked Tommy when we'd found the jar.
“Yeah.”
I carried it upstairs. We filled it with water from the bathtub faucet. Then I lugged it to his room and we poured in the smunkies.
I pretty much forgot all about them after that. Every couple of days, Tommy might mention them. “Smunkies are growing,” he'd say, or, “I'm feeding my smunkies lots of food.”
Then he asked me for a bigger jar. That wouldn't have been so bad, except he did it when Brian was over.
“Whatcha want a jar for?” Brian asked.
I shook my head, trying to signal Tommy, but he didn't see me. “Smunkies,” he said. “My smunkies are real big now.”
“Smunkies?” Brian asked, grinning like a true idiot. “Let's see them. Can we see them? Please? I'd love to get a look at some honest-to-goodness giant smunkies.” He winked at me.
I had a feeling this was not going to turn out well. Tommy ran up to his room. I guess he was so proud and excited, he was eager to show his treasure to anyone. Brian followed right behind, chanting “Smunkies, let's see those smunkies.”
“Come on, Brian,” I said. “Don't mess with anything.”
He turned back toward me. “Hey, relax. I just want to see these smunkies.” Then he laughed.
“Don't ruin anything, okay?” I asked.
“Hey, you can trust me,” he said.
We went into Tommy's room. The jar was on
the floor next to his bed. Looking from the top, you couldn't really see anything. Tommy flopped to his knees and pointed to the side of the container. Brian and I joined him.
My jaw dropped. Inside, so crammed they almost couldn't move, were Tommy's smunkies. But these were not little specks—these were huge! Some of them were half as big as my fist!
“Cool,” Brian said. “Check them out.” He unscrewed the lid of the jar and reached in.
An instant later, he screamed and pulled his hand back. He was always being such a jerk; I figured he'd do something like that.
“It's got me!” he screamed. He waved his hand and danced around the room like he was in pain.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, not impressed. “Come on, let's get out of here.”
I started to walk from the room. Brian was still screaming. Then he started smashing his hand against the wall. “Hey, stop it, you'll break something,” I said.
That's when I noticed the red blotches splattered over the paint on the wall. That's also when I started to get scared. Before I could do anything, Brian stumbled into the jar and knocked it over and the rest of the smunkies got loose.
Whatever they were, they moved fast.
In a second, they were all over Brian. I did what I could to help him. I grabbed one and tried to pull it off, but it was like grabbing a rock. The thing was hard, and sharp.
“Smunkies …” Tommy said, standing and watching Brian smash himself into the wall.
I grabbed Tommy and ran from the room, slamming the door behind me in my panic. I took him downstairs. Over our heads, there were a couple more crashes, then silence.
“Stay here,” I said to Tommy. I really didn't want to go back, but I had to see if I could help Brian. He was a total jerk, but he was my friend. I went up the stairs, feeling like I was walking on explosives, ready to turn and flee at the slightest sound. I half expected a wave of smunkies to come rushing down the steps, leaping at me and dragging me to the floor.
I made it upstairs.
Tommy's bedroom door was still closed. There was no sound, at first. When I got closer, I heard whimpering and groaning.
“Brian?” I called. I knocked on the door. It was such a stupid thing to do that I almost laughed at myself. I opened the door.
Brian was lying on the rug. He looked pretty chewed up, like someone who'd decided to use sandpaper for a washcloth. But he was alive. “You okay?” I asked.
“I've been better,” he said. He slowly rose to his knees.
“Where are they?” I asked.
He jerked his hand over toward the wall. There was a jagged hole right above the baseboard. I knelt down and peeked inside, expecting to get a smunkie in my face. The hole went through to the bathroom. There was a wet, pink trail—maybe bits of smunkie slime, maybe bits of Brian. But I could see where it led.
I went out through the hall to the bathroom to make sure. The trail led into the tub. Then the trail led to the drain. They were down there, somewhere. I could imagine them, all those smunkies, resting after a nice lunch of Brian bites, doing smunkie things, maybe talking smunkie talk and planning smunkie plans.
“Smunkies gone?”
I turned toward the door. It was Tommy. He looked so sad.
“They'll be back,” I said.
That cheered him up. But it didn't do much good for me. Not when I thought about all those smunkies out there in the pipes all around the house.
“Back in the jar?” Tommy asked.
I looked at the tub and the sink and the toilet. I looked at the walls. “No,” I told Tommy. “I'm afraid not. I think it's our turn in the jar.”

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