Puppet Pandemonium (5 page)

Dad started laughing. “Listen, Waldo, if you plan on staying around here, you better shape up.” Waldo's head spun around again, and he blinked.

“Just a couple more things,” Dad said, “and then we'll go home. Check out the opera house—they have plays and musicals on weekends.”

“Baker, maybe Gram can come and give her puppet shows there,” Mom said.

“I don't think Ricky sings opera.” My stomach growled.

“The building in the center is the courthouse. It's one hundred and twenty years old,” Dad said. “It's built with Texas limestone. There's a huge bell in the tower.” I stuck my head out the window to get a better look. There were small booths surrounding the courtyard. Signs, too, but I couldn't make them out.

“The bell rings on special occasions,” Dad continued. “On high school graduation night, six of us climbed to the top of the courthouse and rang it. We almost lost our diplomas over that little prank. After
we got caught, it wasn't that much fun.” Dad laughed. “My father grounded me all summer.”

“Wow,” I said. “I'll remember that when I'm a senior.”

“Not if you value your life,” Mom said. “You'll do no such thing.”

“I think we were the last class ever to ring that bell,” Dad said. “Now the place is guarded closer than a jail-house. But Franklin does have a bell ringer during parades and other special occasions, like when the high school team wins big football games. The mayor grants permission.”

“Cool,” I said.

“Some folks say you can hear that bell ring all the way to Buffalo Gulch. But I wouldn't swear to it,” Dad said.

“Buffalo Gulch?” I repeated. It sounded very Wild West.

“It's a town about twenty-five miles from here. Buffalo Gulch is Franklin's biggest rival in everything. Franklin and Buffalo Gulch are getting ready for the county fall festival. That's why you see so many booths going up around the square.

“It's a lot of fun. The festival has been going on for many years. In small towns, traditions don't die easily,” Dad said. He turned the car around and we headed to our new home.

Mom and I were eager to see where we'd be living.
Dad had told us the house was over a hundred years old: a Victorian fixer-upper, whatever that meant. Dad had known the family who lived in it when he was growing up. He'd always loved it. When he'd found out the house was on the market, he couldn't resist buying it. He had taken pictures of the house, but then he decided at the last minute not to show them to us. He wanted to surprise us.

Surprise was an understatement. I was in shock. Mom didn't say a word as we drove up to the house. She just stared out the window at the chipping paint and dilapidated roof.

“Isn't it a grand old homestead?” Dad said. “This house is on the National Register. Instead of tearing down these old Victorian homes, people in Franklin want them restored. I'm the perfect guy to do it.” He made a muscle.

“See,” he said, pointing to the top of the house. “Our house has those elaborate wooden gables, and that circular corner tower over there is fantastic. It's like having a secret room.” He rubbed his hands together. “I can't wait to get started.”

“I've, uh, never seen a house with a pink front porch and purple trim,” I said, wrinkling my nose. And I never wanted to see another one.

“That's the beauty of it, Bake. It's an original painted lady. After I get finished with it, it will be the
best-looking lady on the block.” Dad looked at the house again. “It just needs a little work, that's all.” He got out of the car and started up the steps. “C'mon,” he said, motioning for us to follow. Mom was still in her seat.

A
little
work? I wondered what was holding the house up. Dad's imagination? “At least we won't need air-conditioning,” I said, pointing to a gaping hole in the roof.

The porch wrapped around three sides of the house. A swing hung at one end of the porch by a front window. I looked around the neighborhood. I thought I saw a kid across the street watching us through binoculars. I didn't get a good look before he disappeared. I wondered if he was my age. Mom finally got out of the car.

“Did you pack my bike helmet?” I asked. “I may need it before I go upstairs.”

Mom ignored me. “That swing looks inviting,” she said. “Everyone loves a porch swing.” I knew she was trying her best to be positive.

“I'm not swinging in it,” Waldo said. “I can think of other ways of breaking my neck. What do you think I am? A dummy?” Mom spun around and I slapped my hand over his mouth.

“Baker, leave Waldo in the car and let's go take a look,” she said.

I followed her up the steps. “Wait a minute. What's that?”

In the middle of the yard stood a well. It looked like it had been there for a million years. Most of its red bricks were broken and some were missing. There was a roof over the well, and a bucket to draw water sat on its ledge.

“Hey Dad,” I called. “Are we going to have to carry our bathwater inside the house?” Things in Texas were worse than I'd imagined.

Dad laughed. “The water runs into the house just like it did in Seattle. The only difference is we have well water.”

He dropped the bucket into the well and I heard a splash. He brought up some water to show Mom and me. When he handed me the ladle, I tried not to gag. It smelled like rotten eggs.

“Yuck,” I said. I let the water run down my chin. Then he gave Mom a sip. She smiled. I ran my tongue over my teeth to see if they were still there.

“Sulfur,” he said. “It's a common problem but I bet I can fix it.” When we walked back around to the front of the yard, I saw that kid looking at us again. I'd have had to be blind to miss his bright red hair.

My stomach grumbled again. “Hey, I'm starving, remember? Let's order a pizza.”

I grabbed my backpack and ran inside. I hated to
admit it, but the house looked okay. It seemed to have a million rooms. When I looked at the ceiling, I noticed where Dad had already started repairing the hole in the roof. I couldn't wait to see the round room. I ran upstairs to the third floor to take a look. It was going to be a great place to store my private stuff.

My bedroom was small but it had a terrific view of the town. I sat Waldo in the corner.

“Stay put,” I said. “You're going to get me in big trouble if you keep mouthing off.”

“And whose fault is that?” he said.

The cracked windowpanes made the view out my windows wiggly, but Dad promised me he'd fix them.

I thought about calling Sam, but he was at school. And there was no telling where Gram would be. The time difference was going to make staying in touch a problem. I wanted to tell someone about my secret room, but the two people who would be excited for me were a long way from Texas.

T
he doorbell rang. I turned to Waldo. “Hey, maybe someone's come to meet us after all.” I closed the door and jogged downstairs.

A woman and a skinny red-haired girl about my age were standing in the kitchen. Dad was talking to them.

“This is my wife, Carole,” he was saying as I walked into the room. “And here's our son, Baker.” I gave a small wave. “Mrs. Wilson and her daughter, Hannah, brought us pizza. Isn't that great?” The pizza smelled wonderful. I could hardly wait to dive in. “They live across the street,” Dad added.

“Thank you so much,” Mom said gratefully. “Now, that's Southern hospitality. We were just getting ready to order some, weren't we, Baker?”

“Uh, yes,” I said, startled to see the bright red hair. The kid who had been watching us wasn't a boy at all.

“It's from the Whip-A-Dip,” the girl said. “They make the best pizza in town.”

Mom insisted that the Wilsons join us. After the grown-ups each took a slice, they went out on the porch to eat. I was alone with Hannah. I didn't know how to talk to a girl. Back in Seattle, Sam and I always tried to steer clear of them.

“What grade are you in?” she asked, walking around the boxes to get to the pizza.

“I'm going into fifth.” A million questions about school and Franklin were roaming in my head, but I just stood there and stared at her. She was at least a head taller than me.

“I'm in fifth too! You'll have Mr. Sims. He's new this year.” She opened the box and handed me a slice. It was dripping with cheese. Then she took one for herself. First she picked off the pepperoni and lined them up across her napkin. Then she ate the cheesy crust. I thought that was a weird way to eat pizza. Maybe it was a Texas thing. She saved the pepperoni until last.

“Are you sure I'll have him?” I asked. “I haven't even been to the school yet.”

“If you plan on being in fifth grade, you will,” she
said. “There's only one fifth-grade class in Franklin Elementary, and Mr. Sims is teaching it. I volunteered this year to be an escort for new students. I'll be showing you around. You've moved at a good time. Franklin and Buffalo Gulch are planning our annual fall festival. It's a blast.” She popped a piece of pepperoni into her mouth. “Are you going to try out for the play?” she asked.

“What play?” I asked.

“Every year the fifth grade puts on a play for the whole school,” she told me, licking her fingers. “Our class competes against the fifth graders in Buffalo Gulch. Mr. Sims doesn't know much about it either. Murray and I will tell you everything you need to know.” She reached for another slice.

“I don't think I can be in a play,” I said as visions of Ryan Morris danced in my head. Performing in front of a group of kids I didn't know? No way.

“You'll change your mind,” she said. “Everyone wants a part. It's a tradition.” She started poking around the boxes.

“Baker's stuff?” she read, looking inside a box and scrunching up her face. “You keep plastic dishes in your room?” she said, laughing.

“Oh, that. Um, no.” I put my pizza slice on the counter and walked over to the box she was talking about. “Mom was a little confused when we were
trying to leave,” I said. “I guess she marked that box wrong. I almost never keep plastic dishes in my room.” I closed the packing box. “Hardly ever, as a matter of fact.” I bit my bottom lip. What a stupid thing to say. I never kept dishes in my room at all.

“Whatever. Do you wear contacts?” she asked. “I started wearing mine when I was nine. I couldn't see a thing in third grade. I never could find my classroom. Contacts saved my life.” She fluttered her eyelashes at me. Then she wiped her hands on her jeans and popped one of her lenses out.

“See?” she said. She held the lens in the palm of her hand. “They're so tiny that I forget about them.”

“I have allergies. Contacts would make my eyes itch. Besides, uh, I don't even wear glasses.” There was something about this girl that made me say the dumbest things. I'd never been this self-conscious. But Hannah Wilson was making me nervous big-time.

“Murray wears contacts,” she said. “His are tinted blue, but I didn't want tinted ones.” She spit on her finger and put the contact back in her eye. “They make your eyes look fake, don't you think?” I thought about Sam and his crazy glasses with the bouncing eyeballs. Now, that was what I called fake.

“Murray?” I prompted. She had not stopped talking. I couldn't keep up with her. She moved from one subject to another faster than Gram's puppets.

“Your next-door neighbor and my best friend in the whole world. I'll bring him over later.” She walked to the kitchen window and pointed to a big tree in our backyard.

“See that pecan tree?” she said. I looked out the window and followed her pointing finger. “That's Murray's tree house. We used to have a club up there. I was president. But we don't have meetings there anymore now that we're older. We still hang out there. Maybe we'll let you come sometime.” She paused. “Well, I guess you can come since the tree house is in your yard. But Murray's dad built it.”

“I might be too busy to climb trees,” I said. I didn't know why I said that. I wanted to make friends and I was coming off like a dope. “Then again, maybe I will,” I said quickly.

“Whatever.” She shrugged. “Did you know the Millers?” she asked.

“No. Who are they?”

“The family that lived here before you.” She twirled a strand of red hair around her finger. “This house needed so many repairs, the Millers gave up and moved to Buffalo Gulch. Mr. Miller tried to fix things up, but after he fell through the roof twice, he put it on the market. He told my dad that the first fool that made an offer, he'd take it no matter what.” Hannah grinned. “And the next thing we knew, you guys were moving in.”

“My dad's no fool,” I said firmly. “He can fix anything. He's already started on the roof. He loved this old house when he was a kid. He always wanted to live in it. That's why he bought it. It's a fixer-upper.”

“That's a good way of putting it,” she said with a giggle.

“Well, it won't take long to restore it,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt. “My dad's a regular at Home Depot.”

Then Hannah's mom called for her. Hannah bounced on her feet. “Gotta go. But one more thing. What does Ricky Raccoon Productions mean?”

“How do you know about that?” I asked, surprised. She pointed to my shirt. I had forgotten I was wearing it. “I had a job working for my grandmother in Seattle,” I explained.