The Lemonade Crime (11 page)

"Hey," said Evan.

"What?" said Scott. "What do you want?"

Evan hadn't rehearsed what he was going to say, and now that he had Scott's angry face right in front of him, it was hard to come up with anything on the spot. He stood there for a minute, his mind a blank. What
had
he come here for?

And then he said the only thing he could think of. "I wanted to see your new 20/20."

That changed everything. Scott stopped scowling, and his arms loosened up. He waited just a second before saying, "Okay." Then he stepped back to let Evan through. That's how it had been, ever since they were little: Scott Spencer liked showing off his new toys.

Evan followed Scott down the flight of stairs to the finished basement, which was a combination playroom and family room. It was mostly the way that Evan remembered it: two couches, the computer desk, the file cabinet with the locked-up snacks, bins of toys and building things, sports equipment, the swinging chair that hung from the ceiling, an electronic keyboard, and a treadmill. The thing that caught his eye, though, was the new TV It was enormous, the biggest flat-screen plasma that Evan had ever seen in his whole life.

"Wow!" said Evan.

Scott smiled. "Yeah, my dad bought that a few weeks ago. Cool, huh?"

Evan noticed the sleek white box hooked up to the TV "Is that the 20/20?" he asked. "Wow, it's so small."

"Yeah, but watch what it can do."

Scott handed him two thick gloves that looked like hockey gloves, except that they were white, and a pair of heavy, dark goggles that wrapped all the way around his head. Evan took off his baseball cap and put the gloves and goggles on, then Scott pushed a button on the box. The next thing Evan knew, he was driving a car on a racetrack, with other cars whipping past him at about 120 miles per hour.

"Whoa!" shouted Evan.

"Turn to your right! With your gloves! Pretend you're holding a steering wheel and turn to your right!" screamed Scott.

Evan just barely missed crashing into the haystack barriers that protected the curves of the racetrack. He quickly grabbed hold of an imaginary steering wheel and got himself back on the road.

"Squeeze your right hand to go faster, and your left hand to slow down," said Scott, turning up the volume so that the roar of the racecars filled Evan's ears. Evan could practically smell the exhaust fumes.

For the next five minutes, Evan took the ride of his life. He had never, ever played on a game system that was so much fun. No wonder Scott couldn't stop talking about it.

"Scott. Scott!" yelled a voice from behind.

Evan turned and whipped off the goggles. Mr. Spencer was standing at the top of the stairs. Scott jumped to turn down the volume on the TV

"I've been calling you for the last five minutes. Will you turn that thing down? Do you have any idea how loud it is?"

"Sorry, Dad," said Scott. "We were just playing Road Rage."

"Well, you're going to blow out the speakers on the TV, and then
you'll
be the one to buy me a new one. And don't think I won't hold you to that. I didn't spend five thousand dollars on a new TV just so you could destroy it with your video games. That's an expensive piece of equipment, and you need to learn how to treat it with respect. Now keep it down. I'm trying to work."

"Yes, sir," said Scott.

Mr. Spencer turned and disappeared at the top of the stairs.

Scott picked up a baseball and started throwing it back and forth in his hands. Evan wasn't sure what to do. He put the gloves and goggles down on the floor. The racecars were still zooming by on the TV screen, but without any sound, they seemed silly and fake.

"Your dad works a lot, huh?" said Evan.

"Even on a Saturday," said Scott, throwing the ball.

"My mom works a lot, too," said Evan, but in his head he thought,
But at least she doesn't yell at us for making noise.

"Yeah, whatever," said Scott. "You wanna play Crisis? It's cool." And with that, he chucked the baseball to the corner of the room. Only it was harder than a chuck, and his aim was off. Way off. The ball winged across the room and caught the corner of the TV screen. There was a loud crash, and then the TV went dead.

Both boys froze. Evan couldn't make a sound. He felt like he had a sock stuffed down his throat. There was a foot-long crack in the TV screen and a bunch of smaller cracks that looked like a spider web. The house was completely silent except for the noise of Mr. Spencer's footsteps running down the stairs. And then he was there, standing in the doorway, staring at the TV.

"Did you do that on purpose?" he shouted at Scott.

"No!" said Scott. "I didn't..."

"Because you are going to pay for that. Every penny of it. Your allowance, your birthday money—forget Christmas presents this year. Do you understand?" A vein popped out on Mr. Spencer's forehead, like something in an alien movie. Every time he said a word that started with
p
—
pay, penny, presents
—white flecks of spit flew out of his mouth. Evan thought he was going to explode or something.

"Dad, I didn't..."

"That television is brand-new.
Brand-new,
do you hear me?"

Evan took half a sideways step toward Scott. "We're sorry. We didn't mean to do it. It was an accident."

Mr. Spencer looked at Evan for the first time since coming downstairs. It was almost like he'd forgotten there was anyone else in the room. Slowly, he breathed in and out. His teeth were clenched; his jaw was as hard as a rock wall. "Did
you
throw the ball?"

"No, but, we were, you know, playing, and the ball just kind of—hit the TV by mistake. We didn't do it on purpose." Evan was scared, but he couldn't help thinking what a jerk Mr. Spencer was. Sure, his mom got mad—plenty of times—and sometimes she yelled, but not when it was an honest accident.

"We're sorry, Dad," said Scott in a low voice.

"Well, that doesn't fix the TV, does it?" said Mr. Spencer. Without another word, he walked out.

The room was quiet.

"Okay, then," said Evan, just to fill the awkward silence.

Scott looked down at the ground. "Yeah," he said. He looked like his dog had just died.

Evan picked up his baseball cap and jammed it on his head, backwards. "So, this was fun," he said, deadpan, but Scott didn't smile, or even lift his eyes off the floor. Evan could understand. It was lousy when your own parent yelled like that in front of another kid. It made you feel like your whole family was just dirt. Scott probably wanted him to leave.

"Well, I'd better get home."

"Okay," said Scott. "And thanks. You know. For stepping in like that."

"Sure. No problem."

"'Cause, like, my dad loves that TV. I mean, he really loves it. So thanks."

"It's what friends do," said Evan, turning to leave. That caught him by surprise. He hadn't meant to say
that.
It was a little hard to think of Scott as a friend after everything that had happened. But—where were they? He and Scott? Not friends. But not enemies. Somewhere between. Someplace that didn't have a name, or even any rules.

Evan scratched the back of his neck. "So, you know, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry about the basketball game yesterday and the trial and everything. Look, you say you didn't take the money, and that means you didn't take the money. And I'm sorry I made such a big deal out of it and that I was such a jerk."

Scott nodded his head once. "Yeah, well, forget about the Morning Meeting thing. You know, you and Jessie apologizing. Because—well, just forget about it."

Okay. Evan felt better. He felt better than he had all week. It was like he'd been carrying a backpack full of rocks for days and days, but now he felt so light, he could practically fly. And man, was he
hun
gry.
He could hear the chocolate chip cookies calling to him from all the way down the street.

Scott still looked pretty miserable, though, so Evan just said "See ya" and turned to leave.

He was at the top of the stairs when Scott called out, "Hang on." Evan turned and watched as Scott reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, then used it to unlock the file cabinet in the corner. Evan hoped he was going to offer him a Yodel for the road. A Yodel would taste pretty good right now.

But it wasn't a Yodel that Scott pulled out of the file cabinet. It was an envelope, and Evan recognized it right away.

It was Jessie's envelope. The one that had $208 in it.

Scott handed it to him. "I'm sorry I stole your money."

Evan took the fat envelope. He'd forgotten what a thick wad the $208 was. All that work. All that sweat. Mixing the lemonade and hauling it all over town and standing in the hot summer sun. And then having to tell Jessie that he'd lost the money. That had been the worst part of all.

"I guess you're pretty mad, huh?" said Scott.

Evan was surprised to hear himself say, "No." And surprised to know that he meant it. Maybe it was the crummy trial or the nasty basketball game or the fact that he hadn't eaten anything in nearly twenty-four hours. Whatever it was, Evan felt emptied out. There just wasn't any anger left inside him.

"Why'd you take it, though?" he asked, looking at the money.

Scott shrugged. "I don't know. 'Cause you had it, I guess."

"Oh," said Evan. That didn't make sense to him. It's not like Scott needed the money. After all, his parents bought him everything he wanted: the newest iPod, the best hockey skates, the biggest TV It just didn't make sense to Evan.

But some things never do.

"I gotta go," Evan said, stuffing the envelope into the front of his shorts. The sun was low in the sky, and his mother didn't let him ride his bike after dark. Soon, he'd go over to Adam's house for the big meal that marked the end of the Day of Atonement. "See you," he said to Scott.

"Yeah, later." They both walked out into the front yard, then Evan climbed on his bike.

"Hey!" shouted Evan as he pedaled down the driveway. "The next time a ball goes over the fence, it's got
your
name on it. You owe me for that!"

Evan didn't stick around to hear Scott's reply. It would come up again—the ball in the swamp—the next time they were messing around on the basketball court.