The Zippy Fix (14 page)

27

T
he next morning in the kitchen Stella lurked over me as I took my time with a bowl of crunchy Grape-Nuts.

“Tell me the truth,” she whispered. “Your mom bought that CD for you to give to me. I mean, you didn’t actually think of it yourself, right?”

“I thought of it. I saw your poster and—”

“You went into my
room?”

“Uh … when I woke you up I saw it.”

Stella eyed me.

“I bought it with my own money, too,” I added.

“What money?”

“I had some.”

Stella pinched her jaw, still looking at me.

“What?” I said.

“I’m trying to figure out if you’re telling the truth.”

“Do I look like I would lie?”

Stella laughed. “Cute comeback.”

“So how’d she like it?” Willy asked at school.

“She thinks my mom bought it for me to give to her.”

Willy frowned. “Well, that stinks.”

That evening after an early dinner Mom told Darci and me to brush our teeth, then she sat on the couch with a magazine and the pillow from her bed.

I nudged Darci. “Watch. She’ll be asleep in five minutes.”

We squeezed toothpaste onto our toothbrushes and crowded around the bathroom sink. Stella appeared in the mirror, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

I stopped brushing, and with foamy white toothpaste bubbling over my lips, garbled, “Wha—do—you—ont?”

“You and Darci want to hear something?”

I spat and dipped my head under the tap. “What is it?”

“Come to my room when you’re done.”

Stella left.

Darci and I glanced at each other. I spun circles around my ear with my finger. Darci giggled.

We crept down the hall to Stella’s room. The door was open. Stella was lying across her
bed with her feet on the wall, staring up at Chris Botti. Clarence’s flowers were in a vase on the windowsill. They glowed against the dusky sky.

“You can come in,” she said, without even looking to see that we were there. “Sit. Better yet, lie down.”

Darci and I sprawled on the floor. This is weird, I thought.

Stella rolled off her bed and went over to her CD player. Music came on. “This is Chris Botti.”

We listened. The music was nice. Peaceful.

“When’s he going to sing?” I asked.

“He’s a trumpet player, not a singer.”

“Oh.”

The music made me sleepy. But I liked the clean sound of Chris Botti’s trumpet. It made me think of the ocean.

“It makes me want to cry,” Stella whispered.

I looked up. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

We listened.

When Stella saw that Darci had fallen
asleep, she sighed and knelt to lift her up and carry her to her room. She stopped and looked down at me. “I know your mom didn’t buy this CD for you to give to me.”

“You do?”

“She told me.”

This was so strange. Stella was talking like a nice person, and not calling me names. I hoped she would never-ever-ever hear anything about Zippy and her pillow. That was over. Gone. Done.

Chris Botti played on.

“You can listen to the whole thing if you want.”

I did.

In fact, I almost fell asleep, too.

Sometime later, Stella nudged me with her foot. “I didn’t say you could sleep in here, honey.”

28

I
got up and stumbled out to my room.

Hatchet
lay where I’d tossed it on my lower bunk. I grabbed it and looked out the window. The dark mountains were sharp against the glow of the sun setting on the other side of the island. Maybe a half hour of sunlight left.

I took the book outside and sat on the
grass. Something moving in the weeds across the street caught my eye. It was black, and fat. Aw, man.

“Git!” I hissed. “Go home!”

Zippy slouched out of the weeds, ignoring me.

I shook my head and went back to
Hatchet
.

This is so strange, I thought. Stella picked this book out for me. Not only that, from the way Mom made it sound, she’d actually put some thought into choosing it, too.

I stared at the cover. Smelled the new pages.

What a crazy few days: the watermelon dress, me and Zippy ruining Stella’s date with Clarence, collecting cans, getting robbed, making shave ice, Chris Botti’s red hearts, and Tito’s kitten. Man oh man.

I remembered what Ledward had said about his old jeep, too:
If it’s broke, fix it. That’s all
.

I opened
Hatchet
and started reading.

It was good. I liked it.

The more I read, the wider my eyes got, because
Hatchet
was the ultimate fix-it story.

I looked up and smiled when I realized that something was missing—the crummy feeling.

I yawned.

Then nearly fell over when I saw that Zippy had sneaked past me and was cruising toward the house.

I scrambled up. “Scat! Get out of here!”

Zippy took off, heading toward the back of the house.

“Zippy, stop! Here kitty, kitty!”

He scooted around the corner.

“Come back here!”

I found him crouching in the weeds … right under Stella’s open window.

“Zippy,” I whispered.

I crouched, too, and tried to be still, to stop scaring him. Chris Botti drifted smoothly out the window.

“It’s me, Zippy. Remember?

The one who always saves you? You owe me, Zip. Come here.”

Zippy eyed me.

I inched closer and scooped him up, then sprinted to the front of the house. I dumped him in the weeds across the street. “Go home! Git!”

Zippy headed into the bushes.

Thirty seconds later he swaggered back out and plopped down in the middle of the road.

“Come on, Zip,” I pleaded. “Give me a break.”

I promise, this really happened: Zippy grinned at me.

True fact.