The Zippy Fix (3 page)

Mom covered her mouth, nearly laughing, too.

Stella’s smile fell off her face. Her lips puckered and a squint shrank her eyes to olive pits.

What? Did I say something wrong?

Stella strode over and bent close, hands on her hips, her face inches from mine. “I look like a
what
?”

“Uh … a watermelon? You know, green?” What was the big deal?

“Well, you look like a tree stump.”

I frowned. So I wasn’t nine feet tall. So what?

Mom grabbed Stella by the shoulders and spun her around. “Let’s go to my room and see if we can find just the right necklace to go with that dress. Oh my goodness, your mother would be
so proud to
see you now.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Stella whispered, and followed Mom down the hall.

I turned to Darci and spread my arms. “What’d I do?”

Darci grinned. “A watermelon?”

5

I
absolutely did not have a problem following Rule Number Five on Mr. Purdy’s list of fourth-grade boot camp rules: Be kind and respectful to others.

But when it came to Stella, it was really, really,
really
hard.

“Well, lookie, lookie,” she said the next
morning when I stumbled into the kitchen. “Stump’s up.”

“Don’t call me Stump,” I mumbled, barely awake.

Stella was bagging Darci’s school lunch. I put my hand up to shield my eyes from the bright sunlight streaming through the window.

“What’s wrong with Stump?” Stella said. “It’s a term of endearment, like Little Man or Peewee.”

“Where’s Mom?”

“A term of endearment is something nice you … you …
ah-choo!…
say about someone you like.” She started to sneeze again but pinched her nose to stop it.

Something nice. Right.

I frowned and noticed her eyes were kind of puffy. I shrugged and took a bowl and a box of Rice Krispies and sat at the counter. “Watermelon,” I mumbled to myself.

“Oh,” Stella said, as if she’d just remembered something. “I dropped my hairbrush and it bounced under my bed, and I need
somebody really, really short to walk under there and get it for me, can you do that, honey? I’d be forever grateful.”

“Hardy-har-har.”

Stella sneezed again. “No, really, what’s it like being a pygmy?”

“Mom! Stella’s being mean to me!”

“I’m not being mean, honey. I’m just having some fun with you. Don’t you know what fun is? It’s when people are happy. They laugh and have a good time.”

She pinched my cheek.

I jerked away. “Weirdo.”

Stella smiled. “I feel good today.”

“Why?”

“A stump would never understand.”

“Don’t call me
Stump
!”

“Stump. Peewee. Pygmy. Pip-squeak.
Squirt. Half-pint. Elfie. Runt. Shrimp. Shorty. Midget. Which one works for you?”

“Mom!”

“She can’t hear you. She’s getting ready for work.”

I turned my back on Stella and reached into the cereal box for a handful of Rice Krispies. I was too tired to get the milk.

“Don’t stick your filthy hands in there!” Stella snapped. “Other people eat Rice Krispies, too, you know.”

Darci came blinking into the sunny kitchen and sat on the stool next to me. She was still in her pajamas. Pillow marks crisscrossed her cheek.

Stella slapped a bowl, a spoon, and a carton of milk in front of her. “Eat like a human being, not like your brother, the monkey.”

Darci yawned and stretched. “Where’s Mom?”

“Right here,” Mom said, hurrying into the kitchen. “And as usual, I’m running late. Stella, will you … What happened to your eyes? Are your allergies acting up again?”

Stella sneezed. “No … I don’t think so.”

“Have you been around any cats?”

My ears perked up. Cats?

Stella shook her head.

Mom waved it off. “Your eyes are a little puffy, that’s all. Anyway, will you see that Calvin and Darci leave for school in about ten minutes?”

“Sure.”

Mom grabbed a brown-spotted banana and headed for the door. She stopped and looked
back. “So, Stella… I’m curious … what’s his name?”

“Who?”

“The new guy?”

Yeah, I thought. What kind of name would a pink-car guy have?

Stella hesitated. “It’s … Clarence.”

Mom cocked her head. “Now, that’s a name you don’t hear too often.”

“He’s a senior.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to meeting him.” Mom blew us a kiss and left.

I turned to Stella. “Who’s Clarence?”

“Who’s short?”

All that day at school it was like a Stella chant running through my head:
Stump, Pygmy, Peewee. Stump, Pygmy, Peewee
. I had to stop this short stuff before it got out of hand and spread to school. I could almost hear big sixth-grade bully Tito Andrade and his friend Frankie Diamond shouting, “Hey, Coco-stump! Howzit?

Whatchoo say, Coco-short, can I use your head for an armrest? Bwahahahaha!”

Dumb Stella. It just wasn’t right.

And that night she kept on teasing me.

By the next morning I’d had enough.

So I did something about it.

6

I
t was hot and muggy that morning. No breeze. The ironwood trees across the street were completely still.

I went over to Julio’s house, thinking maybe we’d grab Willy and go to the beach or something. It was Friday, but it was a Teachers’ Day, so we had it off, even Stella.

I knocked on Julio’s door.

As I waited for someone to answer I glanced down the street and saw Zippy wander out of Maya’s garage. He stopped and looked toward me, as if to say, Hey.

I watched as he lumbered into the street for another hard day of trying to get murdered by a car.

I shook my head.

“S’up?” Julio yawned and swung the screen door open.

“He’s out there again.” I turned toward Zippy.

Julio humphed. “Still black, too.”

“Yeah. Hey, you want to do something?”

“Sure. What?”

An idea was brewing. “You know how I picked Zippy up a couple days ago? And you know Stella and how I told you she’s allergic to cats? Well, listen to this: yesterday she sneezed a lot and I think it’s because of I had Zippy all over me. Her eyes got puffy, too. I mean, how else would they get puffy?”