The Zippy Fix (7 page)

“Man!” Willy gasped. “It’s big as a mouse!” We backed off.

I got a butter knife out of the silverware drawer and flipped the roach over and waited for it to lug itself into the dark place under the shelf. Mom always stomped on them with her rubber slippers. But I hated to see the white guts come out.

I stuck the knife blade into the can’s drinking hole and dropped the can into the grocery bag with the others.

“What are you twerps doing?” Willy and I looked back over our shoulders.

Stella glared down on us. From that angle she seemed ten feet tall.

“Uhh,” I sputtered. “We … uh … we’re just, uh, taking these cans to … to … to make … a fort … yeah, a
fort … for Willy’s … uh … for Willy’s army men.”

Willy looked at me.

“A big fort,” I added, seeing the story now. “He has these little rubber army guys, hundreds of them, thousands, maybe, and we’re going to set them up and knock them down with … with … with rubber bands.”

“And gravel,” Willy said, catching on.

“And marbles.”

I grinned at Stella.

Her face was as expressionless as a pancake. “You are so pathetic … both of you. And weird, too. How can you even live with yourselves?”

She grabbed a Diet Sprite and left the kitchen.

Willy turned to me. “Little rubber army guys?”

“I had to think of something.”

“Actually, I do have a box of them.”

“How about cans?”

We headed down to Willy’s house with nine aluminum cans clacking together in the paper grocery bag.

Ahead, the black blob was lying out in the middle of the road again. A car turned onto our street and hit the brakes. The driver honked, but all Zippy did was raise his head as if to say, Can we get a little quiet here? Jeese.

The car drove around him.

Willy laughed. “Hey, there’s Maya.”

She was sitting on her skateboard in her front yard. Mayleen, Maya’s older sister, was sitting on her heels behind Maya, braiding her hair.

I gave the cans to Willy and grabbed Zippy off the street.

“What’s going on?” Maya asked.

I set the Zipster on the grass. “How come you don’t care if Zippy’s always in the street?”

Maya shrugged. “He does what he does. You can handcuff him to the mailbox if you want.”

Zippy stood motionless, staring at nothing. That cat was in a class by himself. Maya blocked the sun with her hand. “Hi, Willy.”

Willy hesitated. “Uh …”

“Well, anyway,” I said, “we’re collecting cans. Got any we can have?”

“Go ask my mom. She’s cleaning out the car.”

We found Mrs. Medeiros with her legs sticking out the open car door. We waited until she wiggled herself back out, her hands full of car junk.

Including a crushed pop can.

Mrs. Medeiros smiled when she saw us. “Well, hello, Calvin and Willy. What are you two up to?”

I shrugged. “Nothing. Can I have that pop can, Mrs. Medeiros? I’m collecting them.”

“Sure.” She handed it to me.

“You got any more we can have?”

Mrs. Medeiros threw the junk away and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Inside. Let’s go look.”

Me and Willy walked away from Maya’s house with eighteen new pop cans.

“Bye, Willy,” Maya called.

I whispered, “She likes you.”

Willy shoved me. “Shuddup!”

I staggered, laughing.

Surprising Stella was actually kind of fun. The crummy feeling was still there, but it was shrinking.

13

W
e
got thirteen ginger ale cans at Mrs. Nakashima’s house and seventeen Diet Coke cans at Willy’s. Now we had so many we had to get a couple more grocery bags.

We went out to the patio and sat at a table with a shady umbrella in the middle. The
grass in Willy’s backyard was freshly mowed. It smelled good.

We dumped the cans onto the table and counted them.

Fifty-seven!

“What’s fifty-seven times five cents?”

“Wait.” Willy ran into the house and came back with a pencil and a piece of paper. “Okay … let’s figure it out… oh, and here’s four quarters I had in my room.”

“But—”

“It’s a loan. Don’t worry about it.”

“Fine, a loan.” I grabbed the pencil. “So, fifty-seven times five.”

Willy hunched close. “How much is it?”

I frowned at my calculation. Making money was
not
easy, especially when you’re running out of time. “Three dollars and eighty-five cents, including your four quarters.”

“That’s it?”

I nodded. It was as depressing as two pages of word problems.

“Stella was right,” I said. “We’re pathetic.”

14

W
e were getting tired of carrying three bags of pop cans around, so we decided to head over to Kalapawai Market and turn them into cash.

On the way we saw Maya skateboarding in the street, cool and easy, like a good surfer. She saw us and zoomed over. “Looks like you
got a few more cans,” she said, kicking her skateboard up into her hands.

“Fifty-seven.”

“Why you collecting them, anyway?”

“Make money. I need to buy Stella a birthday present.”

“I thought you didn’t like her.”

I shrugged.

“I heard she calls you Stump.”

I squinted. “Who told you that?”

“Darci.”

The little brat.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about. Come,” I said, wanting to change the subject. “We’re going to Kalapawai to cash them in.”

Maya dropped her skateboard. “Boring.” She zipped off, curving and ducking and standing with her back swayed like a surfer on the cover of a magazine.

“She’s good,” Willy said.

“Yep.”

Kalapawai Market was a green and white
wood building that had been there since forever. They sold hats, maps, T-shirts, snacks, newspapers, groceries, postcards, ice cream, dried squid, cuttlefish, beach chairs, and anything else you needed.

Plus they gave you cash for your pop cans.

I stopped to recount what we had one last time. “Still fifty-seven. And a few ants. But no cock-a-roaches.”

Willy grinned.
“Man
, that thing was big.”

“Your cousin.”

“Shuddup!”

Boy, did I feel good. I was with Willy and we were about to get rich. The day just kept getting better and better.