down.”
“Uh-oh,” said Burke. “She knows.”
“Knows what?” I said.
“Who’s been messing up the shack,” said Burke.
“Yeah—Bump,” said Nacho. “We’re in the clear.”
“I don’t feel in the clear,” I said.
And then there she was, bouncing out the front door and across the porch and down the steps. She charged straight for us like a fullback. I wished we had cleared out. Her arm was coming up. I got ready to duck. I started to say, “Bump—” I never got to say did it because a massive grin broke across her face, and that was no fist on the end of her arm but a hand to shake. “You must be—let me guess—Jake?” She acted all proud of herself when I grunted and shook her hand. She got Burke and Nacho right too. She laughed out loud. “Nacho—I love it! Always wished I had a cool nickname.” She stepped back. “I’m Heather. Ernie’s mom.”
My memory is kind of fuzzy on some of this. Probably because it was one of the uncomfortablest times of my life. I mean, everybody knows how to deal with a goober. But how about a goober’s mom ? There’s no manual for that.
Mrs. Goober took another step back, as if to get us all in the picture. “So,” she said, and just grinned away. Here it comes , I thought: So you’re the hoodlums that have been terrorizing my son. She had short curly brown hair. And hoop earrings you could spit through. And a T-shirt that said I BRAKEFOR TURTLES . At last she went on, “Finally I get to meet you. I see you coming by all the time, talking to Ernie. Sometimes I’ve been tempted to come out and say hello, but I see you guys laughing and having a good time and I say, ‘Nah, stay outta their business.’ Was I right, guys?”
We glanced at each other. How are you supposed to answer that?
She laughed. “I retract the question.” She looked back over her shoulder at the paint-splashed, lopsided shack. “She’s a beauty, huh?”
Burke and I just nodded, but Nacho piped, “Absolutely.”
She shot a look at Nacho and her cheeks bulged and her lips quivered and a laugh just barfed out, she couldn’t hold it in, and I knew that in her howling laughter she was telling us that she knew that we knew it was the most ridiculous-looking building in the history of mankind. She wiped her eyes. “Well, Wednesday is your pal Ernie’s art lesson day, so I guess you’re stuck with me.” She looked us over again, giving us a grin that seemed like a secret behind a zipper. “I know, I know, you just want to get outta here, escape the old lady.”She gave a big dramatic shrug. “Sorry, guys.” She waved and headed for the house. “Come on in.” We stayed. She turned. The grin was gone. “I said come in.” We parked our bikes and followed her into the house.
She led us to the kitchen. She gave us lemonade to drink. (“We don’t believe in soda, dudes.”) And food. Oatmeal cookies. Brownies. Carrot sticks. Onion dip. Blue corn chips. (“Sorry, no nachos, Nacho.” She giggled for a whole minute over that one.)
She asked a lot of questions. She wanted to know everything about us, like she was writing a book or something. I don’t mean she was grilling us. It was all friendly. She seemed so interested, nodding her head and saying, “Really?” and “Is that so?” The more she nodded, the more we talked. I found out stuff about Nacho and Burke I never knew. And when Burke pointed to me and said, “He’s a twin,” and Nacho said, “His twin is a sister,” she went bonkers.
“Wow—Jake—no kidding? I always thought it would be so cool to have a twin. What’s it like?” Before I could answer, she said, “Never mind. Dumbquestion. Way too broad. Okay—what’s her name?”
“Whose name?” I said.
That really cracked her up. I think she thought I was trying to be a comic. “Your twin sister ,” she said.
“Lily,” I said.
“Lily.” She smiled. She repeated it, like she was tasting it. “Lily.” The smile got dreamy. “Jake and
“Uh-oh,” said Burke. “She knows.”
“Knows what?” I said.
“Who’s been messing up the shack,” said Burke.
“Yeah—Bump,” said Nacho. “We’re in the clear.”
“I don’t feel in the clear,” I said.
And then there she was, bouncing out the front door and across the porch and down the steps. She charged straight for us like a fullback. I wished we had cleared out. Her arm was coming up. I got ready to duck. I started to say, “Bump—” I never got to say did it because a massive grin broke across her face, and that was no fist on the end of her arm but a hand to shake. “You must be—let me guess—Jake?” She acted all proud of herself when I grunted and shook her hand. She got Burke and Nacho right too. She laughed out loud. “Nacho—I love it! Always wished I had a cool nickname.” She stepped back. “I’m Heather. Ernie’s mom.”
My memory is kind of fuzzy on some of this. Probably because it was one of the uncomfortablest times of my life. I mean, everybody knows how to deal with a goober. But how about a goober’s mom ? There’s no manual for that.
Mrs. Goober took another step back, as if to get us all in the picture. “So,” she said, and just grinned away. Here it comes , I thought: So you’re the hoodlums that have been terrorizing my son. She had short curly brown hair. And hoop earrings you could spit through. And a T-shirt that said I BRAKEFOR TURTLES . At last she went on, “Finally I get to meet you. I see you coming by all the time, talking to Ernie. Sometimes I’ve been tempted to come out and say hello, but I see you guys laughing and having a good time and I say, ‘Nah, stay outta their business.’ Was I right, guys?”
We glanced at each other. How are you supposed to answer that?
She laughed. “I retract the question.” She looked back over her shoulder at the paint-splashed, lopsided shack. “She’s a beauty, huh?”
Burke and I just nodded, but Nacho piped, “Absolutely.”
She shot a look at Nacho and her cheeks bulged and her lips quivered and a laugh just barfed out, she couldn’t hold it in, and I knew that in her howling laughter she was telling us that she knew that we knew it was the most ridiculous-looking building in the history of mankind. She wiped her eyes. “Well, Wednesday is your pal Ernie’s art lesson day, so I guess you’re stuck with me.” She looked us over again, giving us a grin that seemed like a secret behind a zipper. “I know, I know, you just want to get outta here, escape the old lady.”She gave a big dramatic shrug. “Sorry, guys.” She waved and headed for the house. “Come on in.” We stayed. She turned. The grin was gone. “I said come in.” We parked our bikes and followed her into the house.
She led us to the kitchen. She gave us lemonade to drink. (“We don’t believe in soda, dudes.”) And food. Oatmeal cookies. Brownies. Carrot sticks. Onion dip. Blue corn chips. (“Sorry, no nachos, Nacho.” She giggled for a whole minute over that one.)
She asked a lot of questions. She wanted to know everything about us, like she was writing a book or something. I don’t mean she was grilling us. It was all friendly. She seemed so interested, nodding her head and saying, “Really?” and “Is that so?” The more she nodded, the more we talked. I found out stuff about Nacho and Burke I never knew. And when Burke pointed to me and said, “He’s a twin,” and Nacho said, “His twin is a sister,” she went bonkers.
“Wow—Jake—no kidding? I always thought it would be so cool to have a twin. What’s it like?” Before I could answer, she said, “Never mind. Dumbquestion. Way too broad. Okay—what’s her name?”
“Whose name?” I said.
That really cracked her up. I think she thought I was trying to be a comic. “Your twin sister ,” she said.
“Lily,” I said.
“Lily.” She smiled. She repeated it, like she was tasting it. “Lily.” The smile got dreamy. “Jake and
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