Zero Tolerance Meets the Alien Death Ray and Other (Mostly) Inappropriate Stories by David Lubar Page A
Authors: David Lubar
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rang.
I got up, and nearly fell flat on my face
before I could take a step. My legs were stiff from sitting so
long. The bell rang again.
I staggered down the stairs and opened the
door.
It was Big Otto.
"You owe us money," he said, speaking
through the cigar he had clamped in his jaw. It really stunk. He
pulled out a notebook. "Here we go. Ethan Spangler — two thousand
dollars."
I took a step back and shook my head. "I
don't owe you anything. It was just a game."
Otto laughed. "Don't try to back out now. We
can make it very unpleasant for people who refuse to pay their
debts." He grabbed the doorknob. With a flick of his wrist, he
snapped it off. He took a bite out of it and spat the metal onto
the porch. Then he grinned.
"Look — I'm just a kid," I told him. "I
don't have any money."
Otto kept grinning. "That's okay, kid. You
can work off your debt by mowing my lawn."
"No way." I'd already mowed enough lawns for
one summer. "I'm not going to do it."
"I'll bet you will."
I started to say something, but I realized
this would be a good time to take a break from betting. Besides,
one more lawn wouldn't kill me. I still had the rest of summer
vacation ahead of me.
"Might as well get started," Otto said as he
dragged me from the house. "I've got a big lawn. A real big lawn.
It takes about a month to get the whole thing cut."
And that's how I spent my summer
vacation.
Hats Off
Freddy and I were busting our butts cleaning
out his parents' tool shed. Freddy's father had offered us each a
couple of bucks to do the work, which was fine with me. Of course,
it turned out to be a lot more work than either of us counted
on.
"Man, it's amazing how much junk you can put
in one of these sheds," I said as I collapsed on the ground next to
a huge stack of tools and boxes.
"Tell me about it," Freddy said. He opened a
small box. I remembered it since it had weighed about eight million
pounds and I'd nearly busted my gut carrying it out of the
shed.
"What's in it?" I asked.
"Fishing magazines," Freddy said. "Dad
hasn't fished in years. Guess it goes in the recycling pile."
I helped him drag it over. We'd decided to
sort everything into three piles: recycle, keep, and throw out.
Toward the end of the cleanup, I opened a box that was filled with
hats.
"HEY DAD!" Freddy yelled toward the house.
"You want any hats?"
"No," his father called back through the
open window. "Toss 'em."
"We should keep these," I said, lifting one
of the hats from the box. It looked like a baseball cap, but it
didn't have a team name. All it said over the brim was ENERGY . I put it on my head.
And I felt great.
"Hey," Let's load those recyclables into
your Dad's van," I said.
"Hold on," Freddy said. "I'm beat."
"Not me," I said, lifting the box of
magazines. "I've got tons of —"
"Tons of what?" Freddy asked.
"Weird," I muttered. I'd been about to say energy.
"What?" Freddy asked again.
I reached into the hat box and grabbed
another one. It promised HAPPINESS. Before Freddy could say
anything, I plunked the hat on his head.
"All right!" Freddy shouted, grinning at me.
"Come on. Let's get moving. Man, I'm glad we're doing this." He
laughed and grabbed a box.
That was fine with me. We loaded the van.
I'd just put in the last box when I heard Freddy say, "Hey, what a
great surprise. There's Millard Thwaxton. Hey, Millard, how ya
doing?"
"Hold it, " I said, grabbing Freddy by the
arm. But it was too late. Millard was the meanest kid in town. And
Freddy just got his attention.
I snatched at Freddy's hat, figuring he was
too happy for our own good. It was stuck. I reached up and tried to
get mine off. It was stuck, too, like a jar lid that's threaded on
the wrong way. I felt it might come off if I worked on it, but I
didn't have the time right now. Millard was rumbling our way.
"Keep talking," I said, running toward the
back yard. I tore through the box of hats and searched for one that
might save us. I passed on ANGER and CURIOSITY .
I got up, and nearly fell flat on my face
before I could take a step. My legs were stiff from sitting so
long. The bell rang again.
I staggered down the stairs and opened the
door.
It was Big Otto.
"You owe us money," he said, speaking
through the cigar he had clamped in his jaw. It really stunk. He
pulled out a notebook. "Here we go. Ethan Spangler — two thousand
dollars."
I took a step back and shook my head. "I
don't owe you anything. It was just a game."
Otto laughed. "Don't try to back out now. We
can make it very unpleasant for people who refuse to pay their
debts." He grabbed the doorknob. With a flick of his wrist, he
snapped it off. He took a bite out of it and spat the metal onto
the porch. Then he grinned.
"Look — I'm just a kid," I told him. "I
don't have any money."
Otto kept grinning. "That's okay, kid. You
can work off your debt by mowing my lawn."
"No way." I'd already mowed enough lawns for
one summer. "I'm not going to do it."
"I'll bet you will."
I started to say something, but I realized
this would be a good time to take a break from betting. Besides,
one more lawn wouldn't kill me. I still had the rest of summer
vacation ahead of me.
"Might as well get started," Otto said as he
dragged me from the house. "I've got a big lawn. A real big lawn.
It takes about a month to get the whole thing cut."
And that's how I spent my summer
vacation.
Hats Off
Freddy and I were busting our butts cleaning
out his parents' tool shed. Freddy's father had offered us each a
couple of bucks to do the work, which was fine with me. Of course,
it turned out to be a lot more work than either of us counted
on.
"Man, it's amazing how much junk you can put
in one of these sheds," I said as I collapsed on the ground next to
a huge stack of tools and boxes.
"Tell me about it," Freddy said. He opened a
small box. I remembered it since it had weighed about eight million
pounds and I'd nearly busted my gut carrying it out of the
shed.
"What's in it?" I asked.
"Fishing magazines," Freddy said. "Dad
hasn't fished in years. Guess it goes in the recycling pile."
I helped him drag it over. We'd decided to
sort everything into three piles: recycle, keep, and throw out.
Toward the end of the cleanup, I opened a box that was filled with
hats.
"HEY DAD!" Freddy yelled toward the house.
"You want any hats?"
"No," his father called back through the
open window. "Toss 'em."
"We should keep these," I said, lifting one
of the hats from the box. It looked like a baseball cap, but it
didn't have a team name. All it said over the brim was ENERGY . I put it on my head.
And I felt great.
"Hey," Let's load those recyclables into
your Dad's van," I said.
"Hold on," Freddy said. "I'm beat."
"Not me," I said, lifting the box of
magazines. "I've got tons of —"
"Tons of what?" Freddy asked.
"Weird," I muttered. I'd been about to say energy.
"What?" Freddy asked again.
I reached into the hat box and grabbed
another one. It promised HAPPINESS. Before Freddy could say
anything, I plunked the hat on his head.
"All right!" Freddy shouted, grinning at me.
"Come on. Let's get moving. Man, I'm glad we're doing this." He
laughed and grabbed a box.
That was fine with me. We loaded the van.
I'd just put in the last box when I heard Freddy say, "Hey, what a
great surprise. There's Millard Thwaxton. Hey, Millard, how ya
doing?"
"Hold it, " I said, grabbing Freddy by the
arm. But it was too late. Millard was the meanest kid in town. And
Freddy just got his attention.
I snatched at Freddy's hat, figuring he was
too happy for our own good. It was stuck. I reached up and tried to
get mine off. It was stuck, too, like a jar lid that's threaded on
the wrong way. I felt it might come off if I worked on it, but I
didn't have the time right now. Millard was rumbling our way.
"Keep talking," I said, running toward the
back yard. I tore through the box of hats and searched for one that
might save us. I passed on ANGER and CURIOSITY .
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