The Graham Cracker Plot (13 page)

Fred wandered through the guy's flowers, stopping to chew a stem. “Fred!” Graham held out a Beefy Bit. Fred plowed through the flowers, kicking up some yellow petals. He leaped at Graham, who managed to get the leash on Fred while he scarfed up the Beefy Bit. Thank you, inventor of the Beefy Bit!

“You better have a bag to clean up that mess!” The man's growl was scarier than Fred's. Scarier than yours, Judge Henry!

Graham opened the truck door and pushed Fred into the truck. “I've got some bags. I'll clean it up.”

“Is that a pony in your pickup? What in God's name are you doing with that pony? Who's in charge here?”

The sides of the truck covered the bottom half of Honey's body. I'd been hoping people would think she was one of those big, weird-looking dogs from Europe. But I guess Honey looked exactly like a tiny horse.

Fred barked as the man walked around the pickup to talk to Ashley. The man said something about the law and leashes and why we were parked there and why we had a pony. At the same time, Ashley yelled something about him not owning the street and he wasn't the boss of us and she was going to call the cops if he didn't back off.

Call the cops? What was she thinking?

Graham tapped the man on the shoulder and held up a plastic grocery bag like a peace gesture. I could see the dark turds in the bottom of the bag.

The man yelled something at Graham and marched toward his house. Graham got into the truck with the bag.

“We gotta find another place to park. Ashley, drive around the block.”

I gagged and plugged my nose as Ashley started the truck. As soon as we were moving, Ashley tossed the poop bag into the man's yard.

*   *   *

We parked one block from the Club Fed cafeteria. I didn't see any fed-mates or guards, not even Aaron. He once told Grandma and me that he walked the grounds during lunch for exercise. He probably just said it to impress my thin-and-trim Grandma.

But the fence—oh man. It was higher than I remembered. A lot higher. Beyond the fence was the prison lawn. It stretched up a hill that went flat and turned into a big cement patio. That's where fed-mates would be smoking, including the Chemist.

“Crap!” Graham said. “I don't think you'll clear the fence with those wire cutters. That's way taller than our practice tree.”

“
That's
a prison?” Ashley peeked over the top of her sunglasses. “Where are the lights and guards? Why are there so many buildings?”

We'd gone over the map with Ashley about a million times. I don't know if she was nervous or just forgetful. So I gave her the red notebook. “Check it out. Again.”

“Seriously,” Graham said. “You'll never get that wire cutter over the fence.”

“I will. I have to.
”

Ashley tossed the red notebook to me. “I don't get it. Why don't you just cut a hole in the fence?”

Graham shook his head. “A wire cutter couldn't get through the body of the fence. See how the fence is all crisscrossed? That's heavy-duty steel. Doesn't matter how strong you are. You'd need a train. Or dynamite.”

“Then why the hell are we throwing wire cutters to the Chemist?” Ashley threw her hands in the air.

I pointed at the top of the fence. “That curly razor wire at the top is thin. It's not heavy at all. But it's so sharp it'd shred his body if he tried to climb it. He can't cut the main fence, but he can cut that razor wire. That's why he needs wire cutters.

“The Chemist can climb that fence in seconds, even holding wire cutters. Then he'll snip razor wire like it's string and jump over.”

Graham nodded proudly. “Then he's in the truck, and we're on the road.”

“Oh.” That's all Ashley said.

“And I'm the distraction,” Graham said. “Daisy's the thrower. And Ashley, you will just hold Fred's leash until I'm ready for him to chase me and Honey.” Graham pointed to the right side of the street. “Ashley, it's important. Don't let go of Fred until I'm ready for him to chase me and Honey. Wait until I'm close to the fence. I'll yell, and you throw treats toward me. When he gets closer to me, I drop more treats and I'll be screaming like he's attacking. So it's me, Honey, Fred, and the Beefy Bits.” He patted his old-man pants pocket. “And my ketchup-blood for fake blood.”

Ashley looked a little foggy. I elbowed her. “You get it? Listen for Graham to yell. Throw dog treats at Graham. Let Fred go after the treats. The Beefy Bits will do all the work. Then all you have to do is get in the pickup and drive to where I'm standing.”

“So I have to drive over the curb and sidewalk?”

I wanted to shake her. “YES! Because I will be standing by the fence with the Chemist. Drive! To! Me!”

I didn't think she heard me. She just stared at the fence. Graham said, “Ashley? Don't float away on us now.”

“I remember these lines.” Ashley took off her sunglasses and set them on the dash. She rubbed her eyes. “It's like a poem or a song. So strange. I can't remember my neighbor's name, but these lines never leave. I think the doctors put words in my brain when my skull cracked open. Then they stitched me up and forgot to take out the words.”

Ashley's face looked sad. She took a breath and said,

We did not dare to breathe a prayer,

Or to give our anguish scope:

Something was dead in each of us,

And what was dead was Hope.

The creepy jitters got ahold of me. I think they got Graham, too, on account of how he was staring at Ashley.

“Now I understand,” Ashley said. “I think those words have been waiting for this very moment. For that fence.” She grabbed three tubes of lipstick from her purse and left the truck with a slam.

We watched as she dug through the stuff in back. “Can you explain what's going on?” I asked Graham.

“Can't even guess,” Graham said as he checked both pockets one more time for Beefy Bits and the ketchup bottle.

Ashley spread a sheet over the sidewalk behind us, down by the mailbox. She began drawing on the sheet with her lipstick.
What? Why?
I felt a scream coming, so I swallowed hard. It was one of those screams that would shake the ground, so I had to suck it inside and hope I didn't explode.

“I think we're losing Ashley,” Graham said. “We need a backup plan.”

I slapped the dashboard. “If she just sits there, the cops are going to grab her. They'll get it out of her. She'll tell them all about us hiding out in Canada.”

“Maybe she'll forget that part.”

“We've got no choice. We need an idea.” I held out my hand. “Give me the coin.”

“Too risky. We're gonna need it later. The energy is weak!”

I couldn't believe it. He didn't make any sense. “We've been saving it for this moment.”

“We'll need it on the road.”

“We won't even get on the road if we don't use it now!”

His lips were firm. “We have a plan. It's simple. You at the fence. Me on the horse. Ashley sending Fred after me, then driving to you and the Chemist. Done.”

Something seemed wrong. “Graham, give me the coin. Now.”

He crossed his arms. I smacked his shoulder.

“Graham, give me the coin!”

“Or what?”

“I will wrestle you to the ground and reach inside those stinky-old-man pockets and take it.” He stared at me with the meanest eyes he could make. “You know I can take you down, Graham Cracker! Your arms are toothpicks! I'll break them in two! And I'll spit in your face—the biggest, longest, stringiest lugy you've ever seen!”

He dug in his pocket. “Fine. Screw everything up.” He smacked the coin against my forehead, above my left eyebrow.

“Think.” Graham sneered. “Hurry up and be brilliant. We have, like, five minutes.”

I squirmed. “It doesn't work that way. Get your hand off my head!” I grabbed his arm with one hand and stuck my elbow into his ribs. He gasped, and the coin dropped in my lap. “Owww!” he hollered. “You hurt me!”

“I warned you!”

I picked up the coin. It was shiny. Too shiny. Then I saw the date. “1987? That's not right. Check your other pocket.”

When I saw his face, I knew.

I knew he didn't find the Idea Coin.

I knew it didn't roll under the kitchen rug.

I knew the farmhouse had sucked our Idea Coin to somewhere mysterious, maybe in its vents or pipes or its big farmhouse stomach. It was revenge. Revenge for tipping the refrigerator and stealing food and twisting and shouting where we didn't belong.

Graham pretended to find the Idea Coin to make me calm. Graham lied to me.

 

DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

Have you ever been shocked? Like really shocked? Not electricity shocked, but brain shocked, when your skull squeezes your brain so hard it's about to turn into goop and ooze from your ears. My tight skull wouldn't let my brain feel or think. I could move, but I wasn't feeling or thinking. I was stuck on forward.

“I didn't want to lie about the Idea Coin, but you were so sad.” Graham's voice was husky. “And I thought you'd give up.”

So tight. Couldn't even frown. I got out of the truck. Graham did, too. In my flowing granny gown, I whipped back my arm and threw the 1987 coin as hard as I could. It clinked against the curb and rolled down the drain.

“Let's hope your aim is that good with the wire cutters,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Let's hope.”

*   *   *

Then it was time.

I saw the group of fed-mates with orange uniforms leave the cafeteria and light cigarettes. My eyes swept the group for the Chemist. I saw a thin, tall guy with a crew cut talking to someone with thick black hair. That tall, thin guy with the crew cut was the Chemist. I was sure.

I set the wire cutters on the pavement. Not only did I have to hurl the wire cutters, now I had to get Fred ready so Graham could ride off with Honey and fake his big injury. As for the truck, the Chemist and I would have to run to it. We'd lose time, but there wasn't another option. Ashley had lost herself in some art project.

I gave Fred a snuggle and tried to excite him with a treat. “Wanna Beefy Bit? Wanna Beefy Bit? Sure you do. Good boy! Good boy!”

I heard Graham clanging around and in a minute he was standing next to the truck with Honey.

“Honey respects me,” Graham said. “She followed me off the truck bed, right down the board.”

“Ashley,” I called. “If you're going to help, we sure could use it now.”

She mumbled something and threw a lipstick tube over her shoulder.

“Forget her. We don't have time for her.” Graham tried to put his right leg over Honey's back. She was none too happy about it. Her lips snarled back and she bit at him. Meanwhile, Fred whined for the Beefy Bit I'd been teasing him with.

“Hurry up, cowboy!” I said.

“You think it's so easy? It's not.”

Graham did a sort of step-leap and got on her back. He smiled. “Now this is a distraction!”

“Then go!”

But Honey wouldn't move, even when he slapped her backside. Even when I pushed her backside. “If she won't walk,” I said, “there's no way you'll get her to run.”

A woman on a bicycle stopped in the street next to us. She was one of those superbikers with a helmet, gloves, tight shorts, and a little basket with water, sunscreen, and a wallet. “Hey there!” she said. “You're not supposed to ride the little horses. Their backs aren't meant to handle weight. They're show horses. They're pets.”

A good idea hit me, so good that someday I'll list my best ideas and this will be number one. Who needed a stupid coin? I pulled Fred with me as I walked to the lady. I asked her, “Are mini-horses slower than bikes?”

She said, “Excuse me?”

I knew the answer: of course she could bike faster than Graham playing cowboy on a mini-horse! This lady was much, much better. Fred wouldn't care
who
he chased as long as he thought he was chasing Beefy Bits.

“Lady, would you turn your bike the other way?”

“Excuse me?”

“Just turn your bike around for a second.”

She whirled around so she was facing the prison. “And what does this prove?”

“I think it's going to prove that bikes are faster than mini-horses.” I said to Fred, “Wanna treat? Wanna treat?” Then I threw a handful of Beefy Bits into the lady's bike basket and said, “Go get 'em!”

Fred jumped and ripped the leash right out of my hand. He barked and leaped toward the lady teeth first, and man, I'll tell you, that lady can
ride
. And scream. She was louder than barking Fred, his leash still attached, slithering on the street behind him.

Honey wouldn't move, so Graham jumped off and ran after Fred who ran after the lady who biked toward Club Fed. Graham clutched the ketchup in his fist.