If You’re Reading This, It’s Too Late (12 page)

“You know what I mean! Why do you have to be so . . . logical?”

“Because I have a brain and I use it. I thought you didn’t want us to be brain-dead —”

“OK. You’re right,” said Cass, who was feeling rather cheerful despite her morbid thoughts.

The bus lurched into gear — and Cass and Max-Ernest both rocked dangerously in their seats, Cass’s braids swinging. But Cass refrained from pointing it out.

“Hey, I was thinking we should have some kind of signal for emergencies,” she said, lowering her voice so the other students on the bus wouldn’t hear. “You know, since my mom took my cell phone away. Maybe you could call my house, ring once, hang up quick, call back, ring twice. ’Cause that would be like one short two long — which is
E M
in Esrom code, which is
M E
in Morse code. For Max-Ernest, get it? Then I’ll know to meet you in my backyard at midnight.”

She couldn’t tell whether he liked the idea or not. “That’s our signal then, OK?”

He nodded. Vaguely.

“So that was pretty cool, the way Yo-Yoji could tell the Sound Prism notes like that,” said Cass.

“Yeah, it was sick.”

In the solemn, matter-of-fact way Max-Ernest said this, he might as well have said “The cat is sick” or “I’m holding a stick.”

“Sick?”
repeated Cass with a laugh.

“It means, like, cool — right? Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yeah, it’s just — never mind.” She couldn’t believe Max-Ernest had used Yo-Yoji’s word. If it were anybody else, she would have thought he was being sarcastic.

“Anyway, I was sure the Sound Prism was saying
something,
but . . . Cabbage Face? It’s like something somebody would call you at school. . . .”

“Call
me
?” asked Max-Ernest. “Why would they call me that?”

“No, duh. Anybody. It just sounds like a mean name. . . . You think it’s another name for the Sound Prism? Because it’s round like a cabbage?”

Max-Ernest shook his head. “Then it would be
Cabbage Head
or just
The Cabbage.
”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Cass agreeably. “Besides, the Sound Prism is too pretty to have a name like that.”

She took a notebook out of her backpack and opened it to a page on which she’d written CLUES — CABBAGE FACE in big capital letters.

“What about some kind of warning or prophecy?” she asked.

“Like, if you don’t watch out your face will look like a cabbage? That doesn’t sound like much of a warning —
yo,
” he added. With all the flatness of “I must untangle my yo-yo” or “I will now be singing my so-lo.”

Oh no — not
yo,
too! Cass groaned to herself.

“Max-Ernest, can I tell you something, as your friend? Don’t say
yo.
Or
sick.
”

“But Yo-Yoji says them —”

“That’s different. He’s . . . Yo-Yoji. You . . . sound silly.”

Usually, because Max-Ernest was bad at emotions, you could say something like that without worrying about hurting his feelings (at least that’s what Cass told herself), but he looked so stricken that she immediately added, “I mean, Yo-Yoji sounds kind of silly, too.”

“But you said he didn’t! That’s what you meant, anyway.” Max-Ernest turned away from Cass and faced the window.

Cass studied the back of his spiky-haired head. What was wrong with him today?

“So have you tried putting Cabbage Face in the Decoder yet?” she asked.

Max-Ernest shook his head, still not looking at her. “I didn’t think you wanted me to. Yo-Yoji already figured it out, didn’t he?”

“That was just the notes — what about the words? I tried different combinations but I don’t think any of them work.”

Cass tapped Max-Ernest on the shoulder and he glanced at her notebook briefly.

Cabbage Cafe ´

A Cab Cafe ´ Beg

Beg a Cab Face

Ceca Fa Be Bag

“Well, I guess you don’t need me then — did Yo-Yoji do those with you?”

“No, I did them myself! I haven’t even seen Yo-Yoji since you did.”

“It doesn’t matter — none of them are right, anyway.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. I was just showing you.”

Max-Ernest nodded and started looking out the window again. What was so fascinating out there? Not the dry cleaner they were driving past. Cass couldn’t remember him ever being this quiet.

“So it’s Wednesday — are you coming to my grandfathers’?” she asked. “My mom said I could go even though I was grounded if I walked Sebastian. ’Cause that was kind of like a job.”

“No, I got stuff to do.”

“Oh.” She didn’t ask what stuff.

Were they in a fight? It sure seemed like they were, but with Max-Ernest, it was hard to tell.

“Besides, why don’t you just ask Yo-Yoji to come?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re a couple now, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

He turned to face her. “Aren’t you?”

“No!” Cass had never said the word more forcefully in her life. But Max-Ernest didn’t seem to hear it.

“Well, anyways, I was thinking, maybe you guys should be collaborators instead of us. He knows all about the three-point rule and backpacking and everything. I’ll bet Pietro would let him in the Terces Society if you asked. I’ll even give you guys the Decoder if you want. Do you want it?”

“No.”

“OK, I’ll keep it then. It could be helpful with homework, I guess.”

“Max-Ernest, why are you being like this?” Cass thought she knew the answer. It was just that it was so surprising it was hard to believe.

“Like what?”

“Like . . . crazy. Are you mad at me?”

“What do you mean? You’re the one whose ears are all red,” said Max-Ernest.

“Great. Thanks a lot for telling me,” said Cass. Unlike Max-Ernest, she knew how to be sarcastic when she wanted to be.

What she didn’t know how to do was make things right. A jealous Max-Ernest was a disaster — natural or unnatural, she wasn’t sure which — that she was altogether unprepared for.

F
or as long as Cass had known them (which was as long as she’d been alive), Grandpa Larry and Grandpa Wayne had lived in an old fire station, but Cass had never once seen a fire engine there. This is not quite as surprising as it sounds because the fire station no longer operated as a fire station; rather than firefighters the station housed only Cass’s grandfathers and their antiques store, the Fire Sale.

But that afternoon, when she arrived to walk Sebastian, Cass saw not only a long red fire engine, but also paramedics and policemen and emergency workers of every stripe. They spoke into walkie-talkies. They took photographs. They bandied about phrases you usually only hear on television like “securing the perimeter” and “talking to witnesses.”

Normally, the sight of so much emergency activity on the quiet tree-lined street would have excited Cass, and she would have pummeled the paramedics with questions about CPR techniques, or at least complained to the firemen about the seat belt situation on her school bus.

But it was different knowing her grandfathers were inside.

Had someone been hurt? Had the firehouse caught on fire? Cass looked around, her heart beating in her chest. The sky was clear. She didn’t smell smoke.

Cass ran up the steps and found Grandpa Larry right inside the doorway, deep in conversation with a woman in a police uniform.

As it turned out, nothing terrible had transpired — except a rather minor burglary. The reason all the emergency vehicles had come was that Larry had been so distressed when he called 911 that he wasn’t able to get a word out, and the 911 dispatcher had assumed he was choking or worse.

“They just turned the place upside down!” Larry was saying now.

“Yes, I can see that,” said the expressionless policewoman, looking at the piles of junk on the floor. There was stuff everywhere: the store was bursting at the seams. The only relief from the chaos was a shiny brass fire pole that disappeared into a hole in the floor above.

“Oh no . . . those piles are from when we started doing inventory three years ago. Big mistake!” Larry shook his head, remembering.

“I see. . . . So those shelves, then?” The policewoman nodded toward the open shelves: books and crockery and old machinery and knickknacks, all tumbled out of the shelves very much as if someone had upended them.

“Are you kidding?” Larry huffed. “We just organized those shelves last month! It took days. They’ve never been so neat.”

“Right. . . . Then what exactly . . . ?”

“Well, those drawers, of course! And the cabinets over there! Can’t you tell? Those bloody so-and-sos just tore them apart!” Larry pointed across the room.

“Uh huh,” said the policewoman, straight-faced. There was no way to tell what had been torn apart and what hadn’t. “But they didn’t take anything at all?”

“That’s the worst part — how dare they not take anything! They couldn’t find anything they wanted? Those laptops, for example — perfectly usable. And they left the Staffordshire! A chip here and there maybe, but stunning just the same. . . .”

“Could be someone’s angry at you. Or playing a joke. Unless you’re playing one on me . . . ?” She looked at him sharply.

“No. No. I never . . . oh Cass, I didn’t see you!” said Larry, agitated. “Sweetheart, could you do me a favor and take Sebastian on a little walk? All this nuttiness is making him . . . nutty.”

Larry gestured toward his blind basset hound, lying a few feet away. Sebastian, it must be said, looked a lot calmer than Larry. But Cass didn’t argue.

Grandpa Larry might not have known what the burglars wanted, but she did. Well, she suspected. As far as Cass was concerned, there was only one thing they could be looking for. And it wasn’t at the firehouse, it was at
her
house.

“Uh, no . . . I’ll take him. Right now!” She grabbed Sebastian’s leash and he started to roll —

That’s right.
Roll.

You see, over the last few months, Sebastian had lost his ability to walk. Oh, he could shuffle a little bit. But his back had gotten so painful, and his belly had fallen so low to the ground, that he couldn’t move more than a few feet without exhausting himself to the point of collapse.

Sometimes, he looked more like a rug than a dog; indeed, more than one customer in Cass’s grand-fathers’ shop had stepped on him only to be surprised by the loudest yelp they’d ever heard.

Grandpa Wayne (as you know
if
you’ve read my first book, and if you haven’t, what can I say, there are risks to everything) was a retired auto mechanic and a constant tinkerer. He had dealt with Sebastian’s disability by rigging an old skateboard for the dog’s use. The skateboard was outfitted with a seat belt (to prevent Sebastian from falling off) and a leash (with which to pull the skateboard). Everybody was happy with the contraption, even Sebastian, until an obstacle became apparent: how was Sebastian supposed to “do his business” if he was strapped to a skateboard?

Hence Cass’s grandfathers had taken to wrapping Sebastian in a towel — oh, let’s call it what it is, a diaper — with a hole cut for his tail.

If you’ve never seen a dog in a diaper, let me tell you there are few sights sadder. Unless it is the sight of a blind, near deaf, and virtually paralyzed dog in a diaper.

“It’s a good thing he can’t see himself” was all Cass could say the first time she saw Sebastian in his new getup.

As brave as Cass was, I must admit that it occasionally embarrassed her to walk Sebastian in this condition. Today, however, she didn’t give a thought to the way he looked.

She ran down the street with Sebastian practically flying behind her.

When they reached her house, Cass walked right past — and down another block.

Partly to look for suspicious activity. Partly to screw up her courage.

When they returned, she still didn’t let herself in — she went around to the back.

With Sebastian standing guard (or
lying
guard, anyway) she dug until she could verify that the Sound Prism was still there, wrapped in a Mylar space blanket, just the way she left it. Then, relieved, she quickly reburied it.

She entered the house as silently as she could considering she was pulling a dog on a skateboard behind her.

Inside, the house was quiet — and apparently untouched. The couches had not been torn apart. Bookshelves and drawers had not been upended. The cupboards had not been ransacked.

Could she have been wrong? Was it possible her grandfathers’ burglars hadn’t been looking for the Sound Prism after all? Was it possible the Midnight Sun had never been to the firehouse? Wouldn’t they have checked her house first?

She was almost disappointed. She’d been so certain.

Cass felt a tug on Sebastian’s leash. He’d been acting anxious ever since they’d arrived at her house. But now he was wriggling on his skateboard and barking frantically.

“What’s wrong, Sebastian? Better not be your diaper because I’m definitely not changing it!”

Maybe he just wants to get off the board for a minute, she thought.

As soon as Cass untied him, the blind, near deaf, and physically ailing dog leaped off the skateboard, sending the board shooting backward. And then he bolted toward the stairs with the energy of a dog half his age.