He’s a policeman.
A short policeman with a bushy mustache comes down the stairs, followed by a tall policewoman. Both have thick black belts weighed down with guns.
Guns!
Dakota always gets us in trouble, but never with the police! Don’t you have to be at least twelve for that?
Cupcake is barking. “Shush,” I say. My arms tremble as I shove her inside.
“Where are your parents?” the lady cop asks.
“Our mom isn’t home yet. She’s taking our little sister, Izzy, to speech therapy. Our dad doesn’t live here.”
“But he’s going to drop by with beef Wellington,” Dakota chimes in.
“Beef Wellington, is it?” The policewoman eyes her partner. “So, you three live here?” She nods toward our basement apartment.
“Dakota and I do.” I can’t take my eyes off their guns. “Dodge lives on Barnett.”
“Dodge?” The lady cop squints at Dodge, who is looking a little green.
“His real name is Sebastian Dodge, but nobody calls him that,” I explain.
“Can you speak, Dodge?” the policewoman asks.
“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters.
“So, what happened here? We got a report there was a loud noise, like an explosion.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “But it wasn’t a real explosion.”
“It was too a real explosion.” Dakota glares at me. She’s hopping around all excited like she thinks the cops are giving out extra credit. For a smart girl, she sure can be stupid. I step on her toe to shut her up.
It doesn’t work.
“Do you want to see?” Dakota asks, offering up the phone.
The lady cop raises one eyebrow. Now her eyes seem to be operating independently. Neither of them likes us.
“Everybody at school is going to love this,” Dakota whispers to her.
“Are you using explosives?” the policewoman asks.
“No! Oh, no…It’s a science experiment!” I explain.
The policewoman’s finger beckons. “Let’s have a look.”
Dakota smiles like she’s going to be a YouTube star. She starts the video on my old phone. It’s a junky little phone, but Dakota did a good job filming.
The lady cop stares down at her. “They taught you this at school?”
“Not exactly,” Dakota admits.
“How’d you learn it?”
“Online,” Dakota tells her.
“So you’re researching explosive devices?”
Dakota nods.
The policewoman is taking notes the old way: with paper and pencil. “Did an adult put you up to this?” she asks.
I step forward. “No! It isn’t like that. She’s only trying for extra credit. She’ll do anything for extra credit.”
“Extra credit.” The cops look at each other.
“Look, you can’t be doing this in the stairwell of your building, scaring the neighbors.” The policewoman drops Dakota’s cell in a plastic bag and hands the bag to the policeman, who holds it delicately between two fingers.
“Hey, that’s mine!” Dakota says as the stairwell vibrates with footsteps. Dad’s feet appear, then Dad’s legs, and then Dad, wearing his usual dad outfit. Khaki shorts. White shirt. Flip-flops.
“Well, hello,” Dad says, and then he sees the police, and he makes a sound like Cupcake when you step on her paw.
The policewoman points at the bag Dad is holding. “Beef Wellington.”
My father nods. “What is going on?” He mouths the question to me.
“Your name, sir?” the policewoman asks.
“Will Rose.”
“These are your children, Mr. Rose?”
“Liam and Dakota. Not Dodge.”
“Your kids have been using explosive materials in the stairwell, disturbing the neighbors. They claim it’s a science experiment.”
“It is a science experiment,” Dakota insists.
“It seems to me the real problem is a lack of supervision,” the policewoman continues.
“Usually Crash, Dodge’s grandfather, watches them.” Dad frowns at Dodge. “Where is he today?”
“He had to work late at the police station. He’ll be here any minute,” Dodge mumbles.
“The station?” The lady cop’s eyebrows rise.
“He’s a detective,” Dodge says. “Jimmy Hernandez.”
The policewoman nods. “How old are these children, Mr. Rose?”
“Liam and Dodge are ten. Dakota is eight,” Dad says.
“Young to be left alone, especially here.” She looks over to the side yard, where the abandoned washing machine sits.
“I’ll talk to my ex-wife about it.”
“You do that, Mr. Rose,” the lady cop says as the radio on the policeman’s shoulder begins to crackle. He picks it up and listens. Then he catches his partner’s eye and motions with his head toward the stairs.
“Now, you listen.” The lady cop points at Dakota. “You are not to do your science experiments unless an adult is present. We’re not going to be nearly so lenient if we’re called out here again. You understand, young lady?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dakota puffs up her chest. “May I have my phone back? It’s only kinda mine. I won it off a bet with Liam.”
“Dakota.” Dad puts his finger to his mouth. “If a police officer wants to keep your phone, that is her prerogative.”
“I don’t think she understands the gravity of the situation,” the policewoman tells Dad.
“I do so. I did a report on gravity. Ask me anything. I know!” Dakota blurts out.
“Dakota, shhh!” Dad says.
Dakota’s teeth clack shut.
The policeman hands the plastic bag back. His eyes fix on Dad. “Should we be called back here again, we’ll need to take serious action.”
“I understand,” Dad says.
“I hope you can impress that fact on your offspring.”
Dad’s face turns pink.
“All right, then.” The police officers start up the stairs. “Enjoy your beef Wellington, Mr. Rose.”
“He’s not going to have any,” Dakota calls after them. “He just brings it for us.”
“Dakota,” Dad says
“Well, you’re not, are you?” she asks.
Dad groans.
I can’t believe the police came. I thought that only happened to teenagers. “Sorry, Dad,” I say.
Dakota doesn’t apologize. She’s allergic to the words “I’m sorry.” Her bottom lip puffs out. “But, Dad, don’t you see? My teacher said she couldn’t get this to work and I did first time!”
“That’s good, honey, but…”
Dakota’s lip trembles. “I’m going to be a scientist or be Bill Gates, just like you said.”
Dad sighs. His voice is gentle. “Remember when we talked about self-control?”
“Your self is the driver and your body is the car,” Dakota says. “The driver has to control the car, which includes the car’s mouth, even though cars don’t have mouths.”
“Right,” Dad says.
Dakota holds her hand over her mouth to keep herself from talking. Then she spreads her fingers and mumbles, “I’m supposed to keep quiet until I’m old and my teeth fall out and I have to buy pretend ones, which Crash says do not work very well. He says if young people needed new teeth, then someone would make sure they worked better.”
“Dakota, sweetie, that’s not what I said,” Dad says.
Dakota looks like a beach ball with the air leaked out. She drags herself in the front door.
My father stares after her, shaking his head. “What are we going to do about her?” he asks Dodge and me.
I like the way he asks us grown-up questions.
; “She gets excited about stuff and then she can’t stop,” I explain.
“That what you think, Dodge?” my father asks.
Dodge nods. “She’s nice, though,” he mumbles, and then turns red.
My father smiles. “That may be more than I’ve ever heard you say, Dodge.”
Dodge’s face gets even redder. He talks to Dakota and Izzy and me, but not that much to anyone else.
Dad folds his big body down on the stairs. Dad is tall. I’m planning to be tall just like him.
He doesn’t go inside our place, though. Mom doesn’t go into his apartment and he doesn’t go into hers.
Before they got divorced, they spent a lot of time cooking together. I used to have to do taste tests about whose spaghetti sauce was better. Dad would pout if I didn’t say his. Christmas was the best. When we woke up Christmas morning, they were both there. Dad made cinnamon rolls. Mom made hash browns and scrambled eggs and then snags, which is Australian for sausages. Mom grew up in Australia, where they go to the beach on Christmas, so that’s what we always do.
Dad looks from me to Dodge and back again. “How’s your tennis game these days?”
“Good.” I smile. I’m okay at most sports, but put a tennis racket in my hand and it’s like when Ollivander hands Harry Potter his wand. Even back in first grade when Crash showed us how to hit with our thrift store rackets, it was like that. That was when we used these special balls—with red spots—that didn’t bounce very high.
“Let me know when you have a match.”
I nod.
“And you ought to apologize to the neighbors when your mom gets home,” Dad tells me.
“Why me? It was Dakota who did it.”
“At least go with her, all right? She needs you more than you know.”
I groan. “Do you know how embarrassing she is?”
“Yes,” he says. “I do. And I also know you’re a terrific big brother.”
Dad pulls out his phone and brings up the traffic, then shakes his head. “I got to get going. I’m sorry, no insurance lesson today.”
I try to look disappointed. Dad has a new job as an insurance agent. Insurance is where you pay a little money every month so the company will pay you a pile of money if something bad happens. I’d rather chew cement than hear about insurance, but I don’t want to hurt Dad’s feelings.
“Don’t nuke the beef Wellington or it gets tough. I packed a little berry compote for dessert. It’s good with vanilla ice cream. Tell me what your mother says.”
He can’t wait to hear what Mom thinks about his food.
“Wait!” Dakota sticks her head out the front door. She must have been listening at the window, which is rusted permanently open. “We need money to take Cupcake to the vet.”
Dad stands up, brushes his shorts off, and digs his wallet out of his back pocket. “Twenty bucks do?”
She smushes her face against the screen. “No.”
“How much, then?” he asks.
“Three thousand dollars,” Dakota says.
Dad snorts. “Look, sweetie, I know you love that dog. My screen saver is a picture of you three and that puppy dressed in matching pajamas. But money is tight right now and the dog was your mother’s idea.” He’s halfway up the stairs. “Don’t forget to give Izzy a hug from me. And tell your mom I can take Izzy to speech therapy on Thursday,” he calls back.
“How about kitty litter?” Dakota calls after him.
“Kitty litter?” I ask.
She nods. “We can teach Cupcake to pee in a box like a cat.”
I roll my eyes.
“Wait! Wait! We’ll take the twenty,” Dakota shouts, but Dad is flip-flopping back to his car, too far away already.
Dakota opens our apartment door and swings it back and forth. Squeak-squareek. Squeak-squareek. “With his twenty, we’d only need two thousand nine hundred and eighty dollars,” she says. But she doesn’t run after him and neither do I.
Dodge is chewing paper when Mom and Izzy get home. He wads it up and sprinkles it with sugar. It’s not so bad, actually. I tried it.
Cupcake waits for the sugar to slide onto the floor and then she licks it up.
Mom kisses us, then calls Crash to tell him she’s home so he doesn’t have to come over. She sticks the beef Wellington in the oven before she takes her purse off her shoulder. Cupcake curls around Mom’s and Izzy’s legs. Mom is always happy to see us. But Cupcake goes practically psychotic whenever one of us comes home.
Izzy gives Cupcake a kiss on her wet black nose. Then she hugs me, Dakota, and Dodge.
My mom has a long blond ponytail that swings when she walks. She likes puzzles and kangaroos and things from Australia. She uses weird words sometimes. Like the toilet is “the dunny,” and lottery tickets are “scratchies.” She is the assistant manager at Fiorelli’s Restaurant.
Dodge and I set the table. Dodge likes eating with us because Crash cooks weird food, like chocolate cake with beets in it, and popcorn with ketchup. Dodge is always trying to convince him to make his grandma Lily’s pot roast or tamales or chimichangas or chocolate chip Rice Krispies cookies. But Dodge’s grandma Lily died a few years ago and Crash doesn’t want to cook from her recipes. Dodge doesn’t know why.
I wait until we’re done with dessert to suggest to Mom that maybe she should call Dad.
“Why?” she asks.
Dakota slides off her chair.
Mom digs a tunnel in her ice cream. “Izzy’s speech therapist was late. What happened?”
Dodge looks at me. I clear my throat. “The police came. Dakota tried out a new experiment. It was loud.”
Mom puts down her spoon. “Mr. Torpse?” she whispers.
“He wasn’t home. Somebody else must have called.”
“Somebody else?” She holds her head like it hurts. “I don’t know if that’s good news or bad.”
“Good news. The police are good.” Izzy wipes her mouth. “I’m using napkin. And Purpley is using napkin too.” Izzy wipes the purple horse’s mouth, then puts him in her lap.
“Good job.” Mom nods.
Izzy’s smile shines.
Mom peeks under the table at Dakota. “Why didn’t you wait until I came home to do the experiment?”
Dakota sighs. “I wanted to see if I could do it.”
“What about that promise you made after the Mentos explosion?”
“Oh. Yeah,” Dakota says.
Mom looks at me. “What did the police say?”
“That we shouldn’t be left alone.”
“And that’s what your father wants to talk to me about?”
I nod.
My mother sighs. She carries her bowl into the kitchen and turns on the faucet full force. The leftover ice cream splashes out. “Better start emailing your apologies, Dakota. One to your father. One to the neighbors. I’ll track down the email addresses.”
The police come and that’s all the punishment Dakota gets!
Girls get off way easier than guys do. I’m happy Dakota is emailing, though. Then I won’t have to go with her to deliver her apologies.
Dakota crawls out from under the table. We exchange a look. Even she knows this isn’t a bad punishment. Mom must be in a good mood. Probably she got all the words in the New York Times crossword this morning.
Mom helps Izzy do her homework. Izzy can read okay, if the books don’t have many words in them.
When Dakota finishes her emails, she shows them to Dodge and me.
Hello, Parental Unit.
I am sorry about the police. Mom says I need to work on my before thinking. Before I do stuff I’m supposed to think. It’s hard to keep your brain thinking in the right direction every minute. Maybe there should be traffic lights up there.
Bye,
Dakota
I am sorry if I disturbed any one of the 1,440 minutes in your day. I will do only quiet explosions from now on. But I don’t know how you make mittens or Kleenex explode.
From,
Dakota
Mom is helping Izzy practice her writing when Dakota brings our old laptop to her. Mom reads the emails and then asks: “Do you mean that?”
“Sort of,” Dakota says.
Mom sighs. “I suppose that’s a start. Go ahead and send the one to Dad. The neighbors’ email needs work.”
“Like what?”
“The part about the quiet explosions.”
Dakota’s arms are crossed. “How am I supposed to win a Nobel Prize, then?”
Mom rolls her eyes.
It’s getting late, so we walk Dodge home. Mom and Cupcake come along because we aren’t allowed to go places by ourselves in the dark. Izzy holds Dodge’s hand, which would be humiliating if it were anyone besides Dodge.
Dodge lives up near the freeway in a small house with a tiny porch full of his grandma’s flowers. Crash makes sure every one of her plants stays alive. He says there should be a 911 for plant emergencies.
Dodge waves goodbye and opens the front door. Dodge’s house is crowded. The table is buried under a mound of junk mail. There are newspapers stacked all around, and Book of the Month Club packages. Crash won’t throw anything away that has Lily’s name on it.
On the way home, Mom stops to talk to the neighbor with all the plants on her patio. I can’t imagine who complained, because our neighbors are nice; it’s only the landlord who isn’t.
We run on ahead with Cupcake, who is panting hard because a truck just passed by. Cupcake thinks it’s her job to bark at trucks.
“We need to figure out a way to make some money for the vet,” Dakota announces.
“Money in Mom’s purse,” Izzy says.
“But that’s her money,” I say, pine needles crackling under my feet. “We need our money.”
One-Third Nerd Page 2
