Dewey Fairchild, Sibling Problem Solver

by Lorri Horn

  “To the end?” Dewey said to Seraphina.

  “That’s no fun, just the two of us. Lemme see if my mom will fill in for Colin. You’ll still play, Elinor?”

  “Sure,” she said closing her sketchbook.

  Seraphina came back with Mrs. Johnson.

  “What size shoes do you wear, Colin?”

  She borrowed his bowling shoes, which were a bit too small, but for two frames she wasn’t renting a pair.

  “Okay,” Seraphina said. “You’re Greaseball.”

  “Alrighty,” she smiled

  They began the line-up again, each taking their respective turns. Mrs. Johnson was up for Greaseball. She took a deep breath, wanting to be a good sport and rolled the ball. The gutter ball didn’t shock her.

  Her next roll bounced hard, not once, but twice, and then jumped into the lane of the people bowling next to them.

  “Sorry!” she said, gesturing to them apologetically.

  “Oh my—” Seraphina hid her face in Elinor’s arm as the boys unsuccessfully tried to contain their laughter.

  Elinor looked up from her drawing. “What’d I miss?”

  “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve played,” Mrs. Johnson shrugged. “Looks like Goofball’s turn.”

  But Seraphina couldn’t go, because now the pins wouldn’t clear since the ball hadn’t gone down their own lane.

  Dewey ran up to the counter to get some assistance.

  “You can just buzz them,” Colin said, pointing out the call button.

  “I wouldn’t know what to say,” Seraphina said.

  “Just tell them, ‘my mom’s a ballbarian.’”

  Sibling Problem Solver

  When Monday morning rolled in, Dewey had solved Archie’s parent problem, not once, but twice. Archie had loads more freedom to play computer games, and Angelica wouldn’t face more embarrassing TBTs or helpful articles on how to keep her room organized posted on social media.

  And now, something else began to evolve in the biosphere.

  Scientists believe that it wasn’t until oxygen levels on earth reached a high enough concentration level that multicellular organisms like animals and plants began to evolve. So, it seems, it took just the mere presence of multiple kids in a family to grow the next facet of Dewey’s career.

  “Sir, this is different. Look at these three new requests.”

  Dewey had flopped down on the green cushion and never quite bothered to get up. Wolfie rested on his belly.

  “This one says she has an annoying little sister,” Clara read.

  “Ha! Who doesn’t!?”

  Clara scrolled through their account, reading aloud highlights of what had landed in their inbox.

  “Needs assistance with a tattle-tale brother . . . says his sister hogs the bathroom…” She continued to scroll. “ . . . my brother ignores me. . . my sister locked me in plastic handcuffs and won’t let me out . . . boss, these all came in over the weekend.”

  “I don’t get it,” Dewey sat up on the pillow, upsetting Wolfie’s position. “These are brother-sister things.” He pulled himself up to go look at them more closely.

  “They most certainly are, sir.”

  “Do we do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Take on a sibling case?”

  “I presumed you already had.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing, sir,” Clara said, smiling and waving her remark away like a pesky fruit fly. “One interest you?”

  “Lemme see those again,” Dewey scrolled through. “Oh boy!” Dewey laughed. “I think we’d better start with Claire Bautista-Knickerbocker! Listen to this: ‘I heard you’re good at fixing sibling problems. My brother won’t leave me alone. Yesterday he ran around with his fart in a jar chasing me. Can you help?!’”

  “That sounds exigent,” Clara said.

  Dewey laughed. “Sure does! Um, what’s that mean?”

  “It means that it requires our attention.”

  “Right! Agreed. Claire’s case first.”

  Dewey Fairchild, Sibling Problem Solver. That had a nice ring to it. Dewey thought about just how far he’d come since that first day when he and Seraphina had set out to solve her problem with her over-protective mother. She done pretty well, letting them bowl this past weekend without worrying they’d drop a ball on their foot or get held up by a bowling alley bandit. She could use some extra buttressing in the bowling skills department, Dewey thought, smiling. Dewey Fairchild, Uncoordinated-Mother-Problem-Solver? Who knew where he’d find himself next.

  His musings came to an abrupt ending as none other than Pooh came careening down the office slide again, squealing with delight.

  “Arf! Arf! Arf, arf, arf!” She ran around on all fours play-acting as a dog. Wolfie, usually quick to greet any new arrival, stood still on his own four legs staring at her.

  “Sir?” Clara began.

  “I see her, I see her.”

  “Allow me. Sit,” Clara commanded showing Pooh a cookie like she was a real dog and Clara had a treat.

  Wolfie sat. Dewey laughed and went to the fridge and snapped off a piece of carrot for him. “Here you go, Boy.”

  Clara dropped a cookie in Pooh’s mouth and patted her on the head. “Good girl.”

  “Boy,” Pooh corrected.

  “Oh, pardon. Boy.”

  “Pooh. What are you doing here?” Dewey complained.

  “Arf! Arf!”

  Dewey rolled his eyes.

  “Ugh!”

  At that, she let out some small little noises that sounded a lot more to Dewey like air let out of the stretched mouth of a balloon than a dog whining, but he knew what she meant.

  “Okay. Okay! You can stay. But go play with the real dog, will ya? We’re doing work around here.”

  He didn’t have time for her shenanigans. Cases were pouring in and he needed to prepare for Claire tomorrow.

  Nothing

  “Claire the Pear wears green underwear.

  Claire the pear wears green underwear.

  Claire the pear wears green underwear.

  Every day at night.”

  “Every day at night?!” Claire screamed at her brother. “What does that even mean?!” She said it to the trees, though. Maybe the mailboxes caught wind of it. Her brother had long taken off down the street on his bike. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? Adam Bautista-Knickerbocker was eighteen months younger than Claire, and just one school year behind. As she rode her bike home, she imagined ways she could make his life as miserable as he made hers. Maybe she would Super Glue his hands together and the only way he could text for help would be to use his nose or his toes. Maybe she should go directly to the problem and Super Glue his mouth, too!

  When she reached her driveway, she hopped off and walked her seven-speed all-terrain mountain bike up the steep driveway. It had white handle bars, a hot pink frame, and black seat and tires. Her brother’s bike lay on its side. She could hear him off in the bushes somewhere working on one of his homemade films. I hope he gets in trouble for just dropping it there, she thought. Maybe Dad will run it over.

  Claire carefully leaned her bike against the side of the house and walked into its warmth. She could smell dinner cooking. During her meeting with Dewey earlier in the week, she had outlined all of the ways Adam tortured her. Today she and Dewey were capturing a-day-in-the-life by having her Facetime him every time Adam came near her.

  “Even if he’s not talking to you,” Dewey had instructed, “just turn it on so I can see in case he does something. I’ll be fine just weeding out moments when he doesn’t do anything interesting.”

  “Well, you should be doing a lot of weeding out, then,” she said sarcastically.

  Claire had failed to Facetime Dewey when Adam ‘Claired-The-Peared’ her. Now she walked into the kitchen. She knew Adam was in the house, so she dialed Dewey just in case she ran into her brother again.

  Cl
aire saw Dewey on the screen. He gave her a thumbs up and she went about her business getting a snack in the kitchen. This time, of course, nothing.

  She felt badly taking up Dewey’s screen time for no reason.

  The day went on with a whole lot more of nothing. Adam seemed to be out filming pill bugs under rocks or something, and Claire had no data to support her misery. Dewey texted her:

  new plan

  ill look at yr paperwork and plan a stakeout

  She texted him back a thumbs up. Claire felt kind of gritty after her bike ride, so she went up to take a shower. She knew she shouldn’t take such long ones, because California was in a drought. Everyone knew that, but once that hot water hit her back and the steam started filling up the room, it was hard to get out. For just a few minutes, Claire stayed in the hot shower to avoid thinking about the problems with her brother. The constant chatter of what happened yesterday or what might be happening tomorrow made way for the feeling of warm water, creamy soap, and her favorite, Mermoo, a fragrant green shampoo that smelled like jasmine and water lilies, layered with coconut and tropical beach.

  “Wrap it up, Claire!” her mother knocked on the door.

  So much for mermaid reverie.

  “Okay,” she called back, rinsing the shampoo from her long dark brown hair and watching the green lather run down the drain.

  As she toweled dry, Claire looked up in the steamy mirror as big letters began to appear.

  Adam had written CLAIRE STINKS across the mirror after he’d steamed up the bathroom from his last shower, and now they appeared, like invisible ink.

  She quickly rubbed out the letters with her towel and then regretted she hadn’t taken a picture of it for Dewey.

  Ugh! Things were just not going her way. She sure hoped Dewey could help.

  Slippery Kid

  It had been a while since Dewey went on an undercover operation, unless you counted being in Archie’s ear.

  “This is gonna be fun! I have no idea where I’ll hide. This is gonna be awful. Do you think I should bring snacks? I could get hungry. I love a good stakeout. I love a good steak. I have no idea what I’m doing. I—”

  “Sir,” Clara interrupted him. “I think you’ll find much of what you need, other than the good steak, perhaps, in the paperwork Ms. Bautista-Knickerbocker filled out for us.”

  “Right. Paperwork. Right. Can you get—oh, thanks.” Clara had already anticipated it, of course, and he found Claire’s information pulled up on his computer screen as Clara gestured with her chin to lead him there.

  “Let’s see. Top three hiding places are her room, family and some play room. Okay. Entrance, front door. Hmm. That’s a little tricky. Gotta figure that out. When do we think I should do this?”

  “Oh,” Clara said. “I just assumed tomorrow.”

  “Right. Tomorrow.”

  “Well, unless you want to spy on a weekday.”

  “Easier for me to get out of my house tomorrow. Tomorrow it is. How am I gonna eat?”

  “Let’s pack some rations today. PBJ for lunch?” she said, sticking her head in the cabinet. “Some sliced carrots. Cookies. You’ll go home for dinner?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sure Ms. Claire can provide for you as well.”

  “Huh! It really has been a while! This should be fun. Unless I can’t get in the front door. Or out. That’d be bad.” He was all over the map again.

  “It’s like riding a bike, sir. Like riding a bike.”

  The next morning, Dewey told his parents he had a project with Claire. It was the time of day where the sun was out, but not hot overhead. The trees looked darker green right after breakfast, and the air still felt cool. As Dewey rode his bike over to her house, a sleepy shadow stretched out over the ground, and he crossed warm sunny patches along the way. He passed by Colin’s, who lived only a few blocks away from Claire’s, and wondered what he was doing now—still in bed? Eating a bowl of cereal? Dewey pulled up to Claire’s driveway, and she met him outside.

  Claire had on a grey ribbed turtleneck with the sleeves pushed up just below her elbows. She had long, dark hair that hung in soft waves long past her shoulders, halfway down her back. The tips of it danced a lighter brown from highlights that had long ago grown out to the very ends. A natural hard angled arch framed each of her deep brown eyes.

  They tucked his bike and helmet into the bushes.

  “All clear for me to come in?”

  “Yeah. Adam’s still in bed. My dad’s out on a run, and my mom’s cooking breakfast. Hide out in the family room, I think. Behind the big lounge chair’s good. Right there, against that wall in the corner.”

  Dewey settled into his spot. Pretty roomy, he thought. He could lean his back on the wall and stretch his feet out and still not be seen. No pets. Bonus.

  “What’s she making for breakfast?”

  “Pancakes. Want me to smuggle you one?”

  Dewey flashed her a smile.

  Like riding a bike, he thought.

  It didn’t take more than about ten minutes or so for Adam to come padding down in his Lego Star Wars BB8 pajamas. While it wasn’t particularly apparent to Claire, Dewey noticed the family resemblance between the two of them right away. Adam stood about a head shorter than Claire, but had the same dark hair and eyes she did. He had his father’s lighter skin, and she her mother’s darker tone, but otherwise, Dewey could have picked that kid out of a lineup as Claire’s brother for sure.

  In his right hand, he shook a can of Diet Coke that he’d been shaking for two weeks. The Bautista-Knickerbockers didn’t usually have soda around, but a few weeks ago, his parents had some friends over for a BBQ, and they’d had some in a cooler. Adam swiped one and had been shaking it ever since, under the mistaken belief that the more days he shook it, the harder it would blow.

  Usually, in the mornings, Adam’s hair was smashed against his head more than Mario landing on a Goomba. This morning, while his face revealed the creases from his long night’s face plant with his sheets, his hair was buried underneath not one, not two, but three knit winter hats.

  “My hats!” Claire shrieked.

  Adam shot her a look that said, ‘come and get me if you dare.’

  “You went in my room?!”

  Claire grabbed the hats off his head and, kicking off her slippers so they wouldn’t slow her down, ran upstairs with them.

  “Argh!” Dewey could hear her voice trail off on her way back into her room as she slammed her door.

  Meanwhile, Adam, who now presumed he had the room to himself, shook the can some more and headed off into the kitchen. Dewey peered around the corner of the chair but ducked back when he heard Adam make his way back in again. Dewey saw him clutching two round pancakes in his fists. He took a bite of one from one hand, one from the other, and then shoved them both into Claire’s slippers.

  Whoa, Dewey thought.

  Claire came back down and picked up where she left off with Adam.

  “If you even think about going in my room again, I’ll OH MY—WHAT THE—AHHHH!!!”

  She pulled her feet out of the slippers and dug her fingers into them to pull out the smooshed pancakes.

  “Are you serious? You want feet pancakes?! Here. Eat ’em.” Just as she was about to shove them into Adam’s face, Claire’s dad came in through the front door back from his run.

  “Dad!” Claire screeched clutching the pancakes in both fists, “Adam put—”

  “Hey, there, pumpkin. Hold that thought, would ya? I gotta take a quick rinse before breakfast is ready, otherwise when I cook tomorrow no telling how late mom will arrive to the table!”

  “But—”

  “Five minutes. Meet me at the pancake spot!”

  “Argh!”

  Adam laughed.

  Dewey, still trying to recover from the fact that two perfectly golden delectable pancakes had been sacrificed to Claire’s ten toes, typed tons of notes into hi
s phone.

  “Guys! Let’s go! It’ll get cold!” their mom called from the kitchen.

  Dewey repositioned himself behind the arm of the couch. He couldn’t catch much of a view other than their legs and feet under the table, but he could hear them.

  The Bautista-Knickerbocker family enjoyed a hearty breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and fresh sliced farmer’s market strawberries.

  “So, what was it your brother did to vex you this morning, Claire?” her father asked, slicing a piece of sausage and pancake to place into his mouth together. He always chewed with his mouth closed.

  Claire, mouth full of pancake, took a moment to chew and prepare to share her morning grievance. As she did so, however, Dewey noted something else at work. Adam shook his can of soda under the table. From his low vantage point, Dewey could see Adam tap Claire on her leg and then shake, shake, shake the can.

  Claire seemed to get the message. Talk, and I’ll blow this baby all over you.

  She swallowed.

  “Nothing. We worked it out.”

  “Now, that’s what I like to hear,” their mom said, smiling.

  “Yes, indeed,” their dad agreed. “Pass the pancakes, would you, please, son?”

  “Sure, Dad. I’ll slipper them right on over!” he said sliding the plate and flashing his sister a big grin.

  After breakfast, they went upstairs to brush their teeth, Claire at her sink, and Adam at his own next to hers. She attempted to ignore him. As he brushed, the foam built up in his mouth and rather than spitting it into the sink, he let the buildup get wet and runny and drip down his arm until she could no longer stand it.

  “That’s disgusting.” Claire spat into the sink and wiped her chin on the towel.

  “What?” Adam said, standing there with the wet, drippy, runny toothpaste dripping down his forearm.

  “Argh!” she stormed out.

  Sticky Situation

  After teeth were brushed and breakfast dishes done, the Bautista-Knickerbocker family headed out for a few hours. Adam had a soccer game and the family went to cheer him on.

  “There are some leftovers in the fridge. You can heat them in the microwave,” Claire offered Dewey. “I’m sorry we’re leaving so long.”