The Graham Cracker Plot

by Shelley Tougas

  “Don’t even start!” he said. “We’ll call tonight when it’s all done so they know we’re safe. Just think about the Chemist. Don’t let your head go anywhere else. The Chemist. Canada. Cinnamon bread with honey.”

  I stared at my feet. When my right foot came down on the sidewalk, I thought, The, and when the left one followed, I thought, Chemist. Like a drum, I marched. The! Chemist! The! Chemist! Right! Left! Right! Left!

  * * *

  We were two blocks from the brick house, which was divided into apartments. Every window had white blinds except one. A purple sheet or blanket covered the corner window on the first floor. That had to be Ashley’s place.

  I’d met Ashley, because Kari sometimes invited her over for pizza and movies. Kari felt sorry for Ashley, and maybe Ashley felt sorry for Kari. Graham hated their “girly-girl movies” because, he said, those movies made Kari and Ashley talk about boyfriends. And then they’d either get mad or sad. Graham liked adventure movies. I bet he thought running away would be an adventure movie starring him.

  “Is this it?” I asked.

  Graham pulled up his T-shirt to wipe his forehead sweat. “Yup. Purple window. That’s it.”

  When we turned onto the sidewalk, a woman with deep frown lines slammed the front door and hustled by us, grumbling, “Damn that girl. Can’t pay me enough.” She stormed down the sidewalk. “Saint Bernard. Dumbest thing I ever heard.”

  * * *

  From the hall, we heard bangs and shouts. The noise told me to wait, but Graham barged right into Ashley’s apartment, so I followed him.

  I got a quick look before we dropped to the floor: Ashley, by the couch, a stocking cap pulled completely over her eyes. Yelling. Stomping. Throwing things at the door, which is why we belly-crawled under the kitchen table, backpacks and all.

  Something banged over our heads. I peeked. Ashley shouted, “It’s my life!” A lamp flew across the room. “I don’t care if this is a County apartment. I pay rent! I have a job! If I want a Saint Bernard, that’s my business. Saint Bernards save lives!”

  Graham cleared his throat, but he squeaked. “Ashley?”

  “I want my money now! I’m not waiting until the first of the month. Screw you and your budget!”

  Graham yelled this time. “Ashley!”

  Ashley froze. Slowly, she lifted the stocking cap just above her eyelashes. She got on her knees and crawled under the table.

  “Graham!” she shrieked. “And your friend what’s-her-name!” She smooched Graham’s forehead and mussed his hair. “Love the hair, dude! You’re so cool.” She tried to hug him, backpack and all. Then she gave me a forehead kiss, too. “I don’t remember your name, but I know your face. You’re gorgeous and lovely. Like a preteen supermodel.”

  I felt my face go red. “It’s Daisy.”

  “A flower. So, so lovely. You deserve to be named after a flower.” She put her elbows on the floor and rested her chin on her hands.

  I said, “So do you!” And she smiled.

  Graham cleared his throat again. “Ashley, we need your help.”

  “I bought fifty records at the thrift store. The Beatles … and the Clash and … a bunch of others. Stay here, and we’ll listen to records all night. It’ll be a hoot.”

  Graham tried to sit up, but he whacked his head on the table.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “I bought a crap-ton of Beatles. I love how they sound on a real record player, even if they’re scratched. I got some old grunge stuff, too.”

  Graham rubbed his head. “Here’s the deal. We need a driver, and you’re all we’ve got.”

  She straightened the knit cap on her head.

  “We really, really need help,” Graham said. “Really, really.”

  “Today I’m going to look for … hmm … what was that dog again? They’re big.”

  “The Saint Bernard?” I asked.

  “That’s the one! They’re so cute and cuddly. I don’t care how much they cost to feed. We all gotta eat, right?”

  “Ashley, please listen for just a second. We need a ride,” Graham said. “Somebody’s going to get hurt if we don’t help.”

  “So you should call 911.”

  We’d hit nowhere at one hundred miles per hour. I had to take over.

  “Ashley, you like Saint Bernards because they help people. You could be like a Saint Bernard and help save my dad’s life.”

  She rolled on her back and sighed. “How’s that going to happen?”

  I said, “My dad is being blamed for something he didn’t do. It was a total accident. So we’re breaking him out of prison. It’s not fair. He tried to put out the fire but it was too big and—”

  Ashley squeezed my leg. “Your dad’s in prison?”

  “Yes. And he shouldn’t be. It’s wrong and unfair, and the fed-mates are going to hurt him. Bad. I’m breaking him out. No matter what. I need an escape driver. If you won’t do it, then we’ll have to drive ourselves. And we could end up hurt because we don’t know how to drive.”

  “Prison?” She squinted.

  I felt our chances gliding across the dirty linoleum and right out the door. Judge Henry, I had to be honest with her. You talked a lot about telling the truth, and that’s exactly what I did.

  “Yes. Prison, Ashley. He’s in a real prison.”

  “Prison?” Ashley stared through me. I thought about waving my hand in front of her face, but I figured it was better to let her think about it. Then her eyes focused on me. “Everybody wants out of prison, but there’s really no escape, is there?”

  “It’s a low-security prison. No chains or bars or cells. Just a big fence. We can do it. We’ve got a plan.”

  For a while, none of us spoke. I could hear the person next door running a vacuum. As we sat on the crusty floor, I thought Ashley should borrow that vacuum. A mop, too.

  Ashley slithered backward and stood up. We did, too. She took a key from a hook on the wall. Over it was a handwritten note.

  Rule Reminder # 3: Do not drive unless there’s a licensed driver in the car with you.

  She thrust her left arm in the air. “Prison escape!”

  Graham whispered, “Shhhh. We don’t want anyone to hear that.”

  “I’ll keep it on the down low,” she whispered back. “So let’s hit it.”

  “Ashley,” I asked. “Do you want to pack some stuff?”

  “Wait! I have to call in sick at work. It’s my responsibility.” She pulled a cell phone from her back pocket, one of those fancy phones that talks to you. “Call Thrift ’N’ More.” She winked at me. “Hey Bob! It’s Ashley.” Her voice was chirpy—too chirpy. “I can’t make it in today. Strep throat.”

  Graham frowned and whispered, “Sound sick!”

  Ashley’s eyes got big. She cleared her throat and talked with a sandpaper voice, deep and scratchy. “And I sprained my ankle.” Graham slapped the top of his head. Ashley looked at Graham like, What? Then she added, “And I puked.”

  She hung up. “Done and done! I’ll pack and be out in a snap.”

  * * *

  “This is a very long snap,” I told Graham.

  Graham tilted his head. “Maybe she said, ‘I’ll be back after my nap.’”

  “We’re going to miss Club Fed’s smoke break if we don’t fly. Go knock on her door,” I said.

  Then Ashley’s bedroom door opened, and she came out dragging a black suitcase. It scraped against the old wood floor. She needed both hands and a grunt to move it. Ashley had changed into jeans, a red tank top, and a gray sweater. Her sunglasses were huge, and she’d covered her head with a black wig cut into a bob.

  “It’s not sunny anymore,” Graham said. “You don’t need your shades.”

  She dropped the suitcase with a thud and spun around like a ballerina. “This is my escape wardrobe.”

  DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

  Ashley’s car did not say, “I’m being driven by a hot babe with a bulging bank account.” It said, “I’m a rusty Old
smobile that clunk-clunk-clunks and spits black smoke from the tailpipe.”

  But the car had a bigger problem. The gas tank line was on red. Grandma and I stop for gas a lot, so I knew we were about to lose a chunk of the escape budget. Did we have enough money to buy gas to Canada? The sandwiches wouldn’t last long. We’d need more food. How much did solar panels cost? Could we get enough food from hunting and fishing? I didn’t even like fish sticks. How was I going to eat something from a lake with eyes and bones and scales? My head exploded with worries.

  I asked, “Did you bring any money, Ashley?”

  “I think I’m broke until the first of the month. But here. You can check.” She tossed her purse to the back where Graham and I were sitting. We’d argued about who got to sit up front, but then I remembered a law about keeping kids in the backseat. We didn’t want cops pulling us over for illegal seating. “Dig around and see what’s in there.”

  Graham unzipped the small purse and made a sick face. Out came a comb stuck with a wad of gum. He emptied the bag between us: a paper advertising a Saint Bernard in need of a home (it said, “Cupcake is lovable but needs a firm hand”), two lollipops, a coupon for toilet paper, four lipsticks, a granola bar, eyeliner, and a refrigerator magnet that said, “Help one person at a time, and always start with the person nearest you.”— Mother Teresa.

  Graham looked at me and shrugged.

  “Any green in there?” she asked.

  “Nope.” I sighed. “No money.”

  A few heavy raindrops plopped on the windshield. She leaned forward like she couldn’t see and snapped at me, “Don’t talk to me when it’s raining!”

  I kept quiet.

  Finally we stopped at the little gas station on the edge of town, the one where Grandma buys cigarettes. Ashley filled the tank, and Graham and I went inside with my birthday money. A lady with gray hair and thick glasses stood behind the cash register. She wore a sweatshirt stitched with the words St. Bridget Church, and a long cross necklace dangled halfway to her waist.

  “Pump one,” I told her and put the cash on the counter. I kept my hand on it, though.

  She stared at Graham. “My goodness, young man, what happened to your hair?”

  “Um … it’s growing out because … it fell out.” He ran his fingers from his neck to the top of his head, and he looked like a peacock with very short feathers. “It fell out because … because…”

  The lady did a little gasp. “Chemo?”

  We nodded at the same time. She said, “Oh, you poor boy. Where—I mean, what kind of cancer is it, honey?”

  Graham blinked a bunch of times and blurted out, “Ear.”

  “Ear cancer?” she repeated.

  “Yes,” I said as serious as possible.

  “Why, I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

  I put my hand on Graham’s shoulder. “It’s very, very rare and very, very bad.”

  “Oh, dear.” Her face turned a little red. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Graham put his hand by his ear and interrupted. “WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

  “Tell you what,” she said, clutching her cross necklace. “You kids can take a donut from the case in the back. I recommend the ones with chocolate frosting. And it’s on me.”

  I grabbed Graham’s arm to stop the donut leap and tapped the counter with my other hand. “Ma’am, lots of people offer to help. They say all kinds of nice things, but, I’m embarrassed to say this, nothing ever comes of it. They probably just forget about their kind offers. Thank you so much for your gift of donuts, but we actually can’t have donuts. Carbs are bad for ear cancer. If you want to help, really help, then you could think about doing what Jesus would do and pay for our gas. Because our mom spends all of her money on co-pays and medicine.” Her eyes grew big, and her mouth kind of hung open. I continued, “We could cover an entire co-pay for the cost of that gas.” She tilted her head and I asked, “You’re a grownup. You know what a co-pay is, don’t you?”

  “Yes, dear.” Her voice was tight. “Do you?”

  “I sure do,” I said. “It’s when the County stops paying your doctor bills because your mom gets a job, then your mom has bad insurance and every time you get a sniffle she has to write a check for the co-pay at the doctor, and it’s usually just a virus anyway, not the real flu, and all that money is gone and you don’t even have a prescription.”

  Graham looked at me and said, “WHAT?”

  “I told her we don’t have a lot of money.” As I spoke, I moved my hands like sign language.

  Graham nodded. “EVEN THE COUNTY WON’T HELP,” he said.

  The lady’s lips were small and puckered. She looked at the poor boy with cancer. She looked at me, sad, sweet, cute little me. I clutched my money.

  Finally, she cleared her throat and said, “Perhaps I can help this one time.”

  I tucked the birthday money in my pocket. On the way out the door, Graham and I each took a donut, plus one for Ashley.

  DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

  Graham told a whale-sized lie. Ear cancer! Sometimes he’s so stupid. At least that lady had a job, and she could afford gas. That’s probably what Graham was thinking when he started the lie. It wasn’t my fault. I took over only because I knew his brain would freeze.

  After we got gas, it rained harder. Because we were on the back roads, Graham sat up front with the map, and I sat in back. Ashley squeezed the steering wheel, leaned forward, and muttered to herself. Graham led us down country roads to avoid cop cars. The prison was only forty-five minutes away, and we’d spent at least that amount of time driving but getting nowhere. All Graham’s directions were wrong. We passed the same barn three times.

  Graham wouldn’t admit he didn’t know how to read the map. “It’s not the same barn. The other one had a fence around it.”

  “There was no fence,” I told him. “It’s the same barn.”

  Ashley pounded the steering wheel. “Your map is wrong!”

  “The map’s fine.” I leaned forward and got in Graham’s face. “He can’t follow a black line.”

  Graham threw the map at me. “If you’re so smart, you figure it out.”

  “I’m definitely the brains of this operation.”

  “More like the butt of this operation,” he said.

  I wanted to smack his head. He’s the one who said to use back roads, since the car burped smoke and Ashley didn’t have the gift of driving the speed limit. The County is messed up. They gave Ashley a driver’s license.

  And now we were closer to lost than to Club Fed. I yelled at Graham, “You’re the King of Stupid!”

  “You’re the Queen of Stupid.”

  “Sooooo original! Can’t imagine how you came up with that one,” I said.

  “Daisy Bauer. Queen of Not Knowing the Difference in Barns.”

  “Graham Cracker. King of Not Reading a Map.”

  Then, like a mom yelling at us to “Stop it right now or else,” the sky exploded. Boom. Bam. Thunder and rain—rain so hard it sounded like a thousand hammers on the car’s roof. The windshield looked like the shower door in my grandma’s bathroom, blurry and white, with some shadows that could be the road and could be some trees.

  Ashley put her hands over her face and screamed.

  “Hey!” Graham reached over and took hold of the steering wheel. “Stop the car, Ashley.”

  “I can’t see.”

  “It’s generally recommended to keep your eyes open and your hands on the wheel.”

  I didn’t like Graham’s calm. “Turn on the wipers!”

  Graham clicked something by the steering wheel. The wipers ran fast, but they couldn’t keep up with the gush of water on the windshield.

  “I can’t see,” she said. “We’re gonna get hit. We’re gonna GET HIT!” Her breathing came hard and fast.

  I felt the car come to a stop. “You can’t stop in the middle of the road.”

  “It’s a gravel road,” Graham said. “Nobody’s out here.”

  The
car swayed in a blast of wind, and suddenly it was dark. Ashley wouldn’t take her hands off her face. Her shoulders shook. “Driving in the rain is dangerous. It’s bad. It’s bad.”

  Graham turned on the overhead light as a branch slapped the back window. “What should we do?”

  “Turn on the radio. Push the button until you hear a weather voice,” I said.

  Graham pushed the radio button. Country. Another push. Dance mix. Another push. More country. More dance mix. A jewelry store commercial. Finally, a weather voice. “… seek shelter immediately. Severe thunderstorms can produce straight-line winds and tornadoes with little warning. This path of super cells is traveling west-southwest at thirty miles an hour. If you do not have a basement, seek shelter in an interior room without windows…”

  “Tornadoes?” Ashley grabbed the wheel, stomped the gas, and the car roared forward. “We gotta hide.”

  “Turn the radio off,” I told Graham. “It’s making her freak out.”

  Ashley braked hard, and the car skidded and stopped. She took off her sweater and wrapped it around her head, over her eyes.

  Graham whirled around. “Ashley’s brain cells are flying outta her ears!” Damn if he wasn’t right.

  The wind turned to a howl. High-pitched and wobbly, like the pretend ghost noises you make during a scary story. Whoooo … whoooo … The wind was making fun of us. Stupid, stupid kids.

  “Now what?” I whispered.

  I don’t think Graham could hear me, but he wiggled around and pulled something from his pocket. He licked it and pressed his hand against his forehead. “The Idea Coin!” he shouted. He froze for a few seconds. Then he turned to Ashley. “Keep moving forward. Take it slow. I’ll look out the side window.” She didn’t take the sweater off her head and eyes, but she followed his commands. “Slower! No, faster than that! Good, good. A little more to the right.”

  The car bucked and bolted, slowed and sputtered. Rain and wind beat the car.

  “I think it’s a house. Turn here!”

  A turn, followed by more howling, a thump, and a bump. The car stopped. Ashley turned the engine off. Everything was silent for a moment—a second of nothing, no engine, no wind, nothing but breathing. Graham slipped the coin in his pocket. Then a blast of lightning and thunder rocked the car.