by Laura Ruby
So where was Mr. Perlmutter going to go?
“Well,” said Mr. Biedermann. “This is it.” He patted the cameo walls. “Good-bye, 354 W. 73rd. We’ll miss you.”
Mrs. Biedermann didn’t pat the tiles. Tess didn’t either, and didn’t, wouldn’t, say good-bye. To come this close and fail filled her with such a deep despair she could barely pick up her feet, as if gravity had suddenly become ten times more powerful. She and Theo trailed behind their parents, the luggage cart they were pushing as heavy as a city. They nearly ran over Cricket, who yelled, “Watch it! You almost ran over me!”
“Sorry, Cricket,” Tess said. “We didn’t see you behind the boxes.”
“Nobody sees me anymore,” said Cricket. And she shouldn’t have been hard to miss because of the Miss Marvel nightgown, the striped tights, and the clogs.
“I thought you were going incognito?” Tess said.
“Incognito is boring. Even Karl thinks so.” Cricket poked at the raccoon in the basket of her tricycle. The raccoon was wearing swim trunks and eating from a bag of Cheez Doodles. “I’m not incognito anymore, but everyone is too busy to notice. I told Dad that his face was as red as a riding hood this morning and he didn’t even tell me to bridle my honesty.” Cricket seemed genuinely disappointed by this turn of events. She played with the heart charm on her necklace, left, right, left and right.
A heart with an arrow thrust through it, the fletching just like the cuts of a key.
Ava Oneal’s words echoed in Tess’s head. I’m going home to find my heart. I hope you find yours.
“Cricket,” said Tess carefully, casually, “where did you get that necklace?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Cricket
Cricket gripped her necklace and backed her trike away from the Hairball Twins: beep-beep-beep. She didn’t want anyone looking at her necklace, because it was SINGULAR and it was HERS and also NONE OF ANYONE’S BEESWAX. The building had given her this necklace, and no matter how many times her mother told her that she’d have to learn, Cricket did not enjoy sharing, just like she didn’t enjoy being nice or quiet or any of the things her parents said little girls were supposed to be.
Little girls weren’t supposed to be spies, either.
But that was what she’d been doing for the last few weeks, spying on Mr. Stoop and Mr. Pinscher. It wasn’t difficult. They weren’t even trying to hide. People who thought they were the boss of everything never tried to hide what they were doing. They were too proud of themselves. (Obviously, Mr. Stoop and Mr. Pinscher didn’t have moms who told them not to be too proud of themselves, because people who were too proud of themselves ended up with no one to play with at recess. Mr. Stoop and Mr. Pinscher only had each other to play with, and Cricket assumed neither of them much liked the arrangement because who’d want to play with either of them? Yuck.) Anyway, Mr. Stoop and Mr. Pinscher thought they owned the place, so they took pieces of it whenever they wanted to, no matter who was watching. And Cricket was always watching. She watched them chisel tiles from the floors and the walls, remove light fixtures from the ceilings, pull doorknobs from the closets and storerooms, cut solar glass from one of the hallway windowpanes, carry off the wooden desk that had sat in the lobby for a million, jillion years. She followed them down to the basement and took notes as they picked through the residents’ belongings as if those belongings belonged to them, watched as they poked around the giant row of Lion batteries in the basement. (To Cricket’s irritation, the massive Lion batteries that kept the building powered were not shaped like lions as much as giant pain capsules with feet.)
And she watched them as they returned to the dumbwaiter again and again, trying to pry it open, trying to get it to work. But they were too dumb to work the dumbwaiter. So dumb they didn’t know how dumb they were. The dumbest of dumb babies.
“Our shadow has returned, Mr. Pinscher,” said Mr. Stoop, just a couple of weeks before, when they were once again attempting to drill out the lock on the dumbwaiter.
“Uh-huh,” said Mr. Pinscher.
“And she has brought her little pet with her.”
“And her little notebook.”
“Should we be worried, Mr. Pinscher?”
Mr. Pinscher made a rude noise.
“What do you think, little girl?” said Mr. Stoop, stooping low to look Cricket in the eye, talking to her as if she were just another dumb baby. “Do you think we should worry about you?”
“Nope,” said Cricket, who was nobody’s dumb baby. “I’m just playing a little game.”
“What kind of game?”
“A game of pretend,” Cricket said.
“What are you pretending to be?”
“A writer,” she said. “I’m writing an adventure story. With villains and monsters and heroes and people who steal things that don’t belong to them.”
“My favorite kind of story,” said Mr. Stoop. “Do you think we could read it when you’re done?”
“You can buy it in the bookstore,” said Cricket. She was watching them very carefully now, because she wanted another glimpse of the little leathery hand thing that she’d seen with them before, a creature they let out of its bag when they thought no one else was watching. It was so metal, the little leathery hand thing. And also, the tiniest bit scary.
“Where’s the LLHT?”
“Pardon?” said Mr. Stoop.
“The little leathery hand thing.”
“Ah. So you like our friend, do you?”
“I didn’t say that,” Cricket said. “It’s PECULIAR, that’s all.”
“It’s a new invention. Cutting-edge science.”
Cricket didn’t understand how little leathery hand things could be inventions or science, so she said, “Hmph.”
“Our friend senses things we don’t,” said Mr. Stoop. “Would you like to know what it’s made of?”
“Nightmares and leftover meatloaf,” said Cricket.
“You are an imaginative little person, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Pinscher?”
Mr. Pinscher snorted. “Sure.”
“How would you like to do a job for us?” said Mr. Stoop.
“What kind of job?”
“Well, you seem to enjoy watching people. How about you watch other people?”
“Which other people?” said Cricket.
“The other residents in this building. Maybe you can observe them. Ask them if they’ve ever found anything interesting in their apartments. Hidden under the floorboards, say. Or in the closets. Watch what they do when they think no one is looking. Then you can tell us what you’ve seen, and we will give you a prize.”
Cricket doubted that Mr. Stoop and Mr. Pinscher had any sort of prize that she would want. Still, she asked: “What kind of prize?”
“What would you like?”
“A rocket ship.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. How about something smaller?”
Cricket thought a minute. “A million jillion dollars.”
“That might be a little out of our range as well. Anything else?”
“A secret.”
“Ah, secrets are the best sort of currency, it’s true.”
Cricket did not like that she didn’t know what the word currency meant. “Hmph,” she said.
“All right,” said Mr. Stoop. “If you spy on the other residents of this building, and report back to us, I promise that I will tell you a secret.”
“It has to be a real secret,” said Cricket. “A secret secret.”
Mr. Stoop smiled.
It was not a good look for him.
“A secret secret it is,” said Mr. Stoop. “You have a deal.”
“Hmph,” said Cricket.
And she and Mr. Stoop shook hands like real spies.
Which meant that both of them were lying.
But Cricket did watch the other residents, because what else did she have to do while her parents packed up their apartment and tried to find a new one (though th
ey would have to spend some weeks at Cranky Cousin Gordon’s house in Bayonne, New Jersey, which made her dad APOPLECTIC). She followed Mr. and Mrs. Adeyemi and the Hornshaws and the Schwartzes. She wrote down what they did and what they said, even when what they said wasn’t very interesting. She even followed Mr. Perlmutter once, but when he offered her a sugar-free lollipop if she’d stop, she agreed, because eating a lollipop, even a sugar-free one, was much more fun than following Mr. Perlmutter, who kept perlmuttering that she should be outside playing in the park like a normal kid instead of annoying old men. As if she could be out in the park SOLO, spy or not.
But she spent most of her time following the Hairball Twins and their friend, Jaime Cruz. They were much more interesting. They were always huddled close together, whispering, as if they were the ones with the secret secret, one that they had no intention of sharing with anyone else. As good a spy as she was, Cricket never heard more than snatches of their conversations: letter, chair, cemetery, octagon, Ava, Ava, Ava. Whoever Ava was. And now they were dragging around a janky old suitcase as if there were a million jillion dollars in it.
Mr. Stoop wanted to know what they talked about.
Cricket opened her notebook and read from it: “‘Better,’ ‘bear,’ ‘cement airy,’ ‘concoct a gong,’ and ‘flavor, flavor, flavor.’”
“You can’t concoct a gong,” Mr. Pinscher pointed out.
Cricket shrugged. “I can’t help it if they talk a lot of nonsense.”
“Maybe you’re the one who is talking nonsense.”
“Now, now, Mr. Pinscher. I’m sure our friend wouldn’t invent things, would you?”
“Hmph,” said Cricket.
Mr. Stoop peered down at her. “So, that’s what they said. What have they been doing?”
“Counting the tiles,” said Cricket. “And eating. They eat a lot.”
“Counting the tiles?” said Mr. Pinscher. “There’s nothing special about the tiles.”
“Then why do you keep taking them off the walls?” Cricket said.
Mr. Stoop laughed.
It wasn’t a nice sound.
“I’ve told you everything that’s been happening,” Cricket said. “So, I’d like my secret, please. A secret secret. Just like you promised.”
“I suppose you’re right. I did promise. And a promise is a promise.” He took a step closer to Cricket, and his long shadow fell over her. “Once everyone in the building has moved out,” he said, his voice low, “I will release my friend from this bag. The, uh, little leathery hand thing, as you so charmingly named him. I’ve told him that he will be free to roam the halls of this place, and anyone that he finds inside, he’s allowed to eat.” Mr. Stoop took another step forward, and Cricket had to crane her neck all the way back to see him. “But that’s not the real secret, not the secret secret.”
“What’s the secret secret?” Cricket whispered, unable to keep herself from asking.
“The secret secret,” said Mr. Stoop, “is that he has no mouth.”
“How . . . how does he eat with no mouth?”
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Stoop. “But when he’s done, there’s nothing left behind but a few scraps. An ear. A toe. A single nostril. He can be, er, a bit messy.”
Cricket heard Mr. Stoop and Mr. Pinscher laughing as she raced her trike all the way back to her apartment.
She didn’t like the twins much and she liked their friend, Jaime, only a little bit more, mostly because he had famous hair. But they were better than Mr. Stoop and Mr. Pinscher, that was for sure.
Cricket liked her ears. She liked all her toes and both nostrils.
She liked all these things exactly the way they were.
“How can you eat with no mouth?” Cricket asked the twins.
“Is that a riddle?” Tess Biedermann said.
“No,” said Cricket. “It’s a serious question.”
“About that necklace,” Tess said.
“It’s mine,” said Cricket.
“I know. I’m just wondering if I could borrow it for a second.”
“I do not enjoy sharing,” said Cricket.
“Nobody enjoys sharing,” said Theo. When his sister gave him a look, he said, “What? It’s true.”
Tess bit her lip. Then she said, “Listen, Cricket, can you keep a secret?”
“What kind of secret?” Cricket said.
“A secret secret,” Tess said.
Cricket stood perfectly still. Maybe Tess had been spying on her.
“You see this suitcase?” Tess asked, pointing at the cart.
“Everyone does,” Cricket said. “It’s janky.”
Tess’s eyes darted to her parents, who were just outside the lobby doors, loading up their car. “We can’t open it. We need a key. And it looks like the charm on your necklace might be that key. Did you happen to find it somewhere in this building?”
Cricket stared.
Tess was a spy.
DOUBLE CROSS.
“I found it in the dumbwaiter,” said Cricket.
“I thought that didn’t work anymore,” said Theo.
“It only works for Karl. He has monkey fingers.”
Everyone looked down at Karl, who waved a cheese curl in triumph.
“If you let me borrow that necklace for a second, and it is the key we’ve been looking for, we’ll let you see what’s inside the suitcase,” said Tess.
Cricket thought about this. She wanted to see inside the suitcase, but maybe she didn’t. What if there was a little leathery hand thing in the suitcase? Or a little leathery foot thing? Or an actual face with an actual mouth?
With actual teeth?
Cricket was suddenly very tired. This was a weird place filled with weirder people. Sometimes, the most metal thing you could do was to spy on them all. Other times, the most metal thing you could do was get in the car and take a long nap.
Cricket pulled the necklace over her head, handed it to Tess. “Keep it.” Who needed to share like some dumb baby? Giving a gift was better than sharing. Besides, she didn’t need some cheap necklace. She had her word book. And that was way more important. The most important.
PARAMOUNT.
Tess Biedermann held the necklace in the palm of her hand as though she were cradling an egg. “Are you okay, Cricket?”
“I’m fine,” Cricket said. And she would be. Even if she had to go to Cranky Cousin Gordon’s house in Bayonne, New Jersey, with her tired mom, her screamy dad, and her not-so-ninja brother.
Bayonne, New Jersey, wouldn’t know what hit it.
She hoped Cranky Cousin Gordon had lots of Cheez Doodles.
As Zelda “Cricket” Moran rode her trike slowly through the lobby of 354 W. 73rd Street, so intent on taking that nap, she forgot to warn the Hairball Twins: Beware little leathery hand things with no mouths.
Who knew what they were hungry for?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jaime
As Cricket three-wheeled her way toward an epic car nap and possibly a whole new future, Jaime returned to 354 W. 73rd Street to get the last of his things. The new apartment in Hoboken was as big as his dad had said, with enormous floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the wrong side of the Hudson. The rooms were bright and white and clean, with some exposed brick along one wall, polished wooden floors, a sparkling new kitchen with all sorts of fancy appliances. Nothing needed to be painted or grouted or sanded. Nothing needed to be fixed or patched or welded. It was a nice place. An excellent place. Mima had taken one long look around and slumped on their lumpy old couch. She’d stared off into space until Jaime made her a cup of tea and promised to go to 354 W. 73rd alone. As the Underway trundled under the river back to Manhattan and then uptown, he felt like he’d abandoned her. Or failed her. Or failed his mom and dad. Or something.
In front of 354 W. 73rd, Mr. and Mrs. Biedermann were wedging more stuff into the trunk of an ancient van, one solar panel like a broken wing. The twins’ aunt Esther was there, too, telling Mr. Biedermann how best
to pack the van in order to get the most into it. There was a lone reporter trying to get a statement from them all, but Mrs. Biedermann gave the reporter a look of such loathing that the reporter stuffed the microphone in his pocket and ran away, the camera operator loping after him.
“Hey, Jaime,” said Mr. Biedermann, noting him standing there. Mr. Biedermann’s hair and beard hadn’t been trimmed for so long, they looked as if they might engulf his whole face. “I thought you and your grandmother had already left. Everyone else has.”
“We had a few boxes that couldn’t fit in the cab, so I came back for them myself. We have until midnight. Technically.”
“Technically,” Mr. Biedermann echoed.
And then Tess and Theo Biedermann burst through the lobby doors. Tess had a strange expression on her face. She jerked her chin at the suitcase on the cart, eyes wild. She touched her neck, where a key on a chain now dangled.
Aunt Esther grabbed the twins’ cart and jammed the boxes into the backseat of the van. She rested the suitcase by Jaime’s feet.
Mrs. Biedermann protested: “How will the kids fit in the van with us with all that stuff in the backseat?”
“Oh! They won’t,” said Aunt Esther. “But it looks to me like they need a little more time to say good-bye to their home.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Mr. Biedermann.
Mrs. Biedermann gave Tess a long, appraising look, a look that said I love you, a look that said I’m sorry, a look that said I understand. “Just don’t stay too late. It will be dark soon. Well, darker.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Tess said, her eyes now glinting with tears. Or maybe it was just the rain.
Mrs. Biedermann got into the passenger seat of the van while Mr. Biedermann squeezed into the backseat with the boxes.
