by David Lubar
The guy punched some buttons on the cash register, took my money, then punched some more buttons that sent my change came sliding down a chute connected to the register. The way things were set up, it looked like the place could have been run by trained poodles.
I got my order and took it to Dad. To tell the truth, and I am ashamed to say this, the food smelled so good I was tempted to eat it on the way back.
“Let’s see,” Dad said, taking apart one of the burgers like a surgeon going for a gallbladder. “Standard bun … sauce … three slices of pickle … onion … lettuce.” He examined each part of the burger, saving the meat for last. Then he broke open the patty. He sniffed it. He rubbed it between his fingers. He tasted a little piece. Then he shook his head. “It’s good meat. I was hoping it would turn out to be something cheap. If he was using bad cuts of meat, I could understand the low prices.”
I snuck a taste. It seemed fine. “How else could he keep his costs down?” I asked.
“Well, he might have gotten a good deal on the lot where he built the place. But that still wouldn’t explain his prices. Maybe he has relatives working for him and he doesn’t pay them.”
“Could be,” I said. “All the people working there looked a bit alike.”
Dad shook his head again. “Let’s hope he raises his prices soon. I can’t take much more of this.”
“He will,” I said.
But he didn’t. Monster Burgers kept on selling food at prices we couldn’t beat. Dad started looking real worried. Even Davey looked worried. One afternoon, I caught him out back with a pile of butts at his feet. “What’s up?” I asked.
He seemed nervous. “Look,” he said, “a guy’s got to take care of himself. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. Before I could say so, he went on.
“I was just checking. They ain’t hiring cooks.”
“Who isn’t hiring?” I asked.
“You know—them.” He motioned in the general direction of Monster Burgers.
“You asked them for a job?” It suddenly sunk in that he was talking about leaving us.
Davey stared at the ground and didn’t say anything. He reminded me of a little kid who’s been caught writing a swear word on the sidewalk. “You’re right,” I told him, “you have to look out for yourself.” I wanted to make him feel better. But I did feel sort of betrayed. How could he ask the enemy for a job?
That was it! “Great idea, Davey!” I said.
“What?”
“I could get a job there and find out how they’re selling burgers for so little.” Even if they weren’t hiring cooks, they probably needed some kind of help.
So I went to Monster Burgers and stood in line again. It was crowded, as usual. The workers behind the counter were taking orders without saying anything. The same guy was mopping the floor. When my turn came, I stepped up to the counter and asked, “Who do I see about a job?”
The guy at the register kind of jerked his head to the side. I looked over. There was a man behind the counter in the corner. He appeared to be a lot more alert than any of the workers.
“Excuse me,” I called to him.
He looked over. “Yes.”
I felt a sudden chill run through me. Overhead, the air-conditioning kicked in, blowing a cold gust down my back.
“Who do I see about a job here?” I expected a one-word answer, but the guy surprised me.
“I’m sorry,” he told me. “We aren’t hiring at the moment.” His accent reminded me of an ad for one of those warm, sunny islands where people go for vacation.
I wasn’t planning to take “no” for an answer. “I work real cheap,” I told him. “And I’m a hard worker. Can’t I at least get on a waiting list of some kind?”
He shook his head.
In the end, I did have to take “no” for an answer. He just wasn’t hiring.
It didn’t seem to make any sense. “Who’d want to work here anyhow?” I muttered as I walked out. “The place is freezing, and it smells funny.”
“No luck?” Davey asked me when I came back to Jumbo Burgers. He was leaning over the grill, cooking a burger for one of our rare customers.
“Nope.” I looked out at the empty booths.
He shrugged. “Stop worrying. Life’s too short to waste it going crazy over stuff you can’t change.” He stepped back from the grill and wiped his face with a cloth.
. That’s when it all clicked together for me. “No sweat!” I said.
Davey gave me a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure. It can’t be. But it has to be.” I didn’t want to say anything more until I had proof.
So I snuck back there at closing time and looked through the side window by the bushes. I couldn’t believe what I saw the owner do. Even thinking about it made me shudder.
Thinking about it also gave me an idea how to make things right and normal again. But I couldn’t handle it alone.
I went to get Davey. “Look, we can save the place. You just have to do one thing for me.” I told him what I needed.
He shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
“Come on, it’s no big deal. If you don’t do it, I’m going to have to try. And I’ll probably get killed. You want that to happen? You want me to get fried?”
Davey sighed. Finally, he said, “Okay. I should know better, but I’ll do it.”
We went back to Monster Burgers and Davey disconnected the power that ran into the place.
“This won’t make much difference, you know,” he told me when he was done. “A few things might spoil, but you’ll never put him out of business this way. He probably has insurance.
“Look, just get back here before opening time and reconnect the power. Trust me—it’ll work.” I couldn’t tell him the real reason. There was no way he’d believe me.
“Whatever …” Davey shrugged and walked off.
Morning seemed to take forever to come. When the sun trickled through my window, I rushed to Monster Burgers. I could see the lights inside, so I knew that Davey had reconnected the power, leaving no evidence of our tampering. Now, I’d find out if I was right.
I crouched near some bushes and peeked inside. The owner was just finishing up making changes to the menu board. Then he walked to the freezer. I held my breath, hoping I was right.
“Well?” Someone squatted next to me.
I thought I was going to jump through the window. I clamped down my jaw to keep from shouting and spun toward the voice. It was Davey. “Well?” he asked again.
“You’ll see in a second. Watch the freezer.”
“But I told you—he won’t go out of business if some meat spoils.”
“I know. I’m not going after the meat.” I stopped to watch the owner. He was opening the freezer.
From his face, I knew I was right. He staggered backward and clamped his hand over his mouth.
“Cheap labor,” I said to Davey. “Very cheap labor. That had to be the answer. Last night, when I saw him marching all the workers into the freezer, I knew.”
“The freezer?”
“Yup. They’re zombies.”
I glanced back inside to see what the owner was doing. He took several slow steps backward, his hand still clamped over his mouth. Then he turned and ran toward the door.
Davey shook his head. “No.”
“Yes. Raised from the dead and slaving under his power. What a way to run a business. He didn’t have to pay them. He just stuck them in the freezer every night so they wouldn’t spoil. At least, that was the plan until we came along.”
In the front of the building, the owner was dashing out the door. I had a feeling he would keep running, considering the mess he was leaving.
The door shut behind him, but not before some of the air inside drifted our way, telling me beyond any doubt that I was right. Until now, I’d thought Davey’s cigars were the worst thing I’d ever smelled. I felt
sorry for whoever had to clean up that mess. Instead of a burger and fries, I’d imagine that the only thing you could get there now would be a burger and flies.
“Come on, Davey,” I said. “We’d better get back to the shop. I have a feeling business is about to pick up.”
“I know what you mean.” Davey said. “I’m dying to get to work.”
That shook me for a second. But when I glanced back at him, he was smiling. I smiled, too. I was looking forward to the crowds. But I suspected it might be a while before I could eat another burger.
GAME OVER
Linda tiptoed into her brother’s room. Behind her, she could hear Cheryl giggling. “Shhh,” Linda said, glancing back at her friend.
“No one’s home. Why are you being so quiet?” Cheryl asked.
“Listen, I feel like he’s going to jump out from behind the door and catch us.” She hated sneaking into Peter’s room, but she really wanted to try his new game. She knew he wouldn’t share it with her, and he certainly wouldn’t let her share it with her friends.
Trying not to disturb any of the piles of clothing and magazines and papers on the floor, Linda crossed the room to Peter’s desk and unplugged the game player. It was the newest sixty-four-bit model, complete with a built-in flat-panel screen that popped up from the base unit. She figured her brother had probably delivered about ninety thousand newspapers to earn enough money for the game.
Out in the hall, she could hear Genna and Mimi talking. Hurrying, Linda gathered the game console, the power supply, and four joysticks. The SpaceMaster CD was already in the player. Wires dangled from her arms like an electronic octopus. “Here, take something,” Linda said to Cheryl.
Cheryl grabbed the joysticks and the two girls hurried from the room.
“It that it?” Genna asked when they got into the hall.
“Yup,” Linda said.
“Your room?” Mimi asked.
“No, I don’t want to take any chance that Peter will catch us. He’d flip if he knew I was borrowing it.” Linda thought for a moment. “Let’s take it to the attic. Nobody ever goes up there.” She headed down the hall.
“I hope this is good,” Mimi said as they climbed the narrow steps at the end of the hallway on the second floor.
“It’s supposed to be great,” Cheryl said. “I heard it was better than anything that’s been out so far.”
Linda opened the door and felt around for the light switch. The wall was dry and dusty beneath her fingers. The light, one small bulb, barely revealed half of the attic. “Help me find a place to plug it in,” she said, stepping toward the shadows.
The girls searched along the sides of the attic near the floor. “Got it,” Mimi said. “Over here.”
Linda carried the game to Mimi and tried to plug it in. The outlet looked old-fashioned. Linda started to force the plug.
“Maybe the wall thing is too old,” Genna said. “Some stuff doesn’t fit in old ones.”
“It’ll fit,” Linda said. There was no way she was going to give up so easily. She pushed harder. A tiny spark flashed from the outlet as the plug finally sank in. “See? No problem.”
They hooked up the joysticks and sat down to play. “Here goes,” Linda said, pressing the on/off switch. She watched as the title page came up, spinning toward them in stunning 3-D graphics. Stereo sound surrounded them, music mixed with the whooshing of rockets.
“Cool,” Mimi said. “Let’s play.”
Linda, with joystick number one, selected a multi-player game. In a moment, the girls were piloting four ships through a deadly field of asteroids and enemy attackers.
“Whoa, this is tough,” Genna said as her ship took a hit.
Linda moved quickly to avoid a pair of asteroids, then fired at another that was closing in on her. “Got it,” she said.
“Great graphics,” Cheryl said. “Everything looks so real.”
“Ouch, hit again,” Genna said. “One more and I’m history.”
Linda checked her status bar. She was doing fine. No hits yet. “Hey, let’s fly in front of Genna so we can protect her,” she said. Just then, Genna’s ship took another hit and exploded in a spectacular fireball.
“Too late,” Linda said. “Sorry, Genna.”
Genna didn’t answer.
“No need to sulk,” Linda said. She glanced at her friend. But Genna wasn’t there. “Hey, where’d she go?”
“Must have gone for a drink,” Cheryl said. “Oops,” she added as she got hit.
Linda turned her attention back to the game. It was funny—she didn’t remember Genna leaving. But she really couldn’t pay attention to anything besides the asteroids that were hurtling toward her ship—not if she wanted to stay alive. Another huge chunk of pitted rock sped toward her from the left, but she shot it just in time.
“Darn,” Cheryl said. Her ship took a final hit. It turned into a fireball, then faded to nothing.
Linda heard the thud of a joystick hitting the floor. “Hey, careful with that,” she said as she glanced over.
Cheryl wasn’t there.
“What’s going on?” Mimi said. “Where’d Cheryl go? She was right here.”
“I don’t know.”
“That does it,” Mimi said, her voice rising in pitch. “I quit.” She put her joystick down and stepped back.
Her ship, unguided, took a hit.
“I’m not playing. That’s not me anymore.” Mimi was shouting now. She took another step back.
Her ship got hit again. And again. It exploded.
Linda risked a glance at her friend. Just as she looked, Mimi vanished from sight, turning a glowing amber like the ship and then fading into nothingness. Her ship was gone. She was gone.
Linda reached one hand toward the power switch, then yanked it back in time to steer clear of two more asteroids. She wanted to turn the game off, but she was afraid.
“Oh no!” She took a hit from an enemy ship. She fired back and blew it up before it could cause more damage.
The game was getting harder. Linda tried to pay attention, but she could barely concentrate. The joystick shook in her hands, almost as if it wanted to squirm free. Her palms grew damp and her fingers began to ache.
“No!”
Another hit. One more and her ship would explode.
A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead and into the corner of her eye. She rubbed her eye against her arm, not daring to take a hand from the joystick. Even this motion was too much. An asteroid clipped the side of her ship. The power bar slid into nothingness. The ship glowed bright red and began to expand.
Linda’s thumb slid across the joystick. She felt herself fading. She hit the pause button.
The game stopped.
The word PAUSE flashed on the screen. Behind it, the ship had just begun to break apart. It was frozen for the moment, but its fate was obvious.
She heard the front door open and close. “Linda,” her mom called. “Are you home?”
It was in that instant, as she tried to answer, that Linda knew what she had done. The game was halted, locked in place. So was Linda.
“Are you here?” her mom called.
She heard footsteps moving from room to room. She heard calls. The steps never came up the attic stairs. Linda was frozen, unable to answer. Eventually, the calls stopped. In front of her, the game hung suspended, waiting for someone to press a button—waiting patiently and forever.
SMUNKIES
My little brother is such a jerk. But I guess that’s his role at the moment. Tommy’s only six, and it’s tough not to be a jerk at six. My friend Brian is a jerk, too. Brian’s my age, so he has no excuse.
More than anything, Tommy is a jerk about those stupid catalogs of his. He’s always saving his allowance and ordering junk that anyone with half a brain would know was worthless. Most of the stuff he gets never works or doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do. The few things that actually worked broke right away.
Tommy never learns. Every month or so,
he’ll start haunting the front window, looking for the
UPS truck, waiting for his order to come. The truck passes by all the time, but it usually doesn’t have anything for us. Still as soon as he sees the truck, Tommy will start to dance like a dog that has to pee.
If Brian’s around, he’ll almost always say, “Hey, you’d better let your brother out in the yard before he messes the carpet.”
Today, Brian was over. We’d been planning to put new valve-cover gaskets on Dad’s junker Plymouth. Dad had offered us ten bucks each to do the job, which was just fine as far as we were concerned. We’d get up to our elbows in grease and get paid for the pleasure. What could be better?
We were standing in the driveway when the brown truck came by. This time, it squealed to a stop right in front of the house. I looked over at the window and smiled. Tommy was about to go ballistic. He was hopping so hard I thought his head would snap away from his body. Then he disappeared from the window. An instant later, he was out the door and flying down the porch. He practically pulled the box from the driver’s hands, then rushed back into the house.
“Your brother needs to calm down a bit,” Brian said. He pawed through the tool kit, until he found the socket wrench.
“Hey, we were young once.” I sort of understood how Tommy felt.
“Yeah, but we were never that goofy.”
A few minutes later, Tommy came running out. “I need a jar for my smunkies,” he said.
“Smunkies?” I usually understood him, but this time I didn’t have a clue.
“Look.” He held up a small package.
I read the label. SEA MONKEYS, it announced in large letters. On the back, there was a picture of these playful, happy creatures dancing around in a tank of water.
“Tommy …” I wanted to tell him he’d probably just spent his money on some kind of tiny shrimp. I was pretty sure that’s all they were. But he looked so happy and eager, I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.
“I need ajar,” he said.
“There are plenty in the garage, right next to the rake,” I told him. “Just make sure you get a clean one. Don’t take one that smells like paint thinner or gasoline. Okay?” I’d hate to see his new pets going belly up—or whatever went up on them—right at the start.
