In the end, Fred and Ethel’s Cleaning Service mopped us up. But not before Mrs. Roosevelt got everyone in the bleachers to shout, “Give your all—that is all we need. In this way, we all succeed!”
Afterward, parents gathered around her to compliment her on her “team spirit” and “sense of fun.” Honest, they called her “fun.”
She smiled a huge smile that showed bad teeth and real joy. “It was amusing, was it not?” She sounded almost surprised.
At some point during the game, she’d pulled off her hairnet, freeing her once–tightly wound curls. Now a few strands of hair blew across her face. She laughed and tucked them behind her ear, then held up a juice box someone had given her.
“Have you ever had one of these, Nolan? They are delicious and entertaining. Watch!” Squeezing the box, she caught the stream of juice that spouted from its straw in her open, waiting mouth. She swallowed. “You know, I don’t remember when I have had such an enjoyable time. Perhaps I should start a White House soccer league. The Supreme Court would make nine excellent cheerleaders. I imagine we could set up on the South Lawn.”
Buh-dop, went my phone.
An hour?
“Oh, geez, Mrs. Roosevelt,” I said. “We need to—”
Beaming, she interrupted, “Call me Eleanor.”
“Eleanor.” Her name felt weird on my tongue. I tried again. “Eleanor, we need to—”
Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk!
Mr. Selff’s gold Buick crawled over to the curb. Olive and Fala poked their heads out the back window.
“Hurry and get in!” cried Olive. “It’s on! The radio—it turned itself on!”
She didn’t have to tell us twice. Mrs. Roosevelt—er, Eleanor and I bolted for the car.
I was just getting into the backseat when Heather called out to me. “See you tomorrow at practice?”
I turned. Straightened. Smiled. “Yeah, sure. I—”
Olive grabbed the back of my uniform and tugged. “Get in, already.”
I fell back onto the seat, and Olive slammed the door.
“Buckle up,” said Mr. Selff. He was still wearing a mermaid Princess Aquamarina tiara from the tea party. Putting on his turn signal, he checked his side mirror five times before creeping away from the curb. We inched down the street.
“Put the pedal to the medal!” hollered Olive.
“Aaarf!” barked Fala.
Behind us a blue minivan honked impatiently. At the first opportunity, it veered around us.
All my muscles clenched. How long would the radio stay on?
“Please, Mr. Selff, speed up,” I urged.
“Yes, perhaps a tad faster, Howard,” said Eleanor.
“I’m going as fast as I dare,” he replied. But he pressed the accelerator. The car went from inching to crawling.
“Hurry!” said Olive.
“Yes, do hurry,” said Eleanor.
“Aaaarf!” barked Fala.
After what seemed like about ten years, Mr. Selff made a wide, slow turn into our driveway. The car rolled to a stop and we leaped out.
“Go! Go!” cried Mr. Selff. He fumbled with the keys, the door, his cane. “Don’t wait for this old heap.”
We sprinted around the corner to the front door…
And came to a screeching halt.
Tommy Tuttle was sitting cross-legged on the front stoop, nonchalantly chomping on a strip of bacon jerky.
“OH, COME ON!” CRIED Olive. “You, again?”
“What can I say?” replied Tommy with a shrug. “A good detective is persistent.” He stood and tucked the unfinished strip of jerky into a pocket of his trench coat.
Fala raised his nose and sniffed the air.
“Some unusual things have been going on in your house, Stanberry,” Tommy said with a greasy smirk.
Behind him, the radio’s white light blinked out from between the cracks of the window blinds.
I felt tingly with panic. How much longer would the radio stay on? Any second now, it could go dark, leaving Eleanor trapped in the twenty-first century.
“Move it!” I growled.
“Or I’ll turn on my shoes!” added Olive.
Eleanor laid a hand on my sister’s shoulder. “Stay calm, dear.”
Fala trotted forward and, rearing up on his hind legs, sniff-sniff-sniffed Tommy’s pocket.
Tommy pushed him away. “This has been a tough case to crack, but I always get my man. I mean, woman.” He shook his head. “Whatever! I finally put two and two together, and it equals—”
“Four,” interrupted Olive. She looked around at us. “Duh!”
“No, it equals the truth.” Tommy put his hand on his chin and rubbed imaginary whiskers. “Allow me to elucidate.”
“Huh?” said Olive.
“It’s the detective word for explain,” I told her. I knew that from the Mysterious Mysteries graphic novel series.
Fala began tugging on the hem of Tommy’s trench coat.
Tommy was too busy elucidating to notice. “As I was saying…clue number one: she is not Amelia Earhart. Clue number two: she has a little dog. Clue number three: she has a funny-sounding voice.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Eleanor stiffly.
“Clue number four…” Tommy paused.
In the quiet, I could faintly hear static coming from the radio.
That was when Mr. Selff shuffled up behind us. He took in the situation in a flash. “Move aside, young man,” he said to Tommy.
“I don’t take orders from old guys in crowns,” Tommy replied.
“It’s a tiara, not a crown,” said Olive. “Consider yourself elucidated.”
The static had gotten louder, and was it my imagination, or was the world starting to go blurry? I recognized those signs. Eleanor had to go now.
“Tiara. Crown. Who cares?” Tommy was saying. “It’s all stupid mermaid stuff.”
Olive put her hands on her hips. “Repeat that. I dare you!”
With a smirk, Tommy said it again: “Stupid mermaid stuff.”
“You asked for it!” said Olive. She let him have it…with her shoes.
“Wowza!” shouted Tommy. He squeezed his eyes shut and stumbled backward.
At the same time, Fala lunged. Leaping into the air, he grabbed the end of the trench coat’s belt and tugged.
Dog and boy twirled. From the coat’s many pockets flew a magnifying glass, a notepad, a pencil, a vial of something green, a Sherlock Holmes action figure, a pair of mini binoculars, and three strips of bacon jerky.
Tommy lunged for his detective equipment.
Fala lunged for the jerky.
The two met in midair, bouncing off each other like bowling pins and rolling down the two steps to the walkway.
That was when Tommy realized that his coat was open—and that we could all see what he was wearing underneath it.
“Hector the Hedgehog underpants!” exclaimed Olive. “Va-va-va-voom!”
Tommy clutched the coat around him. “I…I can explain,” he stammered. “I was in the middle of trying on the new underwear my mom bought for me when I put two and two together, and…”
We didn’t wait to hear the rest. In a flash, we were through the door and headed into the kitchen.
A second later, Mr. Selff caught up with us. “I locked the door,” he said.
He joined us in front of the radio.
The pop and crackle from the headphones were louder now. Then the noise seemed to form words. Through the static I clearly heard the word “home.”
“It’s time!” I said.
Eleanor nodded. “Fala, come!” she called.
Obediently, the Scottish terrier snatched his rubber bone off the rug and leaped into her arms.
I turned
to Olive. “It’s up to you. You have to do it exactly the way you did it earlier. You know, when you brought Fala here. Got it?”
“Got it,” said Olive. She put on the headphones and reached for the dial.
“Wait!” cried Eleanor. “I cannot leave without saying goodbye.”
She hurried over to Mr. Selff and took his hands in hers. “I shall be looking for you in my future.”
“You think you’ll recognize me without all these wrinkles?” he asked.
She smiled. “You, Howard, are unforgettable.”
The static in the headphones grew louder and more insistent.
Eleanor turned to Olive. “And you, dear girl. Do not ever lose your spirit. It will serve you well.” She leaned over and kissed Olive’s right cheek.
Fala licked her left one.
“Time to go,” I urged.
In the whirl of sound, the word “home” was being repeated over and over.
Eleanor turned to me. “You learn by living,” she said. “We both discovered that today, Nolan.” She winked. “Because of you, I am going to let my hair down more often in the future. Well, in my future.”
“Enough, already!” hollered Olive. “The sound is fading!”
Eleanor stepped back and clutched Fala to her chest.
Olive reached for the dial. “Good-bye, Ellie!’
“Good-bye, Ollie!” she called back, her voice already garbled and sputtering with static.
Click…click…click.
The world dissolved, the room once again melting into a blur. Then—
POP!
The room snapped back like a rubber band and returned to focus.
Eleanor and Fala were gone.
None of us said anything right away. We just stared at the empty space where they’d been.
Finally, Mr. Selff said, “Phew! I’ve seen some things in my time, but that was one wild ride.”
“I hope she made it back okay,” said Olive.
“Oh, she made it just fine.” Mr. Selff’s face beamed as he reached into his wallet and pulled out a black-and-white snapshot. It was faded and creased in places. But when he handed it to me, I could still make out the picture.
“I’ve always wondered why she hugged me as if I were a long-lost friend,” said Mr. Selff. “Now I know.”
Olive peered at the photo. “I’m glad she gave up the hairnets.”
“She gave those up today at the soccer game,” I said.
Mr. Selff pointed at the place Eleanor had been standing. “Looks like she left you a memento.”
“That’s all she left?” Olive said, pouting. “A nasty old hairnet?” She turned to Mr. Selff. “Ben Franklin left us a whole electrostatic machine.”
Mr. Selff’s bushy eyebrows shot up. But before I could explain, the front door opened and Mom called, “Kids?”
“Mommy!” squealed Olive. She raced into the hallway to give our mother a hug.
Mr. Selff and I followed.
“Where’s Eleanor?” asked Mom when she saw us. “And why did I see Tommy running down the street in his underwear? Is everything all right?”
“Allow me to elucidate,” began Olive.
I cut her off. “Eleanor had to…um…leave unexpectedly,” I said. “But don’t worry. Mr. Selff is here.”
“I don’t understand. Why is—”
I changed the subject. “How was your plane ride?”
“It was good, Nolan, but I really want to hear about—”
“And the rest of your trip? Anything exciting happen?”
“Exciting? Well, it’s Manhattan, so it’s always exciting, honey. Now tell me what’s been happening here. What did you think of Eleanor? Did you like her? Was she nice? And where in the world did Olive get those shoes?”
The last thing I wanted to talk about was Eleanor…or Olive’s stupid shoes.
“How is your editor, Mom?”
If there’s one subject my mother loves to blab about, it’s her editor.
“Oh, Ann!” Mom slapped a hand over her heart. “She’s genius, as always. I tell you, Nolan, nothing primes the creative pump like spending time with her. In fact, we already have an idea for our next book. It just sort of popped into my mind while I was in her office, and she went for it. Guess who the Bumble Bunnies are blasting back to meet next?”
I shook my head.
“Eleanor Roosevelt!” exclaimed Mom.
“Nobody will know who she is,” said Olive.
Mom frowned.
“Just saying,” added Olive.
“Well, I intend to change that,” said Mom. “Listen, you guys, I want to run upstairs and make a few quick notes while the idea is still fresh. Then I’ll take you out for pizza. Is it a deal?”
“Deal,” I said.
Mom hurried up the stairs. But at her studio doorway, she stopped. “Of course, that includes you too, Mr. Selff.”
“That’s very kind,” said Mr. Selff. “But are you sure you want an old man like me around?”
“Are you kidding?” I said. “No one looks as good in a tiara as you do.”
Mr. Selff reached up and touched his head. “Good heavens, I forgot I still had it on.”
That was when Olive started doing the conga. “Pizza-pizza-pizz-AH! Pizza-pizza-pizz-AH!”
“I do like sausage,” said Mr. Selff
“Sausage-sausage-sau-SAGE!” sang Olive.
Mr. Selff joined in, knees creaking, cane thumping. “Sausage-sausage-sau-SAGE!”
At the top of the stairs, Mom laughed.
And that was when it struck me. Eleanor Roosevelt hadn’t just left us a hairnet. She’d left us a friend.
And that was something to conga about.
THE DOORBELL RANG WHILE I was doing my social studies homework at the kitchen table, reading about the Puritans for a report I had to turn in on Monday. School had started only a week ago, but the teachers at Rolling Hills Elementary don’t believe in wasting any time. They get right to torturing their students…kind of like the Puritans.
Olive whizzed past me.
“I’ll get it.” She raced to the door and yanked it open.
A plain white envelope lay on the stoop. My name and address were written in big block letters. No postage. No return address.
My stomach flip-flopped. I recognized the handwriting. It was the same that had been on the package with the crystal radio in it. I swallowed hard. I knew who it was from: H.H.
It was just one sentence:
The leftovers fit together.
“Huh?” said Olive. “What leftovers? Those prunes from Ellie’s breakfast?” She shivered. “Nothing fits with those.”
“Leftovers,” I muttered, thinking.
I went upstairs to my bedroom, opened my desk drawer, and took out the hairnet Eleanor had left behind. Ben had left something too. Still thinking, I headed out into the garage. That was where I’d put the electrostatic machine we’d built with Ben. I’d stuck it in the corner behind the snowblower and covered it with a tarp.
I pulled away the tarp.
It didn’t look like anything special, just an old ice cream maker with a bunch of random parts attached to it. But I knew that as I cranked the handle, it would generate tiny sparks of electricity.
The machine whirred and hummed. Pinpricks of blue electricity lit up the glass jars on top.
The hairnet in my hand began to wiggle as if it were alive.
“Ugh!” I cried, opening my fingers.
Freed, the hairnet twisted like a jellyfish, changing shape and size. It stretched itself over the generator. And as it did, the electrostatic machine seemed to grow in strength. The electric charge blazed bluer. The soft whirr changed to a low roar.
“What’s going on?” asked
Olive, coming into the garage.
“I…I’m not sure,” I said.
But as we stood there staring at the contraption, stuff started to dawn on me. I had this strange feeling that the contraption wasn’t finished. That it needed more parts. I swear I could almost see a pattern in my mind, a sense of pieces snapping into place. But what sorts of pieces? And why? What were we building?
My gut told me it had to do with the radio. And H.H.
The machine hummed, and sparks crawled over the hairnet until it glowed blue-white. Then it flickered out and whirred to silence, shutting itself down.
“Weeeeird!” drawled Olive.
“You can say that again.”
“Weeeeird!”
We stared at the machine for another minute. Then I threw the tarp back over it and headed up to the attic.
I must have looked determined, because Olive chased after me. “What are you going to do, Nolan?” she asked.
I hadn’t touched the radio since hiding it in the attic after our pizza party with Mom and Mr. Selff. I hadn’t wanted Olive to touch it either, so I’d put it in with Christmas stuff, buried under a ginormous knot of indoor-outdoor lights. I figured if no one played with the radio, nobody from history could turn up. But the note from H.H. had me worried. I had to see it. Make sure it was still there. Make sure it was still off.
I dug around in the cardboard box, pulled the radio out, and set it on the dusty wooden floor. When I opened the hinged lid, I relaxed a little: the thing was dark and quiet.
“The radio!” yelped Olive from my doorway. “It’s the radio!”
She danced into the room. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s call Ellie. Or…wait…let’s call Ben. Or…no…I know…let’s call them both!” She grabbed for the dial.
I grabbed at her. “No, Olive! Stop!”
Eleanor Roosevelt's in My Garage! Page 9
