by Lin Oliver
“What’s wrong with you?” Brownstone asked. “You look like your pants are on fire.”
“When you have the urge to soap up a car, you just have to go with it,” Billy answered. “I’m sure you know the feeling.”
“You and your stupid soapsuds are weird, Broccoli. In fact, I’m getting out of here right away before your weirdness rubs off on me.”
As Rod turned to head back into his house, the Hoove couldn’t resist. He left the car and flew over to Brownstone, hovering just above his head. Contracting his whole body, he squeezed out a blast of soapy water that sprayed all over Rod’s hair. Rod whipped around and shot Billy a nasty look.
“That’s a violation, Broccoli. Assault with a soapy sponge. You’re going to pay for this.”
He hunkered off into the house, probably to get his codebook and look up the penalty for assault with a soapy sponge. The Hoove roared with laughter.
“You’re laughing now,” Billy said, “but you won’t be laughing when the Higher-Ups punish you for that little move.”
“Come on, they must have a sense of humor. Besides, I’m doing a bang-up job here, they’ve got to respect that. Hand me that DustBuster, Billy. I’m ready to take on the interior.”
The Hoove popped back to his normal shape, and Billy handed him the DustBuster. The Hoove took it and shot through the front door of the car. Unfortunately, the mini-vacuum stayed on the outside and fell to the ground. When Billy reached down to pick it up, he saw that what had been one mini-vacuum was now two half vacuums. Neither one of them worked.
“Hey, you broke this,” he called to the Hoove. “How am I going to explain this to my mom?”
The Hoove wasn’t listening. He was zipping around the inside of the car, gathering up the candy wrappers.
“I’m going to throw these out the window,” he called to Billy. “You hold the plastic bag and I’ll toss them in.”
He reached over to the electric window controls that were on the center console. What he didn’t realize was that the button he was pressing was not the window control. It was the parking brake release.
The car started to roll down the driveway, slowly at first, then picking up speed as it went downhill.
“Hoove!” Billy shouted. “The car’s moving! Put on the emergency brake!”
The Hoove looked desperately around. All the buttons on the console looked the same to him.
“I don’t know where it is on a modern car,” he called, panic in his voice.
Billy raced alongside the moving car, pulling on the door handle as he ran. He jumped inside the car and shouted for the Hoove to move over to the passenger side. Holding the steering wheel with two hands, he slammed his foot on the regular brake, which gave him a moment to engage the emergency brake. The car came to a screeching halt. They were in the middle of the street, but at least they hadn’t hit anything.
“Is this what you call being responsible?” Billy said angrily. “You could have caused an accident and gotten me in big trouble.”
“You know that ‘trouble’ part you’re talking about?” the Hoove said. “Look over your left shoulder. I think it’s coming your way.”
Billy glanced over his shoulder and saw his mother pulling up in her car, with Breeze sitting in the seat next to her. They both had a horrified look on their faces. His mom practically flew out of her car.
“Billy Everett Broccoli!” she shouted. “What are you doing driving Bennett’s car?”
Billy rolled down the window.
“This isn’t what it looks like, Mom.”
Breeze had gotten out of the car and joined her mother.
“You’re eleven, pip-squeak. You can’t drive. You have a hard time combing your hair, let alone operating a motor vehicle. You are so grounded.”
“Mom, don’t listen to her,” Billy begged. “I can explain.”
“There are no explanations for this, Billy. I have seen everything I need to see. Go to your room immediately.”
“And be prepared to stay there for seven years,” Breeze added.
“Breeze, I’ll handle this, thank you,” Mrs. Broccoli-Fielding said.
Billy slid from the seat and headed into the house. The Hoove was right behind him.
“This is a tough turn of events,” the Hoove said. “But we’ll get out of this.”
“You just got me in it,” Billy said, marching down the hall to his room. “Why is it that whatever you do ends up to be a disaster for me?”
“I was just trying to be responsible,” the Hoove said. “And hey, you have to admit, I did a pretty good job. That car looks beautiful, even if it is in the middle of the street.”
“Oh really? Why don’t you ask the Higher-Ups what they think?”
“As a matter of fact, I will do that immediately. And I am convinced that they will see that underneath this slight glitch, what I did was worthy of a trip to the museum.”
The Hoove followed Billy into his room. Billy flicked on the light switch, but instead of the light going on, the ceiling lit up with a thousand twinkling stars.
“You see,” the Hoove said to Billy. “They’re glowing at me. Hoove’s Rule Number Four Hundred and Nineteen: Stars are always a positive sign.”
“I think you better scratch that one right out of the Rule Book,” Billy said. “Take another look.”
The Hoove looked up at the ceiling again. The stars had moved their positions, forming a sparkling constellation of two simple words: “REQUEST DENIED.”
The Hoove spent half that evening pacing back and forth in Billy’s room in the way that ghosts pace, which is to say, just above the carpet.
“Those Higher-Ups frustrate me so much,” he kept muttering as Billy sat at his desk trying to study for his geography test the next day.
“Yeah, well you’re doing the same to me, Hoove. I have to learn all the capital cities of Africa for a quiz tomorrow and your complaining is not helping my concentration.”
“I say we go out for some fresh air,” the Hoove suggested. “These four walls are driving me crazy, and I need to calm myself down.”
“I’d like some fresh air,” Billy answered, “but because of a certain car incident caused by a certain flaky ghost I’m forced to know, I am grounded in this room until I grow a mustache. Which won’t be until I’m at least eighteen, because I’m having a slow growth spurt.”
“You know, Billy Boy, mustaches are overrated. And so is being tall.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Hoove. No one sees you.”
“That is incorrect. Anacapa saw me, and apparently she liked what she saw. And now, I can’t keep my appointment with her, and among other things, I will never find out exactly when the Chumash people began using corn for pancakes.”
“That shows how much you know, Hoove. The Chumash used acorns ground up to make mush and soup, which they ate on a daily basis.”
“My point exactly, Billy Boy. These are the scintillating facts I would know if I could get to the museum. Besides, what’s Anacapa going to think of me if I don’t show up?”
“She’ll think that you’re a no-show, which, by the way, you are most of the time. You’ve got to admit, Hoove, you’re not exactly the essence of reliability.”
“You are correct, sir. But that was the old Hoove. You are speaking to a brand-new me.”
“Oh really. And what exactly is causing this total turnaround?”
The Hoove stopped floating around the room and looked squarely at Billy. A look of serious determination crossed his face. Billy had never seen him assume that expression before and couldn’t imagine what the Hoove was going to say next.
“You have to understand what it’s been like for me, for the last ninety-nine years,” the Hoove began. “Every ghost friend I have is a thousand years older than me. It’s like hanging around with your great-grandfather, times nine. They’re not exactly the fun guys.”
Billy put his pencil down and spun his chair around. There was something in the Hoove’s ton
e of voice that sounded so sincere. There was none of his usual swagger.
“I’m your friend,” Billy told him. “And we’re close to the same age.”
“It’s not the same,” the Hoove said. “First of all, we’re in two different worlds. And second of all, you’re the only one who can see me, which is very limiting in a social situation. With Anacapa, I have a chance to have a friend who’s really like me.”
“You mean dead?”
“That’s one way to say it, and very uncalled for. Another way to say it is that we are both citizens of the spiritual plane. We’re like two peas in a pod. Or two kernels of corn on a husk. Or two spears of asparagus in a bunch. Two carrots —”
“Enough with the vegetables, Hoove. I get the picture.”
“So you can understand, then, why I don’t want to miss this appointment. Anacapa does not seem like the kind of person who takes being stood up lightly.”
The Hoove flopped down on Billy’s bed and let out a long sigh, which filled the room with cold air. A scent of tart oranges wafted from him.
“I’m sorry, Hoove,” Billy said softly. “I wish I could help you.”
The Hoove just lay there with his eyes closed, still as a sardine in a can. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide as he shot up into the air.
“That’s it,” he shouted. “That’s the answer. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you are the answer, Billy Boy. You’re the key that will unlock this problem.”
“I’m not liking the sound of this,” Billy said, fear overtaking his sympathy.
“Trust me,” the Hoove said. “This will be as simple as rolling out of bed and brushing your teeth. All you have to do is go to the museum tomorrow at four o’clock. Find Anacapa in her diorama. And tell her that I had an unexpected turn of events … um … that my leg fell off and I have to go find it … and I can’t make it.”
“You expect me to say that with a straight face?” Billy said. “I can’t.”
“What’s the problem? Is it the leg thing? Maybe you’re right. That is a little extreme. Okay, tell her instead that my hand fell off. That’s much more believable.”
“I don’t think she wants to hear about your missing body parts, Hoove.”
“Okay, tell her anything. But deliver this message. Ask her if she’ll meet me at the movies.”
“You want me to ask her out on a date for you?”
“No, it’s not a date. It’s a ‘get to know you’ kind of thing. Tell her I’ll be waiting for her Friday at noon. Outside Theatre Three. Make sure you don’t say Theatre Nine, because that’s off-limits for me. Great, now we have a plan.”
“Except for one small thing, Hoove. I can’t go to the museum for you, because I’m grounded. Remember?”
All the enthusiasm left the Hoove’s body, and he seemed to deflate like a popped balloon.
“You were my last hope,” he said, flopping back on the bed. “Now I’ll never have a real friend.”
The Hoove put his hand up to his forehead, wobbled unsteadily for a moment, then seemed to faint onto the rug.
“Hoove, are you okay?” Billy asked.
“As okay as a guy can be who is feeling great amounts of loneliness. But don’t bother yourself with me. You go on with what’s important to you, like that geography test of yours. I’ll be fine. If you don’t mind, I’ll just lie here for a while and try to get over my disappointment.”
Billy sighed. “Hoove, I already explained this to you. I’m grounded. I can’t go anywhere. Not to baseball practice. Not to Ricardo’s house. And not to the museum. I’m stuck here at home.”
“You could try, Billy. You could tell your parents you have to go to the museum for educational purposes. Which is true. You’re not telling a fib. I mean, you are studying the Chumash and all.”
“My mom will say no. She wasn’t kidding around when she saw me behind the steering wheel.”
The Hoove got up off the bed and floated over to Billy, putting both his transparent hands on Billy’s shoulders.
“Hoove’s Rule Number Four Hundred and Thirty-Seven,” he said. “You don’t know unless you try.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”
“Attaboy. And while you’re at it, don’t forget Rule Number Six Hundred and Twelve. Don’t try too hard. Parents always know when you’re desperate.”
Billy got up and headed toward the door of his room. As he pulled it open and stepped into the hall, he heard the Hoove’s final advice.
“And definitely follow Rule Number Forty-Three. Never come back without a win.”
Billy felt like the Hoove’s entire future happiness depended on him. As he approached the kitchen, it felt like he was carrying the weight of a truckload of asteroids on his back. He pushed open the door a crack and saw his parents deep in conversation, with Breeze sitting nearby at her laptop, looking disinterested. He paused and listened to the conversation.
“No, Bennett,” his mother was saying. “I don’t think Billy’s punishment is too severe. You have to understand, I saw him behind the wheel of a car in the middle of the street.”
Billy didn’t move a muscle, hoping that the next thing he heard would be Bennett telling his mom that just this one time, they should let him off without a punishment. After all, it was the first time he had taken the car out on his own.
But sadly for Billy, he heard no such thing.
“I guess you’re right, Charlotte,” Bennett said. “The boy has to learn a lesson. The automobile is not a toy.”
Billy knew he had his work cut out for him. He took a deep breath to prepare himself, threw back his shoulders, and marched into the kitchen assuming a confident air.
“Hello, folks,” he said. “What’s for dinner?”
“Bread and water for you,” Breeze said.
“Go back to your homework, Breezy,” her father said. “We’re handling the situation just fine.”
“I’m not doing homework,” Breeze answered. “I’m working on the lyrics of my new song, ‘Loving You Is Like Scraping My Elbow.’”
“Listening to you is like spraining my ankle,” Billy shot back. He chuckled vigorously but stopped when he realized he was the only one chuckling.
Breeze rolled her eyes at him, which wasn’t easy to do, because she was wearing so much mascara that her eyelids were very heavy.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, pip-squeak,” she said. “It takes a lot of nerve for a guy in your position to come in here making a joke. Apparently, you don’t realize how big the doghouse is that you’re in.”
“I can be here if I want,” Billy said.
“Nuh-uh, pip-squeak. I hear that you’re banished to your room for the next thirty years.”
“Breeze, I have an important matter to discuss with my mom and Bennett,” Billy said. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to do it in private, please.”
“Fine with me, Mr. Stunt Driver. I have to call the other girls in the band, anyway. Maybe they can help me think of a word that rhymes with elbow. A songwriter’s job is never done.”
Breeze took her laptop and her attitude and left, leaving Billy standing awkwardly in front of his mother and Bennett.
“I assume you’re here to apologize for the extremely poor judgment you used this afternoon,” his mother began.
“That is exactly why I’m here, Mom.”
“Good for you, son,” Bennett said. “It takes a big man to acknowledge he was wrong.”
“Not only do I acknowledge it, I am shocked at myself,” Billy said, clasping his hands in a very apologetic gesture. He had considered trying to tell them what had really happened, but in the end, rejected the idea. Bringing up the existence of his personal ghost would have him heading back to his room before he even got his request out.
“So now that we’ve gotten past the apology stage,” Billy continued, “I have a request to make. I would never ask this in a million years if it weren’t so important to my success in school. And I think we all know that excelling in school is
number one on my To-Do List.”
“Sounds to me like someone is buttering us up like a turkey on Thanksgiving,” Mrs. Broccoli-Fielding said. Being a school principal, she had a lot of experience with kids trying to sweet-talk her, and she had a “butter-up detector” the size of Texas.
“Here’s the thing,” Billy said. “You know that Friday is our performance of our Native American Night celebration at the museum.”
“If what you’re about to ask is can you still participate in that,” Bennett said, “the answer is yes. Your mother and I have agreed to let you attend. But after that, you are back to being grounded for the next two weeks.”
“Then let me get right to the point,” Billy said, assuming from Bennett’s tone of voice that the answer to his request was going to be a firm no. “I need to go to the museum tomorrow at four. I know I’m grounded, but there’s information there that I need. It will only take me seventeen minutes.”
“What kind of information only takes seventeen minutes to absorb?” his mother asked. She was not easy to fool.
“I need to study the details of the Chumash diorama,” he said. His parents were looking at him quizzically, so he kept talking, trying to make his case even stronger. “Specifically, I would like to examine the hairy buffalo and the princess standing next to him, to see how they coexisted.”
“There’s a hairy buffalo at the museum?” Bennett asked, his ears perking up with curiosity.
“I hear it’s extremely hairy,” Billy nodded, “which is why I need to see it for myself.”
“And you can’t see this buffalo in a book or online?” his mom asked.
“Mom, nothing can replace standing in front of him, the buffalo in three dimensions. I can picture it now — the buffalo, his hair blowing in the breeze, and the princess, her hair … um … blowing in the breeze, too.”
“Scientifically speaking,” Bennett said, “there is no breeze inside the diorama.”
