“That’s a great idea, Ruby,” Breeze said. “But our house is off-limits after school.”
“Well, we can’t do it at my house,” Ruby said. “Our dad is working at home today and he needs quiet. I talked to Ricardo, and his mom has a cold and doesn’t want anyone over. So that leaves your house.”
“Which is not available,” Breeze stated firmly.
“Don’t let her get away with that,” the Hoove yelled, sticking his head through the metal locker door and meeting Billy eye to eye. “It’s our house, too. Let her stay downstairs. We’ll take the upstairs. You guys can practice in the kitchen or in the living room or on the ceiling. Oh, wait, I’m sorry. That’s just me.”
Billy nodded at the Hoove and turned to Ruby.
“We’ll do it at my house,” he said. “Breeze and the band can practice in the basement. There’s plenty of room upstairs, and if the music gets too bad, we can wear earplugs.”
“Great,” Ruby said. “Let’s meet at four o’clock. Sofia and I will walk over together. If you see Ricardo, let him know the plan.”
She turned and headed down the hall, looking like a bouncing lemon drop in her yellow sweats. Billy couldn’t believe this was all happening. The SOC finals on Monday. An after-school rehearsal with Ruby and Ricardo. A hall full of kids passing by and shouting out their respect. As the bell rang and he raced off to math class, he told himself that this was a day to remember.
Billy hurried home after school, his mind overflowing with ideas. It was his first official after-school get-together with his new friends, and he wanted everything to be perfect. He had decided to make three different kinds of peanut butter snacks — peanut butter on celery, peanut butter on round sesame crackers, and peanut butter on thickly sliced bananas. Ruby and Ricardo would be there at four o’clock and he had a lot of peanut butter to spread before then.
He ran the last block to his house and unlatched the back gate, making his way to the kitchen door. As he passed the big oak tree in his yard, he heard the whistling sounds of “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” coming from the top branches. That was the Hoove’s favorite song, the one he whistled when he was trying to make himself visible. Billy looked up and saw one transparent arm dangling down from a branch.
“Where’s the rest of you, Hoove? That looks really weird.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge,” the arm answered. “Materialization is not an easy process to master. It takes a special kind of concentration, and I’m a little distracted by that squawking blue jay over in Mrs. Pearson’s yard.”
“Mrs. Pearson’s yard is five houses away.”
“And there lies another difference between you and me. I can hear things up to a mile away, where you humans only hear what you want to hear. This particular blue jay is in a very bad mood and he’s getting on my nerves. Somebody should throw him a worm and shut him up.”
“Listen, Hoove, I’m in a hurry. I’ve only got fifteen minutes before Ricardo and Ruby arrive, and I have a lot to do. I could really use your help cleaning up my room.”
“What do I look like, your personal butler?”
“Actually, you look like an arm, which is creepy.”
Suddenly, the Hoove’s whole body appeared. He lay stretched out lazily on the tree limb. His hat rested on a stubby offshoot of the branch, and his dark hair was coiffed in perfect movie star style.
“I think your little insult did the trick,” he said. “Focused my energy and presto, here I am in all my glory.”
“Good, now could you please get your glory in the house? I want to rehearse there. It’s bad enough that I’ll have to explain the pink furniture and rainbows on the walls. I don’t want to have to apologize for a mess, too. I hope you can get it looking decent in fifteen minutes.”
“Are you kidding me? If I flipped into hyperglide, I could have that room in tip-top shape in less than fifteen seconds. Faster than you can say the alphabet backward.”
“Great!”
“That is, if I’m in the mood. I just said I could do it, I didn’t say I would.”
As soon as those words left the Hoove’s mouth, a large blackbird with fierce orange eyes shot from the sky. It flew directly over the Hoove’s head, let out a caw that sounded like “Help him!” and then released a large goop of poop, which landed squarely on top of the Hoove’s movie star hair.
Billy roared with laughter, but the Hoove wasn’t amused. He looked up into the sky.
“Was that really necessary?” he called to the Higher-Ups. “You could have asked me nicely.”
The bird circled overhead one more time, keeping its eyes focused on him.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll clean the kid’s room. But this better get me a good grade in Helping Others, because I definitely do not appreciate bird waste.”
“Just put everything away in drawers,” Billy explained. “Pile the papers neatly on my desk, make the bed, and if it’s not too much trouble, there’s a vacuum cleaner in the hall closet.”
“You want me to vacuum? Whoa, now you’ve stepped over the line.” Then he looked up at the clouds and shouted, “You can send all the poop bombs you want. The Hoove does not vacuum. That’s Rule Number Two Hundred Seventy-Eight. Oh, and while we’re at it, Rule Number Two Hundred Seventy-Nine. I don’t do windows, either.”
Billy raced into the kitchen and got busy. He wished he had earplugs to drown out Breeze and her drummer, Brittany Osborne, who were already down in the basement working on a new song. They called it a song, but to Billy it sounded like one of them had hit her finger really hard with a hammer. At least he had the kitchen all to himself. He took the peanut butter and crackers out of the cupboard and a knife out of the drawer. The celery was in the refrigerator and the bananas were in a bowl on the counter. While he got to work slicing, dicing, and spreading, the Hoove flipped into hyperglide and zoomed down the hall into Billy’s room.
From the Brownstone house next door, Rod’s younger sister, Amber, stared out the living room window. She got up and pressed her face against the glass.
“Hey look,” she said. “There are clothes flying through the air in Billy Broccoli’s room. They look like rockets.”
Rod Brownstone was watching afternoon cartoons on TV and eating Flamin’ Hot Cheetos dipped in extra hot sauce. He was also drinking a lot of water because his lips were on fire. He didn’t even look up from the TV.
“You should really look at this, Rod,” Amber said. “Wow, now the bedspread is floating across the room like a magic carpet.”
Her brother grunted.
“Right, and I suppose Aladdin and the beautiful princess will be all kissy wissy smoochy on the magic carpet. Get a grip, Toad Breath. Your girly imagination is so annoying.”
“Okay,” Amber said. “I guess you don’t want to see his bed bouncing up and down like a trampoline, either.”
“What I want is for you to go away so I can watch my cartoons in peace.” Rod popped another Cheeto in the hot sauce and turned his back on one of the most amazing sights Amber had ever seen.
By the time the front doorbell rang, Billy had finished making the peanut butter snacks and putting them on a platter decorated with seashells. He ran to the front door where Ruby and Sofia were waiting. Sofia carried her bass guitar in a black case covered with stickers from cities she had never been to. Before Billy could even say hi to Ruby, Breeze came up from behind, pushed right by him, and pulled Sofia into the house.
“It’s so great you’re here,” she said, practically flattening Billy to the wall. “Brittany’s already downstairs. She brought her drum pads over, and her beats inspired me to write some new lyrics. We can’t wait to hear what you think.”
Breeze and Sofia hurried into the kitchen. Just before they headed down the stairs to the basement, Breeze spotted the platter with Billy’s peanut butter snacks.
“Hey, look what Billy made for us,” she said, grabbing a few bite-size pieces.
“Billy did not make them for you,”
Billy said, following them into the kitchen with Ruby close behind. “And please leave the rest alone.”
“Oh really?” Breeze said. “Seems to me that when you blend a family, you also blend everything that is edible, including but not limited to, all peanut butter products.”
“I made those for my friends, Breeze. You could have thought ahead and made something for your friends.”
“We’re musicians, not food handlers,” she answered with a mouthful of celery. “Come on, Sofia. Brittany is waiting. Besides, this stress isn’t good for my creative process.” Just before she started down the basement stairs, she turned around, opened her mouth wide, showing Billy the mush of half-chewed celery bits stuck together with peanut butter on her tongue, and said something that sounded like, “Do you want it back?”
“Yes, I do,” Billy said, just to be contrary. “You can put it on a paper towel over there.”
Ruby burst out laughing. She didn’t have any brothers, so there was never talk of already-been-chewed food in her house. Over the sound of her laughter, Billy heard the chimes of the doorbell, which played “La Cucaracha,” an old Mexican folk song. He was embarrassed that their doorbell wasn’t regular, but then nothing about this old ranchero house was. Why couldn’t their doorbell go ding-dong like everybody else’s in the neighborhood?
“Sorry about the weird doorbell,” Billy apologized when he opened the door for Ricardo.
“Are you kidding me, man? It’s so cool. My grandmother used to sing me to sleep with that song. It worked until I found out that la cucaracha means cockroach. What kid wants to fall asleep dreaming of cockroaches?”
Billy led Ricardo into the kitchen, where Ruby waited for them. They sat down at the table and dug into the remaining snacks.
“We should probably lighten up on these,” Ricardo said, “if we’re going to practice our speeches. It’s hard to talk with peanut butter in your mouth.”
“Just one more before we start,” Ruby said.
Billy picked up the platter to offer Ruby another snack of her choice. Just as she was taking one, he noticed a peanut butter cracker leave the plate and float by itself under the table. Pretending to have dropped something, Billy peeked underneath the table. Sure enough, there was the Hoove, holding the cracker up to his nose.
“What are you doing?” he whispered, dropping to his knees and crawling under the table. “You can’t even eat.”
“I know,” said the Hoove, “but I love the smell of peanut butter. I couldn’t resist.”
Before Billy could answer, Ricardo stuck his head under the table. “What’d you drop?” he asked.
“Oh … a … cracker,” Billy said, turning quickly away from the Hoove. “My mother gets crazy if I leave crumbs behind.”
“That’s right, Billy Boy, just ignore me,” the Hoove called, his tone a little irritated. “I’m only your best friend.”
Without even a glance, Billy snatched the peanut butter cracker from his hand and turned to Ricardo. “Here it is. What do you say we get started?”
Billy stood quickly and pulled Ricardo up with him.
“Fine,” the Hoove called out. “Have fun with your new friends. Just think of me as your personal room cleaner-upper. If you need any more favors, you know where to find me.”
Billy sat down at the table and pulled out his notebook. Ruby was already writing down some suggestions in hers.
“I think I’ve worked out the order,” she said. “I’ll go first, then Ricardo, then Billy. You should go last, Billy, since your demonstration is the most amazing.”
Before Ruby could go any further, the wail of a jarring guitar chord reverberated from the basement.
“Breeze,” Billy shouted down the stairs. “It sounds like a porcupine got caught in your guitar strings.”
“Get used to it,” Breeze shouted back. “How do you think music is made?”
“Definitely not like that!”
Ruby tried to go on with what she was saying, but the musical screeching continued. In fact, it got worse when Sofia started to sing in her high-pitched, off-key voice.
“Sofia,” Ruby screamed, “you sound like you’re in pain.”
“I’m supposed to,” Sofia yelled back. “We’re expressing the angst of being a teenage pebble in the driveway of life.”
Ruby rolled her eyes at Billy and Ricardo.
“She always says stuff like that.” Ruby shrugged. “My mom and I just pretend to understand.”
Billy couldn’t take it anymore.
“Honestly, you guys,” he called into the basement. “Knock it off. We have a competition to win, and we need to practice without you screeching like a bunch of ghosts on Halloween.”
The Hoove popped up from under the table.
“I resent that remark,” he said. “I do not screech. People are always accusing us ghosts of howling and saying ‘BOO,’ and I’d like to put an end to that rumor.”
“I wish,” Billy said, casting a glance toward the Hoove, “that someone would put an end to their rehearsal.”
“I can try,” Ricardo said.
“No, I didn’t mean you.”
“Don’t look at me,” Ruby said. “I don’t want to go down there and face my sister, especially when she has a microphone in her hand.”
Billy shook his head and stared in the Hoove’s general direction.
“Oh, so I guess that means me,” he said. “Okay, okay. Once again, Hoover Porterhouse to the rescue. It seems I’m good enough to save the day, but not quite good enough to sit here and sniff the essence of peanut butter with you and your new best friends. Fine, I know my place.”
And with that, he disappeared down the stairs to the basement, his ghostly form sliding down each step like a river of smoke.
Breeze, Sofia, and Brittany were in the middle of composing a new song. It was called “Pity the Prom Queen,” and it was the tragic story of a girl who was voted prom queen because of her beautiful smile, but her feet smelled so bad that no one danced with her all night. The Hoove listened to them practice. He liked the beat of the song, but he couldn’t relate to the lyrics since he had never been to a prom or known a girl whose feet smelled that bad. Except for possibly Madge Perkins, whose father tended to the ranchero’s orange groves. Her pet squirrel slept in her left boot every night during the winter, and by February the squirrelly smell was pretty harsh.
The Hoove glided down the basement stairs, unsure exactly how he was going to get the girls to stop rehearsing. At the bottom, he elongated his body like Elastoman and stretched around the corner to survey the scene. He noticed that the washing machine had a pile of dirty clothes stacked on top, waiting for their turn. An idea flashed into his mind. If that machine started up all by itself, that might be enough to send the girls screaming up the stairs and end the rehearsal. He had never done a load of wash before, but how hard could it be?
Floating over to the washing machine, he scooped up the clothes, lifted the lid quietly, and threw them in. He took a box of detergent from the shelf above the machine and poured the entire contents in. Closing the lid, he switched the machine on, then sat down on top of it and waited for the low rumble to start.
When the girls heard the washing machine filling with water, they looked at one another with surprise.
“Did you turn that on?” Sofia asked Breeze.
“No. I’ve been sitting here right next to you. What about you, Brittany?”
“How could I? I’m holding drumsticks in both hands.”
The girls were quiet for a moment. The Hoove, enjoying their confusion, waited for them to scream and take off. But that didn’t happen.
“Maybe my dad rigged it to a timer.” Breeze shrugged. “He likes gadgets.”
Before long, the washing machine had filled with water. The Hoove noticed suds bubbling up so fiercely that they were pushing the lid open and spilling out from the top of the machine.
“Whoa,” he said to himself. “Maybe I over-did it, putting in the who
le box of detergent.”
But it was too late. Suddenly, soap suds exploded from the machine like an erupting volcano, oozing their way along the floor to where the Dark Cloud girls were sitting. Brittany noticed the approaching wave of foam.
“Maybe your dad should give up clothes cleaning and stick to teeth cleaning,” she said.
Breeze dashed over to the washing machine and turned it off, but the soap suds just kept on coming. They were forming a thick carpet of foam that was heading directly to where the girls had set their guitars.
“Sofia, grab the instruments and run upstairs,” Breeze said. “Brittany, get your drum pads. I’ll rescue the lyrics.”
The Hoove was enjoying the scene tremendously. He hadn’t planned the soap suds disaster, but it had certainly gotten the girls to stop rehearsing. Other ghosts might have just tied their guitar strings in knots or taken the batteries out of their microphone, but not him. He had style even when he wasn’t trying to have style.
Just as Breeze, Brittany, and Sofia arrived in the kitchen clutching their instruments and their soggy lyrics, Mrs. Broccoli-Fielding walked in the back door. As always, she clutched a briefcase overflowing with work.
“Hi, everyone,” she called out. “What a nice surprise.”
“We’re just leaving, Mom,” Breeze said. “We’re going to practice at Brittany’s house. And if you really want a surprise, check out the basement.”
“But before you do,” Sofia added, “put on your bathing suit.”
Mrs. Broccoli-Fielding didn’t understand what was going on, but nevertheless, she cheerfully waved good-bye to the girls as they raced out the back door. Then she plopped her heavy briefcase down, kicked off her red cowboy boots, and turned her attention to Billy, Ricardo, and Ruby.
“I bet I know what’s going on here,” she said with a big grin. “I saw Mr. Wallwetter in the faculty parking lot, and he told me the great news. I’m so happy to have his three SOC finalists at my kitchen table. Oh, and who made the lovely snack platter? I don’t mind if I do.”
Mind If I Read Your Mind? Page 5
