Jake and Lily

by Jerry Spinelli

  He laughed. “Sorry I got you out of bed. I can come back later.”

  “’Sokay,” I said.

  “I just wanted to thank you.” Was this a joke? I just stared. He was carrying a plastic bag. He pulled something out of it. “For this.” It was the carpenter’s level. He was staring, his face tilting into mine. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded. How did he know?

  He nodded. “Thought so. My mother saw somebody running away from the porch the other night. She thought it might be you.” He laughed. “I didn’t even know what it was. My dad had to tell me. So”—he gave me a little arm punch—“thanks to you, I can make straight walls.”

  This was crazy. I’d confessed to trashing his shack, and now he was thanking me? I couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  Suddenly he was looking at me all serious. “Jake?” he said.

  “Huh?” I said.

  He took a deep breath, like he was pumping himself up to speak. “Jake, did you really bust up my clubhouse?”

  I’ve never been stared at so hard. I couldn’t lie. “No,” I said.

  He screeched. He fist-bumped himself. “I knew it! The more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t believe it was really you. Why did you say you did it?”

  I was starting to feel stupid, standing there in my underwear. “Do I have to answer that?”

  He tried to sound like a drill sergeant, which was pretty funny coming from him. “It’s a command, private.”

  Now it was my turn to take a deep breath. “So Bump wouldn’t beat you up,” I said.

  “So I was right. It was Bump who did it.”

  I nodded.

  “And you…you saved me from Bump.”

  I nodded.

  “You didn’t think I could beat him up?”

  I didn’t know what to say, and suddenly he was hugging me. Ernest Lindop was laughing and hugging me in my own living room. And a tiny dark voice was saying, Holy Death Rays—you’re being hugged by a supergoober!

  Lily

  Sydney’s family went to Ocean City for the day. They asked me to go along. We had a great time. The boardwalk. The beach. The waves. Ice-cream waffles. Which explains why we didn’t know what happened until late in the day.

  On the drive home Devon kept pestering his father to stop at Devon Park, which is what we now call the playground. Devon’s dad said it was too late to play outside, but he would at least drive by to take a look at it. Sydney’s parents hadn’t seen it yet.

  When we pulled up to Devon Park, we got one of the all-time shockers. Somebody had painted something on the Tunnel of Doom—the word GOOBERS in yellow letters against the black pipe.

  “Vandals,” said Mr. Dodds.

  Before he finished the word I was out of the car and racing for the pipe. The letters were big and sloppy, and somehow that made it even worse.

  Devon was right behind me. He touched the paint. He didn’t seem very upset. He turned to me. “What’s it say, Lil-wee? Devon Park?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Devon Park.”

  I figured, why tell him the truth? But it backfired. He started to wail. “But it’s messy! Look how messy it is!”

  By now everybody was at the pipe, including Mrs. Addison. She was sad-faced. “I didn’t see it till noon,” she said. “We were hoping to get it painted over before you all saw it.”

  Devon had already forgotten it. He dived into the pipe, popped out the other end, and cried, “Basketball!”

  Mrs. Addison brought out the ball. While the others were shooting baskets with Devon, I noticed something on the ground by the pipe. A black blob. Looked kind of like tar, but I had a feeling it wasn’t. The sun was down behind the houses. It was getting dark. Mr. Dodds was lifting Devon for a slam dunk. I knew what I should do, but it was too gross to even think about. Then I thought, The Gray Shadow would do it.

  I picked up the black blob. Even in the dim light I could see it had a chewed-up look. I brought it to my nose. I sniffed.

  I was right.

  Jake

  I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I let the hug go on for as long as he wanted. Finally it ended.

  “How did you know where I live?” I asked him.

  He said he bumped into Nacho and Burke and he asked them.

  As he watched me eat breakfast, he said thanking me wasn’t the only reason he came over. “I’d like you to help me build the clubhouse,” he said.

  Right then I realized I had been hoping he would ask. “Sure,” I said.

  He high-fived himself. “Yes!”

  On the bike ride to his house he said, “I was just thinking something.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Maybe we should get some more help. Maybe we should ask Nacho and Burke. What do you think?”

  I guess he knew better than to ask Bump. As for the other two, I tried to think of a good reason why not, but I couldn’t. “Good idea,” I said.

  I led Ernie to the hideout. The guys weren’t there, but Ernie was hyper-impressed by the umbrella tree. He walked in circles under the leafy dome. “Wow…cool,” he kept saying.

  We bumped into them five minutes later on the road. The shock on their faces was priceless, seeing me with Ernie, but they quick switched to cool. “Hey, dudes,” I said.

  “Hi, Nacho. Hi, Burke,” said Ernie, his usual cheery self. “I found Jake”—he laughed—“as you can see. Thanks again for the address. And I know Bump did it. Jake told me his confession was fake.”

  The guys looked at me. I nodded. “It’s all cool.”

  I could see them relax. Their faces changed. Their eyes. They were no longer looking at a goober. Or, even if they were, they didn’t care. Each of them reached out and fist-bumped Ernie. He was beaming.

  We headed for Meeker Street. As we got closer to his house, Ernie started laughing. It was just a chuckle at first, and by the time we hit his driveway it was a howl.

  “What’s so funny?” said Nacho.

  Ernie wiped away laugh tears with his shirttail. “My clubhouse. It’s leaning more than the tower of Pisa. It’s probably the ugliest clubhouse ever!”

  He cracked up again, and the rest of us joined in.

  First I raced back to my house for more tools, while the others raided the garage for Mr. Lindop’s tools. We started by tearing down the mess Ernie had already made. When his mom came out, she knew without asking what we were doing. “Thank you, boys!” she called, and went back inside. We could hear her laughing all morning.

  Mrs. Lindop fed us lunch. It was maybe the best lunch I ever had. Not because of the food but because of—I don’t know how to say it—the fun. The laughs. The talk. The good feelings. The guys. The sun streaming in through the lemony curtains.

  Maybe it was the light that gave me the idea. As we were building a wall after lunch, I said, “Why don’t we put in a window?”

  Everybody thought it was a great idea.

  “But we don’t know how to put in a window,” said Burke.

  “My parents do,” I said.

  At dinner I asked Mom and Dad if they could help us make a clubhouse for my new friend. They said sure, they can do it day after tomorrow, which is Saturday.

  My head is spinning with all the stuff that’s happened since Lily shook me awake this morning. If I had to pick the best day ever, I think this would be it.

  Lily

  I’m usually groggy when I wake up in the morning. Not today. I opened my eyes, dropped to the floor, reached under the bed, and pulled out my Gray Shadow Crimestoppers kit. I looked at my Gray Shadow hat. Should I wear it? No, I decided. That’s for play. I’m not playing today. I took out the only two things I needed: handcuffs and whistle.

  I had to practice. I snuck into Jake’s room. He was still sleeping. His arm was hanging off the bed. Perfect. I knelt by the bed. I opened one cuff. I snapped it over his wrist, clicked it shut. Took maybe three seconds. He squawked. His cuffed arm flew up and caught me in the lip. He stared at the cuff, star
ed at me, shoved me onto my butt. “Get this off me!”

  “I have the key,” I said, all calm. “Say please or you’ll be wearing that thing all day long.”

  He started to get out of bed, real slow, the way Mom moves when it’s don’t-even-think-about-it time. Things were instantly obvious:

  He wasn’t going to say please.

  He was going to kill me.

  I pulled the key from my pocket and unlocked him and got outta there. I tasted something. My lip was bleeding. I got a wad of toilet paper and clamped it between my lips.

  But I was happy. The practice pinch had gone pretty good. I practiced some more on my old Nerf bat. Each time I snapped the handcuff on the bat, I pictured Bump Stubbins’s wrist.

  I was ready.

  I was too excited to eat breakfast. I put on my watch, got my bike, and headed off. But I couldn’t go straight to his house. It was too early. He’s a lazy bum, so I knew he wouldn’t be up and out very early. I figured nine a.m. was about right.

  I cruised the streets, passing time. Exposure. That was my weapon. Not a stun gun or nightstick. Most criminals are sneaky, my Crimestoppers manual says. They do their dark deeds in the concealing shadows of law-abiding society, the manual says. What many criminals fear most is the blinding beam of justice lighting up their creepy little crannies and showing other people what scumbags they are. Exposure works especially good on criminals with a conscience. I wasn’t sure if Bump Stubbins had a conscience, but I figured it was worth a try. Not to mention that he was bigger than me now, so I couldn’t just beat him up like I did when he smashed my snow fort.

  The sun was warm on my bare knees. I checked my watch. 8:55. Time!

  I pulled into his driveway. 129 Mulberry.

  Across the street I could see kids popping up and down behind a high hedge. Trampoline.

  Up the street a lady with a pink sunshade was on her knees in a flower garden.

  A teenage boy was looking down at his dog, waiting, pooper-scooper bag ready.

  A UPS man was lugging a big box up a driveway.

  Good. I wanted people. Witnesses.

  I rang the doorbell. I kept ringing it. He was probably still in bed. He probably figured if he didn’t come down and answer it, the bell ringer would go away.

  I must have been ringing for five minutes before the door finally opened. He wore sweat shorts. That was all. His toes curled under his feet so he looked toeless. His eyes were sleepy slits. I could see him struggle to bring my face into focus. When he did, the eyes came open and I could practically hear them speak: What the heck is she doing here?

  When the moment arrives, don’t delay, the manual says. The best time to pinch a perp is when they’re confused or otherwise distracted.

  “Hold out your hand,” I said. I said it like a command, no-nonsense, like he had no choice. Your voice is your authority.

  Sure enough, the dummy held out his hand. Snap! I had the cuff on him. Before he could say, “Huh?” I had the other cuff on my own wrist.

  “You’re under arrest,” I told him.

  He blinked. He stared at his wrist. He was finally waking up. “You can’t arrest me. You’re not a cop.”

  “Citizen’s arrest,” I said.

  He blinked. “Huh?”

  “Vandalizing the playground. Painting GOOBERS on the pipe.”

  “What’re you talking about?” He was getting growly now. He was remembering he’s bigger than me. “I didn’t do nuthin.” He yanked his cuffed hand away—which yanked me lurching right into him. My head clipped his chin. For the first time he realized he was handcuffed to me.

  I took the plastic Baggie from my pocket. In the Baggie was the chewed-up glob of black licorice. I wagged it in front of his face. Hard evidence wins the case. “This was found at the scene of the crime.” I smiled.

  He tugged at the handcuff. He hollered. “Take this off!”

  The Crimestopper must remain calm, alert, and in control.

  “I will,” I said calmly. “When you fix the damage you did.”

  He let out a screech with no particular word attached to it. He threw out his cuffed arm, which made me slap myself in the face. Maybe I should have handcuffed him to my leg. He tried to stomp back inside the house and almost slammed the door on his own arm. His face was raging purple. I hadn’t seen him so mad since the time I struck him out in Pee Wee Baseball. He screamed in my face: “Forget it, girlie!”

  I stayed in control. “Forget it?” I shook my head calmly. “I don’t think so.”

  The unexpected is your friend.

  Without warning I yanked him out of the doorway and onto the porch. I pulled the whistle from my pocket. I looked at him. I smiled. “Forget it?” I pulled him to the top step. I faced the street. “Forget it, girlie?”

  I blew the whistle.

  Nothing else sounds like a whistle. You expect it on a basketball court or football field—but not on a nice quiet street with flower beds and dog walkers.

  Mulberry Street froze. The UPS truck jerked to a stop. The pink sunshade turned. The trampolining kids boggled for two pops above the hedge, then reappeared in full bodies on the sidewalk. Even the dog stopped in its tracks to stare at me.

  “HEY, EVERYBODY!” I yelled. “BUMP STUBBINS WRECKS LITTLE KIDS’ PLAYGROUNDS! BUMP STUB—”

  A hand mashed my mouth shut. Bump hauled me by my cuffed wrist across the porch and into the house. His eyes were wild. He was panting. Well well, he has a conscience, I thought. “Okay,” he gasped, “okay.”

  I took off the cuffs. My mouth and my whistle were all the shackles I needed now.

  Exposure.

  I let him go upstairs to put on more clothes. He got his bike. We rode to Devon Park.

  Along the way I suddenly realized I had given all my attention to pinching the perp. Now what?

  Mrs. Addison was a big help. She drove us to the paint store and laid out the plan. Except for feeding us lunch, she stayed behind the scenes for the rest of the day.

  One coat of black, and GOOBERS was gone. Then came the new name as big and yellow as before. And better. Turned out the perp could be really neat if he tried. Thanks to quick-dry paint, the job was done way before dinnertime. Now the lettering said:

  TUNNEL OF DOOM

  Jake

  If my parents weren’t builders, I guess I never would have heard of barn raising. It happens with Amish people. If somebody needs a new barn, all the nearby farmers come over and build the guy a new barn all in one day. I guess what happened today was a clubhouse raising.

  My parents wanted to start at seven a.m. Seven a.m. to my parents is like ten a.m. to normal people. As we pulled into the driveway, I could hardly believe what I saw: the Lindops—Mr., Mrs., Ernie—all waiting and waving on the porch. But the biggest surprise was Lily—she came along. And nobody made her. She hasn’t been grumpy for the last couple days. She’s talking to me again.

  Mr. Lindop went for supplies. Dad set up his workbench in the yard. He ran a long orange cord to an outlet on the porch and connected the buzz saw.

  Then we started building. It was hot. Mrs. Lindop brought out lemonade and iced tea with mint leaves in it.

  After a while Nacho and Burke showed up, still half asleep. Their main jobs were to stay out of the way.

  By lunchtime the walls were up and spaces framed for two windows and a door. Mrs. Lindop had a picnic set up in the shade of the back porch. Cold cuts. Potato rolls. Chicken salad. Blue corn chips. Pickles. Olives stuffed with cheese. Brownies. Watermelon. You name it. Once, as I looked up from my sandwich, I saw Bump ride by.

  All afternoon we were swimming in sweat. Everybody was dragging but Ernie. He was darting like a squirrel. I swear, from seven a.m. till the end, I never saw the smile leave his face.

  By dinnertime the job was almost done. Peaked roof with shingles. Hardwood floor. It was beautiful.

  “I want to live here,” I said, only half joking.

  Last came the paint. “What color, Ernie?”
said my dad.

  Ernie didn’t hesitate. “Orange!” Everybody made groany smiles. Before anyone could say, You can’t paint a clubhouse orange, Dad said, “Orange it is.”

  An hour later, one wall to a painter, it was done. A miniature orange house. “I take it back,” I said. “I don’t want to live here.” Everybody laughed—Ernie loudest of all. I’ve never seen anybody so happy as that kid.

  “One last thing,” my dad said. He went to the truck and came back with a weather vane he had saved from an old job. He screwed it onto the roof. It was a floppy-eared dog with its straight-out tail pointing in the wind direction.

  Then we all went out for pizza to celebrate.

  Lily

  It was Poppy’s idea for me to help build the clubhouse.

  Here’s how it happened.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Poppy about my detective work and citizen’s arrest and the new paint job. Telling it was almost as much fun as doing it.

  As I was blabbing on, I noticed him grinning at the bowl of fudge ripple ice cream in front of me. I looked down. It was a creamy puddle. We laughed. “Guess I got carried away,” I said.

  Now he was aiming his smile at me. I asked him what else was funny.

  “Not funny,” he said. “Just nice.”

  “What’s nice?”

  “Something’s missing,” he said. “Do you know what?”

  “Tell me.”

  “You haven’t mentioned Jake or goombla this whole time.”

  I thought about it. He was right.

  “In fact,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve heard those words since you’ve been telling me about your days with your new friend Sydney.”

  “So what are you saying?” I asked him.

  He took away the puddle bowl and brought me another with three new scoops. “I’m saying I think you’ve done it.”

  I knew exactly what he meant, but I wanted to hear it in his words. “Yeah? What’d I do?”