one to my father, then flopped onto the sofa. “Jill, would you bring me the mail?”
“Sure.” I went to the hall table and got it.
Mom sifted through all the letters and sighed. “Bills and more bills.” Then she picked up a yellow envelope. “I wonder what this is,” she asked, ripping off the tape. When she saw what was inside she said, “Oh God …” Then she cursed a couple of times. My mother’s not shy about cursing. She doesn’t even care if me and Kenny use those words around the house as long as we understand there are some people who don’t approve of them. I think that’s the reason most of the kids I know love to curse. It’s because their parents make a big deal out of thosewords. With me it’s different. I don’t have to yell and scream them on the school bus every day since I can say them any old time I feel like it.
“Gordon … look at this …” Mom passed him a letter. I read it over Dad’s shoulder, while I was scratching. It said:
On Halloween night two youngsters
put raw, rotten eggs in my mailbox.
Interfering with mail and its
delivery is a federal offense. One
of these youngsters has been
identified as your child. I
suggest that you contact me
immediately
.
William F. Machinist
I stopped scratching my father. Mom held up a picture. It showed two kids from the back. They were running. One of them had feathers hanging out of her jacket. The other one had a hand on her head to keep her hat from flying off. It was definitely me and Tracy.
12
“You really got yourself
in big trouble.”
“We only did it because he’s so mean … he hates kids … he won’t even give to Unicef …” I told everyone. It was after dinner and Tracy, her mother and father were sitting with me, Mom and Dad in our living room. Mr. Machinist also sent the picture and note to their house.
Tracy was crying.
“You know you did wrong, don’t you, girls?” my father asked.
Tracy nodded.
I said, “In one way I know we did wrong, but in another way, he really deserved it.”
“We’ve always tried to teach Tracy right from wrong,” Mrs. Wu said. “We’ve always trusted her.”
That made Tracy cry even harder. “I don’t want to go to jail.”
I brought her a box of tissues. “You won’t let us go to jail, will you, Dad?” I asked.
“Nobody’s going to jail,” he said. “But you will have to face the consequences.”
Mom and Dr. and Mrs. Wu nodded in agreement.
“We’d better call Mr. Machinist,” Dr. Wu said, “and see what he has in mind.”
My father went to the phone. I couldn’t figure out anything from his end of the conversation. Mr. Machinist must have been doing most of the talking.
“What did he say?” my mother asked when Dad hung up.
“He said he’ll talk to the police unless the girls admit what they did and show him that they’re sorry.”
“Show him that we’re sorry … how?” I asked.
“He’s already cleaned out his mailbox,” my father said, “… it’s too late for that. But he’s got a yard full of leaves that have to be raked up and bagged.”
With all the trees in Hidden Valley Mr. Machinist must have millions of leaves, I thought—maybe even billions.
“When?” my mother asked.
“He wanted them to come tomorrow but Iexplained that we’re busy so we settled on Sunday,” Dad said.
“Sunday!” I shouted. “That’s my only free day this week. Do you think that’s fair?”
“I think so,” Mom said. “After all, he could have called the police first.”
“I think it’s fair too,” Mrs. Wu said.
“And …” my father added, “maybe this way you’ll both learn that it’s not up to you to decide who deserves what in this world.”
After Tracy and her parents were gone, I went upstairs to get ready for bed. Kenny was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. When he finished spitting he said, “I heard the whole thing. You really got yourself in big trouble.”
“Mind your own business,” I told
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