pinch.
I ran back downstairs, aimed cereal at three bowls, splashed on milk, tossed a handful of plastic spoons on the table, and took off after Spooner.
“I am not gettin' dirty today,” I yelled into the marsh grass and duckweed at the end of the backyard. Pretty soon I heard the sound of water sucking into mud.
“Dang it, Spooner.” I pulled off my shoes and socks and rolled up my jeans.
“Okay, okay, look. I'm a stupid zebra coming down here all by myself for a drink of water.” I waded in. The grass could cut you like glass if you weren't careful. And man, was it cold.
See, Spooner's mom was from Spain and his dad was from Portland, which made him exactly … a crocodile. Spooner loved crocodiles. It was the only way to get through to the kid. Call him an alligator and he won't look you in the eye for days.
“Crocodiles love zebras,” I said, wading up to my knees and watching the stink water soak into the rolled-up fabric of my jeans. I parted a clump ofgrass shot through with old stalks of purple loosestrife and was picking seedpods out of my hair when he sprang at me.
Little bits of algae and swamp muck spattered my shirt. A crayfish clamped on to my sleeve.
“Awww,” I screamed in a miserable way as he pawed at me. “Right on my muzzle. I'm a goner.”
I wrestled the skinny little bit of nothing that was Spooner soaking wet onto land.
“Now you're gonna shake me and shake me until my arms and legs fly off and I'm nothing but a zebra burrito.”
I dragged him back to the house, swamp stink clinging to my skin. Spooner wasn't giving up any information. Of all the crumb snatchers at Granny's Lap, Spooner and Hammer Head had my vote for “most likely to survive the joint.” Hammer Head because he'd scare the pants off all but the most experienced cons. And Spooner because he didn't mind funky. Not one bit. That, and he seemed to me like a serious candidate for the ding wing.
Chapter 10
Granny was glaring at me from the window, a peppermint stick clamped between her teeth—no cigars until the graveyard shift had been picked up. I splashed cold water from the outdoor tap onto me and Spooner, hoping it would rinse out enough of the smell so I wouldn't attract attention. At least so Ms. Lanier wouldn't spray me with that fruit stuff. Harry Sue does not wear foo foo.
“What the bee-jeezus happened here?” Granny asked, swiping at the chalk on the counter and grinding peppermint between her teeth. She still had on her pink shower cap, the one that covered all the pin curlers. Her red-rimmed eyes and naked lids hadn't been painted and plastered over withmakeup yet, so she looked like one of those pink hairless laboratory rats.
Sink looked up from the table, where she'd joined the kids.
“What is that stuff?” she asked me, knowing full well I wouldn't answer to Granny.
“That?” I plastered Spooner into his chair and slid a bowl over to him. “Why, that's cocaine,” I told her.
Sink rolled her eyes and began picking glumly at the dried-up bits of cereal on the table. Dip moved from her place in the doorway to a seat at the table and pulled the box of cereal toward her, pouring for Spooner and herself.
Everyone used slow, deliberate movements in the morning to avoid getting a clout from Granny. They knew it was lockdown until she'd had two cups of coffee.
“I'm gonna give it to the kids to keep 'em happy all day long,” I said, loud enough for Granny to hear. Truth to tell, Granny was more than a little deaf, and the extra noise made everybody at the table jump.
“See, I was gonna use cold medicine,” I kept on, calmly patting myself with paper towels, “but yesterday at school, I saw on the Internet how this lady down in Florida got sent up for an eight ball for accidentally killing a baby she was trying to keep quiet.”
“You're a liar,” Dip said, pinching a big fold of her bloated cheek.
I yanked the wax bag of cereal out of the Frosted Flakes box.
“Eight years and
I ran back downstairs, aimed cereal at three bowls, splashed on milk, tossed a handful of plastic spoons on the table, and took off after Spooner.
“I am not gettin' dirty today,” I yelled into the marsh grass and duckweed at the end of the backyard. Pretty soon I heard the sound of water sucking into mud.
“Dang it, Spooner.” I pulled off my shoes and socks and rolled up my jeans.
“Okay, okay, look. I'm a stupid zebra coming down here all by myself for a drink of water.” I waded in. The grass could cut you like glass if you weren't careful. And man, was it cold.
See, Spooner's mom was from Spain and his dad was from Portland, which made him exactly … a crocodile. Spooner loved crocodiles. It was the only way to get through to the kid. Call him an alligator and he won't look you in the eye for days.
“Crocodiles love zebras,” I said, wading up to my knees and watching the stink water soak into the rolled-up fabric of my jeans. I parted a clump ofgrass shot through with old stalks of purple loosestrife and was picking seedpods out of my hair when he sprang at me.
Little bits of algae and swamp muck spattered my shirt. A crayfish clamped on to my sleeve.
“Awww,” I screamed in a miserable way as he pawed at me. “Right on my muzzle. I'm a goner.”
I wrestled the skinny little bit of nothing that was Spooner soaking wet onto land.
“Now you're gonna shake me and shake me until my arms and legs fly off and I'm nothing but a zebra burrito.”
I dragged him back to the house, swamp stink clinging to my skin. Spooner wasn't giving up any information. Of all the crumb snatchers at Granny's Lap, Spooner and Hammer Head had my vote for “most likely to survive the joint.” Hammer Head because he'd scare the pants off all but the most experienced cons. And Spooner because he didn't mind funky. Not one bit. That, and he seemed to me like a serious candidate for the ding wing.
Chapter 10
Granny was glaring at me from the window, a peppermint stick clamped between her teeth—no cigars until the graveyard shift had been picked up. I splashed cold water from the outdoor tap onto me and Spooner, hoping it would rinse out enough of the smell so I wouldn't attract attention. At least so Ms. Lanier wouldn't spray me with that fruit stuff. Harry Sue does not wear foo foo.
“What the bee-jeezus happened here?” Granny asked, swiping at the chalk on the counter and grinding peppermint between her teeth. She still had on her pink shower cap, the one that covered all the pin curlers. Her red-rimmed eyes and naked lids hadn't been painted and plastered over withmakeup yet, so she looked like one of those pink hairless laboratory rats.
Sink looked up from the table, where she'd joined the kids.
“What is that stuff?” she asked me, knowing full well I wouldn't answer to Granny.
“That?” I plastered Spooner into his chair and slid a bowl over to him. “Why, that's cocaine,” I told her.
Sink rolled her eyes and began picking glumly at the dried-up bits of cereal on the table. Dip moved from her place in the doorway to a seat at the table and pulled the box of cereal toward her, pouring for Spooner and herself.
Everyone used slow, deliberate movements in the morning to avoid getting a clout from Granny. They knew it was lockdown until she'd had two cups of coffee.
“I'm gonna give it to the kids to keep 'em happy all day long,” I said, loud enough for Granny to hear. Truth to tell, Granny was more than a little deaf, and the extra noise made everybody at the table jump.
“See, I was gonna use cold medicine,” I kept on, calmly patting myself with paper towels, “but yesterday at school, I saw on the Internet how this lady down in Florida got sent up for an eight ball for accidentally killing a baby she was trying to keep quiet.”
“You're a liar,” Dip said, pinching a big fold of her bloated cheek.
I yanked the wax bag of cereal out of the Frosted Flakes box.
“Eight years and
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