Cody and the Mysteries of the Universe Page 3

  Her fingers tingled with excitement. She closed her eyes, just like Spencer when he played. She drew a deep breath. She lifted the bow.

  Screeech!

  Her eyes flew open. Spencer’s hands were over his ears.

  “Was that MewMew?” Cody asked. “Did she get in a catfight?”

  “That was you!”

  Cody’s face grew warm. Something had gone wrong. All right. She would try again. She lifted the violin. She gripped the bow. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and . . .

  Screeech!

  GG rushed into the living room. “Oh!” she said, puffing. “I wondered what that noise was!”

  Cody itched like when the yellow jacket stung her, only all over. Instead of yellow-jacket poisoning, she had embarrassment poisoning.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Spencer said. “I sounded even worse when I started.”

  Cody didn’t believe that. But it was nice of him to say.

  “Spencer practices every day,” said GG. “Nobody learns the violin overnight. It takes a lot of . . .”

  The word she said next began with a p, and it was not penguin. Not pizza or potato, either. Cody sighed. She and GG sat on the couch, and Spencer played for them. That big fat show-off! Cody folded her arms. Her face wrinkled up like she had a mouthful of Extreme Sour Warheads.

  But then, what do you know? That sneaky music snuck inside her. Today it was a razzle-dazzle kind of song, like dragonflies darting over sparkly water. Some people are scared of dragonflies, but not Cody. She thought they were fascinating.

  Before she knew it, her sourness vanished into thin air. When Spencer bowed, she and GG stomped their feet and clapped. When they stopped, they heard a clapping echo. Cody looked out the window. The porch was empty, but the bubble-bath bush rustled in a strange and mysterious way.

  Yes, mysterious.

  Saturday was always the best day. But this one was extra best, because when Cody woke up, Dad was home!

  She rushed into his arms and breathed in his Dad-ness. He put his ten-gallon hat on her head, and together they made pancakes. Cody cracked eggs with a flick of the wrist, the way he had taught her. She told him how she’d decided not to become a famous violinist after all, and Dad said she’d be a famous something, don’t you worry.

  In this life, many things are delicious, but Family Breakfast tops the list. Even Wyatt the Lovesick cheered up enough to eat a big stack. And then another big stack.

  After Dad drove Mom to work, he and Cody did some cartoon watching. Wyatt was too old for cartoons, but what do you know? He watched, too. Not that he cracked a single smile.

  “P.U. is being mean to Wyatt again,” Cody told Dad in a low voice. Only not low enough.

  “Silencio,” hissed Wyatt.

  “Growing up is complicated,” said Dad. “It’s like driving a mountain road, full of twists and turns. Sometimes you’re just hanging on to the edge. Other times, you can’t believe how beautiful the view is.”

  “Like violin music,” Cody said. “Is it happy? Is it sad? Maybe both?”

  Wyatt did some soft groaning.

  That afternoon, Dad took them apple picking. Cody was learning the times tables, and she recited the threes. Then she and Dad sang “You Are My Sunshine.” In the backseat, Wyatt did more soft groaning. They were almost to the orchard when his phone rang.

  “Yo!” he said.

  Then, “You do?”

  Then, “If you want!”

  Then, “Okay.”

  By the time he hung up, Groaning Wyatt was Grinning Wyatt. If he was a candy, he’d be Pop Rocks.

  “Let me guess,” said Cody. “P.U. likes you again.”

  “None of your business,” he said with a smile.

  At the orchard, Wyatt boosted Cody up to reach the most perfect apples. He pretended he didn’t want his whole caramel apple and let her finish it. And when a yellow jacket landed on it and Cody screamed, he didn’t call her a wimpy crybaby. Instead he shooed it away, risking his own personal self. If there was a book called The Perfect Big Brother, guess who’d be on the cover?

  “I noticed something funny,” Cody told Dad. “When Payton Underwood is nice to Wyatt, Wyatt is nice to me.”

  “Hmm.” Dad pushed back his cowboy hat and scratched his head. “I think you’re onto something, little seed.”

  “But why? What’s that hard-hearted girl got to do with me?”

  Dad opened the car door, and they put their apples inside.

  “Well, now,” said Dad, “this is just a guess. It’s been a century or two since I was a teenager. But I bet it’s how special she makes him feel. That feels so nice, Wyatt can’t keep it inside. He’s got to pass the good feelings on.”

  “Like when we run relays in gym?” said Cody.

  “Just like that!” Dad grinned. “Only instead of passing a baton, you pass the love.”

  The car smelled cider-sweet as they drove to pick up Mom from O’Becker Department Store. She was wearing her leopard-print skirt and golden gladiator sandals, Cody’s favorite outfit. When she got in the car, she and Dad did a ginormous hello kiss.

  Back home, Mom peeled, Dad sliced, Wyatt stirred, and Cody tasted. That applesauce came out perfecto, not a single lump. It was the best they’d ever made. It was the best times four.

  “Group hug!” said Cody.

  Wyatt made an escape attempt, but everybody ganged up on him. One long, sweet, cinnamon-y hug, that’s what they had.

  And that’s how good things were, all weekend long.

  Monday morning, Cody could only find one purple boot. Then she could only find one polka-dot sneaker. Plus Wyatt had gotten up first, so when she poured her cereal, all that came out was dust.

  Dad walked her to school. He had to leave again that afternoon, to haul more rocking chairs up from North Carolina. People sure did love rocking chairs. He turned his arms into a rocking chair and tipped Cody back and forth till she couldn’t stop laughing. Setting her back down, he said, “What’s that on your foot?” He crouched down and fussed over her old broken-down sneakers.

  Then it was time for their final This-Is-It Hug. Dad walked away backward, waving till she couldn’t see him anymore.

  Cody slumped on the edge of the playground. She watched the kindergartners lining up, even though the bell hadn’t rung yet. They were so little, they still thought lining up was fun. They were so little, it was amazing their backpacks didn’t topple them backward. Watching them gave Cody a tender twang. To think she’d once been that little and helpless herself.

  Uh-oh. Speaking of helpless.

  Cody had had such a nice weekend, she hadn’t thought about Spencer at all. He’d been alone and at the mercy of the Meens.

  It was true! She did forget things. Important things, like her best friend. Where was he? She looked all around the playground. She needed to tell him she was sorry — if he was still alive.

  “Yoo-hoo!” Pearl waved. “Cody! Over here!”

  She and Spencer were sitting on a bench. Spencer looked perfectly fine. But looks can fool you.

  “I’m teaching Spencer to do origami,” said Pearl.

  “Are you all right?” Cody asked him. “Did the Meens torture you all weekend?”

  “They weren’t there.”

  “What? They disappeared again?”

  Spencer nodded. He held up his origami, which looked like a piece of paper he just pulled out of a wastebasket.

  “Pretty good,” Pearl said in her friend-to-all way. “You just need to practice.”

  “They disappeared again?” Cody couldn’t believe it. “Do you know where?”

  Spencer shrugged. He started folding another piece of paper as Pearl made a face of encouragement. Cody wiggled her way onto the bench between them.

  “You don’t know? You don’t have a clue? They just vanished into thin air?” Cody waved her hands. “They probably went for advanced assassin spy training! Maybe in Siberia!”

  “Cody”— Pearl’s eyebrows shot up li
ke fuzzy drawbridges —“are you trying to stir something up?”

  What?

  “Excuse me, Pearl,” Cody said. “I hate to say it, but you are forgetting something. I know those Meens better than you do. And I know Spencer much, much better.”

  “I know that,” said Pearl. “But there’s no need to . . .” She mouthed the next words so Spencer wouldn’t hear: scare him.

  Whoa. Who did Pearl think she was? Spencer was Cody’s friend first, last, and always! But when she looked at him, happily folding another terrible frog, her already heavy heart grew heavier. How could she forget about him all weekend? He could have been in mortal danger. What kind of friend acts like that? Hint: not a good one.

  Pearl helped Spencer make his frog’s head look more like a head. Cody sat between them, but she felt left out. She felt like she wasn’t even there. Her own human head became a rock. A rock so big, her neck couldn’t hold it up. Donk. Her head hung down. Cody stared at her old beat-up sneakers.

  But wait. What was on the toes? She bent to look.

  YOU ARE said her left foot. MY SUNSHINE said the right one.

  Dad! That sneaky Pete! He must have written that, just before he left!

  Tenderness bloomed inside her, like a garden in the sunshine. Dad liked her. No. He loved her. Cody could always count on that, no matter what.

  “Gribbit!”

  Cody looked up. A mutant frog hopped onto her knee.

  “It’s for you,” said Spencer.

  Her inside garden burst into full, gorgeous bloom. All at once, she didn’t feel angry. Or left out. She took the frog and made him hop onto Pearl’s knee. Pearl fed him a juicy invisible fly.

  The baton of friendship, that’s what it was. Passing from one to another.

  That afternoon, things were unnaturally peaceful at GG’s. Nervous, Cody and Spencer checked around.

  Behind the bubble-bath bush?

  No.

  In the garage?

  No.

  Down the backyard hole?

  N-O spells no.

  Maybe Molly and Maxie were on a special exterminating mission to Siberia or Norway. Maybe they wouldn’t come back for a long time. Or ever. A person could hope.

  Cody and Spencer took their peanut-butter-and-marshmallow sandwiches outside and sat in GG’s butterfly chairs. The yard was so nice! A few yellow-gold leaves drifted down. The sky was deep blue. When you closed your eyes, the sun made Fourth-of-July sparklers on your lids.

  “Let’s tell riddles,” said Cody. “What do frogs eat on hot summer days?”

  “I give up.”

  “Hopsicles!”

  Spencer laughed.

  “Where do sheep go for a haircut?” Cody said.

  “I give up.”

  “The baa-baa shop.”

  One of the many lovable things about Spencer was how he laughed. It took him a while to get going, but once he did, stand back. He would laugh so hard, his feet lifted right off the ground. It made you want to poke him in the belly and, oops, Cody did! Before you knew it, they were chasing each other around the yard, zigging and zagging and stumbling and . . .

  tumbling

  down

  into

  the

  hole.

  Whoa. When those Meens dug something, they did not fool around.

  “We could play dungeon down here,” said Cody. “Or zombies rise from the grave.”

  “Or giant ants!” Spencer put his hands on his head and wiggled his fingers. “Giant radioactive ants, with antennas the size of baseball bats.”

  “Do we use our powers for good or evil?”

  Spencer tapped his lip, thinking it over. And guess what? Cody waited patiently. Because this was exactly how she imagined things would be when he moved here. Making up cool games! Eating endless marshmallows! Having fun together every single minute!

  “I vote for evil,” said Spencer at last.

  “Me too!” cried Cody. “Evil radioactive ants destroy the universe!”

  “Evil?” boomed a voice from above. “Did I hear someone say evil?”

  Spencer and Cody craned their necks. Mr. Meen loomed over them. From down in the hole, he looked bigger than Paul Bunyan.

  “Sorry.” Cody gasped. Her mouth went desert dry. “We were just leaving.”

  She scrambled out, but Spencer needed help. Zoop! Mr. Meen’s muscle arm shot out and lifted him like a boy of feathers. Frowning, Mr. Meen plucked something off Spencer’s shoulder and squeezed it between his big fingers.

  “Red ant! Those dudes can bite.” He flicked it away. “Too bad my girls aren’t here. They could use some nice playmates like you.”

  Spencer and Cody traded looks. Could he possibly be talking about the same kids?

  “Excuse me,” said Cody. “But are your kids Molly and Maxie?”

  “You already know them?” Mr. Meen grinned. His gold teeth made this a dazzling experience. “Great! I’ll tell them you were playing in their fort.”

  “No!” cried Cody. “Please don’t tell them!”

  “What? You don’t want to play with them?”

  In this life, there are many surprises. One is that even men with pirate beards and gold teeth can look disappointed.

  “Oh, well. They have colds, so they stayed an extra day at their mother’s.” Mr. Meen tugged at his cap. “They stay there weekends and summers, too.”

  “Does their mother live in Norway?” Spencer asked.

  “You kids have great imaginations!” said Mr. Meen, and headed for the house.

  The next day, Spencer brought his violin to school. Mrs. Spindle wanted him to try out for the orchestra. He was nervous, even though Cody told him the orchestra was awful and he was exactly what it needed.

  Somebody lay in wait beside the flagpole. Make that two somebodies.

  “You trespassed in our fort!” yelled Molly. “You must pay the penalty.”

  Maxie spoke not a word. Probably because she was busy sucking her thumb. And staring at Spencer’s violin.

  “Prepare to perish,” said Molly. “Tell them in Hungarian, Maxie.”

  But Maxie couldn’t take her eyes off the violin. Suddenly Cody was gifted with mind-reading powers. Maxie wanted to get her hands on it. She wanted to make beautiful music, too. Little did she know how hard it was. How much p word was required.

  “Stop giving my sister the skunk eye!” Molly cried.

  “You know,” said Cody, “just because your name is Meen, you don’t have to be.”

  “That’s right!” said Molly. “We don’t have to be! We want to be! Right, Maxie?”

  But Maxie just sucked her thumb. When she wasn’t throwing dirt bombs or yelling in Siberian, you could see that she was pretty small. Even smaller than Spencer. Hardly bigger than a fire hydrant.

  “Right, Maxie? Maxie! Say something.”

  Maxie pulled her thumb out with a little pop.

  “Are we going to Mommy’s today?” she asked. “Or Daddy’s?”

  “Neither! We’re going to advanced warrior training!”

  Molly spun around, doing kicks and chops. Spencer covered his eyes.

  By now, GG’s house was so cozy, a person could hardly turn around.

  Mr. and Mrs. Pickett had business meetings in the dining room. Spencer’s leaf project took over the kitchen table. It was a check-plus project, for sure. Pretty much everything Spencer did, the Spindle gave him a check-plus. Or even a check-plus-plus. Spencer said he was having an excellent experience in her class. This was a puzzle, all right. What had gotten into that teacher? Why was she so much nicer than last year?

  Meanwhile, GG kept saying she loved having everyone live with her. Just loved it! Of course it wasn’t getting on her nerves! What gave anybody that silly idea?

  The whim-whams. Cody recognized the whim-whams when she saw them.

  “How about some tai chi?” she said.

  She and GG did Separating the Clouds and Rowing the Boat in the Middle of the Lake. They did Cody’s favorite
, Gazing at the Moon, which made you feel strong and graceful at the same time.

  “Feel that chi flow through you,” murmured GG. “From the top of your head to the tips of your toes!”

  MewMew rolled on her back and tucked up her paws. This was cat tai chi.

  “Feel the energy! Experience the mind-body harmony!”

  Cody’s insides got warm and peppy, like she just ate ten atomic fireballs. Chi was invisible to the naked eye, but it was there, all right. Could you see it under a microscope?

  Cody asked Wyatt as he walked her home.

  “What?” he said.

  Cody asked him again.

  “What?” he said.

  Cody sighed. “P.U. gave you the brush-off again, didn’t she?”

  “What?” he said.

  So it was true.

  At home, Wyatt bent over his microscope. Cody studied her brother’s neck. Mostly you don’t think about your neck, but where would a person be without it? A neck has such an important job, but hardly anyone appreciates it. Plus, Cody noticed now, Wyatt’s neck was awfully scrawny. She gave it a small, good-job pat.

  “I’m sorry Payton dropped the love baton,” she said.

  “What are you talking about? No, never mind! I don’t want to know!”

  Cody heaved a sigh. “I’m so tired of people being mean.”

  “What?” Wyatt spun around. “Is someone being mean to you? Besides me, I mean?” He flexed his beginner muscles. “They better not! Not if they know what’s good for them!”

  Cody threw her arms around his trusty, scrawny neck. She breathed in his Wyatt-ness, a combination of anti-pimple soap, chocolate milk, and old socks. Wyatt let her do that for a whole five seconds before he peeled her off.

  Of course Spencer got into the orchestra. The orchestra teacher even invited him to do a solo in the fall concert.

  “Pearl is going to accompany me,” he told Cody over the phone.