The Fix-It Friends--Wish You Were Here Read online

  Principal Powell’s secretary was not sitting at her desk, which made it a little easier to wait. I acted like I was looking at the stacks of brochures over there, but really, I was trying to eavesdrop. I am pretty good at this because I do it all the time in front of the door to my mom’s office. Her office is on the bottom floor of our house, so I can’t help it if I just end up down there sometimes.

  It is pretty hard to hear what my mom’s clients are saying because she has a lot of machines plugged into the wall, which all make noise. She does it on purpose so her clients can tell her all their secrets without anyone overhearing. My mom is a therapist, which means she listens to people talk about their troubles and then she tries to make them feel better. I asked her if she tells a lot of jokes, and she said no, so who the heck knows what she does? All I know is, when I listen at the door to her office, I hardly ever hear anything.

  It was way easier to eavesdrop on Principal Powell and Ezra. I heard the crying right away.

  I thought maybe Ezra was crying because he got his braces tightened and they hurt. Maybe Gary Grotowski said something mean to him. Maybe he was crying because he missed his dad, who lives in another state.

  While I was busy wondering, Principal Powell’s grumpy secretary came back to her desk.

  Her name is Rose Mackenzie … or it might be Mackenzie Rose. I can never remember. Both her names sound like first names!

  So just to be safe, I call her “ma’am.” I can tell she thinks I’m playing some kind of joke on her, but I’m not. Because of this, she is very suspicious of me. Also I think she is still mad at me for knocking over the PENNIES FOR THE RAIN FOREST can in the office and for causing a fiasco with a fake spider.

  Mrs. Rose or Mackenzie is very old. She looks much older than Miss Tibbs and all my grandparents. I am dying to ask her how old she is, but my mom says I’m not allowed to. I am guessing that she’s 104.

  Her hair is completely white and it is always pulled into a tiny little bun near her neck. She wears red rectangular glasses pushed aaaaaall the way down to the end of her nose.

  She is like the guard of Principal Powell’s office because her desk is right by the door. Nobody can go in or come out of that office without her seeing.

  “Veronica,” said Mrs. Rose or Mackenzie. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  “Who, me?” I asked. “I’m just reading this brochure about—”

  I grabbed the brochure that was closest to my hand and read it out loud.

  “Wart removal,” I said.

  “Having a problem with warts, are you?” Mrs. Rose or Mackenzie asked. Her eyebrows were raised so high, they practically hit the ceiling.

  “Oh, I’ve got loads of warts. I’m covered in ’em. I’ve got a humongous hairy one right on my belly button.”

  Just then, the door to Principal Powell’s office opened. Ezra shuffled out, blowing his nose into a tissue, with his mom behind him.

  “Ez!” I chirped. “Hi! Happy New Year!”

  “Hi,” he mumbled, looking down. He seemed so sad. I just really, really, really wanted to cheer him up.

  “Hey, I have something special for you!” I exclaimed, handing him the present I had put in my pocket. “Actually, it’s for Ziggy. He is going to love it!”

  All of a sudden, Ezra’s mouth twisted to the side and he made a choking noise in his throat.

  Then Ezra spoke. But it didn’t sound like Ezra at all. First of all, he wasn’t talking in his usual super-speedy way. He was talking slowly, with pauses in between his words.

  Second of all, he was being really mean! And Ezra is never mean to me.

  “I don’t … want … your dumb … present!” he growled. “Ziggy WON’T love it! Ziggy won’t love ANYTHING!”

  To my horror, he threw the present right on the dirty floor and ran out.

  I was so surprised, I could not even gasp. I just stared down at the gift and started to feel really sad. I felt a big lump in my throat like I’d just swallowed a golf ball. I gulped hard, and then I asked Principal Powell, “What’s he talking about?”

  “Why don’t you come in, my dear?” she said. “We’ll talk.”

  I picked up the present for Ziggy and walked past Principal Powell into her office.

  Chapter 6

  I know a principal’s office is supposed to be a terrible place that makes your teeth chatter in fear, but actually, Principal Powell’s office is cozy and wonderful. It has a red couch that is super comfy and soft. When you sit in it, you feel like you are sinking into a strawberry cloud. There is a table in front of the couch, which always has crayons and construction paper and scratch ’n’ sniff stickers on it. Fancy music with violins is always playing in the background.

  Plus Principal Powell has cool posters on her wall with cheerful sayings like, “The mind is like a parachute. It works best when open” and “The best dreams happen when you are awake.”

  “Would you like some tea?” she asked, holding up a silver thermos. I nodded.

  Every time I go to Ezra’s house, I have the same hibiscus tea. In the summer, it’s iced, and in the winter, it’s hot. Principal Powell always puts lots of honey in it so it’s sweet, and it smells wonderful. That’s because it’s made of real flowers!

  Principal Powell poured the tea into two mugs and handed one to me. Then she took a long sip and said, “I have to apologize for Ezra’s behavior. I don’t want you to take it personally.”

  Principal Powell has a way of talking that makes it sound like she is singing. I think it’s because she lived in Jamaica until she was a teenager. I love the way she talks.

  I took a nice, big sip of the tea, which made me feel warm from the inside out.

  “What did Ezra mean about Ziggy?” I asked.

  “I’m so sorry to tell you this,” said Principal Powell, “but Ziggy has died.”

  I shook my head. That was impossible!

  “But—but—but—” My mind was racing around. I couldn’t even think straight. “But I just saw Ziggy! Right before Christmas, when we came over to make cookies at your house! He was squeaking like always! He was fine!”

  “That is true,” agreed Principal Powell, “but you know, we’ve had Ziggy for many years. He was very, very old for a guinea pig.”

  “Did he die while you were gone? Maybe the person who was babysitting him did something wrong. Did you call the police?”

  “He was in wonderful hands while we were gone, with my neighbor,” Principal Powell said. “And, in any event, it happened the day after we came back from vacation. It was nobody’s fault. Ziggy was just very old.”

  I felt like my arms and legs weighed about 500 pounds, like I couldn’t move even if you offered me a triple-scoop ice cream sundae with extra whipped cream.

  Then the big lump in my throat came back, but it wasn’t the size of a golf ball anymore. It was the size of a soccer ball. Some tears started to slide down my cheeks, and Principal Powell passed me a tissue box.

  “Yes, it’s hard. I’m sad about it, too,” she said. “Ziggy was a member of our family.”

  We were both quiet for a minute. Then Principal Powell spoke again: “Will you tell Jude the news? I don’t want him to think Ezra’s mad at him.”

  I nodded and looked down. I was still holding the present for Ziggy. That present made me feel so sad, I had to stay in the office for the rest of recess. When I left, I tossed the present right in the trash.

  Chapter 7

  That afternoon, Gramps picked up Jude and me from school. I told them the terrible news about Ziggy.

  “It’s tough when you lose a pet,” said Gramps. “Y’all remember my black Lab Tucker? He died ’bout five years back. I still miss that dog. Used to bring me my slippers when I came home in the evening. It ’bout near broke my heart to see those slippers after he died.”

  “Poor Ezra. He probably feels miserable every time he goes home and sees Ziggy’s empty cage,” said Jude.

  “You should invite him to our hous
e tomorrow,” I suggested. “Cora could come over, too, and we can have a Fix-It meeting! We can think of ways to help Ez!”

  Jude nodded.

  But at pickup the next day, Jude said Ezra didn’t want to have a meeting. He didn’t want to talk about Ziggy. In fact, he didn’t feel like coming over at all. He said he just wanted to be left alone.

  Since Cora was coming over anyway, we decided to have a Fix-It meeting about Ezra, without Ezra.

  As soon as we got home, we grabbed leftover candy canes and went into the bedroom Jude and I share, where we hoped Little Nicky would leave us alone.

  “Guys, this is serious! I’ve never seen Ezra so upset,” I said. “What can we do to help?”

  “We could leave him alone, like he told us to,” Jude said.

  “Have you no heart?” I cried. “Leave him alone in his time of need!”

  “It’s what he wants!” Jude replied.

  “Well, I want a black poodle named Lexington to sleep in my bed with me, and I’m not getting that!” I said. “So we can’t always get what we want!”

  “That doesn’t make one iota of sense,” said Jude. “Not even one iota.”

  “Well, one thing is for sure,” said Cora, who is always good at breaking up fights. “We definitely can’t mention Ziggy or guinea pigs or pets or anything like that for a while.”

  “Absolutely,” I agreed. “And we should be extra nice to him. And we should do all his favorite stuff, to cheer him up.”

  “I could ask if he wants to finish filming Shimmy Strikes Back,” Jude agreed. “He’s been wanting to do that for a while.”

  One of Jude and Ezra’s favorite things to do is make funny horror movies, like Shimmy Strikes Back. It’s about a crazed squirrel named Shimmy who goes on a rampage until Chiller the killer pigeon fights back. I am terrific at doing different accents, so they asked me to do the voice of Shimmy. I gave him an English accent like my drama teacher, Ginger Frost. It cracks us all up.

  “Now you’re talking, Jude!” I exclaimed.

  “HEY!” boomed Little Nicky’s voice in my ear. He had crept in and was sitting next to us, like he was a Fix-It Friend. Outrageous!

  “ARE THERE ANY SHARKS IN THIS MOVIE?” asked Little Nicky. “GREAT WHITES? MAKOS? SAND TIGERS? HAMMERHEADS?”

  “Ummm, no,” said Jude.

  “THEN IT’S STUPID,” Little Nicky announced. He stood up, stuck out his tongue, and took a big, slobbery lick of Cora’s candy cane. Then he walked right out of the room, like he couldn’t waste his time on such nonsense.

  “I don’t think I want this anymore,” said Cora, tossing her candy cane in the trash.

  * * *

  Jude called Ezra to see if he wanted to film Shimmy Strikes Back that weekend. Ezra said he didn’t feel like it yet, but maybe on Monday.

  To make matters worse, it was freezing cold all weekend, so we were stuck inside the apartment with Little Nicky the whole time. He spent half of every day in the tub, playing with his plastic shark collection. He stayed in the water so long, his fingers got all wrinkly and he looked like a swamp creature.

  One time, I went in the bathroom, closed the door, and was about to sit on the toilet. All of a sudden, I heard an enormous ruckus from the bathtub. Who should pull back the shower curtain but Little Nicky? He was hiding in there and I had no idea! I screamed so loud that he dived back under the water.

  Little Nicky was supposed to sleep on an air mattress in Mom and Dad’s room, but after just two nights, he refused.

  “THIS AIR BED IS FREEZING AND STUPID AND IT GIVES ME A HEADACHE SO I CAN’T SLEEP A WINK!” he complained. “I WANNA SLEEP IN PEARL’S BED!”

  Then he threw such a big, screaming fit that Pearl said he could sleep in her bed and she’d sleep on the air mattress. But, of course, the only room she wanted to sleep in was mine. So, because of Little Nicky, I had to share a room with both my siblings!

  I couldn’t wait for Little Nicky to hit the road. I couldn’t even wait for the weekend to be over. I have never been so excited to go back to school on Monday morning.

  Chapter 8

  After school on Monday, Granny came to pick us up with Pearl. Thankfully, Little Nicky had stayed at home with Gramps.

  Pearl was in her stroller, tucked under a blue fleece blanket, wearing a white hat with mouse ears and whiskers on it. She looked adorable. She also looked miserable.

  Her lower lip stuck out really far, and it was trembling. Dad calls this the Pearl Power Pout.

  “Pearly Pie!” I exclaimed. “What’s the matter?”

  “Wicawdo,” she moaned. “Wicawdo’s gone.”

  My heart dropped like a heavy stone, right down into my stomach.

  Since her second birthday, when Pearl got Ricardo, she has never spent a night without him. One time, over the summer, Pearl left Ricardo at the Monroe, which is the building where Dad works as a super. She didn’t realize he was gone until it was time to go to sleep. Then she cried and cried until Dad finally walked over to the Monroe in his pj’s and brought Ricardo home.

  Now, whenever we go anywhere, Mom and Dad always look at the checklist hanging by our front door. Jude made it, of course.

  It says:

  1.  Wallet?

  2.  Phone?

  3.  Keys?

  4.  Ricardo?

  Of all those things, Ricardo is the most important.

  “Don’t worry, Pearly,” I told her. “We’ll find him.”

  While I was busy talking to Pearl, Jude walked over. And guess who was with him?

  “EZRA!” I hollered as I threw my arms around him. Then I let go and looked at him to make sure he was okay. He wasn’t dancing a jig or jumping for joy, but he was not crying and his eyes didn’t look red.

  “I’m so glad to see you!” I exclaimed. “You have to tell us alllll about Jamaica! Did you catch any lizards? What did you get for Christmas? Did you eat any jerk chickens?”

  In Jamaica, there is a kind of food called jerk chicken. But people don’t call it that because the chicken did something rude and they’re mad at it. “Jerk” is the name of the spices they put on it. I ate it at Ezra’s house one time, and it was so delicious, I had three helpings. Then I cracked everyone up by saying, “This chicken may be a jerk, but he sure is tasty!”

  “Yeah, we had jerk chicken and also pepper pot soup with pigs’ tails in it—”

  “Real tails?” I cried.

  “Yeah, real ones, cut into pieces, and— Oh! Jude, listen to this! My grandfather taught me how to drain a coconut and get the milk out. It’s so cool! You jam a screwdriver into this little soft spot.…”

  I sighed with relief. Ezra was talking a mile a minute, so fast you could hardly understand a word he was saying. Good old Ezra was back.

  * * *

  As soon as we got home, Pearl ran right into her bedroom to look for Ricardo. Little Nicky was watching a TV show about fish in the living room. Jude and Ezra headed into the kitchen to make their signature nacho dish, called the Fire-Breathing Dragon. It’s called that because they put Tabasco on top. It’s too spicy for me, but I didn’t complain, because I was trying to keep Ezra happy.

  After Jude and Ezra stuffed themselves silly, Jude got all the things for the movie—his camera, the Shimmy Strikes Back script, and Shimmy, who is a very cuddly stuffed animal. We went into our bedroom to start filming, and Jude handed me Shimmy, the cute, brown, adorable furball. All of a sudden, I gasped.

  Cute!

  Brown!

  Adorable!

  Furball!

  I’d never thought of it before, but Shimmy looked so much like Ziggy! Too much! A warning siren went off in my head.

  I said, “Umm, guys, you know what? I don’t feel like making the movie after all.”

  Ezra and Jude both looked totally confused.

  “What’s up?” asked Ezra.

  “Nothing,” I said, shrugging. “I just don’t feel like it.”

  “But we’re at the most important part
!” Jude exclaimed. “We need you to do Shimmy’s voice. You’re the only one who can do the accent.”

  “It’s just not a good idea,” I said to Jude. I opened my eyes very wide to get my point across. “Just DROP it!”

  “What do you mean?” asked Jude. Sometimes he can be so thickheaded. “Why, huh? Why?”

  “BECAUSE YOU’LL MAKE EZRA THINK ABOUT HOW ZIGGY’S DEAD!” I shouted. I really didn’t mean to shout. I just got so fed up with Jude and his thick head.

  Ezra’s face crumpled up all of a sudden.

  “Excuse me,” he said as he bolted to the bathroom.

  “Ronny!” Jude cried. “Look what you did! What’s the matter with you?”

  “It’s your fault! We said we weren’t going to talk about anything that would make Ezra think about Ziggy!”

  “But he wasn’t thinking about Ziggy until you made a huge deal about it and reminded him!”

  “But I was just trying to help!”

  “Every time you try to help, you make things worse!” he hollered. “Just leave us alone!”

  At that moment, Pearl ran into our bedroom and flopped down on the floor.

  “Wicawdoooooooo!!” she sobbed. “I need you!”

  “I’m going to check on Ez,” said Jude, and he stormed off.

  I knelt down next to Pearl. She looked at me, with her big blue eyes all watery.

  “When did you see Ricardo last? And where?”

  “This mowning, in my woom!” Pearl sniffled.

  “Well, he’s got to be there, then, because nobody’s been in your room today. Jude and I have been at school, and who else—”

  All of a sudden, I remembered someone else who had been in Pearl’s room that day. Someone whose favorite activity was destroying people’s prized possessions.

  “Little Nicky!” I yelped.

  “Wittle Nicky!” Pearl growled. She balled her fists up and squeezed tight.

  Pearl and I tiptoed into Mom and Dad’s bedroom, which was where Little Nicky’s backpack was. We searched through the whole thing, but we couldn’t find Ricardo anywhere. We were just starting to put all his sharks and books and stuff back in the backpack when Gramps walked in with Little Nicky right behind him.