The Graham Cracker Plot (3 page)

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“They cornered him and beat him up.”

“But why?”

“Because they're a bunch of thugs!”

“It's Club Fed.” My voice turned into a yell. “You said killers and stranglers and stabbers don't go there! You said it's like getting a time out in your bedroom.”

“It is. But it's also for people who committed drug crimes. And they're not always the nicest.”

My heart flopped around because I'd been tricked. Grandma and Mom said he could take classes and work out and see movies on Friday nights. They left out the part about not-nice people and drugs.

Grandma squeezed my hand. “He's got you and he's got me. We're his family. We have to take care of him. I know that's what you were trying to do today. You were brave. It wasn't the smartest plan, honey, but it was brave. And I love you for it.”

“You're not too mad?”

“No. Just incredibly sad. But we'll think of something, right?”

I squeezed her hand back. “We'll think of something.”

*   *   *

So Grandma didn't exactly order me to break the Chemist out of prison. But she told me I was brave and that we had to take care of him. That translates, don't you think?

 

DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

I will tell you three things about Graham Hassler aka Graham Cracker.

Number one:
He is a pain in my butt! Our moms have been friends since Graham and me went to the Head Start preschool. They've always wanted us to be buddies, too, but he drives me crazy, and we argue all the time. You know how when moms get together, they make jokes about their kids going to prom and getting married? Well, our moms joke about our future
divorce
.

Number two:
Graham wanted to run away. He hates school. He hates wearing thrift-store jeans that don't cover his socks. He hates the extra hours his mom works on account of their electricity getting turned off. When we stood at the bus stop, if Graham wasn't talking about football or snakes or cowboys, he was always making plans to run away. Living in the mountains, by the ocean, or in Australia. Working as a samurai, singer, or horse trainer. He always had a new plot; always something better than here.

Number three:
Graham is a pest to me, but he's a big chicken with everyone else. He puts stuff in my desk like wrinkled carrots and spitballs and even stinky socks! Then he laughs and laughs. But he
hides
from Jesse Ellman, the jerk who yells, “Hey Graham Cracker, you forget your deodorant today? Cuz you smell like trash. Oh, wait, you
are
trash!” Graham should kick him in the shins; that's what I'd do.

Security Guard Aaron says I pushed him over a cliff, and that's why he gave me the visiting ban. Well, I got pushed over a cliff, too. You could say Aaron took me to the cliff when he banned me from visiting for six months, and Grandma walked me toward the edge when she told me to help the Chemist. But Graham pushed me. Don't yell about taking responsibility until you hear the whole thing. You'll see.

*   *   *

The next week, I was sitting on a swing at the River Estates playground, which is no playground. The slide is metal. It soaks the sun and burns your legs in the summer. You scoot fast at the top, but you slam to a stop because the bottom is sticky. I scrubbed that spot with soapy water, and it's still sticky. There's also a teeter-totter that gives me splinters, three swings that creak and moan, and a sandbox without any sand. I refuse to say playground. I call it a play dump.

It's like calling the prison Club Fed. Giving something bad a nice name or a funny name doesn't change it.
Defecate
is a fancy word for poop—the Chemist told me that—but it doesn't cover up the stink. Take River Estates Mobile Home Park as an example. To me,
estates
says a neighborhood with brick houses that have shiny grills on the decks and people who take down their Christmas lights before June. But it's not. The places here are saggy and rusty and embarrassed. There isn't even a
river
by River Estates Mobile Home Park!

There I was, swinging and waiting for Mom to finish work. I heard a door slam behind me, and a few seconds later Graham was on the swing next to me singsonging, “I know something you don't know!”

I pumped my legs faster and ignored him. Why did his trailer have to be next to the play dump? I couldn't get a second alone on that swing.

“I know something you don't know.” He was louder and more sing-y. “And it's about yooooouuuu. So do you wanna know? Do you?”

“I don't care.” If I acted like I wanted to know, he would stretch it out forever.

“Do you wanna know?”

“Not really. But whatever.”

Graham pumped his legs to keep up with me. For a moment there was nothing but the sounds of the swings creak-squeaking. Then he said, “You're going to stay with us for a week because your mom's going on vacation!”

I made stiff legs and dug my feet into the ground. My swing groaned and stopped. “What?”

“Your mom asked my mom if we'd watch you for a week. Alex is taking her to a resort in Mexico. I guess they want some kissing time.” He made lip smooches. “And you don't get to go.”

“You better be wrong!” I shouted.

Alex is ancient. He's at least forty, and he's got a little ring of black-and-gray hair around his head. He's been dating Mom for a year. Her other boyfriends treated me like a pest. Mom always said I'm more important than men, but that was bull. She'd hang on them, they'd both ignore me, and then Mom would send me to bed early.

But Alex is different. He calls me his buddy. Alex doesn't have kids, so he said he's counting on me to teach him how to be cool, which is our joke. So why wouldn't they take me on vacation, too? His buddy? Mom's more-important kid? Hah.

“Hey, don't blame me. Blame your mom and her stupid boyfriend. I'd be pissed off, too. I'd run away to the resort and get a job as a surfing instructor.”

“You don't know how to surf.”

“Duh. I have to learn first.”

“You probably got it wrong. You never listen, Graham Cracker!”

He stopped swinging and kicked dirt at me. “I listen. I'm not deaf, you know.”

Graham started talking about horses and snakes. My head burned. Mom on vacation without me! To a beach! She never went swimming with
me
because she said her legs look like sausages. I guess Alex likes sausage! Come to think of it, they go to the stadium theater without me on account of the R ratings. They probably pick R-rated movies so I
can't
go. And Mom always asks Alex what he wants for supper. Chili. Lasagna. Italian beef. Doesn't matter—she'll stay by the stove until it's done. But me? She just slaps fish sticks on the table whether I want them or not.

Fish sticks, Judge Henry, fish sticks! They must always be on sale.

 

DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

Sure enough, Mom told me Alex was taking her on a trip because they needed some “alone time.” I wanted to tell her I was alone all the time and it wasn't so great. I wanted to ask her what would happen if their alone time was amazingly fabulous and they stayed in Mexico. Would Mom ask the County to take me? A long time ago, the County threatened to put me in a foster home, which is a place for kids when their parents need parents. But Mom got her act together. She started going to the alcohol meetings with Kari, and Kari became her sponsor. That means Kari is the parent of Mom not drinking anymore.

Then Mom got a job at the nursing home, and in the fall, she's going to school to be a real nurse and I get a trampoline from her first paycheck. I reminded her that River Estates bans trampolines because they probably hate fun. Alex smiled all big and said, “Hey, buddy, there's no ban on trampolines at my house.”

Buddy? Whatever.

I didn't act sad or mad or anything when Mom told me about the trip. I said, “Whatever.” And she said, “Is that your new favorite word?”

I shrugged and turned on the TV.

“You need a positive attitude,” Mom said. “You're acting like a teenager and you're not even twelve! Can't you be happy for me?”

“Whatever.”

“You know, I'd like to talk to you, but talking involves two people actually talking. Not just shrugging and eye-rolling and whatever-ing.”

“Why can't I stay with Grandma? Why Graham Cracker?” The question was a waste of time, but I asked just to see Mom's face crinkle up. That's how mad I was.

“Use his real name, Daisy.”

“Why do I have to stay with Graham
Hassler
instead of Grandma?”

“Because she lives thirty minutes away, and there aren't any kids by her town house for you to play with.”

“So? Kari works all day. It's spring break. We're gonna be home all day with nothing to do.”

“You're staying with Kari because she's my best friend, and it's easy. If you need anything from home, all you have to do is walk fifty feet. If you need any help while Kari's working, Mrs. Mundez is six trailers away. She's a sweetheart,” Mom said. Then she acted like she just thought of the best reason ever. “And you'll have someone to play with!”

“Great. A whole week with Graham.”

She was still yackity-yacking when I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. Mom sighed and texted something on her phone. Probably to Alex. Probably something like,
Can't wait to be alone!

And me with Graham for a week. A person could go crazy in a week, you know.

 

DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

Everything fell apart the day Mom and Alex left.

Graham and I were on spring break, so we had to hang out at his place
all day.
With nothing to do. Nothing! His mom told us to watch movies and make a frozen pizza for lunch while she worked, but Graham can never sit through an entire movie.

“You wanna go outside?” he asked every fifteen minutes. His bangs were greasy and hanging past his eyes. He'd brush them aside, and they'd fall into his eyelashes again.

“It was rainy and cold the first time you asked, and it's still rainy and cold,” I said. “I could cut your bangs.”

“Remember when we used to play horse race and I'd always win?” He looked so proud of himself.

“Remember when we used to play arm wrestling and I'd always win?” That shut him up for about ten minutes. Then he said, “Whatcha want to do?”

“My grandma's a stylist so I'm naturally good at hair cutting.” This sounded like a good idea. His hair was shaggy and gross, and I'd been thinking I could go to beauty school and open a shop with Grandma. She could work on the old people, and I'd work on the young people. We'd be both hip
and
classic and make a fortune.

“I'm bored. Why are you just sitting around?” Graham stood on the couch and bounced. “I wanna go outside or play a game. Mom won't let me use the computer when she's not here because she's afraid I'll give it a virus. But we could guess her password. Wanna guess her password? I bet it's Maggie. That was her first dog. Half the people in the world use their pet's name for a password.”

I crossed my arms and said, “You need your bangs cut.”

“My mom wouldn't like it.” He jumped to the floor and dug around in his pocket. “I'm going to show you something that my uncle gave me. It's super cool. And I don't tell people about it, but because we're trapped for a whole week, we're going to need it.”

Graham opened his fist and showed me an old penny.

“So what?” I said. “You can't buy anything with a penny.”

“It's not just a plain old penny. Look at the date on it—1919. It's old. Really, really old!”

“So?”

He pushed his bangs back and sighed. “It's so old it's become an Idea Coin. You know my uncle who lives in Michigan? Well, he gave this coin to me when we went to see him. My uncle said an old coin with the same numbers—like this, with a nineteen and a nineteen—gets special powers because they've been in so many pockets and purses. It's picked up the idea energy from thousands of people over a hundred years. Hold it in your hand, squeeze it real tight against your head, and a cool idea will come to you.”

“Your uncle told you that?”

“Yup.”

“Were you bugging him about being bored?”

“Daisy, it works! Every time I use it I get the coolest ideas. Remember when we had that blizzard and I got you outside and we made an igloo and it was super cool? Even you said it was the best snow day ever. Well, the Idea Coin told me to knock on your door that day.”

“You sure it wasn't your mom?” Graham believes everything. Once Abbey Harris told him she'd be his friend for a whole week if he gave her five dollars. I warned him she was full of it, but he didn't listen. He stole five dollars from his mom's wallet and gave it to Abbey. She ran off with the money and told her friends and they all laughed at him.

“Nope. It was the coin. You just can't overuse it because it drains the idea energy. Don't use it to decide between playing a video game and watching a movie. Save it for desperate times. And I think this is a desperate time. Here, put it in your hand.”

I took the penny from his fist.

“Squeeze it tight. You're right-handed, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Keep it in your right hand. Now close your eyes. And breathe deep. Are your eyes closed?”

“They're closed.”

“Are you squeezing it tight?”

“I'm squeezing it tight.”

“Okay. Now don't open your eyes. Slowly lift your right hand and hold it against your forehead.”

“It's against my forehead.”

“Not your fist,” he said. “Press the actual penny against your actual forehead and hold it there.”