Jackson Jones, Book 1_ The Tale of a Boy, an Elf, and a Very Stinky Fish - Jenn L. Kelly [10]
it loudly. The extra whipped cream made interestingly gross noises as she inhaled it.
“No, I guess I don’t need it,” Jackson whispered to himself. He studied the ordinary-looking brown book in his other hand. It felt cool and heavy. He turned it one way and then the other. It felt like a very important book.
“Have you found what you are looking for, sir?” asked a very serious voice that was also very dignified and very polite.
Jackson gave Sir Shaw an unintentionally guilty look.
“I think I have, but…” Jackson began.
“But you lack the means to purchase the book,” Sir Shaw finished for him.
Jackson looked down at his feet. “It didn’t occur to me that I’d need money when I fell into a pile of hair.”
“Well, perhaps we can work out an exchange of gifts.”
“What do you mean?”
“I happen to enjoy crossword puzzles a great deal,” Sir Shaw explained, “but I am rather perplexed at the moment. Perhaps if you are able to figure out the clue, I could give you the book in exchange?”
Jackson swallowed. He didn’t do well on brainteasers. Crosswords made him break out in a sweat. Tests made him woozy. Fill-in-the-blank questions required a lie down. And pop quizzes? Projectile vomiting.
“You could just read a book on deciphering puzzles.” Sweat formed on Jackson’s upper lip. He wiped it surreptitiously. (Surreptitiously is like when you have a booger on your face, and your friend points it out in a kind way, and you casually reach up and flick it away. Unless of course your friend points it out and laughs so you flick the booger on him instead. But that’s not surreptitious anymore.)
“That is an excellent idea, sir, but the Ask books are not for me. They are for visitors only,” he explained, his white tufts of hair dancing lightly.
“Okay, well, I’ll do my best.” Jackson’s stomach gave a nervous twitch. This could get ugly.
Sir Shaw opened his crossword puzzle book and cleared his throat. Jackson caught a glimpse of its complicatedness, in the many columns of teeny-tiny print. Jackson nervously wiped his forehead. His mouth dried out. Oh dear.
“The word has five letters and ends with an L. The clue is, ‘slow as a – – – – – l.’”
Jackson’s head spun and his stomach churned. He could still feel last night’s bean burgers down there. He swallowed thickly.
“Snail?” he whispered.
Sir Shaw’s body convulsed briefly. His breath was ragged as he placed his long fingers over his eyes. He reached into his green blazer pocket and pulled out a black silk handkerchief and patted his forehead. He looked down at the crossword puzzle, his bushy white eyebrows covering his dark blue eyes.
“That seems to be the answer. No wonder…” and Sir Shaw shuddered violently again.
“Are you all right?” asked Jackson.
“Yes. I just (shudder) do not care for snails,” Sir Shaw whispered, smoothing his white hair tufts. They lay flat for a moment and then popped up again.
“What’s so bad about snails?”
“The reasons I do not care for them involves a shipwreck, a roll of toilet paper, and a poorly written synopsis, but we will not discuss that right now.” He gave Jackson a small smile. “I think we have an agreement, then. You may take the book. Thank you for your help.” Sir Shaw turned and walked away.
Jackson smiled to himself as he walked over and sat down in the big, green, overstuffed comfy chair. Meeka slept in the chair beside him. She snorted loudly, rolling over. Her head hung off the cushion, and her long, messy hair touched the floor.
Jackson took a deep breath and opened the book.
There was absolutely nothing written in it.
Jackson turned the pages frantically.
Nothing.
Clean, pure white pages of nothingness stared back at him.
“Are you kidding me?” Jackson yelled. Meeka snorted again, but didn’t move. Jackson flipped