Slob - Ellen Potter [35]
I turned on the TV and waited. I reasoned that if I did manage to catch an old signal, there would be a sudden change in the quality of the picture—more staticky, just like in the “ghost” images at The Black Baron Pub. And then, of course, the show would be different than the one I had been watching.
I watched an episode of Happy Days.
Nothing happened.
Then I watched an episode of The Beverly Hillbillies.
Nothing happened. I was beginning to think that I might need a low-noise amplifier to make my signal stronger. But those things were pricey, and the odds of finding one at a demo site would be pretty slim. Or maybe a bigger satellite dish would do the trick . . .
Or maybe you’re kidding yourself that this could ever work in a hundred billion years, I heard my brain grumble.
Shut up, I told myself. All the great inventors have had moments of doubt. Thomas Edison once said, “I have not failed. I’ve just found ten thousand ways that won’t work.”
I watched an episode of The Brady Bunch, during which I decided I liked Jan better than Marcia because she reminded me of Rachel Lowry except with long hair and braces. Rachel’s teeth are really nice, by the way.
There was a knock on the door and Mom poked her head in.
“Hey, good lookin’. Any idea where your lunch sack is?” she said.
Oops.
“I think . . . oh. Sack, hmm. I left it at school,” I said.
Can you tell I’m not a good liar?
Mom listens to people on the phone all day long, liars included. I’m sure she knew I was lying.
“Everything okay at school?”
“Fine.”
“Did someone take that lunch sack from you?” she asked.
Do you see what I mean about her?
“Yeah, but it’s no big deal,” I said.
“Stealing is a big deal,” she said. “A very big deal.” She was getting all worked up. Boy, you’d think someone who hears about people falling onto subway tracks and getting their arms sliced off or about people tossing their wives out a hotel window wouldn’t care about a little thing like lunch sack theft.
“No, I know it is. It’s okay. I know who did it. I’m going to get it back.”
“Maybe I should have a talk with your teacher,” she said.
“No! Let me handle this!” I don’t generally raise my voice at her. Jeremy was at the door like a shot.
“What?” Jeremy said. “What’s going on?”
“Someone stole your brother’s lunch sack,” Mom said.
I groaned. This was all getting way out of hand.
Jeremy frowned at me and folded her arms against her chest. “Do you know who?” she asked.
“No one you know,” I said. The last thing I needed was for her to chase after Mason Ragg.
“All right, Owen.” Mom backed down. “I’ll let you handle this one.” Maybe she didn’t want to ruin our perfect day.
“Thanks.”
“So,” Mom said, glancing at the TV, “The Brady Bunch? I didn’t know kids still watched that show.”
“Some of us do.”
“You probably think Marcia’s cute, huh?” she said.
“Jan.”
“Really?” She tipped her head to one side and smiled. I had the feeling that she was always the girl that never got any valentines.
“Yeah. Definitely Jan.”
“All right, buddy. But next time someone is bullying you, will you promise me that you’ll tell the teacher?”
I nodded.
I could feel Jeremy’s eyes on me. I didn’t like the way she was looking at me. It felt like she was looking at me. And that for the first time she was seeing me for who I really was.
That night I slept with the TV on. I just couldn’t bring myself to turn it off, in case something happened.
Which it didn’t.
11
“What’s up, Flapjack?” Andre Bertoni jogged up to me and Jeremy on our way to school and he thumped me on my back.
Andre Bertoni is not someone you want to see first thing on Monday morning. There’s way too much thumping.
Quickly, I crushed the IPuffins tote bag against my jacket. Mom had put my lunch in the tote bag, much to