Chris Grabenstein - The Crossroads

She sipped some tea.

Miss Spratling’s Clint had to be this Clint Eberhart. He died after his car collided with the bus in the crossroads.

She remembered something else Miss Spratling had said: “They ran him off the road.”

Probably up the embankment and into the oak tree.

She wanted to go find Bud. The neighbor who had helped fix her flat tire. He worked for Greyhound. Maybe he knew more of the story. She also wanted to go see Mrs. Emerson down at the library, see what she could find in the local history books and old newspapers.

Zack and Zipper came running into the backyard. Zipper’s paws were muddy, his underbelly a collection of matted muck. Zack’s shorts were dripping wet.

Okay. The puzzle may have to wait until after a load of laundry.

“How’d you guys get so soaked?”

“Davy and I found a secret lagoon.”

“Really?”

“Actually, I think it’s a cow pond.”

“I like the sound of ‘lagoon’ better,” said Judy.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Bet it felt good. On a hot day like this.”

“Yep. Real good.”

“Well, why don’t you clean up Zipper, then run inside and put on something dry.”

“Okay.”

“You want to go down to the library with me later?”

“Maybe. Can I grab something to eat first?”

“Oh. Sure. I can make you a sandwich.”

“That’s okay. I’ll just, you know, fix it myself.”

“I promise I won’t toast, bake, or broil.”

“I’ll just do a PB and J. And then I might take a shower.”

Judy grinned. “You don’t want to go to the library, do you?”

“Not really. Not today. I mean, it’s Saturday and all.”

“You’re right,” Judy said. “Go get cleaned up.”

“Okay.”

Zack ran into the house.

Judy glanced back at her notes.

June 21.

June 21 was the summer solstice. The longest day of the year. The shortest night.

1958.

Fifty years ago this Wednesday.

She wondered if Miss Spratling had anything special planned for the anniversary.

Zack found the dog’s towel hanging in the mudroom and swiped it under Zipper’s belly before he grabbed the dog by the collar.

“Sorry, Zip. You need to wait upstairs.”

Zipper dug his hind legs into the thistle rug and tried to sit down while Zack tried to pull him forward. Finally, Zack scooped Zipper up, cradled him in his arms, and carried the dog upstairs to his bedroom. He didn’t waste time changing into dry shorts or taking a shower. He closed the door and stood in the hall.

“I’ll be right back,” he said through the door. “And remember—no barking!”

Zipper barked.

“Zipper?”

Zack heard whimpering on the other side. But no more barks.

He raced down the steps and went to the front hall to retrieve the hacksaw he had hidden in the closet the night before. Since Judy was still out on the back porch, he slowly opened the front door, careful not to let it make any noise—even when he eased it shut again. Once outside, Zack turned right and ran toward a house being built three doors up the block.

He saw a pile of neatly stacked lumber, but Zack wasn’t interested in free wood today. He scaled the cinder-block foundation and trotted across the decking to find the treasure hidden out back.

There it was, just where Davy had said it would be: a shiny steel toolbox tucked up against the foundation.

Zack jumped down to the cement-splattered clay and examined the lock. Davy had told him its shackle was made with a “cut-resistant alloy” and warned Zack that it might take half an hour to hacksaw through it.

But we need the galdern tool!

That’s why he added a shower and a sandwich to the list of things he supposedly needed to take care of inside the house. Judy wouldn’t start wondering where he was for thirty, maybe forty-five minutes.

Zack started sawing. A thin dust of metal filings hit the dirt near his knees. Five minutes later, his hair was soaking wet from exertion, but the cut was only an eighth of an inch deep. He might be out here for over an hour.

Judy will come into the house looking for you! Saw faster, pal! Faster! Give her some galdern elbow grease!

Zack took in a deep breath and, grunting, put everything he had into his hacksaw thrusts. A drop of bubbly sweat fell on his knee.

It took Zack an instant to realize it wasn’t sweat.

It was spit.

“What you doin’ down there, Barbie?”

Zack looked up.

Kyle Snertz loomed over him. The sneering bully hawked up another slimy wad, juiced his lips, and let loose a thick chunk of spit. The spew smeared across Zack’s glasses.

“I said, what are you doin’, Bar-bie ?”

“Nothing” was the best Zack could come up with.

“Hah!”

Snertz leapt down. His three buddies came bounding down after him.

“Well, well, well. Barbie here is trying to bust into a toolbox.”

“No, I’m not.”

“That’s my toolbox. We got first dibs.”

One of Snertz’s cronies held a heavy-duty bolt cutter with three-foot-long handles.

“I only need one tool,” said Zack. “You guys can have the rest. Okay?”

“Hah!” said Snertz. “All the tools in that box belong to me! I need ’em to build a railroad.”

Zack was confused. “A railroad?”

“Yeah. On your chest!” Snertz shoved Zack backward, knocked him to the ground, sat on his stomach, and started pummeling his rib cage.

“First we need to crush the rocks!”

“Hey! Get off of me!”

Snertz pinned Zack’s arms underneath his knees.

“I said get off of me, snothead!”

“What? What’d you call me?”

Furious, Snertz ripped open Zack’s T-shirt and rasped a knuckled fist up his sternum—leaving behind a raw ribbon of skin burn.

“Get off of me!”

“Uh-oh! Rocks. Little bitty boulders.” Snertz twisted Zack’s nipples. “We may need dynamite!” He slammed his fists like wet, meaty sledgehammers against Zack’s chest and made explosion noises.

Zack refused to cry. The punches and pinches hurt, but he would not cry.

Pants him!

Zack heard Davy’s voice in his head, remembered his friend’s stupid advice.

“Time to drive in the stakes!”

Snertz found a jagged chunk of concrete broken off the corner of a cinder block. He studied Zack’s exposed chest, considered where to scrape first.

“Get off of me!”

With a back-arching thrust, Zack freed his arms, grabbed Snertz’s belt loops, and yanked his shorts down to his knees.

The other boys started to laugh. Snertz’s face went fish-belly white.

The bully was wearing diapers! Disposable training pants. Zack saw cute little jungle critters dotting crinkled plastic. Apparently, Kyle wasn’t properly potty trained and his parents made him take the necessary precautions.

“Gross, Snertz,” one of the boys said. “You wear diapers?”

“Shuddup!”

The other boys started waving the air in front of their faces and laughed even louder.

“No wonder he stinks all the time.”

“Hey, pantsload!”

Now Kyle Snertz was the one with a new nickname.

He didn’t waste time buttoning his shorts; he held the front flaps together with one hand so they wouldn’t fall down while he ran home—probably to hide in his room and cry.

Buh-bye, pantsload!

The other boys stuck around. When Zack told them what he and Davy were planning to do, they were eager to help. They used the bolt cutter to snap open the lock, and Zack pulled out the treasure he had come here to retrieve: a cordless drill with an extremely long, one-inch auger bit.