Trevor Lee and the Big Uh Oh! Read online

  Mr. Saw took us on a tour of the orchard. We watched the big machines that clean and sort the apples. We learned how they make apple pie, applesauce, and my favorite—caramel apples.

  Then Mrs. Saw gave each of us a little basket. Our job was to fill the basket with the best apples we could find. They would sell some of the apples to their customers in their store. And ship the rest to nearby stores. In return, we would each get two shiny, red apples.

  That’s how she said it. Two shiny, red apples. Like she was in a commercial.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” I said. “Is that considered minimum wage for all the work we’ll be doing for you?”

  I knew all about getting paid for work. Mother and Daddy gave me a dollar each week for not falling asleep in church. I’ve earned three dollars so far this year. It’s only September, so I’m on a roll.

  Before Mrs. Saw could answer, The Boog thanked her for the tour and letting us visit the farm. Then whisked us out the door to begin our apple picking.

  Pinky took off running. That kid is like a cheetah. I chased after him until he stopped. At the last tree.

  “No one will bug us here,” he said.

  “Good thinking!”

  “Yeah. We can throw, bite, and smash all the apples we want.”

  Pinky is always good at remembering which rule he wants to break first.

  “Maybe we should fill our buckets. Real fast like. Get it over with.”

  “Uh… sure,” said Pinky. And he rolled his eyes.

  So we looked under the tree. We found apples with spots. Apples with bruises. Apples with bite marks. And apples with worms. But no “shiny, red” apples like Mrs. Saw said she needed.

  “Well, it looks like we’re in a heap of applesauce with no spoon,” I said. “We can’t go back with these apples in our buckets.”

  “We’ll have to take to the sky,” responded Pinky.

  “What? Haven’t you flown enough for one day?”

  “I mean we’ll have to climb,” said Pinky.

  “How?” I asked. I wasn’t quite the skinny mini that Pinky was. I was more of a land-based mammal.

  “Well, we’ll have to use a ladder,” thought Pinky out loud.

  Now this is the moment I should have remembered Rule #2 on the instruction sheet. No climbing ladders. But instead…

  “Hey,” I said pointing. “There’s one over there by the tractor.”

  Pinky and I dragged the ladder to the tree.

  “This ladder looks like it has seen ten miles of bad road,” I said. “Are you sure it’ll hold me?”

  “Just step lightly,” said Pinky.

  “Good idea. Think small.”

  Pinky crawled up the ladder first. He was faster than his parents leaving the house on Date Night.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “Get a look at this.”

  Pinky tossed down a shiny, red apple into his bucket.

  “Two points!” I clapped.

  “Come on up,” he said. “The picking’s mighty fine up here.”

  So, like a fish swimming into the mouth of a whale… I went.

  Step over step. Step over step.

  Or should I say creak over creak.

  With each step the ladder seem to sag. Kinda like an over-filled baby diaper.

  “Are you really sure this ladder will hold me?” I asked. And as soon as I did the loudest creak I ever did hear rang throughout the orchard.

  “Grab the tree limb!” yelled Pinky.

  I did with one hand just as the ladder cracked

  in two and fell to the ground.

  Pinky tugged and pulled the other hand. And tugged and pulled some more.

  I grunted and groaned. And grunted and groaned. And then just groaned.

  Finally I wedged myself between two limbs.

  “We did it!” smiled Pinky.

  Yeah, we did it all right.

  “Uh, Pinky?” I asked. “It’s a great view and all from up here. But, how we gonna get down?”

  Pinky looked at me. And I looked at Pinky.

  “HELP!”

  Chapter 10

  I t’s a good thing Pinky is the loudest kid in the class. Soon, everyone came a running. The Saws had to call the fire department to get us down. The whole class thought it was real cool when they heard the sirens and saw the fire truck.

  “That’ll be me someday,” smiled Pinky as he pointed to the truck.

  The firemen had a long, metal ladder. It would get us down. Although I wasn’t sure I wanted back on the ground. Not with The Boog a whoopin’ and a hollerin’ the way she was.

  But, The Boog stopped yelling when the firemen showed up. In fact, I never in all my life heard a teacher giggle so much. I’ll have to ask her what’s so funny about firemen. Maybe, it’s their plastic pants? You wouldn’t catch me dead wearing plastic pants! Not even if I wet the bed for a whole year.

  On the bus ride back to school, Pinky sat on one side of The Boog. I sat on the other. She smelled real nice. Like apples and sweat.

  It made me a bit hungry.

  That’s cause we didn’t get our two shiny, red apples. So unfair.

  The Boog made us write twenty times “I will not break the apple picking rules.” I thought that was kinda stupid since we were never going apple picking again.

  I told her, too. “I think this is kinda stupid since we won’t never go apple picking again. Maybe it would be better if we weren’t allowed to ever be line leader or read on Family Night. Now that would be bad. Real bad.” And I made my best sad face.

  The Boog popped an aspirin and told me to keep writing. She really needs to comb her hair.

  And as we fled off the school bus, The Boog yelled one last thing… “Don’t forget Monday is Picture Day!”

  Some days are as bad as a yo-yo with no string.

  Chapter 101⁄2

  I forgot.

  It took only three steps for it to completely dissolve in my brain. Only the important things stick. Like the five uses for a ruler. (One involves measuring. The other four might get you into trouble.) And how to race turtles in the toilet without getting caught.

  But who cares. It was the weekend. And Pinky was coming over to stay.

  When we burst through the front door, Daddy was already home.

  “Anything exciting happen at school today?” he asked.

  “No. What have you heard?” me and Pinky said together. “And why are you already home?”

  “Half day at work,” said Daddy. “My favorite kind of day.”

  But before he could ask again about our day, we tossed our bookbags on the floor. And headed back out the door.

  “We’re gonna go the barn,” I yelled.

  “Well, check to see if your Mamaw needs anything first. She’s in the kitchen.”

  We stopped in our tracks and made a quick side trip.

  “Hey sweetpea,” Mamaw said as she saw us. And gave me a big squeeze.

  “And you too sweetpea junior,” she laughed. And hugged Pinky. Shaking her itchy head.

  “Do you need any help before me and Pinky go play in the barn?” I asked.

  “How about you see if I missed any eggs in the coop this morning? I’m baking a cake for tonight and need a few extra. If not, I’ll have to run to the store.”

  “Sure,” I said. “With Pinky by my side Hippie is sure to keep his distance.”

  Hippie was no different from your average person. Anyone who had run into Pinky either liked him, or kept their distance. Hippie chose the latter.

  When we headed out to the coop, Hippie was nowhere in sight.

  “Maybe he ran back into the woods,” said Pinky. “Or is taking a nap.”

  I didn’t much care where he was. As long as he stayed away from me.

  When we reached the coop, I grabbed the door and swung it open.

  There stood Hippie. On guard.

  I let out a scream that caused the hens to fly off their nests, scampering to the back of the coop. Quickly, I slammed the door shut. />
  “We’ll just tell your Mamaw there weren’t any eggs,” said Pinky.

  I nodded and tried to catch my breath.

  Mamaw let us ride with her to the store. Even gave each of us a quarter for the gum machines.

  At the front door someone had stacked small bags of apples. From the Saw’s apple orchard.

  “Do y’all want me to get a bag to make a pie this weekend?” Mamaw asked. “I already used up the ones I picked the other day.”

  “No ma’am,” I said. Pinky’s eyes got big like he was having a nightmare flashback. I grabbed his arm and walked him into the store.

  We didn’t make eye contact with the apples on the way out either. But I could tell they were looking at us.

  Once home, Mamaw let us help her bake the cake. I got to do all the measuring. A ½ cup of this and a ½ cup of that. Then we both got to lick the mixing bowl and spoon. There was nothing better than Mamaw’s chocolate chip cake with chocolate icing.

  And the best part about it was we got to eat the first slices. Since Mother and Daddy left for Date Night before the cake was finished. They were going bowling with Pinky’s parents.

  After cake, Mamaw popped us a big bowl of popcorn and we plopped in front of the TV. To watch Horror on 83rd Street. My favorite scary movie. I still jumped and screamed at every scary part. Not Mamaw. She sat there like a stone. “It ain’t real,” she said. “No need to get all worked up over it.”

  I’m not sure when we fell asleep, but we woke up the next morning. On the floor. With Barks-a-Lot licking our faces. Mamaw was in the kitchen making a pan of biscuits. And frying up some sweet-smelling bacon.

  “How you taking your eggs this morning, boys?” she asked.

  “Scrambled for me,” I mumbled as I stumbled into the kitchen.

  “Ditto,” said Pinky.

  As we gobbled down breakfast, the phone rang. Mother answered.

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “I see. Uh-huh. Oh, dear.”

  She looked at me. Then she looked at Pinky.

  “Pinky, you mother needs to speak to you on the phone,” she announced. “Seems like she ran into Miss Burger this morning at the grocery store.”

  “Tell her I’m not here,” whispered Pinky.

  There was a noise on the other end of the phone.

  “She says come to the phone or come home.”

  Pinky moped over to the phone and reluctantly put it to his ear. Mother walked over to me and said, “We’ll talk about this later.”

  Boy did Pinky get an earful. His face turned pink. Then red. Then splotchy. Then redder. Then white.

  “Yes, ma’am,” was all he said as he put the phone down.

  “Looks like we best be staying out of your Mother’s hair today,” said Daddy as he leaned in. “How about I take you boys fishing down by the creek?”

  It took us 36 seconds to finish eating, put on our play clothes, and storm out the door. Daddy collected the poles. And gave us a big empty coffee can to put some worms in. It wasn’t too hard finding some. What with the rain last night. The worms we collected wiggled and squiggled at the bottom of the can. With no idea they were about to be fish food.

  It didn’t take us long to get to the creek and get set up. Daddy prepared the fishing rods. “Let’s see,” he said. As he peered down into the worm-filled coffee can. “It looks like there are at least three worms for each of us.”

  “That’s three times three,” I said. “So, that makes… .” And I stared right at Daddy. Wondering if he really could multiply.

  “Nine,” blurted Pinky. “You know that.”

  I gave Pinky my “you be quiet” look. But he didn’t understand it. He doesn’t really know what “be quiet” means anyway.

  “You’re right,” said Daddy. “Three times three is nine. Now enough math for today.”

  I smiled.

  Mamaw was right.

  We returned home just in time for dinner. After that, me and Pinky each got a clear canning jar and ran outside to catch lightning bugs.

  “If we fill up the jar,” Pinky said. “We’ll have a night light that will last for a week.”

  “Yeah, but Mother always makes me let the lightning bugs go after a day. She says it’s not right to keep them caged up. Animals with wings need to fly.”

  “Whatever,” said Pinky. And started snatching lightning bugs from the evening sky.

  Once we caught enough, we sat on the back porch. And admired our trophies. This day couldn’t get any better.

  “So,” said Pinky. “Are you all practiced for your Family Night part?”

  Boom.

  Why did he have to bring that up now?

  “Actually, I have something to tell you,” I said.

  “You’re in love with The Boog?” Pinky laughed.

  “Shut up!” I yelled.

  “No you shut up,” said Pinky. And pushed me off the porch.

  When I climbed back up I knew I had to tell him the truth. He was my best friend after all.

  “Pinky,” I said. “If I don’t do well on the reading, Mother and Daddy are going to talk to The Boog about putting me back in 2nd Grade.”

  Pinky sat there real quiet for a while. When he spoke, it was slow and sure.

  “No they won’t,” he said. “I have a plan.

  The next morning, Pinky sprung out of bed with a twinkle in his eye. He was a boy on a mission. And I liked it.

  “So, did you hear about Miss Owens?” asked Pinky. As we all got in the car to go to church. “You know, the 2nd Grade teacher. I hear she’s gone crazy. Even bit a couple students. Everyone’s getting tested for rabies. That 2nd Grade sure isn’t a safe place for a kid.” Then he looked at me and smiled.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I hear all the kids crying every time I go by her classroom.” This fib was getting off to a good start.

  “You did?” asked Mother.

  “Yes,” we both said together. And shook our heads up and down so hard it started to hurt.

  “That’s odd,” said Mother. “I saw Miss Owens at the grocery store last week. She’s been at home with her new baby for months. But she says she’s coming back to school at the end of the month. She’s such a sweet lady.”

  Me and Pinky looked at each other.

  Our parents really needed to start shopping at another store. One where teachers weren’t allowed.

  We spent the rest of the trip in silence.

  At church, I told Pinky that Mother and Daddy paid me a dollar if I stayed awake. I’d split it with him if he helped me. But he fell asleep before we finished singing the second song. I was gone before the preacher started.

  After church, Mother and Daddy said we could stop and get ice cream before dropping Pinky off at his house. We each got two scoops of chocolate. With sprinkles. Then it was off to Pinky’s.

  “You have all your stuff?” asked Mother. As we pulled into the driveway.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Pinky said.

  “I hope you had fun this weekend,” said Daddy.

  “I certainly did,” said Pinky. “Next weekend, it’s my house.”

  “Can I go?” I asked Mother.

  “Only if it’s okay with his parents. You call us later Pinky and let us know.”

  “See you at school,” Pinky waved as he hopped out of the car. “Don’t forget tomorrow is Picture Day.”

  Some days aren't half bad, but there's nothing better than a whole weekend with your best friend.

  Chapter 11

  I forgot.

  Again.

  Like I told you. Only the important things stick.

  Not only did I wear something old. It was dirty. And smelled like chicken fingers and mustard. My stomach growled. But, you can’t smell a shirt in a picture, so who cares.

  We all lined up and marched to the gym. Bobby Sue, the line leader, led the way. Pinky and I held up the rear until we got to the gym. That’s where the almost bald guy with the camera sat. The Boog told us that one at a time we had to sit in front of this big
, blue screen. Then 1, 2, 3 the almost hairless man would snap our picture.

  She said it was important that we smile real big like. That’s cause these pictures would be shown next to our color poems on Family Night. The Boog was also gonna make a slideshow out of them for our “special” reading.

  Smile. Now this was something I could do. No reading required. But, I wondered what kind of smile I should do to go next to my poem. How does one smile for chicken doo-doo? A big toothy smile? Or lips closed with a wink of the eye?

  Just thinking about Family Night made my stomach feel like it had butterflies in it. And lizards chasing the butterflies. And sharks chasing the lizards. And a dinosaur chasing them all.

  “It’s a good thing your mom left your hair alone this year,” I whispered to Pinky. Trying to forget about Family Night and reading.

  “Yeah. Daddy said she learned her lesson. She didn’t even get a time-out or nothin’ for it.”

  “Here you go boys,” said The Boog. She handed each of us a little black comb. And continued on down the line.

  “What are we supposed to do with these?” I asked.

  Sally May turned around. Her hands on her hips. “You boys are animals! Don’t you even know how to comb your hair?”

  “Moo,” said Pinky.

  “Cock-a-doodle-doo,” I added.

  “You two look like you just rolled out of bed,” said Sally Fay. “Miss Burger!”

  The Boog gave us her “stink eye” teacher look. Pinky began acting like he was combing his hair.

  “Ain’t I pretty,” he laughed.

  “It’s your turn, Trevor Lee,” interrupted The Boog.

  The man behind the camera began to bark directions. With each direction the few strands of hair on his head flipped from one side to the other. I watched like you’d watch a tennis match.

  “Sit straight.”

  “Turn your legs to the side.”

  “No, the other side.”

  “Smile.”

  “Stop moving your head, son.”

  “Wait. Comb your hair on the left. It’s sticking out.”

  “Relax, young man.”

  I stopped and gave him my “don’t be dumb” look and… snap! The picture was taken.