Megan Stine_Jeffery & the Third-Grade Ghost 03 (4 page)

If only Max would come back, Jeffrey thought to himself. Max would know how to take care of Jonathan and Wendy. He smiled at the thought.

But without Max, Christmas was going to be dullsville for sure.

At lunch, Jeffrey’s bowl of alphabet soup kept giving him messages. B-A-D. R-U-N. E-X-I-T. Even his soup seemed to know that trouble was coming to his house. In fact, it would be there as soon as his father got back from the bus station. He was bringing Wendy and Jonathan.

“She’s bossy,” Jeffrey said out loud.

“Because she’s a girl?” his mother replied with a smile.

Jeffrey stirred his soup. It spelled H-A-T-E.

“And he’s always trying to get me into trouble,” Jeffrey said.

“Jonathan is just like his father,” Jeffrey’s mom said. “He always had a mischievous sense of humor.”

“Mischievous? Mom, you could say the same thing about Darth Vadar! Why do you always look on the bright side of everything?”

They heard a car horn beep outside. Jeffrey’s heart told him that it was too late for any more arguments.

His mother started for the front door, but she paused to say, “Jeffrey, you promised to make the best of this situation. I expect you to keep your word.”

Jonathan came in first. He was a tall seventh-grader with a black leather jacket and black hair in a bristly haircut.

“Hey, Aunt Betsy,” Jonathan shouted, giving his aunt a crushing hug.

“Hello, Jonathan,” Mrs. Becker said, laughing and gasping for breath. “I can’t believe how big you are!”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said. “I’ve been taking growing lessons. Ha ha ha.” He whirled and faced Jeffrey. He jerked his fists up to fighting position. Jeffrey jumped back in surprise.

“Two for flinching. Ha ha ha!” said Jonathan. He gave Jeffrey two quick, light punches on the arm.

Wendy came to the door more cautiously. She was Jeffrey’s age, but Jeffrey thought she was always trying to act older. Wendy had straight dark hair. Her brightly colored down jacket looked like it had never seen snow.

“Hello, Aunt Betsy,” Wendy said. She walked in without hugging Mrs. Becker and said to Jeffrey, “Why don’t you have a holly wreath on your door? We put ours up a week ago.”

“We don’t put a holly wreath on the door,” Jeffrey said.

Wendy looked at Jeffrey as though he were something she’d found at the bottom of a garbage can.

“Come on, Wendy,” said Mrs. Becker. “I’ll show you where you’re staying.”

“I know where I’m staying,” Jonathan said. He grabbed his suitcases and charged up the stairs to Jeffrey’s room.

By the time Jeffrey got there, Jonathan had already moved in. His clothes were lying all over the place. A heavy-metal tape was blasting out of Jeffrey’s cassette player. And Jonathan had his feet on Jeffrey’s bed.

“Get off my bed,” Jeffrey said. “You’re sleeping in the sleeping bag.”

Jonathan stood up and picked up a soft, beat-up brown leather baseball mitt. It was an old one that Max had given Jeffrey. The mitt had the autographs of famous ball players from the fifties. It also seemed to have magic, too.

“Where’d you get this?” Jonathan asked.

“Put that down,” Jeffrey snapped.

“Hey, there’s writing on it,” Jonathan said, grabbing a pen from Jeffrey’s desk. “Think I’ll sign my name, too. Ha ha ha ha!”

Jeffrey grabbed the mitt from his cousin.

“It was a joke,” Jonathan said. “Lighten up, okay?”

Jonathan pretended to play guitar along with the loud music. Jeffrey looked around his room for things he wanted to hide.

“Listen,” Jonathan said. “I want to be here about as much as you want me to. Who ever heard of parents leaving their kids on Christmas?”

Jeffrey didn’t know what to say.

Jonathan’s eyes suddenly focused on the empty box from Jeffrey’s remote-control racing car. It was on the floor in Jeffrey’s closet. “Hey! You’ve got a remote-control car! Totally awesome. Where is it?”

“I don’t have it anymore,” Jeffrey said.

“What kind of lame thing is that to say? Did you break it?” Jonathan asked.

“No, I didn’t break it,” Jeffrey said. “A friend of mine gave it to someone without my permission.”

Jonathan laughed. “You let someone give your racing car away?” he said. “Boy, Jeffrey, you’re a real wimp.”

“Yeah, and you’re a big jerk and your sister’s a toadface,” Jeffrey said.

Suddenly, Jeffrey’s father was standing in the doorway. “Jeffrey, could we have a private conversation in the hall?”

Jonathan laughed as Jeffrey went with his father.

“Jeffrey, three things to remember,” Mr. Becker said. “First, Wendy and Jonathan are our guests, so no more sarcastic remarks. Second, the Alamo. Third, if you try, you might actually have fun with your cousins this week.”

Reluctantly, Jeffrey promised to try to get along with Jonathan. Then he walked back to his room.

When dinnertime came that night, Jeffrey hid in his room. He could hear Jonathan downstairs whining like a broken record. Jonathan kept saying over and over, “That’s not how
we
do it at Christmas.” But suddenly his whining voice was replaced by slow, quiet music. It came from the piano in the family room.

The melody was so beautiful and sad that it drew Jeffrey downstairs. Mr. and Mrs. Becker came out of the kitchen, too. They all found Wendy sitting at the piano. She swayed back and forth a little as she played. When she was done and the last long note died away, Mr. Becker said, “That was beautiful.”

“No way,” Wendy said. “Your piano’s out of tune a quarter tone in the midrange. It made my teeth clench.”

Mrs. Becker ignored the insult. “Dinner is ready,” she said pleasantly.

All through dinner, Jeffrey’s mom had a faraway look on her face. Finally, she told him what she was thinking. “Jeffrey,” she said, “I really wish you had stuck to your piano lessons. I’d give anything for you to be able to play as wonderfully as Wendy.”

“I will, Mom,” he said. “But not when I’m a kid. Everyone does that. I’m going to learn to play when I’m ninety years old. That’s when people will really be surprised.”

“Oh, gross, Jeffrey,” Wendy said. “Don’t eat your potato puffs with your fingers. It’s not good manners.”

Jeffrey looked at his hand and then at the potato puff in it. His parents and Wendy were looking at him. Jonathan laughed his big horse laugh. Jeffrey felt like a criminal who had been caught red-handed.

“Well, tomorrow’s going to be a fun day,” said Mr. Becker, trying to change the subject. “We’ve got to buy our Christmas tree and decorate it—”

“You mean you decorate your tree
before
Christmas Eve?” Wendy interrupted. She and her brother looked at each other in surprise.

“What do
you
do?” Jeffrey asked. “Build a little Christmas tree house in it?”

“We wait until it’s Christmas Eve to decorate our tree,” Wendy said.

“And at midnight we give each other one present,” Jonathan added.

“And then we have turkey for dinner the next day,” Wendy went on. “But my mom said you won’t have turkey. You always have roast beef.” She dropped her fork loudly on her plate. “Why do we have to do everything your way?”

Jeffrey’s parents didn’t have an answer ready.

Jonathan noisily scooted his chair back and left the table. “This Christmas is going to be no fun at all,” he grumbled on his way out of the dining room.

“Well,” Jeffrey said to Wendy, “for once your brother and I agree. This Christmas is no fun at all!”

With that, Jeffrey scooted out his chair and stomped out of the room, too.

“Hey, Jeffrey. Look outside!” said Mr. Becker. He was standing by Jeffrey’s bed early the next morning. His voice was excited, but he was whispering so that he wouldn’t wake up Jonathan.

Jeffrey sat up quickly and looked out his window. It had happened again. Another thick snowfall had covered the town during the night.

“Toboggan Sunday!” Jeffrey shouted. He gave his father a high-five.

Mr. Becker put a finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he told Jeffrey. He pointed to Jonathan, who was zipped up in the sleeping bag on the floor. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

As Jeffrey hurried into his warmest clothes, there was a tug and a zip and then Jonathan poked his head out of the sleeping bag. Jeffrey was almost happy to see his cousin. He knew Jonathan would go bananas over what was going to happen.

“Get dressed, Jonathan. It’s Toboggan Sunday!” Jeffrey said.

“I don’t want to go to church,” Jonathan said sleepily.

“That’s not what it means,” Jeffrey said. “My dad has an old toboggan in the attic. It’s from when he was a kid. Once a year he gets it out and we take it down Number One Hill on the golf course.”

“So?” Jonathan mumbled as he stretched and yawned.

“But it has to be a Sunday, and only a Sunday in December, and only if there’s a brand-new snowstorm the night before. And this is it! Pretty neat, huh?”

Jonathan looked out the window and shrugged. “Doesn’t look like a very big snowstorm to me.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Jeffrey said.

Jonathan shrugged again. “What else is there to do around here?”

They ate breakfast while Mr. Becker carried the toboggan down from the attic and tied it to the rack on the roof of the car.

At the table, Wendy rested her cheek in her hand. She stirred and stirred her oatmeal.

“Don’t you like it, Wendy?” asked Mrs. Becker.

“It’s better with sliced peaches,” Wendy said. Then she scowled at Jeffrey. “Blow your nose, Jeffrey. Don’t sniff up!”

Beep! Beep!

“That’s the car,” Jeffrey said. “Dad’s ready to go.”

“I’m not going,” Wendy said. “Our mom and dad wouldn’t want us to do anything dangerous.”

“It’s not really dangerous, Wendy.” Mrs. Becker tried to explain. “Why don’t you go check it out and then decide?”

Wendy shook her head.

“Okay, stay home by yourself,” Jeffrey said, jumping up from the table and putting on his parka and scarf.

“She can’t do that,” said Mrs. Becker. “I’ll stay home.”

“But it’s Toboggan Sunday, Mom. You don’t want to miss it,” Jeffrey said. He looked angrily at Wendy.

“Your father’s waiting,” Mrs. Becker said in her “get going” tone of voice. “And don’t forget the Thermos of hot chocolate.”

Outside, Jonathan checked out the antique wooden toboggan. It was tied to the roof of the snowy car. It was almost eight feet long, varnished smooth on top, and waxed smooth on the bottom. The front end of the toboggan curved around like a backward
C
. Two ropes, one on each side, ran the length of the toboggan.

“The ropes are for holding on to,” Jeffrey explained.

“I know that,” Jonathan said quickly.

“I forgot. You know everything,” Jeffrey said.

“But I never hold on,” Jonathan said defiantly. “I ride ’em like a roller coaster. Holding on is for wimps.”

Jeffrey scrunched down in the front seat. He was getting tired of this. Every conversation with his cousin ended with the word
wimp
. Jonathan sounded like he was pointing a finger straight at Jeffrey.

“You’d hold on if you went down the Monster Smash,” Jeffrey muttered.