Moxie and the Art of Rule Breaking (6 page)

I waited for the gasp, the shock, or for him to turn away. He just watched me.

“And?” he said.

“And what? Aren’t you mad?”

“Why would that make me mad?” He shrugged. “There have been rumors around the neighborhood for years that he was shady back in the day. That his restoration job for the city was his front. Didn’t you know that?”

“No!” I said, shocked and louder than I’d intended. A few heads turned in our direction and I slouched back against the wall. “No,” I tried again, quieter this time but through gritted teeth. How had I
not
known that there were rumors about Grumps in our neighborhood? “I had no idea.” I felt sick and betrayed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“You never told me,” he pointed out.

“That’s different,” I snapped. “It was family business.
Private stuff.
I wasn’t supposed to say anything to
anyone.
”

“Including your best friend, clearly.”

Ouch. That stung.

“Yeah, well,
you
should have told
your
best friend that there were rumors around town about my family!” How had I missed so much?

We just sat after that, both of us seething. I watched Jolie Pearson and her group as a million thoughts ran through my mind. A big one: Were the rumors surrounding my family part of the reason why I’d never fit in with other kids in my grade? Had they been avoiding me? It would explain a lot. Not that I’d want to hang out with
that
crew, anyway, I amended.

Ollie finally broke the silence.

“Did he kill anyone?”

“Of course not!” I cried, but at the same time a prickle of doubt entered my mind. Could I be sure? “He’d never do that. He was a carpenter. He hid stuff for people…other people,” I finished lamely. Seriously, what did I know? Evidently Grumps could’ve been an assassin and I’d have no idea.

“Other criminals?” Ollie asked.

I nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “So what does Grumps’s job have to do with what’s weirding you out?”

Before I answered, I took a second to think. Grumps was involved with something bigger than I ever knew. Ollie hid stuff from me.

But then I remembered The Redhead, and her message that Sully wanted his items. Soon. And now she knew where Grumps actually was. I needed my best friend—both to help me, and because I trusted him. And even though he hadn’t told me about the neighborhood rumors, he’d been (and stayed) my friend in spite of them. So I told Ollie everything about The Redhead, Sully Cupcakes, the
note—all of it, ending with the slip I’d gotten this morning.

Ollie whistled through his teeth. Meanwhile, Mr. Crespo and Ms. Beman, our class advisors, called for our attention.

“We’ll line up in two lines,” Mr. Crespo yelled. “Alphabetical order. Ms. Beman will read your names.”

Ollie and I stood and clomped down the bleachers.

“Well,” he said when we’d reached the bottom, “I’m not sure about the
best
summer ever, Mox—but it could be the most interesting summer ever.”

After rehearsal, Ollie and I walked home together, discussing what to do next. We agreed that telling my mom or Nini would only freak them out, and since the psycho hadn’t actually
done
anything but mess with me, worrying them would only get me grounded for my own “safety”…and then what would happen to Grumps? Ollie also suggested calling the police, but there was no way I could bring them into it—they could arrest Grumps! My family would never forgive me. I’d never forgive myself.

July 4 was thirteen days away.

“The thing is,” said Ollie, “Grumps hid something that Sully wants back. Maybe if we can figure out what he’s looking for, we’ll know who to tell or what to do. Think of it like a treasure hunt.”

I was about to answer when I heard a familiar cackle behind us.

“Going on a date with your geeky
boy
-friend, Moxie?”

Jolie Pearson.

“Nope,” I called without even turning around, “I’m on my way to meet
yours.
He likes me way better than you.” Then I wrapped my arm across my back and raised a very specific digit.

Next to me, Ollie flushed.

Jolie Pearson likes to think she’s some junior high hotshot, but I never take her crap. Seriously, you’d think she’d get tired of throwing insults in my direction, because I always have a comeback for her. My school doesn’t have cliques or bullies like you see in the movies—well, except for the Pretties. They like to think they’re straight out of Hollywood and try to dress trendy and act mean. They even named
themselves.
Makes me want to gag, or laugh. I’m not sure which.

A frustrated squawking noise came from her direction, and Ollie and I turned to each other and grinned.

But in the back of my mind, I was thinking about what Ollie said—figuring out what the deal was with Sully and Grumps would help me know what to do next.

Or it might get me in a whole lot of trouble.

I managed to graduate eighth grade without any more random visits from the psychotic redheaded stalker or taunts from Jolie Pearson. One of them, though, was sure to be back.

Graduation was exactly what I expected: Mom and Nini misty eyed, a quiet moment or two when we all missed Grumps at the ceremony (being in large crowds is just too confusing for him, so we planned to bring a cake to Alton Rivers), and a dinner with Putrid Richard, Ollie’s mom, dad, and little sister at an awesome restaurant in the North End—the Italian section—of Boston. I picked out special blue zebra-striped tights for the occasion, and even though it was blazing hot, I wore them anyway. They matched my graduation robe. But no matter how excited I was to be done with junior high, I couldn’t help keep one eye on the calendar. July 4 was twelve days away, and I hadn’t made any progress on the Grumps/Sully Cupcakes puzzle.

As we were getting dessert—tiramisu for me and Ollie, chocolate cake for everyone else—my mom slid a wrapped box across the table.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Your graduation gift,” my mom answered. “Open it.”

Ollie’s mom, who worked in his sister’s nursery school, gave me a sneaky grin, then slid the same sized box to Ollie. Mrs. Truong and Mom then sat back, looking very pleased with themselves.

“It’s a conspiracy,” Ollie said.

“On three?”

He nodded.

“LeeLee, you count,” I said to his little sister. She clapped her hands.

“One…two…five!” she yelled.

We tore the wrapping paper off the boxes, which were plain white, and removed the lids.

“A T pass?!” we said, in unison. What? We’d had subway passes to get back and forth to school since sixth grade. This was not a gift.

The moms burst out laughing.

“We like to think of it as your freedom—within reason,” my mom replied.

“As long as you two are together, or you’re with someone else from school,” Mrs. Truong said, “you can explore downtown on your own this summer.”

My mouth opened in shock. Correction: This was the best gift
ever.

“Don’t leave me hanging,” Ollie said, nudging me. I gave him a high five without even looking. I’d been to Boston a zillion times, of course, but always with an adult. This was big.
Big.
We could go to the Back Bay and hang out on Newbury
Street, ride the Swan Boats in the Public Garden, get ice cream at Faneuil Hall, take the T into Cambridge and go to Harvard Square…Ollie could uncover every geocache in the city. I could check out all the vintage record stores I wanted. It really
would
be the Best Summer Ever.

“There are rules,” my mother said. She furrowed her brow. “You just can’t go off gallivanting all over creation.”

“We don’t gallivant,” said Ollie somberly, which cracked up everyone at the table.

When we stopped laughing, my mom pulled two small cards from—where else—her notebook and handed one to each of us. How had she found them in there?

I glanced at Ollie’s; they were both the same. Business-card sized, perfect to slip into a wallet or pocket. On them were printed:

MOXIE AND OLIVER’S RULES, RIGHTS, AND PRIVILEGES

T
HIS CARD ENTITLES THE BEARER TO:

“You are to carry the card with you constantly,” Ollie’s mom said, “so there are no excuses or negotiating on the rules. Same goes for your cell phones.”

Both of us nodded. I jumped up and hugged my mom,
then squeezed Mrs. Truong, Mr. Truong, and LeeLee for good measure. I even gave Putrid Richard a hug.

“And you didn’t even tell them the best part,” Ollie’s dad said.

I looked at Ollie. There was more?

“The cards are preloaded with forty dollars each,” Mom answered, smiling.

Score!!

“This might also be of use to you on your adventures,” Putrid Richard said. He passed two wrapped packages to us. Inside mine was a guide to Boston’s historical sights and Ollie’s was a detailed guide to the city’s parks and walking trails. Gotta hand it to Putrid Richard, he knows his audience…even if he probably
was
plotting to take me away from the place I loved.

I pushed that thought down the turnpike.

“He is so
not
putrid,” whispered Ollie. I scowled at him.

Nini also had something for me. She pulled a squat gift bag, bursting with tissue paper, from under the table.

“Grumps wanted me to give this to you tonight instead of tomorrow,” she said. It was heavy, and whatever was in it thumped as the bag tilted. I swam through the tissue paper and removed an old brown leather album, the word
Photos
stamped on it in gold lettering.

“See what’s in it,” she said. Everyone’s eyes were on me. Ollie leaned over my shoulder.

I opened the cover and flipped through page after page of photos of Grumps, Nini, and my mom and me. I’d seen lots of them before, but some were of Grumps in different places
around Boston—Fenway Park, the old Boston Garden, the state house, the
Constitution.
In those photos, Grumps ranged in age from right before he retired from carpentry, to when he was young and had dark hair. I flipped through slowly.

“Some are from his job sites. He took before and after photos and I thought you’d want those. His work is amazing,” she announced proudly. “He made it himself, years ago, and kept updating it. I spruced it up for you.”

“Nini,
this
is amazing.” My eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.”

“Maybe you can go check out some of the work he did around the city this summer,” Ollie’s dad suggested.

“Totally,” I said.

I handed the album to Ollie, then raced around the table. I squeezed Nini so hard that I hoped Grumps felt it too.

The next day, at ARC, I gave Grumps a huge hug and thanked him for the photo album.

“You’re welcome, Annie,” he said, and patted my hand.

“She’s not Annie, I am,” my mother said. “I’m Anne.” Grumps glanced back and forth between the two of us, blue eyes cloudy.