Return of the Jed (12 page)

“Do you know you’re standing where anyone can see you?” I said as if it weren’t already obvious to the whole world.

“Really? Then I should scratch my butt and get to dancing.” Which is exactly what he did. I discovered right then zombies can die—from embarrassment.

“Dad, stop it!”

“Fine,” he said, his hips no longer wiggling. “But here’s the real issue, Jed. Where have you guys been all night?”

If I ever needed my undead brain to start firing on all synapses, it was now.
C’mon, baby. I hear you chugging. Now you need to catch and start creating excuses
.

“Well, see, it was early, and we didn’t want to disturb you …”

There it goes, now a little gas
—

“… and we wanted to know more about where we’re going. So we went to …”

The library? Seriously, brain? It’s maybe 5:30 in the morning, a time when every library is closed except for those in Geektown
.

“… the …”

I believe in you, brain
.

“ … the 24-hour Internet café …”

Full power achieved!

“… because we wanted to know more about where we were going so that we knew stuff there to do so we can support you and your job because you were so awesome to let us come …”

Warning! All the butt-kissing is exceeding capacity, pull back
!

“ … I mean, so we’d have stuff to do and not get in your way.”

Excellent, brain, now shift into neutral and let’s coast home
.

“And we were trying so hard not to wake you, we forgot the key.”

Dad stared at me with his “You are so full of it, but until I can prove it, I’m going to go along but be careful, mister” look.

“Just pick up your stuff and get in here,” he said. “By the way, isn’t that what you were wearing yesterday?”

“Yeah, we didn’t want to keep getting other clothes dirty until we knew we could wash them,” I answered, high-fiving my brain for a fast and brilliant explanation.

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Dad said.

Don’t take it personally, brain. It’ll be OK
.

“I guess not, but it’s the truth,” I said.

“Just get your stuff together. We have to figure out the Tread situation. To be honest, I thought you guys had done something really stupid, like tried to go break him out.”

I knew what Luke was about to shout, and I had to cut him off at the “But-we-didn’t-do-anything” pass. “No, of course not,” I said as my elbow landed between Luke’s third and fourth ribs. “We’re capable of some really stupid stuff, but nothing that dumb.”

“It wasn’t something I thought about seriously, of course. I’m sure that place is locked up tight. You know we have our work cut out for us, right? To get Tread back? Because we need to leave here today.”

My brain made my face go all sad-looking, the perfect touch. “I know,” I said. “But we think we have an idea.”

“We’ll talk about it at breakfast,” Dad said. “I’m going to take a shower, and you guys are going to get your stuff together and change clothes.”

“Sounds good,” I said as Dad headed back into the room.

Luke rubbed his ribs. “What did you jab me for?”

“To keep you from saying something stupid.”

“Oh, the usual. So what’s your idea for getting a dog we already have?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But my brain will come up with something.”

“First time for everything.”

“Shut up.”

For a guy selling tacos, he sure had a temper.

“
¡Ustedes! El chupacabra no está permitido aquí. Deja!
”

The only word I understood for sure was chupacabra, so it was pretty easy to guess the rest.

“No chupacabra.” I said to the taco-stand dude. “
Es un
, um, hey Marisa, how do you say ‘dog’ in Spanish.”

“
Perro
,” she said, rolling her “R”s like a pro.

I kneeled next to Tread, put my hands around his head, and turned him toward Taco Dude.

“
Es un perrrrro
,” I wanted to explain, putting some extra effort into my “R” because that was how I rolled. I didn’t want him to think I was just another stupid gringo.

One problem. About halfway through that roll, something jetted between my lips and could not longer form one “R,” let along a long series of them.

Something wet and pink hit the sidewalk.

My tongue. Or at least a part of it.

As Marisa and Taco Dude recoiled at the bit of pink meat quickly drying under a brutal sun, Luke smiled. I knew exactly what was coming.

“I guess that was right on …” he said, pausing for effect, “… the tip of your tongue.”

Ever since the birthday party when I blew off my lips attempting to blow out the candles, Luke has delighted in the occasional, and completely unexpected, loss of body parts.

“Zhu up,” I said. That was supposed to be “Shut up,” but my tongue wasn’t where I expected it to be. I scooped up the withered husk from the sidewalk, wondering just how I was going to reattach it. Duct tape was going to be extremely uncomfortable, and I didn’t want the metallic taste of staples.

I rolled what was left of my tongue around my mouth, trying to get used to the new feel, really wishing I had the tip of my tongue on the tip of my tongue.

“Was that really part of your tongue?” Marisa asked.

I looked at what I had picked up. It resembled a piece of fatty bacon. And it was toast.

“La la la la la,” I muttered. “Ta ta ta ta. Ra ra ra.”

I was getting some feeling back on the end of my tongue. I pictured a lizard growing a new tail, because that’s what it felt like.

“You know,” I said, enunciating slowly. “I think it’s going to be OK. I just have to be sure to avoid those rolls.”

“You’ll never see me avoiding rolls,” Luke said. “Especially the cinnamon kind.”

“Not the rolls I mean,” I said, looking back to the Taco Dude, who was still staring at the spot of my tongue’s landing. “Now, where were we?”

Taco Dude shook his head and gazed at Tread. “No chupacabra.” He retreated behind his stand and retrieved a placard. He turned it around and held it up. It showed a fuzzy photo of what appeared to be a hairless beast with a goat in its mouth. It was covered by a large red circle with a slash through it.

“I get it,” I said. “No chupacabras,
si
. But Tread is
un
… “I licked my lips to prepare … “
perrrro
.” I drew out the Rs without rolling them. “You know. A dog.”

“A dog?” he replied. “
Es un perro muy feo
.”

“Yes, he’s a dog and whatever the rest you said.” I smiled. “Glad you understand.”

Wait, was that laughing? I spin toward its source. Marisa.

“Something funny?”

“Not at all,” she said. “You are lucky to have a dog
muy feo
.”

“Thanks, that’s good to hear.”

Now Taco Dude was laughing. Whatever.

Dad, Luke, and I had been walking back to the hotel after breakfast when my phone chimed. It was a text from Marisa, with the time and place to meet her and collect Tread.

It was perfect timing since I’d convinced Dad we had met someone at the Internet café with an “in” at the customs-office kennel. “As long as we pay the fine, we should be able to get him in an hour or so,” I told him. “The guy said he’d text me when Tread was ready to go.”

“Fine?” Dad said. “Yeah, fine. How much.”

I made up a number that sounded fair, reminding myself to slip the cash back in Dad’s wallet later, knowing he’d never notice. “It’s fifty dollars.”

“Yeah, sure.” He pulled out his wallet, thumbing through it. “Here you go. Glad that’s taken care of so we can get on with things. Because I’m already falling behind, and we’re not even there yet, so the sooner the better.”

I knew Dad was about to launch into a “Time is money” lecture, so I was very happy to see a text pop up on my phone.

Marisa: 10 o’clock, corner of Hidalgo and Morelos, look for tacos

Once I had told Dad it was the text we were waiting for, he ordered us to get back to the hotel no later than noon. It was clear he had other things on his mind, so he didn’t press me on details. Mom, on the other hand, would have wanted a minute-by-minute account of our time away from the hotel. And that’s why dads make great anti-moms.

After the text arrived, Luke and I stopped to ask an English-speaking vendor where we could find Hidalgo and Morelos. He pointed the way, but Luke’s internal GPS—he could always find food when he needed to—didn’t let us down. He spotted the taco stand from a half-mile away.

Actually, he smelled the taco stand. He stuck his nose in the air. “Another two thousand, six hundred and fifty-two feet this way,” he said, pointing down Hidalgo. He inhaled deeply through his nose. “No, two thousand, six hundred and fifty-
one
feet, sorry.”

We were a block away when I saw Marisa, Ryan, and Tread, right where they said they’d be. And the Taco Stand Dude, who was giving Tread the evil eye. I thought it was because he didn’t like dogs, but it was simply anger from his anti-chupacabra bias and his belief in all those goat-sucking stereotypes.

He loosened up once he understood Tread was a dog “
muy feo.
” So that was good.

Marisa, however, didn’t seem so happy, even after I filled her in about the uneventful breakfast with my dad.

“He didn’t suspect a thing,” I said. “I told him some story about us being at an Internet café to dig up some information, as if we couldn’t do all that stuff on our phones. You know what he does on his phone? Talks to people. As if that’s why phones were invented.”

I told her we had to be back at the hotel by noon, since Dad had told his bosses we’d be getting in tonight.

“I guess he’s already late,” I said. “But he didn’t seem too concerned even though we’re still four hours away, and that’s without stopping to eat and get gas or—”

“Jed, you need to shut up and pay attention,” Marisa said, suddenly very serious. She looked over her shoulder. “We need to go someplace a little quieter. There’s a park nearby.”

Marisa looked both ways as she stepped into the street.

“Wait a sec.” It was Luke, who was examining the taco stand’s menu as if it was a list of his favorite food. And it was, since anything he could put in his mouth and digest was his favorite food.

“Dude, you ate a half-hour ago,” I said.

“Exactly, so give me a minute,” Luke said, turning to the Taco Dude as he pointed at the menu. “I’ll take numbers one through five, with extra eleven on all of them.”

I shot Luke my usual “Seriously?” look, and he shrugged. “I’m expanding my cultural horizons by delving wholeheartedly into the local cuisine.”

“Why is it the only time you’re eloquent, food is involved?”

“Give me some time to look up ‘eloquent,’ and I’ll get back to you.”

Once Luke had all the tools he needed to expand his cultural horizons—and expand the stains on his shirt—the four of us and Tread dodged across the street to a small park. We huddled under a tree so sparse it looked like it should have died years ago. So it was my kind of tree.

“Can we maybe go somewhere for real shade?” Luke asked.

“Luke, what did you do with all that food?” Marisa asked. She was so cute when she was naïve.

“I ate it? Because that’s why I bought it? And how the Taco Dude makes a living?” Luke said. He phrased everything as a question when responding with what he thought were too-obvious answers.

“Can we get on with it?” I said. A dark look came across Marisa’s face. “That was a real question, not sarcastic, I swear.”

Marisa plopped on the ground, and so did Ryan, Luke, and I. Even Tread joined us, quickly rolling on his back and shutting his eyes. It was so hot, I wished I could do the same.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Marisa said. “But that’s exactly what I have.” She tilted, lifting her bottom slightly off the ground.

“Are you going to fart?” Luke said. “Because I wouldn’t say that’s totally bad news. I’m actually cool with girls who fart.”

“What? No. I need to get something out of my pocket.”

Marisa stuck her right hand into her right back pocket, her fingers fishing around. She withdrew a folded piece of white paper and flipped it toward me. “This is the bad news.”

I unfolded it, and yeah, it was bad news.