The Odds Get Even (4 page)

“W
hat is it?” Boney asked as his aunt heaped a pile of grey glop on his plate.

“
Supper Surprise
.”

Boney stared at his uncle across the table. His uncle raised his bushy eyebrows sympathetically. They sighed in unison, then lifted their forks and dutifully began to eat. When Boney had managed to choke down half his supper, he lowered his fork to the table and asked to be excused. His aunt eyed his half-finished plate critically.

“It was very good,” Boney lied. “I just don’t have much of an appetite tonight.”

“It’s all that candy you eat in that clubhouse of yours,” his aunt complained as she cleared his plate from the table and slopped his leftovers back into the pot. “I’m sure your friend Squeak would love to have
such a wholesome meal. His father hasn’t got a clue in the kitchen, and it’s not as if his mother is going to come traipsing back from whatever cabaret she’s running around with.”

“Mildred!” Boney’s uncle exclaimed.

“Not to worry, though,” his aunt continued. “It’ll be hot and ready for supper tomorrow. It’s supposed to be even better the second day.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Boney conceded. “I was thinking of going for a short bike ride, if that’s okay.”

His aunt peered out the kitchen window. “It’s near dark.”

“I’ll stay on the sidewalk,” Boney promised.

She cocked her head to one side. “Do you hear that buzzing?” she asked.

Boney didn’t answer. Instead, he took the opportunity to slip out of the kitchen and into the garage to retrieve his bike. Boney’s metallic-blue Schwinn stood at the ready. It had everything a boy like Boney could want: sparkly silver banana seat, chrome sissy-bar for transporting friends, and wide whitewall tires guaranteed to leave an impressive skid.

Boney wheeled his bike from the garage, the playing card he had clipped with a clothespin to the spokes clicking nicely. He hopped on the bike and pedalled down the driveway to the sidewalk. He waved to Squeak’s
dad, who was stepping out of his old brown Oldsmo-bile, hand-dryer in tow. Boney rode toward Itchy’s, where his dad was just leaving for another show and his wife was kissing him at the door.

“Good luck, Mr. Schutz,” Boney called out as he pedalled past.

Mr. Schutz curled his lip and struck a pose, pointing at Boney.

Itchy’s dog, Snuff, streaked from beneath the porch and lunged at Boney’s ankle, tearing at his pant leg. Boney kicked as best he could, his bike swerving dangerously on the sidewalk. Then Mrs. Pulmoni’s cat appeared, running into the street, causing Snuff to abandon his attack on Boney and take up the chase. Mrs. Scheider’s schnauzers joined the fray, barking furiously through their living-room window.

Boney pedalled to the end of the street, then rested, allowing the bike to coast as he enjoyed the regular
bump bump bump
of the tires over the cracks in the sidewalk. He veered to the left. The street rolled and twisted toward the river. Except for a few lonely houses, the road was dark with trees. The sun was fading quickly. There was a chill in the air. It was late September, after all.

Boney zipped along, punching in and out of the lamplight for several blocks until the streetlights disappeared altogether. He pedalled more slowly, squinting
at the slender crescent of moon floating among the stars. He remembered what Squeak had said about the full moon and the ghost of the Old Mill. A shiver ran up his spine. He wished Itchy and Squeak were with him. But it didn’t stop him from pushing on.

The whitewall tires on Boney’s Schwinn whizzed over the pavement. Soon the street became little more than a rocky path. The bike tires bounced off stones, and Boney’s sneakered feet flew from the pedals with the force. The path curved down to where the river slithered like a glittering snake at the bottom of the hill. And there, beside the river, were the ruins of the haunted mill.

Boney kicked back on the coaster brake, skidding to a stop in the dirt. Boulders from the crumbled walls gleamed like bones in the night. He listened intently, the sound of his own breathing rasping in his ears. He wondered if he should turn around and go home. He hesitated, then pushed off with one foot, and his bike wobbled forward. He would just take a peek, he told himself. He wouldn’t stay long.

At the bottom of the hill, Boney dismounted. Now that he was closer, he could see the familiar shape of the mill ruins. It formed a giant horseshoe with three walls still standing, the fourth a heap of stones on the ground. The roof was missing entirely but the old water turbine
was still intact, a motionless wooden wheel against the sky.

Boney leaned his bike on the rubble pile. Peering over the stones, he could see several rusty tin cans scattered inside the walls and a pit where fires had been built over the years. An old log had been dragged beside the fire for sitting. Bits of paper littered the ground, along with a few pieces of discarded clothing here and there. Nothing out of the ordinary, Boney reassured himself. Nothing
ghostly
.

All at once his eyes caught something glinting near the firepit, something he hadn’t noticed right away. It twinkled invitingly, then faded, then twinkled again.

That’s weird
, Boney thought, staring at the twinkling thing.

He wondered if he shouldn’t just leave, forget about the twinkling altogether, then decided it was his duty to investigate. Squeak and Itchy would have wanted him to. Well…Squeak, at least.

Climbing over the stones, Boney found himself standing within the old foundation walls of the mill. The air felt somehow colder. Boney shivered. He stepped cautiously toward the firepit. The mysterious object glimmered invitingly as he drew close. It was probably just a piece of glass, or an old length of wire, Boney told himself. Or perhaps it was a glass lens, held together with
wire. As in wire glasses…left behind…by a kid…who was eaten by a ghost!

Boney gulped. Just a few feet more and he would have an answer.

As he approached the edge of the firepit, he heard a terrible sound—an awful, blood-curdling noise that seemed to rise from the stones along the wall in front of him. Boney froze, the hair bristling on the back of his neck, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. The ghost of the mill had come to kill him! It moaned again, even louder and more horrifying than before. Boney opened his mouth to scream as a white form shot out from behind the stone wall, streaking toward him.

Boney spun around, his sneakers pounding the dirt as he ran. Clearing the pile of stones in a single leap, he wrenched his bike from its resting spot and jumped onto the seat, legs pumping with all their might, stones spraying from his back tire. He crested the top of the hill in seconds, convinced the ghost was screaming after him. Careening along the road, he nearly drove right into Larry Harry walking with Jones and Jones.

“Where’s the fire, Bonehead?” Larry yelled.

But Boney didn’t even slow down. He tore past Larry Harry, nearly knocking him to the ground.

“Get back here, you little creep!” Larry shouted, but Boney was already a silhouette on the horizon.

Boney streaked along the sidewalk toward home. Turning into the driveway, he practically slammed his bike into the garage as he skidded to a halt. Jumping off, he threw open the door and rolled his bike to its place along the back wall. He didn’t bother to engage the kickstand but simply dropped the bike and ran, slamming the door behind him. He rushed into the house, through the kitchen, past his aunt and uncle, who stared at him in surprise, and all the way up to his room, shutting the door with a bang. He breathlessly pulled the towel from the Tele-tube and placed the tube to his lips.

“Squeak, are you there? Over.”

Silence. Boney brushed the hair from his eyes in agitation. “Come in, Squeak, it’s urgent—over.”

More silence. Boney dropped the Tele-tube in frustration and paced around his bedroom, hands on his hips. He was just about to storm over to his friend’s house when he heard the familiar sound of Squeak’s voice floating through the tube.

“Squeak here.”

Boney rushed to the tube, speaking frantically. “I saw it!”

“Saw what?”

“The ghost!”

There was silence on the other end of the tube. “You mean…the one at the haunted mill?”

“Yes!
The
ghost!” Boney shouted.

“Are you sure?”

“It chased me.”

Loud rustling emanted from Squeak’s Tele-tube.

“Itchy wants to know what’s going on.”

“Tell him I saw the ghost and we need to expedite the Apparator. Tell him we have to go to school early tomorrow so we can register our entry in the Invention Convention right away.”

Boney heard murmuring through the tube, then a long pause.

“He’s freaking out,” Squeak finally reported.

“Tell him he’s not backing out of this—it’s too scientifically important! We need to field test our invention. I don’t care how scared he is!”

“What did the ghost look like?” Squeak asked. But before Boney could answer, there was a confusion of footsteps in the hall outside his bedroom door.

“William…what’s going on?” his aunt called out. “It’s past your bedtime.”

“Gotta go!” Boney hissed into the tube. “Just tell him to be up and ready early tomorrow morning—or else.”

He covered the tube with the towel then quickly
changed into his pyjamas and climbed into bed. Reaching to turn off his bedside lamp, he got a flash of the ghost in his head and decided to sleep with the light on instead.

T
he next morning, Boney left the house early to collect his friends. The second he reached Squeak’s walkway, he was hit in the head with a rolled up newspaper.

“Hey, watch it!” Boney shouted, picking up the paper and tossing it back at the paperboy, who whizzed down the street on his bike.

Boney reached to ring the bell on Squeak’s house just as the door opened.

“I finished the schematics for the Apparator,” Squeak said, stepping onto the porch and closing the door behind him. He produced a long scroll from his bag, unrolling it so Boney could see. “I’m only missing one thing—the rare earth magnets. But I’ve ordered them through the mail, so we should have them in a week or so.”

“Excellent job,” Boney said, admiring Squeak’s drawing. “We can start work on it tonight.”

Squeak carefully replaced the drawing in his bag as they walked to Itchy’s house. When they arrived, Snuff leapt from the porch, chasing after a squirrel. Boney shook his head as he rang the doorbell. “How can you think he’s cute?”

Squeak and Boney waited at the door for several minutes. Boney was about to ring the bell again when Mr. Schutz answered the door, still wearing his Elvis costume.

“More fans,” he muttered. “I gotta get a security guard…or something.”

Mrs. Schutz appeared beside him in her purple bathrobe. She handed her husband a thick sandwich. He held the sandwich in the air for the boys to see.

“Peanut butter and banana,” he announced. “Breakfast of Kings.” He took a big bite of the sandwich then turned and walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Itchy!” he yelled.

Mrs. Schutz smiled. “You’re up early this morning,” she said to Boney and Squeak. “Something special going on?”

Boney smiled politely back. “Science stuff.”

Itchy finally appeared, his hair messier than usual, a blueberry muffin in each hand. He promptly stuffed
a muffin in his mouth, swallowed, then immediately devoured the second one. His mom handed him a brown lunch bag and kissed him as he walked out the door.

“Why are we up so early?” He opened his lunch bag and began eating his sandwich.

“We need to enter our submission forms for the convention,” Boney said. “And I want to talk about our plan for revenge.”

Itchy stopped mid-bite. “What do you mean,
plan for revenge?
I thought we were talking about the convention. You never said anything about a plan for revenge.”

“Yes, I did. I told you I was hatching something. Anyway, don’t worry about it. It’s a good plan. You’re going to like it.”

Itchy swallowed a big bite of sandwich. “Shouldn’t we stick to one crazy idea at a time?”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Yeah, but I’m getting indigestion just thinking about it.”

“Maybe you should chew your food better,” Squeak advised.

Itchy stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. “Guys…we forgot, there’s football practice today.”

“So what?” Boney said. “We’re not on the team.”

“Yeah…but
they
are.” Itchy pointed his half-eaten
sandwich down the street to where Larry Harry and Jones and Jones were approaching.

“Don’t they ever sleep?” Squeak said. “Why don’t they go steal some mail and leave us alone?”

Itchy suddenly bolted, running toward the school, frantically stuffing his sandwich in his mouth. Larry Harry and Jones and Jones took up the chase.

“But it’s too early to go in yet,” Squeak said, running alongside Itchy.

Itchy ran faster. “Who cares? I’d rather sit in the office than face that criminal this early in the morning.”

Boney caught up to his friends. “I promise, after my plan is enacted, we’ll never have to run from those creeps again.”

“If we survive that long,” Itchy wailed, yanking on the door to the school.

The Odds clattered up the stairs, bursting breathlessly into Mr. Harvey’s science lab. Mr. Harvey looked up in surprise from his desk.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where’s the fire, boys?”

“Sorry, Mr. Harvey,” Boney said. “We’re just excited about our invention for the convention.”

“Yeah,” Itchy said, looking nervously over his shoulder as Larry Harry cruised menacingly by the classroom door.

Mr. Harvey pulled an entry form from his desk and
handed it to the boys. “I’ll be interested to see what you come up with this year.”

“Oh, I believe you’ll be impressed,” Squeak said as he pulled a pen from his breast pocket and began to fill out the form.

“That’s doubtful,” a voice said behind them.

The Odds turned to see Edward Wormer sitting at the back of the class, filling out a form. He clicked his pen shut, then rose from his seat and strolled over to where the boys were standing. He shot a glance over Squeak’s shoulder.

“The
Apparator
,” he read aloud. “Is that a typo?”

Squeak spun around, whipping the form behind his back. “All entries are confidential until the day of the convention. You know the rules.”

Wormer raised his eyebrows smugly as he folded his entry form and handed it to Mr. Harvey. “And winner takes all,” he said. “I already know what I’m going to buy with the prize money.”

“Oh, yeah?” Itchy said. “So do we!”

“Great,” Wormer said. “You can help deliver it to my house, then.” He glided confidently from the classroom, the Odds squinting angrily at him as he left.

“He’s not going to win,” Squeak vowed as he quickly filled in the rest of the form and handed it to Mr. Harvey.

“Who cares?” Itchy said, peering into the hall where Larry Harry and Jones and Jones stood. “We’re going to get killed anyway.”

“They’ve got football practice,” Boney reminded him.

“Yeah, but we’ve got gym first thing this morning,” Itchy whined.

Squeak looked at his watch. “Well, at least we’ve got time to review the schematics for the Apparator before class.” He looked at Mr. Harvey. “Is it okay if we use the science lab?”

Mr. Harvey agreed and the boys bustled to the back of the class. They pored over Squeak’s drawing until the bell rang, calling them to homeroom.

The boys took their seats. Miss Sours was already glowering overtop her glasses.

“I didn’t get a chance to outline my plan for revenge,” Boney complained, leaning toward Itchy and whispering in his quietest voice.

“Mr. Boneham!” Miss Sours shrieked, smacking her yardstick across her desk.

Larry Harry grinned menacingly from across the room, smacking his fist in the palm of his hand.

“I’ll tell you in gym,” Boney murmured from the corner of his mouth.

As usual, Miss Sours walked up and down the aisles, monitoring the students while the announcements were
read over the loudspeaker, the class jumping with relief from their seats when the bell rang and hustling from the room. Except the Odds, who lingered cautiously at the back of the class, afraid Larry Harry and the evil twins were waiting for them in the hall.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Boneham?” Miss Sours sniffed.

“No, ma’am.”

“Then get to class!”

The Odds huddled together as they moved down the hall toward the gym lockers. When they reached the end of the hall, Squeak ducked into the library, waving sympathetically to his friends.

“Be careful,” he said.

Boney and Itchy continued along the hall and down the stairs to the change room. Thankfully, it was empty. Larry Harry and all the other boys were already changed and heading toward the lacrosse field.

“At least I have a decent shirt to wear today,” Itchy said, pulling on a lime-green T-shirt.

Boney raised his eyebrows skeptically but said nothing while he changed into his gym clothes. He placed his arm around Itchy’s shoulders as they left the school for the playing field. “Now e’s my plan for revenge.”

“MOVE IT, PEOPLE!” Colonel R. shouted, blasting on his whistle from centre field. “Same teams as yesterday!”

Itchy and Boney joined the group of skinny misfits milling around the bench.

“I have to fall out of what?” Itchy said, staring at Boney in horror.

“The tree,” Boney said. “But you don’t fall. You fly out of the tree like a screaming demon.”

“Oh,
that’s
better,” Itchy derided. “For a minute there I thought I had to fall out of a tree. I’m not doing it. It’s too dangerous.”

“The lowest branch is only ten feet up,” Boney said. “Besides, I’m rigging up a harness system controlled by a rope. We’ll wrap it around the branch and I’ll work the rope so you won’t get hurt.”

“Why can’t
you
wear the harness and
I
control the rope?” Itchy asked.

“Because I’m the bait,” Boney said. “I’m going to lure them in.” He made a motion with his hands as though luring a fish with a rod and reel.

Itchy stared at his friend in disgust. “Why doesn’t Squeak lure them in?”

“Because I’m the fastest runner. They’ll chase me, I’ll run back, then work the rope.”

Colonel R. blew his whistle. “Take your positions!”

Larry Harry’s team ran onto the field, swinging their
lacrosse sticks threateningly. The misfits bumped into each other, shoving and arguing over who was playing what position.

“I don’t like it,” Itchy complained, jogging next to Boney.

“You can’t chicken out this time,” Boney said. “Don’t you want to get those criminals back for what they’ve done to us? It’s a great plan! They’ll pee their pants and die when they see you streaking out of that tree.”

“…I don’t know…” Itchy said.

“Get a move on!” Colonel R. screamed, his whistle piercing the air. He pointed at Itchy and Larry, indicating the start of the game, then blew his whistle again as he dropped the ball.

Larry dove, scooping up the ball and driving it right at Itchy, hitting him square in the stomach. Itchy doubled over and collapsed. Boney rushed to his friend and helped him to his feet.

“Do you want to be a human target for the rest of your life?” he asked as they limped across the field to the nurse’s office.

Itchy slumped against Boney’s shoulder. “Fine,” he said, gritting his teeth in pain. “I’ll do it.”