انتقام کوتوله های حیاط فصل 11

Revenge of the Lawn Gnomes - Chapter 11

“What are you talking about?” Mr. McCall demanded.

“Yes, Mindy, what are you talking about?” Mom asked.

“I caught Joe sneaking outside last night,” Mindy replied. “In the middle of the night. He told me he wanted to wreck the rest of the melons.” Everyone turned to stare at me in horror. Even Moose, my best friend. Mr. McCall’s face was as red as a tomato again. I saw him clenching and unclenching his fists.

Everyone stared at me in shocked silence. The smiley faces on the melons stared at me, too.

“But—but—but—” I sputtered.

Before I could explain, Dad exploded. “Joe, I think you owe us an explanation. What were you doing outside in the middle of the night?” I felt my face grow red-hot with anger. “I went out to calm Buster down,” I insisted. “He was howling. I didn’t touch the melons. I would never do anything like that. I was only joking when I told Mindy I wanted to wreck them!” “Well, this is no joke!” Dad exclaimed angrily. “You are grounded for the week!” “But, Dad—!” I pleaded. “I didn’t draw on those melons!”

“Make that two weeks!” he snapped. “And I think you should mow Mr. McCall’s grass and water his garden all month. As an apology.” “Whoa, Jeffrey,” Mr. McCall interrupted. “I don’t want your son—or your dog—in my garden again. Ever.” He rubbed the casaba melons with his huge fingers, trying to erase the ugly black stains. “I hope this comes off,” he muttered. “Because if it doesn’t, Jeffrey, I’ll sue. Believe me, I will!” Two hours after the melon disaster, I sprawled on the floor of my room. Grounded. With nothing to do.

I couldn’t play with Buster in the yard. Because the painters were outside.

So I stayed in my room and reread all of my Super Gamma Man comic books.

I ordered a glob of rubber vomit from the Joker’s Wild catalog for five dollars. That’s most of my weekly allowance. Then I sneaked into Mindy’s room and mixed up all the clothes in her closet. No more colors in rainbow order.

When I had finished, it still wasn’t even noon.

What a totally boring day, I thought, as I wandered downstairs.

“Hand me the yellow, please,” Mindy’s voice rang out from the den.

I crept toward the door and peeked in. Mindy and her best friend, Heidi, sat cross-legged on the floor. They were decorating T-shirts with fabric paint.

Heidi is almost as annoying as Mindy. Something is always bothering her. She’s too cold. Or too hot. Or her stomach hurts. Or her shoelaces are too tight.

I watched silently as the two girls worked. Heidi drew a silver collar on a large purple cat.

Mindy hunched over in concentration and slowly outlined a large yellow flower.

I leaped into the den. “Boo!” I screamed.

“Yaii!” Heidi shrieked.

Mindy jumped up, smearing a big yellow blotch on her red shorts. “You jerk!” she cried. “See what you made me do!” She scraped at the paint with her fingernails. “Beat it, Joe,” she ordered. “We’re busy.” “Well, I’m not,” I replied. “Thanks to you, Miss Snitch.”

“It was your bright idea to draw faces on those melons,” she snarled. “Not mine.” “But I didn’t do it!” I insisted.

Mindy counted off the evidence on her fingers.

“You were up in the middle of the night. You went out in the yard. And you told me you wanted to wreck the rest of the melons.” “I was joking!” I exclaimed. “Don’t you know what a joke is? You should try making one sometime.” Heidi stretched out her arms. “I’m hot,” she said. “Why don’t we go to the pool? We can finish our shirts later.” Mindy fixed her eyes on me. “Joe, do you want to go with us?” she asked in a sweet voice. “Whoops. I forgot. You’re grounded.” Then she burst out laughing.

I turned and left the two girls in the den. I have to get out of this house, I thought.

I headed for the kitchen. Mom and the painter huddled together at the counter, checking paint swatches.

“We want the onyx black for the trim. Not the pitch black,” she instructed, tapping the swatches. “I think you brought the wrong paint.” I tugged on her sleeve. “Mom. Buster’s really bored. Can I take him for a walk?”

“Of course not,” she replied quickly. “You’re grounded.”

“Please,” I begged. “Buster needs a walk. And that paint smell is making me sick.” I held my stomach and made gagging sounds.

The painter shifted impatiently from foot to foot. “Okay, okay,” Mom said. “Take the dog.” “Excellent! Thanks, Mom!” I cried. I darted through the kitchen and into the back yard. “Good news, Buster,” I exclaimed. “We’re free!” Buster wagged his stumpy tail. I untied the long rope and clipped a short leash to his collar.

We walked about two miles. All the way down to Buttermilk Pond. That’s our favorite stick-chasing spot.

I tossed a fat stick into the water. Buster plunged into the cold pond and fetched it. We did that over and over until it was three o’clock. Time to go home.

On the way back to the house, we stopped at the Creamy Cow. They have the best ice cream in town.

I used the last bit of my allowance to treat us both to double-dip chocolate-chip cookie dough cones. Buster liked the cookie dough, but he left all the chocolate chips on the ground.

After we finished our ice cream, we continued home. Buster pulled at his leash excitedly as we strolled up the driveway. He seemed really happy to be back.

He dragged me into the front yard and sniffed everything. The evergreen bushes. The flamingos. The deer. The gnomes.

The gnomes.

Was something different about the gnomes?

I dropped Buster’s leash and bent down for a closer look.

I studied their fat little hands. What were those dark smudges on their fingertips. Dirt?

I rubbed their chubby fingers. But the smudges remained.

No. Not dirt.

I leaned in closer.

Paint. Black paint.