Even talent can be challenged. Like when they have battles of the bands up in the gym.
That’s what this one is. Comedian versus ventriloquist.
Willie fires the first shot. “So… ya heard the one about the Polack and the ventriloquist, O’Malley?”
Troo shakes her head and doesn’t put up a fuss. She knows the rules. If you don’t play along, the other kid automatically wins. Period.
Willie says, “Well… there’s this ventriloquist who tells a Polack joke during his supper club show. After he’s done for the night, a big drunk Polack comes up to the stage and tells him, ‘Ya know, I’m sick and tired of these jokes. I’m gonna knock the shit outta ya.’ The ventriloquist says, ‘I’m sorry, sir, it was all in good fun.’ And then the Polack says back to him, ‘I wasn’t talkin’ to you, mister. I was talkin’ to the little asshole on your knee.’ ”
It takes a couple of seconds for all of us to get that one, but when we do, we start chuckling like crazy. Even Troo.
She says, “Fine, you win,” and doesn’t even try to beat him. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. She’s laughing too hard to keep her lips closed.
“You’re a handful, O’Malley,” Willie tells her.
My sister grabs one of the jelly rolls hanging over his shorts and says, “Takes one to know one, O’Hara.”
“Go on, be the ghost, ya little pisser,” Willie says gruff, but he’s smiling.
His mean-sounding accent hurts my ears and he’s got pimples on his forehead that he insists on showing you on a daily basis, but being a bossy gentleman is also part of Willie’s personality. Most of the time I like the way he takes the bull by the horns, but not tonight. I don’t want Troo to be the ghost and run off into the dark without me. I want her to be by my side. Permanently attached. (I’m asking for a pair of handcuffs this Christmas just like Dave’s got.)
Willie and all the rest of us turn our backs and start counting, “One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock…”
I cover my eyes, but don’t join in because I can barely swallow my own spit. There is just no telling with Troo. What if she’s pulling a switcheroo? What if she runs right over to the Molinaris’ to search for Greasy Al? I turn and peek between my fingers. She’s not heading that way. She’s sprinting toward the Latours’ backyard, so that’s good. That means she’s gonna hide in their bomb shelter if it’s unlocked. It’s supposed to be off-limits, but Troo doesn’t care. When she rises outta the ground and grabs you by the ankle, it’s like a buried body resurrecting out of a grave and she adores that. Scaring the ever-loving heck out of people is one of her hobbies.
“Thick o’clock, tree o’clock, leben o’clock,” Wendy Latour says next to me. She’s got her pudgy hands over her face, but her fingers are as wide open as her eyes.
Once we get to twelve o’clock we’re supposed to go walking around in the dark chanting, “Midnight, midnight, hope we don’t see a ghost tonight.”
We’ll go between houses and into the alley and yards. When we get close to where Troo is hiding she’ll jump out, or if she’s hiding in the bomb shelter, she’ll rise up and chase you. If you make it back to the graveyard-the O’Haras’ steps-you’re safe to live another day, but if Troo catches you, you gotta be the ghost the next time around.
“Ten o’clock, eleven o’clock… midnight!” Willie shouts. “Ready or not, here we come.”
Everybody dashes off in different directions except for Wendy and Artie.
“Thally, me go you? Paulie not gutter ball. Thorry,” droopy-eyed Wendy says, wrapping her strong arms around me.
“Sure, a course ya can come with me,” I say. “Just like always.” I feel like such a pill for yelling at the sweetest kid in the world. She’s a hunk of burnin’ love, that’s what our Wendy is. And so protective of me, which is a quality I really like. When Buddy Dietrich tried to steal my transistor radio over at the playground, Wendy picked him up and tossed him into the sandbox like he was a used toothpick. If this bowling job doesn’t work out for her, I’m going to suggest to Mrs. Latour that Wendy try becoming a strong girl in the freak show at the State Fair.
“Okay, you can let go of me now, ” I tell her. “I’m not kiddin’. I can’t breathe.”
“Thorry, thorry,” she says, letting her arms drop down to her sides.
“Just hold my hand, okay?” When she puts hers in mine, I can feel that she’s not wearing that plastic ring on her wedding finger anymore. It musta broke. I’m gonna have to start eating Cracker Jack again to see if I can find her another one.
Artie is still on the step looking lost, so I say to him, “C’mon,” and then tell the both of them, “I gotta do something real quick before we go lookin’ for Troo. I promised Mrs. Goldman that I’d check on her house while they’re gone and I forgot today.”
I already decided that cutting through people’s backyards would be the fastest way to go. I don’t want to waste time saying hello to our neighbors who are out on their front steps trying to catch a breeze on this muggy night. I take off and Artie comes right after me, but Wendy, who broke outta my grip, is lagging behind because she has the goofiest way of running. We make our way through the Sheldons’ and the Mahlbergs’ and the other backyards without any problems except for a near beheading from Mrs. Frame’s clothesline.
When we get to the edge of the Kenfields’ property, I stop. I haven’t gotten this close a look at their place for a while. It’s not so dark that I can’t see the house needs paint and the grass is anklehigh. The garbage cans out by the alley are lying on their sides and a tiger cat is picking through what’s spilled. It really does look like a ghost house now, the way Fast Susie used to tell me it was. Mr. Kenfield used to take pride in his property. Mother told me he cut his lawn with scissors. Before his daughter, Dottie, disappeared, he loved it when kids played catch back here and would sometimes grab his glove and join in, but I heard if your ball wanders back here now, he goes crazier than Lizzie Borden.
I kiss Daddy’s watch for luck and point across the yard that seems wider now than center field. “I don’t have to go all the way over to the Goldmans’. If we make it to the other side, I can just look through the hedge.” It’s gotten overgrown like the rest of the yard and doesn’t look at all like Henry’s new haircut. “Ready?” Both of them nod even though only one of them knows what the Sam Hill I’m talking about. “You gotta keep up with us, Wendy,” I say, scared about what might happen if she doesn’t. “No dawdlin’.”
“Yeth, Thally O’Malley. No dawdlin’.”
When I make a dash for it, I can hear Artie panting right behind me, but I realize too late that there’s not a peep coming from where Wendy’s supposed to be. When I turn around to see what happened to her, she’s in the middle of the Kenfields’ yard, hopping from foot to foot.
“Wendy… c’mon.” I wave my arm and whisper-yell.
She looks up at me and then back down at the grass and then back at me and starts yelling, “Thnake… thnake!” really, really, loud.
Keeping my eye on the house, I hurry to her. “No… no… shhh… shhh… shhh. It’s not a snake. See? It’s not movin’.” I kick at the garden hose that shoulda been wound up nice and neat next to the house and push Wendy fast back to the hedge where Artie is crouching at the exact same time that the back porch light flicks on.
Mr. Kenfield comes banging out the door, weaving in his boxer shorts. He doesn’t have on a shirt or shoes, just a beer can in his hand. I don’t think he can see us because the porch light reaches only so far and I bet his eyes are blurry from drinking, but when he cocks his head at the hedge, I’m sure it’s because he must hear my heart beating.