Oggie Cooder Page 3

  “Can I ask you something, Oggie?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you have any pets?”

  “Yeppers. A dog named Turk. He’s the best.”

  “Does he ever do funny things?”

  “Sure,” said Oggie.

  “Like what?” Mr. Snolinovsky asked.

  “Like this one time he buried a bone under my mother’s pillow and another time he found a bag of black licorice and —”

  Mr. Snolinovsky held up his hand to stop Oggie.

  “Write it, Oggie,” he said.

  Oggie was confused. “Write what?” he asked.

  “The story about what Turk did with the black licorice,” Mr. Snolinovsky told him. “That’s a seed.”

  “It is?” said Oggie, lighting up.

  When the final bell rang, Oggie had already used up two pages (front and back) writing his story, and he hadn’t even gotten to the part about Turk throwing up yet.

  He put his story in his backpack in case he wanted to work on it some more at home. Then he got his jacket out of the closet, waved good-bye to Mr. Snolinovksy, and started down the hall. As he walked past the bulletin board, he suddenly remembered the man he’d seen earlier and stopped to take a look at the pink flyer. Only it wasn’t there. Oggie searched the whole board twice, but there wasn’t anything even remotely pink and there wasn’t anything that mentioned an event taking place at the Bandshell on Friday, either.

  “Weird,” said Oggie.

  “You sure are,” someone said right behind him.

  Oggie turned around in time to see David Korben disappearing around the corner with a basketball tucked under his arm.

  * * *

  Oggie stopped at the library before heading home that afternoon. Otherwise, he might have run into Donnica Perfecto and her posse as they stood on the corner waiting for the light to change.

  “You guys are coming over to my house now, right?” Dawn said.

  A sudden gust of wind whipped Donnica’s hair across her face. She quickly brushed it away and then put her hand in her pocket. She felt the pink paper flyer there and pushed it down deeper. She didn’t want anyone to see it, especially not Dawn or Hannah.

  “I can’t come over today,” Donnica said.

  “Why not?” asked Hannah.

  “I’ve got a stomachache.” Donnica suddenly grabbed her middle and grimaced as if she were in horrible pain. “Actually, I think my appendix might be exploding.”

  “Are you okay?” both girls asked, full of concern.

  “I’ll be fine,” Donnica replied. “But I think I better go straight home, just in case I need to go to the hospital, or anything.”

  “That’s strange,” said Dawn as Donnica hurried away, still clutching her stomach. “She seemed perfectly fine a minute ago, didn’t she?”

  As it turned out, Dawn and Hannah were right to be suspicious. Donnica Perfecto was definitely up to something. The question was … what?

  When Oggie walked in the door, Turk went crazy as usual, barking and wagging his tail so hard he actually fell over. Oggie got down on his knees and gave Turk’s belly a nice scratch, which set the big dog’s tail thumping happily against the floor like a tom-tom.

  “Did you miss me, Turkey Boy?” he said. “How about we brush you this afternoon? Would you like that?” Turk’s tail was wagging so fast now, it looked like it might come right off.

  The phone rang. It was Mrs. Cooder calling from the store.

  “I need you to come help this afternoon,” she told Oggie. “Wouldn’t you know we’d spring a leak right in the middle of inventory? The plumbers had to tear down the whole back wall this morning. It’s a mess in here.”

  “I was just about to brush Turk,” Oggie told his mother.

  “Well, when you’re finished, hop on your bike and come down, okay, Ogg? I’ll order us a pizza.”

  “Prrrrr-ip! Prrrrr-ip!” said Oggie, whose absolute favorite food was pizza.

  “What do you want on it?” asked his mother. “The usual?”

  “Yeppers!” Oggie said happily.

  * * *

  Across the street, Donnica flopped down on her bed and took a big bite of one of the vanilla-frosted oatmeal cookies her mother had set out for her after-school snack. She reached over and flipped open the minifridge, pulling a bottle of apricot fruit water off the shelf and unscrewing the plastic cap with her teeth. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out the pink flyer she’d torn off the school bulletin board when she’d noticed it on her way to the bathroom.

  Donnica still couldn’t believe it. Hidden Talents was one of the most popular shows on TV. She hadn’t missed a single episode of the first season, staying glued to the television set until finally a fourteen-year-old boy from Nebraska beat out the competition to win the grand prize by playing “The Star-Spangled Banner” with a wet hand in his armpit. Donnica was certain that if she could land a spot on the show, it would be the big break she’d been waiting for her whole life. There was only one problem.

  “MOM!” Donnica called at the top of her lungs.

  “I’m downstairs, Cupcake!” her mother called back.

  “Obviously!” Donnica yelled. “But I’m upstairs, so come up here. I need to ask you something.”

  Mrs. Perfecto arrived a minute later, flushed from her climb and carrying the bag of oatmeal cookies.

  “What is it, dear? Do you want more cookies?”

  “No, I want you to help me figure out what hidden talent I have.”

  Mrs. Perfecto put her index finger to her chin and thought for a moment.

  “Hmmmm,” she said. “Hidden talent? Well, you do have a very loud voice. But I wouldn’t say you keep that talent hidden exactly.”

  “Having a loud voice isn’t a talent, Mother,” Donnica said with a pout.

  “What about white teeth? Does that count?” asked Mrs. Perfecto. “You have very white teeth. Which reminds me, I need to make an appointment for you to have your regular checkup with Dr. Schelkun.”

  “Mom,” Donnica said impatiently, “can you please stop talking about teeth and help me think of something quirky that I can do that nobody else can?”

  Mrs. Perfecto tried her best, but she couldn’t think of a thing.

  “There must be something,” Donnica insisted. “Everybody’s good at something, right?”

  “True,” said Mrs. Perfecto. “Your friend Hannah is very good at ballet, and when Dawn plays that flute of hers, she sounds good enough to be in a professional orchestra.”

  Donnica was well aware of Hannah’s dancing abilities and Dawn’s musical skills. Their talents, not to mention the talents of various other kids she knew at Truman, were the reason she’d ripped the pink flyer down in the first place. Undoubtedly, other flyers had been put up around town, but she figured anything she could do to keep the competition down was worth it.

  “We’re not talking about Dawn and Hannah right now, Mother,” snapped Donnica. “We’re talking about me.”

  “Of course we are, Cupcake. And I’m sure you’re filled to the brim with talent, too. It’s just that in your case it’s extremely well hidden, that’s all.”

  After Mrs. Perfecto left, Donnica rolled over and lay on her back on her bubble-gum-pink bedspread, staring up at the ceiling. She had to think of something, anything she could do to impress the judges from Hidden Talents. She heard a dog barking outside and turned her head toward the window just in time to catch sight of Oggie Cooder sitting on his porch brushing his dog. The air was filled with floating hair balls.

  “Ugh,” she said, wrinkling her pointy little nose in disgust.

  When Oggie finished brushing Turk, he pulled something square and orange out of his pocket. At first Donnica thought it was a wallet, but when he put it in his mouth, she realized it was a piece of cheese.

  Why is he eating it that way? wondered Donnica, pushing herself up onto her elbows in order to get a clearer view.

  A minute later, Oggie let out a whoop of
joy and waved his masterpiece in the air.

  “Prrrrr-ip! Prrrrr-ip! Check it out, Turk! My best ever!”

  Donnica’s mouth fell open. Even from across the street she could recognize the shape Oggie had nibbled his cheese into.

  “Texas,” she said in amazement.

  Suddenly, a lightbulb went on over her head. She jumped off the bed and ran to the window. Yanking it open, she shouted down, “Oggie Cooder, don’t you move!” Then she turned and raced out of her room, flying down the stairs, past her surprised mother, out the front door, and across the street to the Cooders’ house.

  When she would think back on this moment later, Donnica Perfecto would regret two things: one, that she had left the pink flyer lying on her bed, and two, that in her haste, she had neglected to close the window.

  Oggie was very surprised when Donnica yelled out the window at him, but not as surprised as Turk was. Even though Oggie had tied the end of the leash around the banister, Turk got so excited when he heard Donnica yelling that he pulled it loose. As soon as he realized he was free, Turk took off on a tear.

  “Hey!” yelled Oggie. “Come back here!”

  By the time Donnica arrived, Turk was already out of sight.

  “I need … to talk … to you … about that … -cheese,” she panted.

  “I can’t talk right now,” Oggie told her. “I have to catch my dog.”

  Turk shot out from between two houses, a garden hose clamped between his teeth. When the hose reached the limit of its length, it jerked tight with a loud BOING!, sending Turk flying backward into a muddy flower bed. Oggie made a dive for his dog, but Turk was too fast for him.

  “Turk! Sit!” Oggie shouted.

  Turk immediately sat down and began scooching his backside along the sidewalk — something Mrs. Cooder often scolded him for doing on the hall carpet.

  “Guh —” said Donnica, momentarily forgetting that nobody was around to supply the ends of her words.

  When Turk made a pit stop at a fire hydrant, Oggie made another attempt to snag him. But again Turk was too quick.

  “He’s headed for your house!” Oggie yelled over his shoulder to Donnica. “Come on!”

  Donnica joined in the chase as Turk went careening around the Perfectos’ neatly manicured lawn, knocking over several clay flowerpots and then jumping the fence in a very ungraceful manner.

  SPLASH!

  Oggie stopped running and looked at Donnica.

  “Uh-oh,” he said.

  Oggie had never seen the Perfectos’ pool, but he knew it was on the other side of that fence. As Oggie cooled himself off by running through the sprinkler in his front yard on hot summer days, Hannah and Dawn would ride by on their bikes wearing swimsuits and flip-flops. Donnica would open the gate for them and soon their happy shrieks and the smell of hot dogs grilling would waft over the fence, making both Oggie and Turk raise their noses in the air and sniff longingly.

  Sure enough, when Donnica pushed open the gate this time, there was Turk, paddling around in the Perfectos’ kidney-shaped pool, leaving a trail of grass and mud behind him as he went.

  Mrs. Perfecto came running out onto the patio. “What in the world?” she cried. “Who let that disgusting creature in the pool?”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Perfecto,” said Oggie. “That’s my dog, Turk.”

  “What on earth is he doing in the pool?”

  Oggie was about to launch into the whole story, when Donnica jumped in.

  “It’s not Oggie’s fault,” she said. “I told him to put his dog in the pool. I wanted to see if he could swim.”

  Oggie was surprised. Why was Donnica lying to her mother? He was perfectly willing to take the blame for Turk. But before he could say anything, Mrs. Perfecto turned on her heel and started back into the house.

  “If it makes you happy, Cupcake, that’s all that matters,” she called over her shoulder. “There are clean towels in the cabana banana if you need them.”

  “Cabana banana?” Oggie asked. It sounded even more ridiculous than a bagel named Sunshine.

  “She means that thing,” Donnica explained, pointing to a long, yellow plastic storage chest sitting next to the pool. “That’s where we keep the towels for when we have guests.”

  “Oh,” said Oggie, who, of course, had never been a guest at one of the Perfectos’ pool parties.

  “You know, Oggie,” said Donnica sweetly, “you really should come over and swim in the pool sometime when it gets warmer.”

  “Yeah?” said Oggie. “Prrrrr-ip! Prrrrr-ip! That’d be cool!”

  Turk, hearing Oggie’s prrrrr-ip, let out a happy bark. Then he continued his pursuit of a large pink-and-white inflatable beach ball that had blown into the pool.

  “So anyway, Oggie,” Donnica said, twisting a piece of her golden hair around her finger as she spoke, “the reason I wanted to talk to you was because I was wondering if I could ask you a teensy-weensy little favor.”

  “A favor?” Oggie replied. “Sure.”

  “It’s about that cheese thing you were doing out on your porch.”

  “Charving, you mean?”

  “Whatever you call it, I want to know if you can teach me how to do it.”

  Oggie was so delighted he had to prrrrr-ip again. Turk didn’t bark this time. He’d finally managed to catch the beach ball and in the process had popped it, so he had a mouth full of soggy pink-and-white plastic at the moment.

  “Maybe when it gets warmer and I come over to swim in your pool I could bring some cheese and my atlas and we could practice together,” he said.

  “Um, I don’t think you understand.” Donnica was getting impatient. “I need you to teach me how to do it today. Actually, like, right now.”

  “Now? Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to help my mom at the store this afternoon.”

  “But you have to, Oggie. Pleeeeeeease,” whined Donnica. “If you don’t teach me right away I won’t have enough time to practice before tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What’s happening tomorrow afternoon?”

  Donnica realized too late that she had painted herself into a corner. If she told Oggie about the contest he might decide to enter it himself. She certainly couldn’t have that. Think fast, she told herself.

  “Okay. See, I have to do a birthday party for, um, Dawn’s little sister,” she said. “They were supposed to have a clown, but he canceled at the last minute. So I said I’d do it. And I don’t know how to make balloon animals or do magic tricks or anything, so I was thinking …”

  “You want to charve for them?” said Oggie.

  “Yeah. Why not? Little kids love cheese, right?”

  “I guess,” Oggie said.

  “So will you teach me?” asked Donnica. “Now?”

  “I told you already, I can’t do it right now. Unless —”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless you want to come down to the store with me. You could charve while I sort shoes.”

  Donnica swallowed hard. “You mean go inside your parents’ store? With you?” she said uneasily.

  “Yeah, we’ve got plenty of cheese in our fridge,” said Oggie. “I’ll go put Turk inside and grab some slices. Get your bike and I’ll meet you back out here in a minute.”

  Donnica didn’t see any way around it. If she wanted to impress the Hidden Talents judges, she was going to have to do whatever it took to make it happen. Even if it meant going with Oggie Cooder to his parents’ creepy old junk shop to learn how to charve.

  A minute later, Donnica was wheeling her bike out of the garage. As she hopped on, a gust of wind blew through the neighborhood, strong enough to make the bike wobble underneath her. Donnica grabbed the handlebars tighter. Oggie was already waiting for her at the bottom of the driveway. He grinned and waved, then he sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  “Dis —” she muttered, as she pedaled toward him. This time she finished her own word, “— gusting.”

  If only Donnica had looked up, she mig
ht have noticed the curtains fluttering in the open window as the wind slipped past them into her room and caught the edge of the pink flyer, lifting it up off the bed where she’d left it and carrying it swiftly away.

  Too Good to Be Threw was about a ten-minute ride away. Every time a car passed, Donnica would duck her head and tuck her chin into her shoulder to make sure that nobody recognized her. When she and Oggie arrived at the store, they rested their bikes next to each other against the wall. Then Oggie pushed open the door, setting a string of brass bells jingling a cheerful welcome overhead.

  “Sorry, we’re closed for inventory!” Mrs. Cooder called from the back of the store. “And on top of that, we’re leaking!”

  “It’s me, Mom!” Oggie shouted back. “And Donnica!”

  “Donnica Perfecto?” said Mrs. Cooder, pushing her way through a rack of old fur coats and emerging with a moth-eaten sleeve caught around her neck like a one-armed bear hug. “This is a surprise.”

  Mrs. Cooder was wearing a long purple dress with white polka dots. Around her waist she had tied a wide lavender-striped necktie. In her hand she held a child-size felt cowboy hat with a faded picture of a freckle-faced boy on the front. The words howdy doody were stitched under it.

  “Donnica asked me to teach her how to charve,” Oggie said, holding up the atlas and the package of cheese he’d brought with him.

  “Oh, dear. I was counting on you to do the shoes.” Mrs. Cooder pointed to a mountain of old footwear sitting in a heap on the floor. “Your dad’s off trying to chase down another plumber, and I’ve got to move all the hats away from that back wall, because of the leak. Poor Howdy here nearly went for a swim.” Mrs. Cooder gently brushed off the cowboy hat. “I really need your help, Ogg.”

  “Don’t worry, I can do both, Mom,” Oggie promised.

  “Great,” said Mrs. Cooder, untangling herself from the coat. “You know the drill. Anything without a mate, toss in the throwaway box.”