Charlie Bumpers vs. the Perfect Little Turkey (6 page)

On T’anksgiving?

I raced up the stairs, and the Squid ran up after me. “I want to see the rocket, too!” she squeaked.

I scooted into my room, ripped off my jeans and T-shirt, and yanked open the drawer that held my nice shirts with buttons on them. I pulled one on. I found a pair of pants in the closet and put those on. I tucked my shirt in, then put my sneakers back on and raced down the stairs.

My mom took one look at my feet. “I said
nice
clothes, Charlie,” she said. “Go put on your dress shoes.”

Not dress shoes!

I ran back upstairs and nearly collided with the Squid in the hallway. I dodged past her and dashed into my room. I hadn’t worn my good shoes since forever and had to empty out half the closet before I found them. As I put them on, I looked around my room.

I had destroyed it in thirty seconds! I’d have to clean it later.

I hurtled back downstairs. Mom and the other women were in the kitchen and the men were standing around in the family room eating appetizers and talking.

“Now can we go?” I asked Uncle Ron.

Dad looked at his watch. “I don’t know, you guys. It’s getting kind of late. You won’t have time to get there and back before we start eating.”

“But we have to shoot it off!” I said.

“We
have
to shoot it off,” Chip echoed.

“We
have
to shoot it off!” the Squid double-echoed.

“Okay,” Uncle Ron said. “We’ll shoot it off here.”

Dad gave his brother a funny look. “Here?”

“Don’t worry,” my uncle said. “It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think there’s enough room in the backyard,” Dad said.

“There’s enough room!” I said.

“We’ll launch it in the street,” Uncle Ron said. “There’s not much traffic today and it’ll be safe. It’s not windy. The rocket will just go up and then come straight down.”

Dad screwed up his face and rubbed his eyes, which he does when he’s making a hard decision. He looked toward the kitchen to see if Mom was listening.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Go now and get it over with.”

“It’ll be fine, Jimmy,” Uncle Ron reassured Dad.

“It better be,” Dad said.

“What kind of rocket are you talking about?” Mr. Gritzbach asked.

“The kids made a soda-bottle rocket,” Dad said.

“Sounds exciting,” Pops said.

“Any danger of explosions?” Mr. Gritzbach asked.

“Naw,” Uncle Ron said. “It’s just water. No problem.”

Finally! We were actually going to shoot off the rocket!

“I’m first,” Chip announced.

“Uncle Ron gets to choose,” the Squid said, giving Chip a dirty look.

“Let’s go set everything up,” Uncle Ron said.

Mom and the others in the kitchen didn’t seem to notice us when we passed through the first time. They were too busy with the last-minute cooking. Mrs. Walcott was sitting at the table, arranging cookies on a tray. The kitchen was filled with the smell of the turkey roasting and Gams was brushing butter over the tops of the yeast rolls.

But when we came back in from the garage to fill the rocket, Mom turned around. “What’s going on?” she asked suspiciously.

Trick question! No good answer!

“We’re just going to borrow the sink for a minute,” Uncle Ron said.

“We don’t need any interruptions in the kitchen right now,” Mom said.

“We have to fill up the rocket!” Chip said.

I stuck the rocket under the faucet and turned on the water, before Mom kicked us out.

“A rocket? On T’anksgiving?” Mrs. Walcott grinned. “Dat a big fun!”

“You’re not going to launch it now, are you?” Mom asked.

Another trick question!

“We’re not going to the school,” I said quickly. “We’re going to shoot it off outside. We’ll just do it once.”

“Twice,” Chip said.

“We’ll do it in the street,” Uncle Ron said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mom said. She was holding a big metal spoon in her hand and she looked fairly dangerous.

Dad stuck his head in the door. “I told them it would be okay, Gloria.”

Mom shook her head. “All right, but don’t make
a mess in here. And don’t take long. It’s almost time to put the rolls in the oven.”

“Hurry up, you guys,” Dad said.

Matt suddenly appeared. “Don’t worry, Dad,” he said. “I’ll supervise.”

“Now I
am
worried,” Dad said, but he was smiling.

We kids followed Uncle Ron out the kitchen door, and he opened up the back part of his truck. He pulled out a bicycle pump and handed it to the Squid. I was still holding the rocket.

“Matt and Chip, I need your help in the garage for a minute,” Uncle Ron said. After a few seconds they came out carrying the launcher.

“Let’s go, guys!” Uncle Ron called.

“And girl!” the Squid announced. “
G-I-R-L!
”

“Yeah, most definitely,” Uncle Ron said. “And
g-i-r-l.
”

We paraded out to the street. It was almost two o’clock in the afternoon, and it was completely quiet. Perfect for setting off a rocket.

“Everyone be careful now,” Uncle Ron said. “We’re going to put the rocket on this tube here and make sure it’s pointed straight up. Then we’ll pump until there’s enough air in the rocket. When everything is ready, we’ll pull back on this string.”

“I’ll pull the string,” Chip announced.

Uncle Ron stopped and looked at Chip. “If things go okay, we’ll do it a couple of times. But since we’re guests at Charlie’s house, we’ll let him pull it first.”

“But I said it first,” Chip protested.

“We’ll let Charlie pull first,” Uncle Ron said.

“That’s not fair,” Chip said.

I looked at Matt, then at the Squid. We all said it together: “Life’s not fair!”

Uncle Ron laughed. Chip frowned and made a face.

Finally, Chip wasn’t going to get his way!

“We’ll all pump,” Uncle Ron instructed us. “Everybody gets ten pumps. You want a turn, Matt?”

“I’m good.” Matt folded his arms across his chest and watched us work with a smirk on his face.

I heard the front door open. Pops stepped out and held the door for Mr. Gritzbach. Mrs. Walcott was standing just inside with her walker. The two old men stood on the porch, leaning back against the open storm door so she could see. Mom and Aunt Sarah and Gams and Mrs. Gritzbach and Dad were all still inside. I guess they didn’t care about the Thanksgiving rocket.

“Almost ready, Pops?” I yelled. He nodded, grinned, and gave me a thumbs up. Even Mr. Gritzbach had a sort of smile on his face.

We pumped ten times each, which made forty. “Wait a sec,” Uncle Ron said. “It’s leaning a little.

Let me make sure it’s pointing straight up in the air.” He started toward the launcher.

But Chip got there first. “This is the string you pull, right?” he said.

“No!” Uncle Ron said.

Chip pulled the string.

The rocket shot off the launcher. It spewed water out, spraying all of us.

But it did not go straight up in the air.

Instead, the rocket took a turn to the left and zoomed across the yard, staying about six feet above the ground. It seemed like it was flying about two hundred miles an hour.

Right toward our front door.

It happened so quickly, I barely had time to think. For a split second I thought the rocket was going to slam into Pops and Mr. Gritzbach.

But it zipped right by them.

Right through the open front door.

Right over Mrs. Walcott, who ducked down over her walker just in time.

Then we heard a crash and a scream.

Uh-oh.

We all looked at each other.

“Oh man!” Uncle Ron moaned and ran toward the door. He leapt up the steps and sprinted through
the front door. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Uncle Ron said as he ran past Pops and Mr. Gritzbach.

I was right behind him.

Pops and Mr. Gritzbach had weird looks on their faces, which I guess is the kind of look you get when you’re almost hit by a rocket.

Mrs. Walcott had her hands folded together and a little grin on her face.

Gams and Mrs. Gritzbach were sitting on the sofa in the living room, gripping their punch glasses with both hands. Aunt Sarah was holding Tilly. Their eyes looked like they were going to pop out of their heads.

Mom was standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips. There were three or four plates of food scattered on the floor. The coffee table was lying on its side and cheese straws and carrot sticks were scattered all around.

The rocket was lying in the corner with a big dent in the nose cone.

Dad was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with both hands over his face.

Aunt Sarah took Tilly out of the room.

“My goodness,” Gams said.

“What happened?” Mrs. Gritzbach asked.

“Whoops,” Uncle Ron said. “Everybody okay?”

“Do it again, nuh?” Mrs. Walcott asked.

I looked at Mom. If we’d been in a cartoon, there would’ve been little puffs of steam coming out of her ears.

I picked up the crumpled rocket. Uncle Ron motioned that I should take it outside, then he got down on his knees and started to clean up the plates and food. By this time, everybody had come in from the front yard and was standing by the door—Mr. Gritzbach, Pops, the Squid, and Matt. I didn’t see Chip, who had started everything.

“Amaaaaazing!” Matt observed.

Mom headed straight toward Dad, grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him into the kitchen. We heard the back door open and shut.

And then a miracle happened. Matt, who usually just watched things happen, started helping Uncle Ron clear things away. He set the coffee table back up and wiped it with a big handful of paper napkins. “I’ll go get some more appetizers,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen.

In a few seconds he came back with a plate of cheese and crackers.

I knew it was still really Matt, because he was
stuffing some crackers in his mouth as he put down the plate.

I took the rocket outside, went into the street, and picked up the launcher. I headed around the house, and Chip followed me.

“I didn’t know it was going to do that,” he said.

“You didn’t listen to Uncle Ron!” I said.

The perfect little turkey had almost mowed down the whole family. And the guests.

Mom and Dad were standing in the driveway by the garage arguing with each other. When Chip saw them, he stopped and went back toward the front yard. I kept going.

“It’s not Uncle Ron’s fault,” I said.

“Not now, Charlie,” Mom said.

“He told us not to fire it, but Chip—”

“Not now!” Mom repeated. Dad shook his head, warning me not to say anything.

The way Mom looked at me, I could tell she thought it was my fault, too. But there wasn’t much
point in trying to explain. Sometimes, explanations are impossible. Especially when you’re talking to a marine sergeant mad scientist mom. Especially when people had almost died in a catastrophic water rocket accident.

I went back inside. The kitchen was filled with the smells of all different kinds of delicious food, but the most beautiful smell of all came from Gams’s rolls. They had just come out of the oven. Gams had put them in a basket wrapped up in a napkin.

Guess who was standing right next to the basket, tossing a hot roll from hand to hand?

“Chip!” I yelled. “You aren’t supposed to eat those yet!”

“They’re my favorite,” Chip said, taking a bite.

“Save some for everybody else.”

“There’s a lot,” he said.

Just then, I heard Matt’s voice. “Hey, Charlie, come here!”

“No rolls until dinnertime!” I said and gave Chip a Buck Meson electron stare.

Matt came up behind me. “Charlie!” he said softly. “Up to my room. Important Bumpers meeting. Now.”

“Can I come?” Chip asked, still chewing on the roll.

“Only if your name is Bumpers,” Matt said. “Sorry, Chip. It’ll just take a minute. Let’s go, Charlie.”

I wondered what Matt had in mind. I followed him up the stairs, with the Squid on my heels. Matt led us into his bedroom and closed the door.