Dingus Read online

  “Why does there have to be a special occasion for me to take you out after school?” she said.

  “Because this is the first time you’ve done it since you started working,” I said.

  “Well, I have some exciting news,” she said.

  I stopped walking. My stomach flopped. I had just seen a scene like this in The Mysteries of Puberty. This teenager’s mother tells him that she has some good news. She tells him she’s going to have another baby. The son freaks out. The narrator explains that having a baby is a normal part of life. Maybe it is. My mom had a baby about a year and a half ago. That seemed normal. But now I knew a little bit more about the mysteries of puberty. I knew about the reproductive system. That made things a little different. It made them seem a little less normal and a little more weird.

  “What kind of exciting news?” I asked, trying to stay calm.

  “It’s good news for the entire family,” she said, smiling.

  “Ughhh!” I groaned. There was no mistaking the kind of news she had. I looked at my mom carefully. She didn’t look any different. But there was definitely something different about the way she was acting.

  “What?” she said. “You don’t like good news?”

  “I guess that depends on how you define good news,” I said. I didn’t know how to tell her I didn’t want a new brother or sister.

  We walked the rest of the way in silence. I was busy trying to figure out why my parents would want to have another baby. My mom was busy whistling. She was obviously in a great mood. Personally, I didn’t feel like cake anymore. I’d lost my appetite.

  5

  Before my mom had her job with Herbit, we used to come down to Park Street a lot. Sometimes we’d come to shop. Other times we’d just walk along the street and look in the windows. Once in a while she’d pick me up from school and we’d come down for some cake.

  We were sitting in the window of Patty Cakes. It used to be our favorite place to people-watch. My mom and I would sit in the window, eat cake and make up funny stories about the people who passed by.

  I ordered a chocolate-chip cookie. My mom ordered a double strawberry and whipped cream layered meringue cake. She seemed to have an awfully big appetite. That made me even more suspicious.

  “What about that lady? What’s her story?” said Mom, as a lady in a big floppy sun hat walked her little dog past the window. “I think she’s hiding something under her hat.”

  “I think she’s pregnant,” I said. “She’s probably on her way to her son’s school to tell him she’s going to have another baby.”

  “She’s not just pregnant, though,” said my mom. “She’s pregnant with twins.”

  I almost choked on my cookie. There was nothing funny about this story.

  “Twins?” I said. “She’s totally clueless. She actually thinks her son is going to be happy about the news.”

  “But she isn’t sure how he’ll feel about having twin baby sisters,” she added.

  “What?” I said. “Twin baby sisters? Are you serious? How could you?”

  “How could I what?” said my mom.

  “You know,” I said. “That’s your exciting news, isn’t it? That’s why we’re here? You’re telling me you’re pregnant with twin girls!”

  “What?!” she said.

  “You’re pregnant!” I shouted.

  The whole place went silent. Everyone was looking at me.

  I could feel my cheeks turning red.

  “Pregnant?” she said in a whisper. “What do you mean, pregnant?”

  “You’re pregnant,” I said. “And our apartment is already way too crowded. How can we fit two more people in there? Have you told Dad yet?”

  “Is that what you think this is all about?” she said. “You think I’m pregnant?”

  “Isn’t it?” I asked. “Isn’t that what you wanted to tell me?”

  “Oh, Henry.” She laughed. “NO. No, no, no. That’s not it at all. The good news is that I got a promotion at work. I’m going to be the new regional sales manager. I’m not having another baby. Our family is perfect the way it is.”

  “Seriously?” I said, relieved.

  “Why would you think I’m having another baby?” she asked.

  “Because we saw this movie at school today, and the mother tells her son she has good news,” I explained. “It turns out she’s pregnant. That’s what I thought you were going to tell me when you said you had good news. That’s why I thought you came to meet me after school.”

  “I didn’t mean to …”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “Anyway, it was a stupid movie.”

  “But there is something else,” she added.

  My stomach flopped again.

  “What?” I said.

  “I’ll have more responsibility with my new job,” she said. “I’ll probably have to work a bit more, and I’ll definitely have to do some traveling.”

  “Where?”

  “I’ll be going to sales conferences and things like that,” she said.

  “When?”

  “I leave for my first conference on your last day of school,” she said. “I’m going to Las Vegas for about a week.”

  “A week?” I said. “That’s a long time.”

  “You’ll be fine,” she said. “Daddy will take good care of you.”

  “Are you going to be making more money with your new job?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she answered. “A little.”

  “Cool,” I said. “Can I get another cookie?”

  “Of course,” she said, smiling.

  We sat there for a bit, eating our desserts and not saying much. I almost told her about how things seemed different between me and Max. She’d know what to do. She always has the right thing to say to make things better. But I decided against it. It would ruin the mood. I wanted to celebrate the fact that my mom wasn’t pregnant. I could talk about Max another time. I looked out the window at a man wearing rubber boots. He was pulling a red wagon filled with dirt.

  “What about him?” I asked Mom. “What’s his story?”

  6

  Max is taller than me. We used to be the same height. His growth spurt started in second grade. It was around the same time he started playing chess. It was also around the time he started wearing glasses. He used to wear round blue glasses. Now he wears square black ones. My mom calls them his Buddy Holly glasses.

  Buddy Holly was a rock star in the 1950s. I know that because my mom likes to teach me about the history of rock music. She still has her old records from when she was young. She keeps her record player and records in our storage locker in the basement. Sometimes, when she’s in a good mood, she brings them up and plays them. When Max got his new glasses she played me some Buddy Holly songs.

  By the time Max’s clothes are too small for him, they’re the perfect size for me. Once in a while, when I’m over at Max’s place, his mom gives me a bag of his old clothes to bring home. It’s like I’m getting a whole new wardrobe, cleaned and folded and ready to wear. His clothes always smell fresh. That’s an added bonus. And I know they’re good quality, too. Max has the best of everything. He doesn’t say anything when I wear his old clothes. Maybe he doesn’t notice. One day, though, he did.

  It was a few weeks after my mom told me about her promotion. I walked to school by myself because Max had to go early for chess club practice. I was wearing one of the T-shirts that Max’s mom had just given me. It was red-and-blue striped. Long-sleeved. It was soft and comfortable. Really comfortable. When I got to school Max was hanging out by the side doors with Jamal and Youssef. I could also see Gretchen Thorn. You can’t miss her. She has bright red hair and green braces. She has a thing about green and red. All her clothes are either one color or the other. Even her shoes. It’s like she’s ready for Christmas all year long, waiting to audition
in case there’s a job opening for an elf.

  “Hey, I recognize that T-shirt,” said Max, pointing at me. “That’s mine. I used to wear it when I was little. I used to call it my snuggy-T.”

  Everyone started laughing.

  “He looks like a pawn,” said Youssef. Max and his friends had started to do this thing where they use the name of a chess piece to describe someone. They call you a king or queen if you’re cool and a pawn if you’re not.

  “The little pawn is all dressed up in my old snuggy-T,” added Max.

  His friends laughed even more. They were laughing at me because I was wearing something Max had worn when he was little.

  “From now on I’m going to call you Snuggy-T,” said Max.

  “Ha ha,” I said, trying to sound like I wasn’t bothered. “Very funny, Max.”

  “Snuggy-T in da house!” added Youssef.

  I was horrified.

  I turned away from Max and his friends and walked around to the front of the school. I walked through the main doors, past the trophy case (with the stupid Fifth Grade Spring Chess Challenge trophy on full display), past the office and down the hall to the Lost and Found table. I looked through the things on the table and saw a plain blue T-shirt. No logo. Nothing. It looked okay. It was sitting there, beside someone’s lunch bag. The lunch bag smelled funny. It probably still had someone’s old lunch in it.

  I grabbed the shirt and ran to the boys’ bathroom. I slipped into one of the stalls and locked the door behind me. I took off Max’s old T-shirt and pulled the new one over my head. It smelled a bit but not too bad. I unlocked the door of the stall, came out and checked myself in the mirror. Much better. No one was going to recognize this shirt. There was nothing special or different about it. I straightened my hair. I dropped Max’s snuggy-T into the garbage.

  I got back to the playground just as the final morning bell rang. I didn’t see Max anywhere. I lined up with the rest of the class, waiting to go into the school. Then, Max appeared and joined the line directly behind me. He started making loud sniffing sounds.

  Sniff sniff sniff sniff.

  I tried to ignore him, but I couldn’t.

  “Shh!” I shushed.

  “Something stinks,” he said.

  “SHH!”

  “It smells like garbage or something,” he said.

  “SHHHHHH!”

  “It’s rotten eggs!” he exclaimed. “That’s it! Someone smells like rotten eggs!”

  It was me. I knew it was me. Actually, it was my new shirt. The lost-and-found shirt.

  I turned and glared at Max. He had a big smile on his face.

  “What?” I said, like I didn’t know.

  “What did you do with my snuggy-T?” he asked. “And where’d you get that stinky-T?”

  “First of all,” I began, “the T-shirt I was wearing was mine. Your mom gave it to me. Second of all, I ditched it. Third of all, it’s none of your business where I got this new T-shirt. Fourth of all, your new friends are idiots. And fifth of all, you’re an idiot, too!”

  Max and his friends called me the Egg Man for the rest of the day.

  7

  When I got home from school my dad was sitting on the couch reading a magazine. Sam was asleep in his arms.

  My dad used to work in a factory that made steering wheels for luxury cars. And then one day the factory shut down. It was just before Sam was born. Dad’s old company still makes steering wheels, but now they make them somewhere else where they pay workers a lot less money to do the same work. That means Dad’s old bosses get to keep more money for themselves. That’s what Dad says. It doesn’t seem fair. Dad was pretty angry when the factory shut down.

  It didn’t take long, though, before Dad started telling us that losing his job was actually a good thing. It meant he’d be able to stay at home and take care of us while Mom was getting ready to have Sam. Dad said he was going to learn how to be the best househusband in the world.

  Dad made sure Mom took it easy. He did the housework, the grocery shopping, the cooking and the laundry. Do you know what happens when you’re washing light-colored clothes and you add something red by accident? Everything turns pink. That happened a few times. And Mom kept telling Dad he was using too much garlic and too many onions in his cooking. That happened a few times, too. But soon Dad learned to do things the way Mom liked them.

  Those days were good.

  It was just the three of us.

  Everything seemed to change when Sam was born. My parents were always busy with him. I guess that’s how it is with babies. Sam did a lot of sleeping, and they watched him sleep. When they weren’t watching him sleep they were talking about him. Sam took up a lot of room in our lives. He still does.

  “I love staying home and taking care of everyone,” Dad said to Mom a few months after Sam was born. “I don’t want to have to go out and find another job and miss out on all this. Being at home is where I’m happiest. It’s where I belong.”

  “Then maybe I’m the one who should get a job,” said Mom, with a little twinkle in her eyes. “I stayed home with Henry. Maybe you should stay home with Sam.”

  About a month later Mom got her job with Herbit. I didn’t realize how big the change would be. First she was busy with the baby. Now she was busy with her job.

  Mom wasn’t there when I came home from school and told my dad about what had happened with Max and the way he’d made fun of me.

  “He’s such a jerk,” I said to my dad, as I tried to explain it all. “He started calling me the Egg Man and his stupid chess club friends just stood around laughing at me.”

  “I’m sorry, Henry,” Dad said. “But could you keep your voice down? Sam is napping. Do you want me to get you a snack once he wakes up?”

  “The Egg Man, Dad!” I said. “Can you believe it? I don’t know what’s wrong with Max lately.”

  “Me neither,” he said. And that’s all he said about it. “Do you want me to make you some melted cheese on crackers?”

  I didn’t want crackers and cheese. I wanted my mom. She’d know what to say to make me feel better.

  8

  “How come Max gets new stuff all the time?” I asked my dad the next day. “He never has to wear other people’s old clothes. He gets to choose his own clothes. He’s getting a new pair of Chad Baker All-Stars.”

  “Max’s parents can afford to buy new stuff all the time because they both have paying jobs,” said my dad. “They have two incomes. We have one income. That means we have half as much money to spend.”

  “But Mom got a raise,” I said. “Would I be able to get new Chads if you worked, too?”

  “I do work,” he said. “My job is to stay home and take care of you and your brother.”

  “Do you get money for taking care of us?” I asked.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.

  “So, it’s more like volunteering,” I said. “Mr. Buntrock says we should all do some volunteering at some point in our lives. I guess you’re doing your volunteering now.”

  “It is not volunteering,” said my dad. “It’s called being a parent, Henry.”

  “How come one of Max’s parents doesn’t stay at home, like you?” I asked.

  “It’s their choice,” said Dad. “Plus, Max doesn’t have a baby brother, like you do.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” I said. “I have a baby brother. You stay at home. And we can’t afford to buy Chad Bakers. I think Max’s family made good choices and we made bad choices. That’s what it seems like to me.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand grown-up choices,” he said. “We don’t have money to spend on things like overpriced running shoes, but we have all we need to be happy.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I said. “I’m here in Max’s old clothes and my sad, old running shoes while he’
s about to get a new pair of Chads. I’d say it’s Max who has all he needs to be happy.”

  About a month later on the very last day of fifth grade, Dad surprised me. We were all up early to say goodbye to Mom. She was on her way to Las Vegas for the Herbit sales conference. I had made a sign that said Bon Voyage! (That’s French for “Have a good trip.”) Dad made pancakes. Sam ran around pretending to be an airplane. As soon as Mom kissed us goodbye and got in the taxi to go to the airport, Dad said he had something he wanted to talk to me about.

  I figured he was going to talk about helping out while Mom was away. We’d been having the same conversation for a few weeks. There were three basic points:

  1. I was a good kid.

  2. I needed to be more responsible.

  3. I needed to be extra nice to Sam while Mom was away.

  But instead, Dad had a surprise.

  “I got you a little something to celebrate the last day of school, Henry,” he said.

  He never gets me anything.

  He handed me a shoebox. It had the Dollar Shack logo on it. I opened it up and found a brand-new pair of Chad Baker All-Stars! They were beautiful. They were awesome. They were mine. Mine! I took them out of the shoebox and sniffed them. They smelled great.

  “I didn’t know the Dollar Shack sells Chad Bakers,” I said as I examined my new running shoes.

  “They don’t,” said Dad. “If you look closely they’re actually called Chad Fakers. It’s ingenious. It’s one little letter. You can hardly tell the difference.”

  “Chad Fakers?” I said, horrified. “I can’t wear these. They’re fake. Everyone’s going to laugh at me.”

  “Who’s going to notice?” he said with a little shrug. “You didn’t notice at first. There’s no difference. They’re probably made in the same factory as Chad Bakers. The only difference is the price and the label. We can afford Chad Faker All-Stars. We can’t afford Chad Baker All-Stars. Anyway, like I said, who’s going to notice?”