Free Bottled Up by Jaye Murray Page B

garage.”
    â€œThere’s no such thing as beasties.”
    If I had a dollar for every time I’d said that to him, I’d have enough money for a year’s supply of weed.
    I got up off the bed and stuck my head out the window. “There’s nothing out there—”
    â€œListen.” The kid looked as if he’d just seen a ghost.
    Then I heard it. I heard a bang, then a sound like something falling.
    I stuck my head back out the window. Mikey was right. Somebody was coming out of the garage.
    It was the Grinch, on his way into the house.
    â€œGo to your room,” I told Mikey. “I’ll get you in a few minutes.”
    I started to pull my boots on and heard the front door slam downstairs.
    â€œGo to your room,” I told him again.
    Something was about to go down and he didn’t have to be around for it.
    â€œI don’t want the beasties to get me.” His lip was shaking.
    Footsteps were stomping up the stairs. Mikey was too late to make a getaway.
    â€œIt’s not a beastie, Bugs. It’s Dad.”
    I don’t think that made him feel any better.
    My bedroom door slammed open into the wall behind it. Mikey jumped.
    â€œLet’s go, mister,” the Grinch yelled at me.
    â€œI know. You want me to go out at”—I looked at the time on my alarm clock—“twelve thirty-two and clean the garage. Right?”
    â€œI wanted you to do it when I told you to. So, yes, you have to do it now at twelve thirty-two at night.”
    â€œCome on, Mikey.” I gave the kid a little push to get him out of the room—to get him away from the Grinch.
    â€œYou’re not going anywhere,” he said, grabbing the collar of Mikey’s pajama top. “You’re going to read that book the teacher sent home for you to read.”
    â€œI read it already,” Mikey said, two bowls of water filling up in his eyes.
    â€œAre you trying to be like your brother over here—not listening to me?”
    â€œGive him a break,” I said.
    â€œI told you to get outside, Mr. Wise Guy.”
    Mikey looked lost. He squeezed his pillow into his stomach and blinked real hard. “But Dad, I read the book to you tonight—before bed. Two times.”
    â€œDon’t argue with me. Get the book now!” Dad screamed so loud at the kid, I thought a vein was going to bust out of his neck.
    â€œThe Happy Duck,” Mikey said. He was looking at our father as if he was crazy.
    â€œCome on, Mikey,” I said. “Just get the book.”
    I started to push him out of my room with me, but he turned around and kept talking. “Duck can run. Duck ran and ran. Duck was fun. Duck—”
    â€œSee?” My father was smirking. “You never read it. You just memorized the whole thing so it would look like you were reading.”
    â€œWhat’s your problem?” I asked the Grinch, and pushed Mikey out the door some more.
    â€œI did so read it,” Mikey argued.
    â€œGet another book from your room—one with some big words in it,” my father said. “Then we’ll see if you really know how to read.”
    I gave Mikey a hard shove into the hall and slammed my bedroom door shut behind us. He was doing to Mikey the same kind of crappy thing he did to me when I was that age. The only difference was that even back then I knew the guy was crazy.
    Mikey didn’t.
    He was still trying to reason with the man—make him see.
    I remember lying under my bed with my hands over my ears.
    I knew my father was looking for me.
    He’d told me I was too stupid to tie my own shoes.
    I went into his closet and tied knots, big knots, on every pair of shoes he had.
    I figured he was the one who was stupid. He wasn’t going to be able to untie my knots.
    â€œJust get the book for him,” I told Mikey. “He’s never going to let up on you.”
    I started to go down the stairs.
    â€œWhere are you