very careful about wiping it down after I play. I have special rags to rub the strings and I make sure the neck is dry before I put the bass away.
So the feel of the neck, kind of cold and sticky, scared me as much as it grossed me out. Somebody had been looking through my stuff, messing around with it, leaving a
faint trail of black fingerprints. And that somebody, I knew, was Scratch.
I guess I could've run. But I didn't know where my dad was at that hour. And I didn't think Relly's mom would be too thrilled to find me back there, banging on her door. I thought about Butt. I knew he'd be fine with me showing up at his place. Only I'd never been there and didn't know if I could find it at night.
Call the police? Right, they'd love to hear some kid blabbering about steam on the bathroom mirror and ick on her bass.
So what I did surprised even me. I called information and asked for the number of Festus B. Knacke.
"Yes? Hello?" He sounded different than at school, older, a lot older. I wondered if he dyed his hair, wore dentures, maybe even some kind of corset to school to pull in his gut and make him stand up straighter. "What is it?"
I was quiet for a minute. A couple times, back in middle school, I'd done some phone pranks. This was different. I wasn't silent to bug Knacke. No, I was afraid, and I was full of doubt.
"Is anyone there?" he asked. "Hello?"
"Uh, yeah, this is Zee. You know, from sixth-period bio."
"Yes?"
"I, uh, I'm calling to tell youâ"
He was listening, close. He waited.
"Scratch was here, in my house. I don't know how he got in. But he was here."
No response.
"Well, I'm just calling to say that we've got you figured out. Me and Relly. We know all about you. Frankengoon had me dragged down to the office today and he showed me the notebook you stole. It's mine and you've got no right taking it. I want it back."
"What you want and what you can have are two differentâ"
"You can't just steal my stuff! It's private. It's got nothing to do with school. I wasn't causing any trouble. It's mine and you've got to give it back."
"I think it would be best if we continued this discussion tomorrow. Speaking face to face is always better, don't you agree?" Now his voice was oily as a talk show host's. He was back in charge. I yelled and made demands. He was smooth and in control now. "We'll discuss this at school. I'll make sure that Mr. Franken can join us."
"I don't wantâ"
"Goodnight, Zee," he said, and hung up.
Sixteen
OK, SO I' M A GOD and I can't even get my notebook back from an old man with bad breath.
Relly had said I was waterârushing streams, snow, ice, and fog. So then why couldn't I just pound Knacke with a blizzard? I even tried it, sort of. I went to the window and reached out my hands and made some magic gestures like I'd seen in the movies. I pictured a huge black cloud swirling down from the night sky and blasting Knacke to his knees.
Of course, nothing happened. He was probably asleep and snoring like a great nasty bug. Buzz, gasp, buzz.
I ran the faucet in the bathroom. I concentrated and tried to make the water rise up and do my will. It just flowed out in a steady stream and went down the drain.
Then I went downstairs and turned on the teakettle. When the water was boiling, I looked closely at the jet of steam. It whistled like it always did. I put my hand into the steam for just a second. And it hurt, like I knew it would.
Right, I'm a god. I have secret powers. I looked at the dishes in the sink. Maybe that was it. Maybe I was Super Dishwasher Girl.
I didn't bother trying my amazing powers on the lasagna pan.
Seventeen
S CHOOL WAS OK THE next day. Classes went by in a boring blur. Lunch was fairly disgusting, as it always was. And my favorite drummer made his usual butt jokes. He seemed to think that a "feces statement" was a lot better to include in his essay than a "thesis statement."
"Get it? Get it? Feces statement!"
"Right, I got it."
Happy now,
Legs McNeil, Jennifer Osborne, Peter Pavia