When we showed up at the hideout this morning, the first thing we noticed was the dirt. The Bump vs Supergoober score was gone. Scuffed away totally.
“Looks like Bump’s back from vacation,” said Nacho.
Burke pointed his sneaker toe at a couple of heel holes. “I guess he didn’t think our little joke was too funny.”
We rode past his house. We didn’t see him. We hung out front for a little while, staring at the windows. No sign of anybody.
“Maybe he’s not back from vacation,” I said. “Maybe somebody else scratched it out.”
Burke sneered. “Yeah, right.”
“Maybe he’s in there,” said Nacho. “All we gotta do is knock.”
But nobody did.
We rode off. Nobody said, “Let’s go to Soop’s,” but our bikes seemed to be heading there anyway. We were still a couple blocks away when Burke suddenly said, “Stop.”
Burke has the best eyes, but it didn’t take long for me and Nacho to catch up. The shack, visible from outer space, was gone. Well, not completely gone. It was now in a pile. A jagged splashy pile of colors. Like pick-up sticks.
“Holy crap,” said Burke.