Mom and Grandpa leave. I slide the box in my pocket, where it fits perfectly like it’s meant to be there.
Ack. Eek. Ike.
I so do not want that responsibility. I so do not want to talk a scary, mean ghost-stalker into a box. It should be my mother’s job. Or even Grandpa’s. Ghosts should take care of their own problems. Not be dragging innocent teenagers into their business.
I’m getting ready to climb down when the back door opens. It’s The Ruler. She’s wearing her gardening apron with the big pockets. She’s toting her little gardening kneeling pad and her little bucket of tools and plant vitamins.
Hidden by leaves, I watch, my eyes all squinty to make out what she’s doing. She drops her foam kneeling pad on the grass and sets the bucket next to it. She takes a spray bottle from one of the front apron pockets and drenches her precious tomato plants. I don’t even need to be close to recognize the bottle’s contents: dish soap and water. The Ruler’s method for encouraging pests to leave her tomatoes alone. She won’t use insecticide because she’s all about nature and being natural.
After pushing the bottle back in her pocket, she pulls out a little mesh bag full of ladybugs. The Ruler uses them in her garden to munch the bad bugs. Strange thing about ladybugs, they don’t fly too far from home.
A smell of honey + dirty socks breezes by me.
I stiffen.
The Ruler unties the mesh bag and starts gently tipping ladybugs onto the tallest tomato plant. Suddenly, the bag is ripped from her hand. Hanging upside down above her head, it shakes violently. Lady-bugs topple out. The empty mesh bag plops to the ground.
A wave of wind whooshes through our backyard, scattering the ladybugs.
The Ruler is still on her knees, her mouth open.
Finally, I get it together and jump down from the tree. Yanking off my necklace, I swing it wildly above my head.
The air clears and goes back to smelling like, well, like our backyard. The ladybugs are all long gone, up and over our fence, away from the friendly tomato plants.
I reach out a hand to The Ruler, who’s looking pretty dazed. I pull her to her feet and into a hug. I don’t hug her much, but I think she really needs it today. We both do.
“Okay, that was a weird wind,” I say, stepping back. “Good thing ladybugs are so cheap.”
“I think I’ll brew a cup of chamomile tea.” She picks up her kneeling pad.
Before grabbing the bucket, I push the necklace into my pocket. Arm in arm, the two of us trudge to the porch, where we dump the gardening things, then head into the kitchen.
I immediately plug my nose. Cabbage. Smells. Bad. Very. Bad.
“I need something stronger than tea,” The Ruler announces, her face all scrunched up, thinking. “Liquid vitamins.”
While she’s marching from cupboard to cupboard, snapping up junk like the blender and mysterious bags of powder and nonfat plain yogurt, I mess with my amethyst necklace. The clasp is bent from where I yanked it off, but I manage to get it to stay closed.
“Paula! Sherry!” Sam shouts from the office. “You gotta see this!”
We hurtle down the hall. Sam’s leaning back in the office chair, pointing to the computer screen. “You will not believe this YouTube.” He clicks on the arrow to play.
Gladiator music blares from our computer speakers. The camera zeroes in on a robot. It’s Donner’s bot. Close shot. Makes the robot look strong and superior. The camera shifts to another robot. Saguaro’s bot. It’s crying. “Don’t make me fight. I’m too wimpy. And I’m not put together right,” the bot whines.
Big masculine drums thumping in the background, Donner’s robot totally annihilates ours. Until it’s a puddle of parts. Then their robot, a victory fist in the air, stands on ours.
It’s when I see the last frame of the video that another piece of the mystery falls into place.