Tonight was the night they would fix Buddy O’Reilly. Back at “Osprey” cabin, Andy Higgins cut the blade off a hockey stick, then straightened out a coat hanger and attached it to the end of the stick with hockey tape.

“What on earth is that for?” Data wanted to know.

“That’s how we’re going to turn on your tape recorder, pal,” Andy said.

“I can do it myself, thanks.”

“Not in Buddy O’Reilly’s cabin you can’t.”

 

How did I get myself into this? Travis wondered.

Because he was the smallest, he’d been elected to place the tape recorder in Buddy’s cabin, which was just behind the main hall. Nish and Andy had tracked Buddy down–he was drinking beer in the kitchen with the cook while the Blue Jays game played on a little TV in the corner–and they kept up a watch, signalling to Data by the shed, who signalled to Lars at the corner of Buddy’s cabin, who kept Travis up to date.

“Still clear,” Lars would hiss. “Still clear.”

Travis thought his heart was going to rip right through his chest. He couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t talk. But he was doing it, not because he wanted to do mischief or because he felt any pressure to do it–but because he wanted to. He couldn’t stand Buddy O’Reilly, and if Nish was going to get his revenge, then Travis Lindsay wanted a part of it for himself. He was actually enjoying this, even if he was scared half out of his wits.

He found the perfect place for Data’s tape recorder: tucked out of sight under the steel frame of Buddy’s bed, but close enough for the hockey stick to reach to turn it on. Andy had earlier cut a small flap in the screen with his jackknife, so they wouldn’t have to risk opening and closing the screen door once Buddy was inside and asleep.

Travis checked the tape to make sure it had been rewound, then checked the buttons to make sure the pause wasn’t on. He had scooted out and away with Lars long before the signal came from Nish and Andy that Buddy and the cook had turned off the game. Buddy had drained his last beer and was headed for bed.

By the time Buddy shut the door to his cabin, the boys were completely hidden in the dark cedars that grew between Buddy’s cabin and the shed. They had only to wait. The stars were not as bright now as they had been earlier, but they were still out in the eastern half of the sky. To the west, the sky was darkening. Cloud cover was moving in. In the distance, Travis could make out the odd low rumble: the sound of an advancing storm. Perhaps it would pass them by, but even if it didn’t, it was still a long way off. They’d have time.

“I wish I had a smoke,” said Nish.

“Somebody’d see the light,” countered Travis. He hated it when Nish talked this way, trying to be something he wasn’t.

“Then a chew,” said Nish.

“You’d chew tobacco?” said Data, disgusted.

“Yuk!” said Lars.

“Shhhhhh…,” said Andy.

Buddy’s light had been out for some time. When Andy had got them quiet, they all listened as hard as they could. They could hear an owl in the distance. And every once in a while a distant rumble from the far-away storm.

“He’s snoring,” said Andy. “Let’s go!”

They all waited a moment longer, just to be sure. It was snoring all right. And it was coming from Buddy’s cabin. Andy scrambled out of the cedars, followed by Nish. Travis could hear Nish’s breathing: excited, a bit frightened.

With the other boys trailing, Andy and Nish made their way to the cabin door. Buddy had shut only the screen door so as to let in the cool air, and they could make out his bed in the moonlight.

Buddy’s mouth was open. He was dead to the world. His left hand was over the side of the bed, the palm wide open. Andy gave a hand signal for Nish to bring the stick-and-hanger combination. He was already pulling back the flap of screen that he’d cut earlier.

Nish attached a big soup spoon to the stick and piled it high with shaving cream. The can made a low, quiet hisssss. Very slowly, they worked the stick in through the flap. Expertly, Nish dumped the light-as-air cream into Buddy’s hand. Buddy didn’t even flinch. Working together, silently, Nish and Andy pulled the stick back out and removed the spoon. Leaning low, they could make out the shadow of Data’s boom box, so they knew where to aim. With Andy steadying the stick, Nish lined it up and very gently, very carefully, pushed the button.

Quickly, they removed the stick once more. Andy fumbled for the feather to tickle Buddy’s nose. He dropped it, and picked it up again. They would have to move fast. He began wrapping the tape around the feather’s stem.

RRRRRIIIIINNNGGGGG!

It was Buddy’s cellphone. Travis’s heart almost flew through the top of his head.

The phone. The phone! The cellphone was ruining everything.

Andy and Nish scrambled away from the door and leapt back into the cedars after the others.

They could hear Buddy swearing through the screen.

“What the–?”

A light went on.

“Who the hell–?”

They could see him shaking his hand. He had grabbed the phone with the hand full of shaving cream, and now it was all over everything. The precious phone slipped and fell, crashing to the floor. Buddy cursed and grabbed it with his other hand.

“Hang on! Hang on!” Buddy shouted. “Just a damned minute, okay? Some kid snuck in here and…”

The Screech Owls didn’t have to hear any more. They were already hightailing it back to “Osprey,” laughing so hard they could hardly catch their breath.

Maybe it hadn’t worked out according to plan. But this way–with shaving cream all over the phone, all over Buddy’s ear, all over his hand, all over his room–the result was better than anything they could have imagined.

Whoever had made that telephone call to Buddy at that particular moment, Thank you, thank you, thank you…