CHAPTER 3

“Honey, I’m home!” Rube shouted.

Why do people in old-timey sitcoms always announce themselves like that? Who doesn’t hear their front door opening and closing?! And don’t they have security systems?!

With Max always away on business, Rube liked to entertain himself whenever he walked in the door. It made him feel less lonely, even though technically he wasn’t alone.

Sniff, sniff. Boob’s nose detected baked goods. Despite having already stuffed their faces full of hot dogs and ice cream earlier in the day, the boys couldn’t help but hunger for more goodies. Boob pushed past Rube, ran down the hallway, and found a special guest dropping off a present in the kitchen. “Grandma Etta! My favorite gal in the world. Cooking up a storm, I see. And looking sassy as h-e-double hockey sticks. Raowl!”

Why does he flirt with my grandma when he knows it skeeves me out?

“Oh, Boob! Watch your language, you little flatterer,” Etta said with a giggle. “Check out my new track suit, huh? It’s velour. Very luxurious. Only twenty-five dollars from the Bargain Channel!”

A bubbly and vivacious personality, Grandma Etta had a style all her own. Her voluminous white hair was extra frizzy, turning her head into a giant puffball. Etta had a preference for gold jewelry, always wearing gilded necklaces, bracelets, and rings. Though her claim to fame was her long, brightly colored nails, which often had a unique style element. Seashells, Picasso, and the New York Mets were her favorite nail designs. “I like to be different!” she always said. Though she had a reputation for being a sweetheart, Grandma Etta was no pushover. Not by a long shot.

“As usual, you look like a million bucks, Grandma Etta. No. Two million,” Boob replied. He was laying it on extra thick. “Red is, was, and will always be your color.”

Etta showed off her spangly jeweled bracelet. “You like my summer diamonds?” she asked. “Some are diamonds, some aren’t. Ha! Get it?”

Boob’s face was aglow with admiration. “We stan a comedy queen.”

Rube rolled his eyes. “Hand me a barf bag and please stop flirting with my grandma.”

“Never,” Boob said. “You’re lucky. My grandparents died before I was born. All I have are mean aunts with chopped-liver breath.” He’d been eyeing a plate of freshly baked pecan cookies, waiting for the perfect time to strike. Now that Etta was nice and relaxed, Boob slyly inched his hand toward the fragrant dish as inconspicuously as possible.

“Don’t even think about it, sweet-talker,” Etta growled. She slapped his hand away and moved her darkly tinted glasses down to the tip of her nose so Boob could see the whites of her eyes. “If you lay one of your grubby little paws on these cookies, I’ll slice it off, fry it, and feed it to you for breakfast tomorrow with a side of hash browns. Capisce?’

Boob nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Coming in here thinking you can butter me up and take whatever you want . . .” Etta said, shaking her head in disgust. “I was one of seven kids. I know all the dirty tricks. Thanks for the compliments, wise-ass, but keep your hands where I can see ’em.”

Rube adored his grandma Etta’s fierce sense of humor. She doesn’t put up with crap from anyone. Her stellar cooking abilities were the envy of every old lady in the neighborhood. Rumor had it Etta’s turkey chili recipe was so in demand, the other grandmas once tried to have her bumped off so they could steal it.

“Get over here, bubbala!” Etta exclaimed. She latched on to Rube, hugged him close, and kissed him on the forehead repeatedly. “I can’t get enough of my Rubey!”

Years ago, after Rube’s grandpa Papa Joe had passed away, Etta had been heartbroken. Living in an empty house full of memories in a faraway town wasn’t easy, so she sold the place and moved to a tiny cottage in the corner of Rube’s backyard. Dad built it with his bare hands! Now Etta was near the family while also having space to do as she pleased. At first it had been tough for her, feeling lonely without Papa Joe, but she soon realized he wouldn’t have wanted her sitting around all day missing him. He’d want her to be active and happy. So Etta got her keister in gear and involved herself in all kinds of community affairs. When she wasn’t walking around the partially abandoned mall, she was serving meals to the homeless, volunteering at the animal shelter, or spending time in nature. Or napping. She loved a good afternoon nap. Etta’s second-favorite thing was playing mah-jongg with her Tuesday Ladies Club. Her first-favorite thing was leaving food in the fridge for Rube when Max was out of town. Most of the time, Etta and Rube were like ships passing in the night, but sometimes, when the timing was right, they collided in a brilliant burst of love and affection.

“I haven’t seen you for days, Rubey. How’s school? You doing your homework? Tell me everything!”

Why do adults always ask these questions?! Get some new material. Rube debated whether or not to tell her the truth. School sucks. Just kidding. Kind of. Not really. Maybe? Okay, fine. School is . . . better than it has been? After weeks of not studying, not doing homework, and being distracted with extracurricular machine-making, Rube’s grades went south. Fast. However, in recent weeks, he’d begun to turn things around. A few B+ tests had put him on a new path. If he kept his head down and did the work, he’d be able to pull off a miracle and raise his average. Homework was still a soul-sucking chore and he couldn’t concentrate to save his life, but there was hope on the horizon. Sometimes that’s enough to keep ya going.

“School’s fine,” Rube said. “Can I have a cookie, please?”

“Anything for my little pumpkin boy,” replied Etta. “I call him that because when he was a baby, he had the roundest little pumpkin tushie!”

Oh god. Make it stop.

Boob threw his hands in the air. “Hey! Excuse me?! HELLO?! How come he gets a cookie and I don’t? I’m a little pumpkin boy too!”

Etta ignored Boob’s outburst. She grabbed Rube’s chin as he munched on his treat, pulling his face close to hers. “My sixth sense is pinging. There’s something you’re not telling me. Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining, Rueben.” What kind of old lady-language is that?! “Is some jackass at school giving you a hard time? I swear, if it’s those potato-shaped twins, I’m coming down there and kicking their butts tomorrow!”

“Here’s the abridged version,” Boob said, cozying up to Grandma Etta. “Rube made a machine for Pearl, but it backfired, and now everyone thinks he’s a fraud. But you didn’t hear that from me.” He inched his fingers toward the plate of cookies like a fleshy spider about to attack.

C-CAW! C-CAW!

Without warning, Grandma Etta’s pet parrot, Oberon, zoomed through the room, brushing past Boob and giving him the fright of his life. The feathered creature landed on Etta’s shoulder, leaving a trail of tiny plumes scattered on the floor below.

“That thing almost gave me a heart attack!” Boob shouted.

Etta tilted her head against Oberon’s wing, cuddling the bird lovingly. “What a good boy you are, Obie,” she cooed. “You, Boob, are a bad boy without any manners. What, were you raised by warthogs?! If you want something, use the magic word.”

“Squawk! Boob is a bad boy!” Oberon cried. “Use the magic word! Squawk!”

“Can I have a cookie, please?” Boob asked sheepishly. Etta moved the plate in his direction. Boob gave it a once-over before selecting a small gooey treat and stuffing it in his mouth. “Mihshun agramplishhht,” he chomped.

“Good boy,” Etta said with a sweet smile. Suddenly there was a playful glint in her eye. “Just remembered a funny thing! Once when Rueben was a baby, he climbed up onto the counter when I was making lasagna and poured a whole jar of tomato sauce in his diaper. We called him Mr. Saucy Pants. HA!”

Etta had a knack for telling embarrassing stories at random times. Boob had heard most of them before, but this one had him shrieking in amusement. Rube wasn’t laughing, though. He was barely paying attention. His unblinking eyes stared out the window.

“Hey. What’s going on in that noggin of yours?” asked Etta. “I see the wheels turning. If something is eating at you, it needs to come out. Tell me all about this garden party hubbub.”

I don’t want to talk. The last thing Rube wanted to do was discuss failing in front of a big group of people and potentially dooming his friend’s chances of winning her election. I’m embarrassed. And not just because his machine had gone haywire, but because Pearl might be mad at him. That stung more than anything else. Grandma Etta doesn’t understand.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Etta said. She was laser-focused on Rube. “You don’t want to talk. You’re embarrassed. You think I don’t understand . . .” Is she psychic?! “But listen, I’ve seen it all. I’ve done it all. I once talked a carjacker into surrendering! True story. Nothing fazes me! I’ve been on this mudball way too long to put up with bull honky. I’m so old, my underwear should be in the Smithsonian . . .”

Gross. Why is she telling me this?!

“I’m telling you this because I’ve failed too. We all have. It’s part of life! But you can’t let it get to you. Build another beautiful, ingenious gadget thingy and everyone will forget about the last one. People have very short memories. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Sometimes not. Besides, who cares what people think? Screw ’em! Rueben, your brain is a gift from God. Don’t ever forget that.” She lovingly kissed Rube on the cheek. “I know it’s hard to be a kid. I was one myself a million years ago. But you’ll be peachy keen no matter what. Promise.”

“Thanks, Grandma Etta,” Rube said. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

Etta slid a piece of paper and some cash in Rube’s direction. “My schedule has been cuckoo lately, so here’s a list of groceries I need you to pick up this week. There’s a vegan yogurt I’ve been dying to try. Get one for yourself and we can have a snack date!”

Mmmmmm, snacks. “Hey, Boob and I are gonna hang out. Wanna play board games and make prank phone calls with us?” Rube asked.

“Aw, honey bun, I wish I could, but I’ve got a gig. My dance team, the Movers and Shakers, are performing for those scamps down at the Veterans Hall.” Noticing the time, she zipped up her purse and adjusted her outfit. “I gotta run! The other ladies’ll rip me a new one if I’m late again. Listen up: There are pot roast sandwiches in the fridge, ready to go for dinner. Don’t eat too many!”

“What time is Dad coming home?” Rube asked.

The question stopped Grandma Etta in her tracks, but Oberon spilled the beans before she had a chance to respond. “Squawk! Three more weeks! Squawk! Three more weeks!”

“Shush!” Etta snapped, tapping the bird’s beak to quiet it. “Keep that yap shut or I’ll stuff you in the oven. Don’t try me, bird.”

“Oberon is wrong, though,” Rube said. “The last time I talked to Dad, he said he’d be home tonight. He said tonight.”

“Sorry, bubba. Dad’s plans changed.” Delivering bad news to Rube was never easy for Grandma Etta. Whether it was revealing the hard truth behind the Easter Bunny or telling him brownies did not, in fact, grow on “brownie farms,” it hurt her heart to see him crestfallen. “That wackadoodle job has him traveling all over the darn place. They yanked him down to Florida, then up to Maine. Now he’s God knows where—”

“Phoenix,” Rube said solemnly. “He’s in Phoenix.”

“That’s right! Oof. He’s been so many places lately, I can barely keep track.”

Not Rube. He kept track of everything. He knew every city, state, airport, and hotel his father had been in for the past two months. He had confirmation numbers, flight numbers, and rental car locations. Among other important information. Rube made his dad text him every single bit of data. Just in case. When Rube had asked what time his dad was coming home, all he’d wanted was a simple confirmation. Instead, he’d been thrown for a loop.

Etta gave Rube a final kiss on the cheek and jogged to the front door. “All right, bubbala. I gotta go. Love you to the moon! Don’t wait up!” And with that, the illustrious Grandma Etta departed, leaving the aroma of her sweet perfume (and pecan cookies) lingering in the air.

“Man, she really makes the world a better place, doesn’t she?” Boob said. He put his hand on Rube’s shoulder. “Look, you’ve waited this long, right? Three more weeks isn’t too bad.”

“Yeah.” Rube’s voice was soft and sad. But I really miss my dad. Then, like a message from beyond, he noticed a big brown box on the kitchen table, addressed to him. What’s this? He tore the thing open and found an abundance of riches staring back at him. “OH. MY. GOD.” The unexplainable sight took his breath away. After years of fruitless searching, the one item he dreamed of owning had magically arrived on his doorstep. “Do you know what this is?!”

Boob peeked into the box. “Looks like a torture device.”

Rube gently removed the item and placed it on the table. “This is an antique electric toaster from the 1920s. Model number one-seventy-seven. Made by the Estate Stove Company in Hamilton, Ohio. In perfect condition. An absolute beauty. I’ve been looking for this exact model for years! Watch.” He carefully opened each of the toaster’s four doors and presented the shiny silver contraption in all its glory. “Look at this gorgeousness. With the doors open, it looks like a weird mechanical bird taking flight. And it makes four slices of toast! FOUR. SLICES. OF TOAST.”

Boob had seen Rube excited before, but never like this. “Take it down a notch. You’re making your regular toaster jealous,” he whispered.

“Boob, you don’t understand . . .”

“All I see is a kooky old toaster that looks like a baby Transformer.”

“You’re not appreciating the construction!” Rube reached into the box, searching its insides with his hand. “There’s no note or anything.” While inspecting the outside of the box, he noticed something uncannily coincidental. “No return address, but the postmark is from Phoenix.”

“Awww. I guess your dad knew he wasn’t coming home today, so he sent this li’l guy to say he’s sorry. That’s sweet.” Boob peered inside the box. “There’s nothing in here for me, right?”

Rube was of two minds about the gesture. On one hand, it’s awesome to finally have my hands on this delicious mechanical marvel. On the other hand, I really just want my dad to come home. Does he think giving me presents makes everything okay? It was a pretty great toaster, though. I know that! Don’t you think I know that?

RUFF! RUFF! RUFF!

There she is. The lady of the house had finally made herself known. Bertha, the family dog, had been banished to the backyard earlier in the day after tearing up one of Grandma Etta’s old wigs. To pass the time during her exile, she had chased squirrels and dug holes in the flower bed. Now she was licking the window, trying to get Rube’s attention. She’s quirky like that. “I see you, girl,” he said. “Just give me a minute.”

So, what do I do now? Do I tell Boob to hit the road so I can wander around the house sulking because my dad isn’t coming home? Do I give my opulent pity toaster renewed purpose? It would be perfect for a Gutter-Cleaning Machine I’ve been thinking about lately. Or do I stop feeling sorry for myself and chill out in the backyard with my best friend and my dog? The answer was clear. “Grab those pot roast sammies, Boob. We’re tossin’ the ball with Bertha.”

“Wunderbar,” replied Boob. “That’s German for wonderful.”

Rube opened the back door, and Bertha bounded onto his chest, leaving dirty paw prints all over his clothes. “Easy, girl,” he said, placing one small sammie on the ground. “For you, my queen. Don’t tell Grandma Etta I gave you this, okay?” Bertha gobbled up the delicious bite as the boys retired to the patio for some rest and relaxation. “This is the life,” Rube said, taking a big ol’ bite of pot roast. It had been a minute since he and Boob had chilled out together, shot the breeze, and caught up on all the latest Beechwood Middle School gossip. “What’s the word, B? Talk to me.”

“Health class is cringey.” Boob shuddered. “I slept through most of the lessons, so I only got bits and pieces. Did you know girls have an aunt named Flo who visits them once a month and makes them feel horrible? We also learned not to touch people who don’t want to be touched. It’s called consent. Oh, and they passed out water balloons at the end. I took five.”

“What kind of idiot touches people who don’t want to be touched?”

“Exactly! Unrelated, did I tell you I came up with another new alternate curse word?”

“Stop. You’re killing me with these—”

“How does this sound? Cricketbutter. As in, ‘Aw, cricketbutter! I just stubbed my toe!’ or ‘That guy just got the cricketbutter kicked out of him.’”

“Cricketbutter is NOT happening. Neither is dungmug or noodlebrick.”

“Give it time, my child,” Boob said, rubbing his hands together devilishly. “Give it time.”

“Should I get a new hairstyle?” Rube asked out of the blue.

“Sure. If you want. What kind would you get? Short, like a military commander, or long and luxurious like a barbarian warlord?”

Rube released a long, thoughtful sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Is this because of Davin?”

The question caught Rube off guard. “What?! No! Why would you say that?”

“He’s dreamy, and I think he has a crush on Pearl. She’s probably going to ask him to the Switcheroo Dance, and I figured you’d be jealous.”

“Tuh. Buh. What . . . ?” Rube huffed and puffed but his mouth didn’t form actual words. Am I jealous? Normally he’d try his best to say exactly what was on his mind. I’m not jealous. Boob was, after all, his best friend. Maybe I’m jealous. They told each other all kinds of things without fear of judgment. Why would I be jealous?! But this time, for some reason, he just couldn’t express himself. I think I might be jealous.

“At least she’s not asking Zach,” Boob said.

“What’s your problem with Zach?!” Rube shot back. “The kid needs friends. He’s new in town, and the way he talks about his dad and how his mom is out of the picture makes me think he’s having trouble at home. You don’t have to be BFFs with him on account of me, but cut him some slack. He’s making the effort.”

“If you say so,” Boob said smugly. “And for the record, I’m making the effort too.”

The boys sat in silence for a few minutes, tossing the ball to each other as Bertha watched attentively. Whenever things got a little heated between them, a minute or two of silent cooldown brought them back to a mellow place. Rube used the silence to think about all the problems that needed solving in the backyard. New machines began swirling around in his head. A tree-pruner for Dad, and maybe a mechanical clothesline for Grandma Etta? Something to think about . . .

“I’m not going to the Switcheroo Dance,” Rube declared.

“Me neither,” replied Boob. “I’d rather drink a bowl of mucus.”

“I’d rather sit in a closet for an hour with a big piece of dog doo.”

“I’d rather wear a hat full of baby vomit.”

“I’d rather get a tattoo of a butt on my face.”

“I’d rather get a tattoo of a face on my butt.”

“No one asked you, huh?” asked Rube.

“Nope,” Boob said, shaking his head.

“Me neither. Would you go if Reina asked?”

Boob’s eyebrow lifted. “You saw that thing with the bee. She’s an instant legend! We played soccer together in elementary school but never really hung out before.”

“Reina is a badass. No question.”

“People better respect her pronouns! Or they’ll have to deal with me.”

Rube grabbed a pot roast sandwich, handed it to Boob, then stuffed another down his gullet. “Let the record show, you never answered my question.”

“I wish I lived in another universe sometimes,” Boob said. “A place where everyone can be themselves and not have to worry about anything.”

Uh-oh. What’s rattling around in that brain of yours now, Boob?

“There’s a whole multiverse out there, you know. Anything is possible.”

“Oh yeah! Like alternate realities and stuff. Worlds where history is different . . . like in Spider-Man! But that’s a scientific theory. I just need one universe with you, me, Pearl, and a few other people.”

“We’ll call it the Rube-i-verse!”

“I think you mean the Boob-i-verse.”

“That sounds like a website I’m not allowed to look at,” Rube said, chuckling. “Did you know scientists at NASA think there was probably intelligent life in our galaxy before us, but they destroyed themselves with technology like eight billion years ago?”

“Hold up. How could they have technology if they were before us? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yes, it does. They developed technology but didn’t know how to use it, so they accidentally blew everything up! Like when you punch someone, just kidding around, but because you don’t know your own strength, you end up hurting them. With great power comes great responsibility, my friend. I heard that somewhere.”

“How do you know all this science stuff?!”

“I read.”

“Huh. I really gotta start doing more of that . . .”

RUFF! After several minutes of patiently waiting for them to throw the ball to her, Bertha reminded the boys of her presence. Rube tossed the ball into the corner of the yard, where it ended up behind a bush, away from Bertha’s grasp. She took off to retrieve it.

“What should I do to make it up to Pearl since I messed up her event?” asked Rube.

“Build her a machine that apologizes?”

“That’s not how it works. My machines aren’t like that. They each have a real purpose that’s born from a problem that needs solving,” Rube explained.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Boob groaned. “Build a machine that bakes her a cake!”

“Ugh. I ate way too many pot roast sammies. If I even think about cake, I’ll hurl.”

“Yeah. My mom is gonna be mad I spoiled my dinner.”

Dinner. Holy crap! Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap!

“BOOB!” Rube screamed, checking his watch. “I’m supposed to be at Pearl’s house for an early dinner in fifteen minutes!” He launched out of his seat and started pacing furiously across the backyard. “She asked me a week ago but I forgot. Then today she said, ‘See you later,’ and I figured it was just, like, how people say ‘See you later’ when you go your separate ways, but she actually meant ‘I will see you later because you are coming to my house to have dinner with my family!’” A nervous sensation fizzed inside Rube’s stomach. More anxiety bubbles. Fabulous.

“How did it get to be so late? I mean, we did hang out at the Inside Scoop for a long while and take our sweet time walking home. And we really shouldn’t have stopped by the gas station and loaded up on additional snacks. Oh! That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to tell you, we should hunt for arrowheads someday. I heard there are a bunch down by the creek—”

“Boob! I’m covered in dirt and I stink like a dog! What am I going to do?!”

“Want me to get the hose? I can spray you down like they do animals at the zoo?”

“WAIT!” Rube shouted. “I’ve got just the machine.” He bolted upstairs to his bedroom, where salvation awaited. All he had to do was find it, which was easier said than done. Rube’s closet was a certifiable disaster, filled with smelly clothes, machine parts, and toys he hadn’t played with since he was five years old. Whenever he had to clean his room, he just tossed stuff in there willy-nilly. Who has time to actually clean? Now it had become a mountain of miscellany waiting to drown him. He cracked the closet door with care and peeped inside. There you are, my beautiful baby. But how am I going to get you out? Rube had found what he was looking for, but removing it wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing to it but to do it! He grabbed pieces of the apparatus, yanked them out, and shut the door quickly. Easy peasy! The De-Stink-A-Fier had been miraculously liberated without incident. It wasn’t his most ingenious creation, but it got the job done.

Boob was aghast when he checked in on Rube. “What the—?!”

“Stand back,” Rube warned. He fired up the De-Stink-A-Fier, and was bombarded by a storm of spicy body sprays. “That should do it,” he said, emerging from the fragrant cloud. Now, having been properly cleansed of stink, Rube threw a new shirt on and raced back downstairs. Boob followed close behind. “Lock the door when you leave, B. I’m out of here!” Rube rushed outside, hopped on his bike, and rode off. Boob went to the window and watched him speed away.

“Now the work begins.”

Once Rube was out of sight, Boob moved to the kitchen table and inspected the antique toaster. “How about you and I have some alone time?” He pulled out a small envelope with the Li’l Sleuthy logo on it. Inside was a tiny baggie of powder, an itty-bitty brush, and a roll of tape. Bertha curiously panted at his feet. “Rube thinks this is from his dad. Maybe, maybe not. But we know better, don’t we, girl?” Boob gently brushed a thin layer of powder on every inch of the toaster, revealing a handful of distinct fingerprints. He delicately laid pieces of tape over each one and lifted the prints with the utmost care, placing them on notecards.

“Just like Li’l Sleuthy always says, life is a mystery, and I’m going to solve it.”