28 - The Cuckoo Clock of Doom Read Free

tools….”
    “No, no!” Mom exclaimed. “Tell your father to fix the lock. He’ll get the
tools. You can’t go in there, because… well… there’s a huge mound of
trash in there. It really stinks. It smells so bad, you could get sick from it!”
    Sad, isn’t it? And she thinks I get my “imagination” from Dad!
    “All right, Mom,” I promised. “I won’t go in the garage.”
    And I didn’t—even though the lock on my door really was broken. I didn’t
want to spoil whatever surprise they had cooked up.
    They were throwing me a big birthday party that afternoon. A bunch of kids
from school were coming over. Mom baked a cake and made snacks for the party.
Dad ran around the house, setting up chairs and hanging crepe paper.
    “Dad, would you mind fixing the lock on my door?” I asked.
    I like my privacy—and I need that lock. Tara had broken it a week
earlier. She’d been trying to kickbox the door down.
    “Sure, Michael,” Dad agreed. “Anything you say. After all, you’re the
birthday boy.”
    “Thanks.”
    Dad took the toolbox upstairs and worked on the lock. Tara lounged around the
dining room making trouble. As soon as Dad was gone, she pulled down a crepe
paper streamer and left it lying on the floor.
    Dad fixed the lock and returned the tools to the garage. As he passed through
the dining room, he noticed the torn-down streamer.
    “Why won’t this crepe paper stay up?” he mumbled. He taped it back up. A few
minutes later, Tara tore it down again.
    “I know what you’re doing, Tara,” I told her. “Stop trying to wreck my
birthday.”
    “I don’t have to wreck it,” she said. “It’s bad all by itself—just because
it’s the day you were born.” She pretended to shudder in horror.
    I ignored her. It was my birthday. Nothing could keep me from having fun, not
even Tara.
    That’s what I thought.
    About half an hour before the party, Mom and Dad called me into the garage.
    I pretended to go along with Mom’s silly story. “What about the horrible
trash?”
    “Oh, that,” Mom clucked. “I made it up.”
    “Really?” I said. “Wow. It was so believable.”
    “If you believed that, you must be a moron,” Tara said.
    Dad threw open the garage door. I stepped inside.
    There stood a brand-new 21-speed bike. The bike I’d wanted for a long time.
    The coolest bike I’d ever seen!
    “Do you like it?” Mom asked.
    “I love it!” I cried. “It’s awesome! Thanks!”
    “Cool bike, Mike,” Tara said. “Mom, I want one of these for my birthday.”
    Before I could stop her, she climbed up on the seat of my new bike.
    “Tara, get off!” I yelled.
    She didn’t listen. She tried to reach her feet to the pedals, but her legs
were too short. The bike fell over.
    “Tara!” Mom cried, running to the little brat’s side. “Are you hurt?”
    Tara stood up and brushed herself off. “I’m okay. I scraped my knee a little,
though.”
    I picked up my bike and inspected it. It was no longer perfectly shiny and
black. There was a huge white scratch across the middle bar.
    It was practically ruined.
    “Tara, you wrecked my bike!”
    “Let’s not get overexcited, Michael,” Dad said. “It’s only a scratch.”
    “Don’t you even care about your sister?” Mom asked. “She could’ve been hurt!”
    “It’s her own fault! She shouldn’t have touched my bike in the first place!”
    “Michael, you have a lot to learn about being a good brother,” Dad said.
    They make me so mad sometimes!
    “Let’s go inside,” Mom said. “Your friends will be here soon.”
    The party. I thought the party would make me feel better. After all, there
would be cake, presents, and my best friends. What could go wrong?
    It started out okay. One by one my friends arrived, and they all brought me
presents. I’d invited five guys: David, Josh, Michael B., Henry, and Lars; and
three girls: Ceecee, Rosie, and Mona.
    I wasn’t so crazy about Ceecee and Rosie, but I really liked Mona. She