Jackson Jones and the Puddle of Thorns Read Free Page A

to crack a secret code.
    He opened his mouth.
    At that moment Gaby and Ro launched themselves from the fourth shelf. BANG! They hit that tin shed like Dorothy’s tornado in
The
Wizard of Oz
. The shed folded in perfectly, like a box.

    Salesclerks swarmed up the aisles. Frosty’s face froze into the color of a grape Popsicle.
    But Gaby and Ro had strategy.
    They held tightly to Juana’s hands. Tears slipped down their cheeks. Ro sucked his thumb artistically.
    The salesclerks turned as sweet as pudding.
    “Poor dears,” cooed a saleswoman. Ro squeezed out a few more tears.
    “Should we sue?” Gaby whispered to Juana.
    The saleswoman enfolded each kid into a hug.
    Juana escaped.
    “Are Gaby and Ro okay?” Reuben asked.
    “They’re indestructible,” said Juana. “They were trying to be raindrops, you know, falling on a window. Like in that kid’s song.”
    “They’re more like bombs dropping from the sky.”
    I hefted a minishovel.
    “That’s a spade,” hissed Frosty.
    Brrrr. It’s April and the atmosphere in Juniper’s Hardware is definitely
not
spring. I grabbed a book called
Easy Gardening
and a few seed packets and asked Reuben to help me lift a bag of fertilizer.
    Reuben read the fine print on the bag. “Hey, man,” he blurted, “this fertilizer is nothing but—”
    “I know.”
    “You’re going to pay four dollars for doo-doo?”
    “It’s an investment,” I said. “The flowers grow bigger.”
    “What’s that thorn tree?”
    “Rosebush.”
    Reuben flicked the $4.95 price tag. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
    I gritted my teeth. Sometimes Reuben’s sloooww carefulness got on my nerves. But it’s best not to argue with a business partner, so I kept my mouth shut.
    Gaby and Ro scampered up with suckers and pawed Juana.
    “Let’s get out of here before they wreck something else,” Juana whispered to me.
    I waved good-bye to Frosty Joe.
    He didn’t wave back.
    Outside the store Gaby and Ro screamed to the end of the sidewalk, teetered on the curb, screamed back, circled us three times. Screamed.
    “Don’t they ever run into traffic?” Reuben asked, dragging the fertilizer.
    “They have the survival instincts of sewer rats,” Juana replied.
    I held the rosebush straight out in front. It looked like a hostile being from Captain Nemo’s planet.
    One more block to the garden.
    Before you knew it, those flowers would be shooting up.
    And I’d be shooting hoops.
    Yeah.
    “Hey, Jones.” The familiar voice shook me out of my daydream.
    “Hey, Joooonesy.” The voice squeaked into high pitch. “Has Joooonesy got hisself a cutesy flower?”
    Gaby and Ro stopped screaming and stuck their thumbs in their mouths.
    Reuben and Juana halted.
    “Oh, Joooonesy,” the voice continued. “I’m calling youuuu.”
    I hated that voice.

T hat voice belonged to Blood Green.
    His real name was Howard, but about a year ago he changed it to “Blood” and beat up anyone (except his mother) who called him Howard. Since he’s a year older and built like a killer machine, we all call him Blood.
    “What ya doin’, Jones?” Blood’s voice dropped back into its usual Blood growl.
    One thing about Blood, he’s impartial. He hates everyone. Except he hates me more than most. Don’t know why. I puzzle and figure and still don’t find the answer. Miz Lady says life is full of mysteries. I guess Blood’s meanness is one of them.
    “A garden!” Blood squeaked and clapped his hands. “How loooovely. What are we going to plant?”
    I hoped those sudden switches from growling to squeaking would hurt his voice. You know, permanent laryngitis.
    “Woses,” said Ro, unplugging his mouth. “We’re planting woses.”
    “Woses!” Blood howled. He slapped his leg. He laughed so hard, I thought he’d pee himself.
    Gaby unplugged her mouth. She surveyed Blood.
    “You’re a giggling fool,” she pronounced. Pop!—the thumb went back in.
    “What?” Blood advanced.
    Gaby unplugged her mouth.