Wizard's Holiday, New Millennium Edition Read Free Page B

fridge’s problem?”
    “It hates being empty. A fridge’s nature is to have things in it for people to eat! But there’s hardly anything in it half the week, and that makes it sad.” Nita gave her dad a stern look. “Not to mention that it makes me sad, when I get home from school. We need to get more stuff on Fridays!”
    “Well, okay. But at least—”
    “Uh-oh,” said a little voice.
    Nita’s dad glanced up, and both of them looked around. “What?” he said.
    “It’s Spot,” said Nita.
    “What’s the matter with him?”
    “Don’t know,” Nita said. “He’s been doing that now and then since I got home.”
    “Where is he?”
    “Not sure. I looked for him before, but couldn’t see him. Dairine can probably tell us when she gets back. So, Daddy, about the shopping… ”
    “Okay,” her father said. “Your mom was such an expert at judging what we needed right down to Friday afternoon. Maybe I didn’t pay enough attention. You probably did, though.”
    “Uh, no,” Nita said. “But I saw her do it often enough that I can imitate what she did until I get the hang of it myself.”
    “Fine,” her dad said. “Then that’s your job now. Let me get out of my work clothes and we’ll go out as soon as Dairine gets back.”
    “Uh-oh,” said that small voice again. “Uh-oh. Uh- oh!”
    “What is it with him?” Nita’s father said, looking around in confusion. “He sounds like he’s having a guilt attack. Wherever he is… ”
    The uh-oh- ing stopped short.
    Nita’s dad looked into the dining room and spied something. “Hey, wait, I see where he is,” he said, and went to the corner behind the dining room table. There was a little cupboard and pantry area there, set into the wall, and one of the lower cupboard’s doors was partly open. Nita’s dad looked into it. “What’s the matter with you, fella?”
    “Uh-oh,” said Spot’s voice, much smaller still.
    “Come on,” Nita’s dad said, “let’s have a look at you.”
    He reached down into the bottom of the cupboard, in among the unpolished silver and the big serving plates, and brought out the laptop. It had been undergoing some changes recently, what Dairine referred to as an “upgrade.” In this case, upgrading seemed to involve getting thinner and darker; he had gone black-skinned—except for what looked much like the luminous white fruit-logo of a major computer company on his lid, the significant difference being that the fruit had no bite out of it.
    But Spot also had some equipment less normal for laptops in general: sentience, for one thing, and (at least sometimes) legs. These—all ten of them, silvery and with two ball-and-socket joints each—now popped out and wiggled and rowed and made helpless circles in the air while Nita’s dad held Spot up, blowing a little dislodged cupboard dust off the top of him.
    “Some of that stuff in there needs polishing,” her dad said. “It’s all brown. Never mind. You got a problem, big guy?”
    It was surprising how much expression a closed computer case could seem to have, at least as far as Spot was concerned. He managed to look not only nervous but embarrassed. “Not me,” Spot said.
    “Well, who then?”
    “Uh-oh,” Spot said again.
    Nita could immediately think of one reason why Spot might not want to go into detail. She was reluctant to say anything: It wasn’t her style to go out of her way to get her little sister into trouble. Besides, since when does she need my help for that?
    “All right,” Nita’s father said, sounding resigned. “What’s Dairine done now?”
    Despite her best intentions, Nita had to grin, though she turned away a little so that it wouldn’t be too obvious.
    “Come on, buddy,” Nita’s father said. “You know we’re on her side. Give.”
    Spot’s little legs revolved faster and faster in their ball-and-socket joints, as if he were trying to rev up to takeoff speed. “Spot,” her dad said, “come on, it’s all right.