I Owe You One (4 page)

I wasn't going to settle for just any dirt bike though. My dad and I had spent hours going over all the brochures. We had worked out what permits I'd need and where I would ride. He was going to supervise because I was still underage. That wasn't going to happen now. By the time I got my bike though, I'd probably be old enough to ride wherever I wanted. If I closed my eyes, I could almost feel myself racing across the fields with the hum of the engine in my ears.

I grabbed some nacho chips. As I headed for the cash, the ground shook. Without lifting her eyes from the newspaper she was reading, Mrs. Lee reached out to the shelf behind her to keep the jars of olives from falling.

“Daryl,” she said shaking her head.

Everyone in Six Roads was used to Daryl and his explosions. People didn't rush outside anymore thinking it was an earthquake.

Another blast shook the ground. This time it seemed a lot bigger. Then we heard a huge bang, and the ground shook again.

“That sounds no good.” Mrs. Lee looked worried. “I hope Daryl is okay.”

You wouldn't think Mrs. Lee would have a soft spot for someone like Daryl, especially after all the jars of pickles and salsa that had fallen and broken because of the blasts, but she did. She said he reminded her of her brother in China.

“We'll check it out, Mrs. Lee,” I said as Zach and I took off out of the store.

“You make sure Daryl okay, okay?” she called after us as we hopped on our bikes.

Daryl's place wasn't too far out of town, but when we finally got there, the house was deserted.

“I think the blast came from back that way,” I said, pointing to the hayfield at the far end of Daryl's property.

We raced down the tractor path to the back forty. When we reached the field, we spotted him. He was at the base of the hill just past his property line. Mrs. Lee was right. What we saw was definitely no good.

Chapter 5

We stood and stared at what used to be the town's television tower. All that was left was a heap of metal and a mangled transmitter.

“See, this is why we got satellite tv,” Zach said. “We're too far in the boonies to rely on one television tower.”

I groaned. “Well, we still have those stupid rabbit ears. And now I won't be able to watch anything!”

“You can come over to my house.”

“This is going to be a lousy summer.”

We trooped over to where Daryl was staring at the heap of mangled electronics on the ground.

“Must've set the charge too close to the base,” Daryl muttered to himself. “Darn rodents have turned this hill into Swiss cheese.”

As if to prove his point, we suddenly felt the ground under our feet shake. But it wasn't another explosion. It was Mr. Elliot barreling across the field from his farm next door, looking mad enough to spit nails.

“What in the name of all that is holy do you think you're doing, Daryl?” Mr. Elliot yelled. Mr. Elliot hated Daryl. Well, maybe
hate
was too strong a word. He called Daryl a loose cannon, which was a pretty good description, seeing as how a few months ago Daryl had almost blown up Mr. Elliot's best cow, Esmeralda. She had wandered a little too close to the fence that separated their farms. I guess Daryl hadn't noticed that the groundhogs' tunnels ran under both fields. When Daryl blew up the tunnel, the force of the blast had sent Esmeralda flying ten feet in the air. Luckily she'd landed in a clump of junipers and was unhurt, but Mr. Elliot had been furious.

Zach and I had gotten there just as Mr. Elliot saw his best cow staggering to her feet.

“You idiot,” he had screamed at Daryl. “Don't you know a cow's like a keg of methane just waiting to go off?”

Daryl had looked at Mr. Elliot in confusion. “Methane?” he asked.

Mr. Elliot walked up to Daryl, put his hands together in front of him and yelled “BOOM!” as his hands flew upward, fingers spread. Finally understanding, Daryl had tried to look serious, but there was this little gleam in his eyes. Really, a flying cow is cool, but an exploding cow! Now there's something you don't see every day.

Since that day, Mr. Elliot has been on full alert where Daryl is concerned. The fact that the cowblast had unearthed a real Indian arrowhead didn't make any difference to Mr. Elliott. Daryl told him it was a good omen, but Mr. Elliot said he didn't believe in omens.

Everyone else believed it though. What else would explain the fact that only two weeks later, Mr. Elliot got an inheritance from some long-lost uncle? Mr. Elliot insisted it was all just a coincidence, but I heard he kept that arrowhead locked away somewhere safe, just in case.

After the Esmeralda incident, Daryl had kept to himself and stayed away from Mr. Elliot's property. He was on his best behavior. Until today that is.

“I shoulda known you'd be behind this,” Mr. Elliot shouted. “You're a menace, that's what you are.”

“Maybe it's not as bad as it looks,” I said, hoping to calm things down. I went over to the box that protected the transmitter, pulling up a piece of twisted metal to look inside.

What used to be a transmitter was now a jumble of wires, knobs and circuits. Mr. Elliot joined me.

He turned to Daryl, who was standing by, trying to look innocent.

“I…You…This…” was all Mr. Elliot managed. He threw his hands up in the air and walked away.

Chapter 6

We headed home after we told Mrs. Lee that Daryl was okay but the tv tower wasn't.

“How long do you think it will take to get the tower fixed?” I asked.

“Six Roads isn't really on the top of anyone's ‘fix it' list,” Zach said. “Especially since you and Mrs. Minton are the only people in town without satellite dishes. That tower could be out of commission for weeks— maybe even months.”

It wasn't fair. Now that summer vacation was about to start, I would have time to watch tv but I wouldn't have any tv to watch.

I know it was dumb, but I tried the tv almost every day for two weeks, hoping someone had come along and fixed the tower. All I ever got was a screen full of snow. Why couldn't we have gotten satellite too? There were only so many hours I could spend at Zach's house before his mother would start charging me room and board. And I had already beaten every level of
Quinlan's Quest
,
The Firewalker's Fury
and even
Star Lynx
on my Game Box system. It was going to be a long summer.

On Saturday morning I should have been out of the house right after breakfast to catch
Mythbashers
at Zach's house, but it was pouring rain and I was right in the middle of replaying
Quinlan's Quest
, trying to beat my own high score. I was a sitting duck.

“Wesley, can you do me a favor?” my mom called from the kitchen.

Six of the worst words a guy could hear. The favor was always either gross, hard work or embarrassing. Or all three.

“Today, Wesley,” she said, louder this time.

I rolled my eyes.

“Stop rolling your eyes and get in here.”

How did she do that? Could she hear my eyes rolling?

The smell of banana bread in the kitchen made my mouth water. Mom was in the pantry rummaging around for something. I had the knife in my hand, ready to slice, when she came back in.

“Weapons down,” she said, smiling. “You can have some after you take a loaf over to poor Mrs. Minton. I know it's one of her favorites. She's been having a hard time since her hip surgery.”

“Why? What happened?” I tried not to look too interested, in case my mom got suspicious as to why I was suddenly concerned about Mrs. Minton.

“She's developed pneumonia and is bedridden. She's got a nurse coming over every day, but I'm hoping some banana bread might cheer her up.”

That didn't sound good. I didn't want to go over and see her like that. Not to mention the fact that I had no idea how I was going to pay back my life debt. I knew I was going to feel guilty the minute I looked at her.

She wrapped a loaf and put it in a bag for me. I was going to protest, but she was doing that thing with her eyes. It's like she can see right into my mind. Had she guessed what had happened?

I lowered my eyes, grabbed the bag and let the back screen door slam on the way out. Mom hates that. I peered around the corner of our house before I walked down the driveway. All I could hope was that the rain was keeping everyone inside. Or that my rain hood covered my face. When I saw the coast was clear, I sprinted the two blocks over to Mrs. Minton's house.

I heard Mrs. Minton call for me to come in after I rang the bell. The door was locked, but I knew where the key was hidden. Actually, everyone in Six Roads knew where everyone else's keys were hidden.

Her living room was all changed around since I had been there with Zach after our mud bath. A hospital bed was set up where the couch had been. Beside it was a table with a bunch of medication and cups with straws on it. I didn't realize she was this sick.

“Oh, Wesley! I'm so glad you're here,” she said as soon as I took off my shoes. “My tv isn't working properly. Maybe the rabbit ears need turning?”

If only.

“Sorry, Mrs. Minton, but Daryl blew up the tv tower.”

“He blew it up? Was it some kind of protest?”

“No, he didn't mean to. He was just fooling around. But the groundhog tunnels ran under the hill, and the whole thing kind of collapsed.”

“He probably used too much explosive and the wrong kind of fuse,” she sighed.

I looked over at her, wondering what she knew about explosives, and if I should be worried.

“Well, how soon can the tower be fixed?” There was a hint of urgency in her voice.

“Don't know, Mrs. M. We have to find out who to call first. Could be awhile.”

“No, no, no,” she said, rubbing her crooked hands in agitation.

“Do you want me to get you a couple of movies from Lee's?” I asked. I could understand how bored she must be.

“I don't need a cathode-ray babysitter, Wesley,” she snapped.

My eyebrows shot up, partly because I had never heard her angry before and partly because I didn't know what a cathode ray was.

She sighed. “I'm so sorry, Wesley. This isn't your fault. It's just that Rachel's first World Championship race is coming up soon. I promised her I would watch it on tv. She was so disappointed when my hip surgery meant I couldn't be there in person. She said I should watch for a special message from her. If I didn't have pneumonia and this darn hip, I'd go down the road to my friend Margery's house to watch the race, but my doctors say I won't be going anywhere for at least three weeks.”

Her eyes glistened, and she twisted her hands together. It didn't seem that big a deal to me to watch some ski race, but maybe when you're eighty-one and not feeling well…maybe she was worried that it was the last race she would ever see.

“Maybe Frank could fix it,” I said.

She looked up, her face full of hope. “Yes, yes! Ask Frank. If anyone can fix it, Frank can.”