This Journal Belongs to Ratchet (6 page)

Which one of these things

Doesn't belong?

Mayor Prindle and Pretty Boy Eddie

Dressed in suits

Dumping a recycling bin

Full of shredded paper

Into a dumpster hidden by trees

Behind the library.

Something tells me

More than one thing

Doesn't belong.

I was holding a flashlight for Dad. It felt like my arm was going to fall off. He was changing the fan belt on a minivan, which was a tricky job. And it was taking
forever
.

Sixties and seventies music blasted from the garage radio. I sort of hated to love Dad's music because I should've been listening to pop and rap like other kids my age. But I still sang along with every song.

That's why I didn't hear Hunter's mom come into the garage. I smelled lilacs. And then there she was. I jumped. The flashlight moved.

“Ratchet!” Dad yelled. “Hold still!”

Then he bumped his head on the hood of the car.

“Sorry!” Hunter's mom called out over the music. “I don't mean to bother you!”

I looked past her. Hunter sat in the front seat of the car. For some reason he looked like a little first-grader sitting there in the car by himself. I'd never seen him without Evan.

Dad pulled his head out from under the hood. “What's the problem?”

Dad always asked, “What's the problem?” People didn't come to our house for any other reason except problems. Car problems.

Hunter's mom looked worried. She explained she'd almost gotten into an accident that morning. She told Dad her car had died in the middle of traffic. She said she didn't know what to do.

People told Dad stuff like this all the time. But for some reason it sounded different when Hunter's Mom talked. I don't know if it was the lilac perfume. Or the way she used her hands to tell the story. Or just how pretty she looked in her sleeveless cotton shirt, matching capris, and flip-flops. Her hair was the same color as mine. And the same length. It was in a ponytail. But it looked
so good
. She was all put together like a mannequin in a store.

Dad told her we'd take a look at the car. But he had to finish the fan belt first. She and Hunter should leave the car there and walk home. Hunter's mom looked relieved.

Dad got back under the hood. I aimed the flashlight on the pulleys for the fan belt. I took a deep breath, smelling the last of the lilac perfume before it got swallowed up by the smell of grease and oil.

(I don't know
what
Dad would think if he read this.)

My web is about Hunter's mom. She picked up her car yesterday. The problem was only a bad spark plug wire. She paid Dad with a check. But she also brought us cookies. She still smelled like lilacs.

There was a young girl named Ratchet.

She had skill and no one could match it.

She wanted to be

More stylish and carefree,

But she couldn't give up her ratchet.

Dad's Speech at the Last City Council Meeting

Dad stood at the microphone. He spat out words like he couldn't stand the thought of what he was saying. “You people are downright destroying the planet for the kids you pretend to care about.”

Someone in the audience laughed. Dad shot him the “death look” (a look of disgust that would make the worst criminal crumble). The man slumped down in his seat.

Then Dad looked over the rims of his glasses like a crazy professor and went on. “Ocean acidification from too much carbon dioxide is already happening, and the warnings have been given by scientists about the risk of devastating our marine life and fisheries. And worse than that, higher levels of smog due to warmer temperatures potentially could increase respiratory illnesses.”

Dad shook his head and went on. “And you, Mayor Prindle, catapault yourself into the twenty-first century with your statement in today's paper
—
‘Global Warming: There just might be something to it.' It's about time you buffoon.”

Dad grabbed his pile of crumpled notes from the podium, bumping the microphone and making a loud hollow sound before he walked back to his seat.

Pretty Boy Eddie said his usual comment to Dad in his usual smarmy way, and the next speaker in line looked like he wished he'd stayed home.

(Dad would be proud if he read this. Proud of himself.)

Dad is saving

The planet

For the Good Lord.

Sometimes

I wonder

If anyone

Is worried

About saving

Me.

!?

I dreaded helping Dad with the go-cart class. For obvious reasons. The teasing. The jokes. The boys. The teasing. The jokes. The boys. But something surprised me.

It's not normal for me to know so much about engines. But it's more un-normal for the boys to know so little. Most of them didn't know a piston from a crankshaft. They didn't know an adjustable wrench from a combination wrench. And forget about knowing how to use the tools. They were clueless. It was kind of embarrassing.

So when it came time to build their engines, the jokes came to a screeching halt. They needed too much help. Dad couldn't help everyone at the same time; but when he was busy, I could help. So they all started being A LOT nicer to me. I didn't trust them at first. Thought maybe they were planning some big prank. But when I saw that most of them didn't even know which way to turn a screwdriver, I knew none of them were smart enough to be planning a prank AND building an engine.

They couldn't believe I knew exactly how to do everything. I was living up to my nickname. Making everyone's job easier.

All day long, it was, “Hey, Ratchet, can you c'mere a minute?”

“Hey, Ratchet, how do I get these oil rings on?”

“Hey, Ratchet, can you show me how to use this torque wrench?”

Even without Charlize's tips for being charmed, I was getting noticed.

What did Dad find out about Moss Tree Park from Herman Moss's niece?

Dad found out that Herman Moss has one relative still alive
—
a niece who lives in England. Dad thought she might know something about the park, so he found her number and called her.

She told Dad that every year on her birthday, she got a card from Uncle Herman with a photo of a tree that he planted in her name somewhere on one of his pieces of property. His card always said:

“Shade for man

And shelter for animals,

Planted in your name,

May you be the same for those around you,

Every year the same.”

She had saved all the photos and cards and still had them in a box.

She knew that when her uncle died, he had donated all the land he owned to different counties, and all that land had been made into parks. But she didn't know anything specifically about Moss Tree Park.

Dad was hoping she would have some important family papers that would prove Mr. Moss didn't want the park developed, but she didn't. She said she was sorry and wished Dad good luck.

Subject: My Life

You would think kids who want to build go-carts would be grateful to someone who's trying to help them. But I never realized something
really
important.

BOYS ARE JERKS!

They only care about one thing. Themselves. And they're JERKS!

They don't respect anyone. And they're JERKS.

They don't even care if someone else gets in trouble for what they do. And do you know why? Because they're JERKS!

Everything was going great. Well, maybe not great, but okay. The boys weren't being such wise guys anymore because they were too busy
trying
to get their engines built. (Which none of them were getting much better at.) I was enjoying my popularity even though I knew it might not be for real. They'd still be making fun of me if they didn't need my help so much, but I tried not to think about that.

Then, as a joke, someone in Dad's class put grease on all the doorknobs at the rec center. No one could open any doors anywhere in the whole building. Some little kid in the arts and crafts class peed his pants because he couldn't get the bathroom door open.

Cruella de Vil of course went ballistic and blamed Dad because his class is the only one that uses oil and grease. She said he should've controlled his class better. So now Dad's in trouble. Cruella's going to report him to Mr. Jenkins, the community service officer. They might even cancel the class.

If Dad has to do his community service hours picking up garbage instead of teaching this class, I'll die for sure. That wouldn't be
too
embarrassing, having Dad on the side of the road in one of those ugly orange vests. Ugh!

And all this is happening because boys are JERKS!