Who Stole New Year's Eve? Read online

  Mrs. Ryan—partridge in a pear tree—is a third-grade teacher and tough. “It’s that new neighbor, Tom Henry I think his name is. He just walked out and slammed the door behind him.”

  So much for asking him about his idea.

  “He had an argument”—Mrs. Ryan pointed— “with that gentleman over there. Do you know him? Enzo Olivo. He’s a fossil fuels professor, knows all about oil and gas.”

  Next to the fireplace was a short man with a beard, dressed in a black suit and a red bow tie. It took a second, but then I realized he’s friends with the Popps and I had seen him at their house before.

  “Mrs. Ryan?” Sophie was all business. “Do you know what Professor Henry’s big scientific idea is?”

  Mrs. Ryan shook her head. “All I know about Professor Henry is that his social skills need work.”

  It was only seven-forty-five, but already a few people were by the front door getting their coats. “Hey everybody—please don’t go.” Mrs. Jensen waved them back into the living room. “What do you say we turn on the lights a little early?”

  I wondered if anybody was out on the street yet and reached across the sofa to pull open the drapes. A couple of cars were at the curb, and one family was walking on the sidewalk. There would be more people in a few minutes, but I could see why the Jensens wanted to hurry up. If we waited, there might not be any party left.

  “Is everybody here?” Professor Jensen asked. “Have we got the kids from downstairs?”

  Michael Jensen said, “All present and accounted for, Dad,” and I noticed Yasmeen and Eve behind him.

  “All right, then!” Professor Jensen flipped the switch, the outside lights blazed, and the music started: “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .”

  Most of the grown-ups cringed. I guess the song does get kind of old. But after a verse, we were all singing along.

  Party saved?

  Not quite.

  One voice rose above the rest. It wasn’t a good voice, but it was loud: Yasmeen’s.

  Next to me Sophie giggled, and I elbowed her to cut it out. “She’s trying really hard,” I whispered. “She’s even taking lessons so she can sing in her church choir.”

  Several people glanced at Yasmeen and smiled, but she didn’t notice; she was singing her heart out . . . until Eve, standing beside her, couldn’t help it and erupted with a squawk of laughter so contagious it got everybody going. At first Yasmeen didn’t realize she was the cause, but when she did, she shut her mouth and made a face so sad and terrible I felt it in my chest.

  My poor friend.

  I moved toward Yasmeen, not knowing how I was going to help, but before I could get near her, she had shouldered her way to the front door. She didn’t even bother with her coat, just pulled the door open and walked out. Then, on the front step, she looked back and shot Eve a laser death stare worthy of my mom.

  Ouch.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I got home a few minutes later. Mom was there already, sitting in the recliner in the den. She had a book on her tummy, and her eyes were closed. I said “Hello?” and she jumped.

  “You were asleep,” I said.

  “Guilty as charged,” she said. “What time is it? Where’s your dad? Was it a fun party?”

  “Whoa—I can’t answer so many questions at once.”

  “Try,” Mom said.

  “Okay.” I thought back. “It’s around eight-thirty. Dad is helping the Jensens clean up. Uh . . . no, it was not a fun party. Singing lessons aren’t helping Yasmeen. I tried to find out what big idea Professor Henry has, but I couldn’t.”

  Mom’s eyes had been blinking for a while, and now her chin dropped down on her chest. Meanwhile, Luau came in, jumped up on the arm of the recliner, butted Mom in the face, and looked at me: This one’s out cold, Alex. You know, she works too hard.

  “I do know.” I petted my cat, and he arched his back. “Mom? Wake up. You need to go upstairs so you can go to sleep.”

  “Awea’y as’eep,” she mumbled.

  Luckily, I heard a noise in the front hall. Dad had come home. “Dad, come in here and deal with Mom, would you?”

  Dad looked at her and shook his head. “Noreen, Noreen, Noreen—I thought we agreed at Thanksgiving? You’re supposed to stop working so hard.”

  “And now there are those tips they’re getting at the police department, too,” I said. “What do you suppose those are about?”

  Mom mumbled in her sleep. It was hard to understand the words—something with a lot of os. Then her eyes blinked open. “Wha . . . oh, hi. I wasn’t talking in my sleep again, was I?”

  The next day was Sunday. When I got downstairs, Dad was sitting at the dining room table with our newspaper, the Middle Daily Times.

  “Take a look at this!” He held up the front page, and I saw that my friend Tim Roberts—he’s a reporter—had succeeded where Sophie and I had failed.

  Green Power Revolution Imminent, Scientist Claims

  New Professor Calls ‘Grassoline’ A Game Changer

  College Expects Billions, Critics Call Idea Overhyped

  By Tim Roberts

  College Springs —“Grassoline,” brainchild of the college’s newest faculty member, Tom Henry, is the fuel of the future—an inexpensive, green power source for motor vehicles and electric generators, proponents say. Once in mass production, the clean-burning biofuel is expected to replace traditional fossil fuels like oil, coal, and natural gas.

  Furthermore, grassoline has the potential to boost the regional economy while also yielding big profits for the college, Henry himself, and investors.

  Professor Tom Henry left a well-known California university to take his current post. To lure him to Pennsylvania, college officials reportedly offered him a pay package worthy of a football coach, a well-equipped and spacious laboratory complex, and an abundance of graduate students and researchers.

  Interviewed this week at the lab—located on the north side of campus beyond the stadium—Henry said his new biofuel is game-changing technology.

  “Making fuel out of lawn clippings eliminates the environmental damage done by extracting oil, coal, or gas,” Henry said. “Likewise, the supply of fossil fuels is limited, whereas grassoline is always renewable. Grassoline also burns clean, limiting carbon emissions and associated atmospheric harm.

  “Obviously,” Henry concluded, “the benefits of my research for mankind and the earth will be enormous.”

  To make grassoline, Henry and his team use a combination of chemicals to break down the cell structure of lawn clippings. The resulting slurry is then heated and steam condensed into a flammable liquid, grassoline.

  Henry acknowledged that challenges remain. At present, for example, it takes more energy to produce grassoline than the grassoline itself delivers.

  The missing ingredient? An inexpensive agent for catalyzing cellular breakdown.

  Asked about the difficulty of finding such an agent, Henry refused to go into specifics, saying only, “We daily expect the breakthrough we need.”

  And such a breakthrough can’t come too quickly. Competing teams at other universities are working on similar projects. The team that gets its biofuel to the marketplace first is the team that will reap the rewards.

  While many college officials applaud Henry and his work, the professor does have his critics. Among them is Enzo Olivo, director of the college’s fossil fuels institute. Olivo believes that any effective catalyzing agent for the manufacturing process would also be impractical.

  “The only chemical agents with the potential to serve my esteemed colleague’s purposes are extremely volatile,” Olivo said. “While the dream of an economical, renewable energy is dear to us all, grassoline is only pie in the sky.”

  “Pie in the sky?” I said when I finished reading. “What’s that?”

  Dad grinned. “A great name for my new business—what do you think?”

  “It’s better than Parakeet Pies,” I said. “But what do
es this Enzo Olivo guy mean? Oh—wasn’t he the one with the beard at the party last night?”

  Dad nodded. “He was there—arguing with Professor Henry. And what pie in the sky means is ‘too good to be true.’ ”

  I looked at the story again, then asked Dad for help understanding the tricky parts. In the end, I got the basic idea: Professor Henry was working on a way to manufacture gas out of lawn clippings. It would be good for the environment and also make lots of people rich, including Professor Henry. But there was one ingredient still missing in the manufacturing process, and he and his team had to hurry up and find it.

  “I only have one more question,” I said. “What’s volatile?”

  “Might blow up,” Dad said.

  “Yikes!” I said. “I hope the Henrys didn’t bring anything volatile with them from California.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After breakfast, I did my chores—washed dishes, swept the kitchen floor, and took out the trash. Then I played video games till it was time for my friend Russell’s birthday party, which was at his house this year. I had wanted to get him a gift card, but Mom said that was impersonal, so I got him a mini-football instead.

  Everyone else got him a gift card.

  Russell only lives a couple of blocks from my house, so I walked there. On the way home, I noticed that someone had shoveled the snow in front of the house that’s under construction on Groundhog Boulevard. Even though it was started like two years ago, there are only walls, and a roof made out of blue plastic—no doors or windows. Dad says the people who were building it ran out of money. Sometimes teenagers sneak in, and Mom or Officer Krichels has to go scare them away.

  I had only been home long enough to take off my gloves, coat, and boots when the doorbell rang. It was Eve, and she had Marshmallow behind her on a leash. In her hand was a white envelope with my name on it.

  “Is it a party invitation? Cool! Hey, come in if you want.”

  I opened the card, which was black and silver and gold. On the front was a picture of a cake and a glass of fizzy punch. It looked very grown-up, just like the date, December 31, New Year’s Eve.

  I had never gotten a party invitation for New Year’s Eve before. I was psyched!

  We were still in the hall when Luau appeared, saw Eve’s dog, and immediately did his best imitation of a haunted-house cat—arched his back, showed his teeth, and said Ssssssst. Then he went back to normal, looked at me and blinked, meaning, Scary, huh?

  “Ease up on him, wouldja?” I said to Luau.

  Meanwhile, Marshmallow was behind Eve’s snow boots, whining, Help—big orange dude gonna get me!

  “No, he won’t,” I reassured the dog. “His hiss is worse than his bite.”

  Eve looked at Luau, then Marshmallow, then me. “You talk to dogs, too?”

  Wait—did I? Till then I had only talked to Luau, and that was because the two of us grew up together. We were even born the same day. But thinking about it, I remembered I had understood Marshmallow at the Henrys’ house the day before—when he said, How can something be bad if it tastes good?

  I didn’t want to lie to Eve. But I didn’t want to tell the whole truth either. I mean, if you met some person who claimed he talked to animals—and his name wasn’t Dr. Dolittle—wouldn’t you be a little freaked out?

  So what I said was “Seriously?” which didn’t mean anything. Then I changed the subject. “Who else are you inviting?”

  “Pretty much everybody older than fifth grade,” Eve said. “But I guess Yasmeen isn’t allowed to go. Probably she wouldn’t want to, anyway, after I laughed at her last night. I feel really bad about it.”

  “Did you take her an invitation?” I asked.

  Eve nodded. “I dropped one off. Her little brother took it. What’s his name? Jeremiah? Anyway, nobody in that family likes me. He never even smiled.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything with Jeremiah,” I said. “It’s just how his face works. Jeremiah worries all the time.”

  “Whatever.” Eve sighed. “But I feel like where we lived in California, everybody liked my family. And here already people hate us. That article in the paper today didn’t help. It made us sound rich and snooty—my dad, at least.”

  “I know you’re not!” I said. “I know you’re normal.”

  “Yeah?” Eve looked hopeful. “And that Sophie girl, she’s a little different, but she seems friendly.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, different and friendly pretty much sums up Sophie. Anyway, your party will give you a chance to show everybody how nice and normal you are, right? Trust me. Things are gonna work out fine.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Before we got out for break, my English teacher, Ms. Caylor, had assigned us to write a holiday journal, with at least one complete sentence every day. Ms. Caylor is old and thinks kids these days are pretty dumb. She said she was giving us the journal assignment so we wouldn’t “lose whatever meager reading and writing skills had been gained during first semester.”

  I decided I’d show her by writing at least two sentences every day—and maybe even more.

  Here’s my journal up till December 29, the day before life on Chickadee Court went totally crazy:

  Saturday, Dec. 17: Today I took a pie to our new neighbors’ house. The pie fell on the floor. It wasn’t my fault. Also, there was the regular holiday party at the Jensens’ house. It was a disaster.

  Sunday, Dec. 18: Today I went to Russell’s birthday party. Next year I am giving him a gift card.

  Monday, Dec. 19: I helped my dad pack pies in boxes and washed dishes. I needed to earn money for Christmas shopping.

  Tuesday, Dec. 20: I went Christmas shopping with Dad. For a police officer, my mom is kind of girly. I bought her smelly hand lotion. I bought my cat a mouse stuffed with catnip. I don’t mean a real mouse. The mouse was made out of cloth.

  Wednesday, Dec. 21: I went Christmas shopping with Mom. I bought Dad a murder mystery book with a picture of blood on the cover. I picked it so he could think about something besides pies.

  Thursday, Dec. 22: I visited my friend Bub. He made Italian soup with vegetables and noodles. I ate two bowls. The name of this soup starts with M, but I don’t know how to spell it.

  Friday, Dec. 23: It snowed. I hung out with Yasmeen. She is my best friend who happens to be a girl. Later I went to Eve’s house. Eve is a new girl on my street. I told her I would come to her birthday party. Her birthday party is on New Year’s Eve. Get it? Yasmeen does not like Eve. It is too complicated to explain why.

  Saturday, Dec. 24: My family and Yasmeen’s family ate a fish dinner at Bub’s house with his niece, Jo. We did that last year for Christmas Eve, too. We sang Christmas carols after we ate. Yasmeen has been taking singing lessons. Her voice is loud.

  Sunday, Dec. 25: It snowed more. Santa brought me Lousy Luigi 4. Santa also brought books and clothes. (At my house, Santa is really my parents.) A surprise was I got a light-up Frisbee from Sophie Sikora. She also gave Frisbees to the other kids on our street. It was generous. It was also showing off. Sophie likes to brag about how her family has so much money.

  Santa gave Yasmeen a purple coat.

  My parents liked their presents. Luau liked his mouse.

  Monday, Dec. 26: Bub, Yasmeen, and I delivered Dad’s pies. Then we watched Christmas movies. Bub always tells about the actor in It’s a Wonderful Life. His name is Jimmy Stewart. He grew up in Pennsylvania.

  I know, Bub!

  Tuesday, Dec. 27: I got up late. I played Johnny Annoy Football and Lousy Luigi 4. We ate hamburgers for dinner. It was a perfect day.

  Wednesday, Dec. 28: Please see Tuesday. (I hope that is a complete sentence.) The other thing that happened is Eve came over. She said she is getting a surprise for her birthday. Her parents told her it is something big. She also said most kids are coming to her party. However, Yasmeen is not coming. I felt bad when Eve said that. I wish she and Yasmeen could be friends.

  Thursday, Dec. 29: Today it was 50 degrees. Mom s
ays the people in charge of Ice Carnival are worried. They think the ice sculptures might melt.

  CHAPTER SIX

  On Friday morning, the last Friday of the holiday break, a barking dog woke me.

  It was Marshmallow. He was inside his house. But even from far away I knew what he was saying: Danger! Danger! Danger!

  I guess I didn’t need mad skills to translate that.

  Before I could roll over and look out the window, Luau jumped on my chest, circled around, and head-butted my face: Would somebody hit the mute button on that dog?

  “Good morning to you, too, buddy,” I said. “What’s going on at the Henrys’ house, anyway?”

  I pushed the curtain aside and saw that it was going to be another sunny day. In the Henrys’ driveway was a yellow Al’s Delivery Service van. Marshmallow was barking because Al and another man were unloading something big that was wrapped in white cloth. On top of it was an extra-large orange bow.

  This must be Eve’s surprise present! They had it on a hand truck, one of those wheelie things some people call a dolly. Slowly and with a lot of noise, the guys wheeled it across the Henrys’ yard and positioned it beside the five gold rings.

  My clock said 9:07. Back before Pie in the Sky, Dad would never have let me sleep in this late; he would have come bounding up the stairs to wake me with some stupid joke at eight.

  Now I was a victim of parental neglect.

  On the other hand, a little neglect isn’t so bad if it means you get to sleep in.

  I shoved the covers to the floor, threw on jeans and a T-shirt, and ran downstairs. There was no time for brushing my teeth or washing my face.

  “Oh, arisen from the dead, have we?” Dad was sitting on a stool studying a cookbook.

  “Come on!” I said. “Something’s going on at the Henrys’ house.”