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Boys willbe Boys

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For my dad,Ross A. Baker,

the best dad in the world,in inspiration, and in honor of,

the stories from his childhood...

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Table of Contents

The Grant Family....................p. 9

The Great Pumpkin................p. 15

The Cake................................p. 33

Leap Toad...............................p. 53

Secret Agent...........................p. 75

Ladies' Man.............................p. 93

A Light in the Dark..................p. 107

The Wild Blue Yonder.............p. 123

Mud Caves.............................p. 139

OA...........................................p. 153

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Chapter 1

The Grant Family

The Grant family might be, what the history books would call, a “typical American family”. Right out of the late 1960's, wholesome, Methodist, down-to-earth, hard working, average American family. Four kids, a dog named Christmas, a nice home in upper middle class Saint Louis. Mr. and Mrs. Grant's children were mostly rather different from one another. The oldest was Kathleen, at fifteen years old, and she was the

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proper sort of daughter. Finished all of her homework on time, never got into trouble at school, her blouses were always perfectly ironed, and she had a small, modest group of friends. The second oldest, Ulysses, was a reserved young man. At thirteen years old, he also managed to never get into any sort of trouble at school. He worked hard on all of his class projects, and helped carry in the groceries, lift heavy objects around the house, and generally be of help to anyone who needed it. The deviation of personality began with the twins, Wayne and Rustle. Eleven years old. And as prim and proper as their older sister was, Wayne and Rustle were on the opposite end of the spectrum. Trouble at school, trouble in Sunday school, mischief at home, with the neighbor children, around town... the list never ended. It wasn't that they were trying very hard to be bad. It was more that the idea of certain sorts of mischief were entirely too tempting. And so, what one didn't think of doing, the other did.

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Mr. Grant was a banker, and had been so since he left college. He returned every evening, sharply at 5:30. And there was always a hot dinner waiting on the table, prepared entirely by Mrs. Grant, unless Kathleen was available for assistance. Mr. Grant was also a Scout Leader at the boys' Scout Troop at church. Mrs. Grant volunteered at the local soup kitchen, as well, during the day. She was also a member of the Missions Committee at Our Savior Methodist Church, where the whole family attended. Church was a rather big part of the Grant family's life. Sunday morning services, Sunday school, the Scout program, and other activities brought them to Our Saviour several times a week. And school was a walk down the street for the boys. Kathleen's school was further away, and she was obliged to take the bus at the corner. There were many times, however, that Mrs. Grant wished her boys were also able to take the bus. This meant there was less likely a chance that Wayne and

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Rustle could disappear into some shenanigans on the ten minute walk out of the neighborhood, across the street, and onto the school grounds. Her one consolation was that Ulysses accompanied them. And Ulysses was the only one of the three to be entirely trusted. Whenever Ulysses was present, the boys behaved themselves. Even more so when Mr. Grant was in their company. It could be said that there existed a 'healthy fear' of both their father and their older brother. Ulysses was a kind boy, and had never been known to do anything very mean to anyone. But he knew how to get his younger brothers punished when they misbehaved. He considered it his duty, his contribution to the sanity of the Grant household. And, as a result, the walks to school were generally uneventful. Except on days when Ulysses was not available. On those most rare of days when he was either sick or had spent the night with a buddy and had taken the bus. And on those days, Mrs. Grant did her best to take the boys to

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school herself. But in the event of this not being possible -- sometimes Mrs. Grant's duties at the church and soup kitchen called her away from this task -- then young Wayne and Rustle Grant were entirely on their own. It was one such day that Wayne and Rustle found themselves in this position. One bright sunny morning in late October, when the trees were brilliant red and orange, the winds were cold, and Halloween had only just arrived...

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Chapter 2

The Great Pumpkin

“Now I want you boys to behave yourselves,” Mrs. Grant was saying. She was in the kitchen putting together the boys' lunch boxes. Wayne and Rustle were busy finishing up their breakfast waffles, which Mrs. Grant had made especially, because it was Friday, and she was, in her own way, celebrating the fact that they had almost arrived the weekend, unscathed with any reports of mischief by her youngest sons.

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There was no response from the boys. “Wayne? Rustle?” “Yeah, Mom?” Rustle replied, clearly distracted. Mrs. Grant turned around from packing the lunch boxes. “Boys?” They were obviously not paying attention, attacking the waffles like a couple of lions, and intently studying their Johnny Quest comic books, at the same time. They weren't even looking at their plates. Butter and syrup were practically flying over the table. “Boys!” Both boys stopped, forks poised mid-air. “What'd we do now?” Wayne asked. “Did you hear what I said?” Mrs. Grant continued, as calmly as possible. Clearly they had not. “I don't want any reports of trouble today on your walk to school,” she continued. “I want you to walk straight to school. No stopping. Is that understood?” Both boys nodded. “Good. Now off you go. You're going

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to be late.” Both boys stuffed down the last of the waffles. Rustle went to roll up the comic book. “ You're not bringing that to school, with you, Rustle,” said Mrs. Grant. “Aw, Mom,” he protested. “I won't look at it till lunch. Promise.” Mrs. Grant held out her hand, and Rustle reluctantly handed it over. “Bring your jackets, boys,” came her last piece of advice, as they grabbed their lunch boxes and ran out the door. After the door had slammed shut, Mrs. Grant watched them take off down the sidewalk, hollering something about being space men, and sighed. It was a great day. A great day for running to school. Neither of the boys was very eager to actually arrive at school. But for once, they could run all the way, without Ulysses telling them to slow down. And they could pretend that they were space men in the process, hollering back and forth to one another about not 'running into Mars' or 'catching the tail of the comet' or 'picking up the space alien on that moon sixty-four clicks away'... their

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backpacks slapping against their shoulders and their lunch boxes clunking against their knees as they ran full-force towards the school yard. For the first minute or two, they were both happy enough to play at this game. But then... they saw something. Both boys stopped in their tracks. “Whoa!” Wayne whispered. “Where'd that come from?” “I don't know...” Rustle replied. They left the sidewalk and hurried several yards into the vacant lot at the end of the neighborhood. They stared at the marvel before them. “I reckon we could take it,” said Wayne finally. “How would we lift it? We can't lift that thing. It's bigger than both of us put together!” The boys stared at this freak of nature before them. So round and orange and enormous. It was the biggest pumpkin they had ever seen in their lives. And there it was, just sitting in the lot, as if it were waiting for them to take it. “It probably isn't anyone's pumpkin anyway,” Wayne went on. “It's just sittin'

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in an old lot. Who'd plant a giant old pumpkin there on purpose? I'll bet it grew there over night.” “I don't know... But there's no way we can move it by ourselves.” The boys contemplated this dilemma before them. It had not occurred to either of them that they could simply leave the pumpkin in the lot, walk on to school, and forget about it. No, a giant pumpkin sitting in a vacant lot called for action. But the trouble was, neither of the boys could think of what to do with it. “I got it!” Wayne exclaimed, after several minutes of pondering. “But we need some tools.” “What kind of tools?” asked Rustle. “Uh, Mom's kitchen knives. One of Dad's shovels maybe...” “Uh oh...” “Oh come on, we'll clean 'em off and put 'em away when we're done. We're gonna make a jack 'o lantern out of this pumpkin and scare all the girls when they come trick or treating tonight.” “Swell!” cried Rustle, catching on. “And when they walk by, we'll be inside and light it up with flashlights and make

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scary noises.” “Come on!” Wayne declared. “We've got a lot of work to do!” It never once occurred to either of these boys that, perhaps, they might get into serious trouble for skipping school, particularly for skipping school in order to prank the little girls of the neighborhood. The idea of carving out a giant jack 'o lantern was too compelling to bother with the thought of consequences. Both boys raced back to the house. “Behind the bushes!” Wayne commanded, as soon as they came near the driveway. “We gotta make sure Mom's gone.” Rustle followed his brother behind the hedgerow separating their house from the neighbor's. “Is her car in the garage?” Rustle whispered. “I don't think so. Come on. We've gotta get in there. I'll get one of Mom's knives. You get a shovel and a bucket. On my count now. One... Two... Three!” Both boys split for their separate missions. Wayne grabbed the knife out of the kitchen, in the wink of an eyeball.

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Rustle raced out back to the shed for the shovel and bucket. They met back at the hedge and took off running down the sidewalk. It was maybe a fortunate thing for them both that almost the entire neighborhood was away at work or school. Particularly more fortunate that the vacant lot was next to a house in which no one currently lived. And the vacant lot was shaded from the main road by a hedge. The setting was almost perfect. “This beats school any day,” said Rustle, dragging the bucket and shovel to the scene of the intended crime. “Anything beats school,” said Wayne. “Let's carve out the top so we can scoop it out.” The giant pumpkin was so enormous, in fact, that Wayne had to give Rustle a boost to get to the top. Once Rustle had steadied himself, Wayne handed up the kitchen knife. “Watch out,” said Rustle. “I might fall on ya, so stand back.” Wayne stepped back a little as Rustle plunged the knife into the pumpkin. It stuck fast. Both boys had

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underestimated the thick rind of the enormous specimen. But with some wriggling, Rustle was able to pull it back out and continue the process until he had created a large circle around the stem. “Ok,” he said, standing up carefully. “I'm gonna pull it out now.” Rustle prepared himself to yank out the stubborn top. He planted both feet firmly on either side. And with all the force he could muster, he gripped the stem and pulled. Before either boy knew what had happened, Rustle was flying backwards through the air, pumpkin top in hand. Thud! Rustle was flat on his back on the ground. Wayne thought that this was just about the most hilarious thing that he had ever seen, and started laughing so hard, that he, too, fell on the ground. “I see stars!” Rustle hollered. “You're alright,” Wayne laughed, coming over to give him a hand up. “You got the hard part done. Now come on, let's get all the insides out of there.” Rustle was soon back on his feet,

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convinced that he had not broken anything too important, and he got back up to the top with the shovel and the bucket. “Scoop it out and hand me the bucket,” Wayne ordered. This was a surprisingly long and arduous project. By the time lunch had arrived, Rustle was half-way through the mess of orange pulp and seeds, and Wayne, who was still not exerting himself quite as much as his brother, had also worked up a heavy sweat carting buckets of the pumpkin gut into the grove of trees behind the lot. “We can't leave all that on the ground,” he said. “I reckon someone'd notice it. But they won't notice it as much if we put it in the bushes. Now come on, Rustle, if we don't get this thing hollowed out soon, we won't be able to carve the face before sunset.” Rustle also picked up the pace when he remembered that within a few hours, all the school kids would be walking home. And then, it would be impossible not to be noticed. The next hour went very fast. Heave, thump. Heave, thump.

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Heave thump. Went the slop into the bucket. As the sun began its downward arch across the clear blue October sky, Rustle had finally had enough. He was standing at the bottom of the pumpkin's inside, with no clear way out. “I'm not gonna stay in here this whole time,” he said. “Get me out.” “Can't,” said Wayne, carefully studying the outside of the pumpkin. “I'll get you out later. We're runnin' out of time. You can help carve it out from the inside. I'll run home and get another knife.” “Bring food!” Rustle hollered out the top of the pumpkin, as Wayne raced home to beat his Mom back from the soup kitchen. Then he tossed the shovel clear out of the top of the pumpkin and commenced waiting. Wayne hardly thought twice about anything. He dashed inside for another knife, grabbed the jar of peanut butter and a couple of apples out of the bowl on the table. And then it was pell-mell back to the great pumpkin. “Here,” he said, tossing an apple

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into the pumpkin. “Eat that.” “Ow!” “Don't be a sissy. I'll get ya some peanut butter in a minute. Take the knife.” He almost tossed that in too, in the excitement of the whole thing, but caught himself just in time and waited until Rustle had stuck up his hand to take it from him. “I'll start the eyes,” he said. “You make a mouth, and we'll meet somewhere in the middle.” Just how the boys managed to carve out that giant pumpkin's face without accidentally killing one another, was a feat in and of itself. Pumpkin chips were flying. “This thing is a monster!” Wayne cried, as he stabbed out another eye. “Hope we get it done before the kids start coming back.” Rustle, meanwhile, had guessed where the mouth should start, being at a disadvantage to estimate the correct proportions of the face. And about another hour later, the face was starting to come together, albeit a little crookedly.

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“Looks swell!” Wayne exclaimed, stepping back. “Looks even scarier this way.” “Can't tell,” said Rustle. “It all looks backwards.” “What're we gonna do now?” asked Wayne, once they had finished the last of the face. “They won't be trick or treating for another two hours maybe. And they're gonna see this thing when they walk back from school.” “Get Dad's tarp,” said Rustle. “And get me something to stand on so I can get out of here. If we're not back for dinner, Mom's gonna know something's up.” But Wayne was already high-tailing it back to the house, once again, just hoping that Mrs. Grant had still not returned from the soup kitchen. Rustle heard footsteps running toward him, some time later. He did not like the idea of sitting in a pumpkin, which was beginning to become rather chilly, and smelled too much of pumpkin. And then, everything went dark. “Hey!” he yelled. “What's the big idea?”

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“Sorry, Russ!” Wayne called back at him through the tarp. “Didn't have time to get you out. I think I see Ulysses coming across the street. Now keep quiet! I'll get you some dinner.” “But I can't stay in here!” Rustle hissed back. “I'm hungry and it's cold. And I'm not staying in here until they start trick or treating.” “You can!” Wayne ordered. “Now wait here. I'll smooth things over with Mom and get you something to eat. I gotta go. The kids are coming!” And with that, Wayne was gone. Rustle could hear his sneakers slap against the sidewalk off into the distance. This Halloween was not turning out to be so great. Finally, Rustle gave up and sat down on the pulpy ground of his new temporary abode. The minutes ticked by. Rustle could hear the school children hurry past on their way home to dress up for Halloween. Rustle had had plans to dress up as a spaceman. He had made the costume himself, collecting the pieces throughout the year for the big day. And now he wasn't

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going to get to wear it after all. Not at this rate... He sat cross-legged, chin resting in his hands. He stared at the pumpkin cut-out in front of him, which was all but invisible under the cloak of the tarp. Somehow Wayne had thought to leave a crack at the ground so that some air could still get inside. But the sun was setting fast, and the light coming through the face of the jack 'o lantern was not so bright. It was kind of like sitting in a space pod, Rustle thought to himself. A good size for a one-man astronaut. Yup, he thought, this is what it'd be like flying back down from space. Commander Rustle Smith at the controls, Houston. Guiding space pod back down to Earth. To arrive at seventeen hundred. Then came the predictable sounds of rumbling engines and space pod controls as the space pod made its way through the atmosphere. Experiencing some turbulence, Houston. Can I get a reading on the airspace just over Florida? Repeat... And then the darkness disappeared.

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“What are you doing?” Wayne asked. Rustle popped his head back out near the top of the pumpkin. “None of your business.” “Come on,” said Wayne. “Take that. He dumped a sandwich into Rustle's hands. Mom asked questions. I just told her you got stuck at the school yard doing something or whatever. Now, it's just about dark enough. So here's the flashlight.” He dumped that in too. “Ow!” “Hurry up! They'll be here soon.” “Aren't you coming in?” “No room. I'll watch for trick or treaters. Then I'll tell you when to turn on the flashlight.” Rustle gulped down the sandwich. Rustle, rustle. “What's that?” Rustle asked between bites. “Uh... nothing...” “You've got candy!” “What if I do?” “You've already been trick or treating while I've been sitting here the whole time!”

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“Maybe I have, maybe I haven't.” “Hand some over!” “No way!” “You'd better or...” “Or what? You'll scare me to death?” “Wayne, I'll get you for this!” “Quiet! Someone's coming!” Wayne dove into the bushes while Rustle got the flashlight ready. Step. Step. Step. It sounded like maybe there were two of them. They were getting closer. Wayne flicked the flashlight on and off, fast. “Hey, what was that?” a voice asked. “Come on, let's check it out,” said the other one. Through the face of the jack 'o lantern, Rustle could see the outline of what appeared to be a pirate and a cowboy heading toward him. He held the flashlight steady. He had to wait for just the right time... “Oooooooooo...” Rustle almost jumped himself. It was Wayne in the bushes. Good old Wayne. He was going to play his part after all. “What was that?” the pirate asked. “Just the wind,” said the cowboy.

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“Come on.” “Oooooooooo!” “It was louder this time!” said the pirate. “Quit being such a sissy!” said the cowboy. A few steps more... Rustle switched on the flashlight and suddenly the whole inside of the pumpkin glowed a menacing grin. “Aaaaaaaaaah!” Both the cowboy and pirate ran away screaming, back down the road. “Ha ha ha ha!” Wayne laughed, doubled over, coming out of the bushes. “Good one, Russ. Have a Hersheys bar. Let's get someone else!” “Alright. But you've got to promise to get me some candy.” “I'll take over for you in awhile,” Wayne promised. “Look, here comes someone else.” The boys continued this fantastic spook for all of the children who came by. It was a great prank, and Rustle and Wayne knew that they would be congratulated for it the following day, when they revealed that they were the Jack 'o Lantern pranksters.

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“Alright, I'll get in there now,” said Wayne, bringing over the step stool. “I'll go find us some more candy,” said Rustle. “What are you boys doing to my pumpkin?” Rustle and Wayne froze. “It's Old Man Rosciglione!” Rustle whispered. “Let's get outta here!” And did they ever. They never ran so fast in their lives. It wasn't until two days later at the church's Autumn picnic when Mrs. Rosciglione brought over twenty pumpkin pies, that Rustle and Wayne began to feel some remorse. “There's more where those came from, boys,” Mr. Rosciglione said to them, as he walked by their table. And then he winked.

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Chapter 3

The Cake

After the incident of the pumpkin, Rustle and Wayne kept their distance from any particular forms of mischief. Mr. Rosciglione had been gracious enough never to mention the trouble to Mr. and Mrs. Grant. In fact, he thought the whole thing to be rather comical. “Serves me right for leaving a giant pumpkin in my back lawn,” he had told them with a chuckle. Apparently the vacant lot hadn't been much of a vacant lot after all...

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But by the time the end of November had come around, it had been too long. Almost an entire month of near-perfect behavior. The boys could hardly stand the boredom of it all. Every time something interesting had come up, they had turned it down. Just in case. Better to lay low for awhile. But it so happened that, just around the time of Rustle's and Wayne's ended mischief hiatus, it was the day before Mrs. Grant's birthday. Mrs. Grant never made a big to-do about her birthday. In fact, in many respects, she would not have minded it being forgotten altogether. However, Mr. Grant had not forgotten. And the previous evening, just before dinner, he had gathered his four children together in the den, while Mrs. Grant was preparing dinner, and told them what was going to happen. “On your mom's birthday this Saturday,” he said, “I want you, Kathleen, and Ulysses, to prepare a large breakfast. Kathleen, you may make up the menu, and I will make sure you have the groceries that you need. I want you all to make up some

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nice birthday cards for her. And our big gift this year is going to be putting a garden bed together for her in the spring.” “Sounds good, Dad,” said Kathleen. “I'll probably make French toast, for starters...” While Kathleen rattled off the beginnings of a somewhat extravagant breakfast, Rustle and Wayne looked at each other. “Hey, Dad?” Wayne started... “Not now, Wayne. Your sister's talking.” “...And maybe some bacon on the side. I heard this new recipe from June about orange scones. And several kinds of fruit juices. Maybe cherry...” “I think that will do, Kathleen,” Dad said with a laugh. “You write down everything you need.” “Dad?” “Yes, Wayne?” “What about me and Russ? What are we supposed to do?” “I want you to make, both of you, some nice cards for your mother.” “But Kathleen and Ulysses are making those too...”

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“That's alright. Your mother will appreciate all of them.” And then the conversation was cut off by the sound of Mrs. Grant calling them in to dinner. The next day was Friday, and, being at school, and attempting to behave themselves, Rustle and Wayne could still not help but daydream about the usual things. Except that this time, they had the same thing on their mind. When the teacher wasn't looking, Wayne tossed a small paper wad at Rustle. After three tries, he got his attention. “What!” Rustle whispered, irritated. “I got an idea!” “You always have ideas. Ideas that get us into trouble.” “This one won't. Promise.” “What is it?” “Ahem?” Both boys stopped. The teacher, and the entire class, was staring at them. “Can either of you boys name the capital of Kalamazoo?” The boys looked at each other. “I don't... know?” Wayne said

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uncertainly, for both of them. “Exactly,” sighed the teacher. “If you had been paying attention, you would both have understood, as does the rest of the class, that Kalamazoo is not a country. It is, in fact, a city itself. In Michigan...” But both boys were staring off into space again, and didn't hear another word out of the lesson that morning. As soon as class let out, Rustle and Wayne ran for home. “We've gotta hurry!” Wayne shouted. “Before Mom gets home!” “What's the plan?” Rustle shouted back, as they raced down the sidewalk. Wayne grinned. “Cake!” This was a grand plan. They could handle this. Dad had never mentioned cake. Maybe he forgot. Well, this was something that Rustle and Wayne could handle. And they would make it an absolutely spectacular cake. As soon as the boys burst through the door, it was clear that Mrs. Grant was still gone. In fact, there was a note sitting on the kitchen counter, written in Mrs. Grant's handwriting, explaining

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that she would not be home until six o'clock. “That's super!” said Wayne, already up on the counter looking through Mrs. Grant's recipe books in the cabinet. “Gives us two hours to bake this cake. Here.” He tossed Rustle a cookbook. Just find the recipe for that red cake Mom likes. Within ten minutes, both boys had Mrs. Grant's aprons tied around their waists and had the kitchen counters covered with entirely too many appliances and mixing bowls. “This looks kinda complicated...” said Rustle, trailing off, as he looked at the list of ingredients. “I'm not sure we have all this stuff.” “Sure we do,” said Wayne. “Come on. Tell me what to dump in here first.” Neither Rustle, nor Wayne, had ever so much as measured out a teaspoon of salt in their entire lives. So the challenge of mixing a grand total of thirteen ingredients to make Red Velvet cake... was, at best, monumental. “Two and a half cups of flour,” said Rustle carefully.

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Wayne peered into the flour canister. “Looks about right,” he said. He lifted up the ceramic canister and dumped the entire contents into the bowl. In the process, a flour cloud erupted into the air. “Nice one,” said Rustle. “Come on Christmas, come eat up this mess.” Christmas came obediently trotting into the kitchen and began to make her way around the flour perimeter while Rustle went onto the next ingredient. “Oops. We were supposed to sift that...” “Aw, that's just something they do to try to make it fancy,” said Wayne. “We don't need that. Next.” “Cocoa powder. 12 cups.” “Twelve cups! Who has 12 cups of cocoa powder?” “I don't know... Oh, oh it's just a half a cup.” Wayne fumbled around looking for the cocoa powder. “Guess this is it,” he said, pulling an unmarked canister out of the spice cabinet. “Is cocoa powder supposed to be red?”

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“It's called Red Velvet cake, isn't it?” “I guess so...” “What else?” “Baking soda and salt.” The boys continued this process for awhile, calling Christmas back into the kitchen from time to time to clean up an especially large error. “Aah!” Wayne cried, jumping back just in time before a cup of sugar came flying across the room. It seemed that Rustle, who had been balancing on the footstool with a full cup of the sugar had lost his balance, and... Christmas was called in once more. Somehow they made their way easily enough through the baking soda, salt, and somehow even the butter. But then... Out came the eggs. “I don't understand how Mom does this,” said Wayne. “Every time I crack one of these things... Yeah, there it goes again...” Both boys peered into the bowl on the counter. This was a dilemma. About a dozen tiny fragments of shell littered the bottom of the mixing bowl.

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“They don't come out so easy,” said Rustle. About ten minutes later, both boys had given up, and the egg shell remained. “They won't notice,” said Wayne. “It'll all be mixed up so well, they won't be able to tell.” Then came the sour cream. Rustle could already see Wayne's eyes grow wide as he opened the container. “Don't eat any of it, Wayne,” he warned. “We've got just enough.” “But it looks... so... good!” Rustle whipped the container away before Wayne could have his chance, and the whole thing went into the bowl. This was followed with milk and vanilla extract. But there was still one more necessary ingredient. Food coloring. “Why do we need that?” Rustle asked. “It's already red.” “Yeah, that's dumb,” said Wayne. “Oh well. Hand it over.” “But we're out of red.” “Out? What else is in there?” “Yellow. Or blue.”

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“Blue.” “I don't think Mom wants blue cake.” “Well, we've gotta put some kind of food coloring in there. The recipe says we have to.” “I don't think food coloring makes the cake taste any different.” “Just give it to me.” Both boys watched as Wayne let drops of blue fall into the cake batter. The more they watched, the more they became mesmerized by the patterns the dye made in the batter. “Oops,” said Wayne finally. “I think I used the whole thing.” And, indeed, he had. “Oh well. Looks kind of purple... Here. Pour that in the pans,” he said, lugging the rather heavy bowl over to Rustle. “I'll make the frosting.” Rustle did as instructed, but not before there were several dollops of batter on the floor and counters in the process of pouring it into the pans. “Christmas!” “Alright,” said Wayne confidently. “Put them in the oven. Don't burn yourself.” “I won't, I won't,” Rustle replied.

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He carefully slid in both pans of purple batter and closed the door. “Now,” said Wayne, “we leave that in there for... 3,540 minutes! Why didn't they just cut that down into hours?” “No, Wayne. 35-40 minutes,” Rustle corrected him. “Oh, ok, then, Mr. Smarty-Pants. You watch the clock while I finish the frosting.” Rustle took a seat on the counter to watch. “Wow,” he said. “This place looks like a bomb hit it.” Wayne also observed. The counters were so covered in dishes and utensils and blobs of sour cream and piles of flour, sugar, etc., that the counter was no longer visible. “Wow, you're right. Guess we could have Christmas come in and we'll just set her on the counter.” “Yeah. But she's kind of heavy...” “Let me just finish this first,” said Wayne, importantly. “Just make sure the cakes don't burn.” Wayne carefully looked at the rest of the recipe. “This doesn't look like it'll make

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enough,” he said. “I'm just gonna put in double of everything.” Rustle hopped down to look at the paper. “Better make it triple,” he said. “We've got two cakes in there.” “Oh, right!” “You forgot to set out the cream cheese.” “Why would I do that?” “It says to here. See? Now it's gonna be all hard.” “It won't be too bad. Hand me all that stuff over there.” In went the butter, the sour cream, the vanilla extract, and the sugar... But when it came time for the cream cheese... “Maybe you should try to cut it up first...” Rustle suggested. “Quit buggin' me, Know-it-All,” Wayne ordered, becoming very tired with the whole project. “I know what I'm doing.” In went the entire block of cream cheese. As soon as Wayne turned the mixer to 'on', both boys knew it was a mistake. The cream cheese was

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launched skyward! As if in slow motion, they watched it fly through the air. “Got it!” Rustle cried. “No, I got it!” Wayne yelled. And... Smash! Both boys ran into each headlong. “Ow!” Rustle cried. “What'd you do that for? I told you I got it!” “Where'd it go?” Wayne asked, slightly dazed. And then Rustle started to laugh. A little at first, and then he got the giggles, uncontrollable giggles. His face started turning red. And tears were coming out of his eyes. “It's not that funny,” said Wayne. “If we can't find it, we can't have frosting.” Rustle couldn't answer, he was laughing so hard. But he pointed to Wayne's head. “What?” Wayne slapped a hand on his head. Yes, there it was -- the unfortunate slab of cream cheese. “That does it!” he declared, standing up out of the mess of flour and sugar that was the kitchen floor. He took the brick of cream cheese,

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somehow had the presence of mind to slice off the side that had been planted on his head, chopped it up into pieces, and threw it in the mixer. Then, with a triumphant smile at Rustle, who was still laughing, turned the mixer once again to 'on'. Success. The frosting was complete. A very large bowl of it. Too large for ten cakes. And as Rustle finally pulled the two very purple, somewhat crispy, cakes from the oven one hour later... both boys crashed in a heap on the floor. “I don't know how Mom does it,” said Rustle. “All we made was a cake, and look at it...” It was a war zone. If the boys had been soldiers and the kitchen the enemy, the enemy would have won. Hands down. “Now we gotta put the frosting on this thing,” said Wayne. “I just don't think I have the energy.” “Aw, come on. We made it this far. And Mom'll be back soon. We'd better hurry.” The next moment, however, brought utter terror to both boys as the sound of

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the key could be heard in the front door. “It's Mom!” Rustle croaked. “What do we do?” “Nothing,” said Wayne solemnly. “It's all over.” Both boys hung their heads in prepared shame as the sound of footsteps approached the kitchen. “Boys!” Their eyes snapped to the speaker. It was Kathleen! “Kathy!” Rustle immediately entreated, “Please don't tell Mom! We just tried to make her a cake. And everything went wrong!” “We tried to get Christmas to clean it all up,” Wayne added. “But I think she's had too much sugar already...” But now it was Kathy's turn to laugh. “This is the biggest mess I've seen in my life!” she said, bending over in laughter. The boys just watched in awe as she wiped away the tears of laughter. They hadn't expected this reaction. “Come on,” she said. “I'll help you clean up. And what is that...” Wayne proudly picked up one of the cooling purple cakes.

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“These are the cakes we made for Mom.” Kathleen's laughter resumed. And the boys weren't exactly certain why. So with the impeccable cleanliness of Kathleen, and much elbow grease, the three managed to clean up the kitchen to its original sparkling state. “And for the cake...” said Kathleen, staring at the two very purple circles on the counter. “Well, boys, I think it might be best if you just finished the job yourselves.” They took little convincing. Even though they were tired from the whole escapade, there was nothing better than taking a giant bowl of frosting and painting with it. Close enough to painting anyway. Each armed with a spatula, it didn't take long. They both iced their own and then, carefully, Wayne set one on top of the other. And the cake was finished! Kathleen helped them cover it and put it inside the pantry for the big day. Both boys were too excited to sleep that night. They couldn't wait to see what Mom would say when she saw it.

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The next day went like clockwork. Kathleen made a beautiful spread for breakfast, complete with fresh flowers for the table. Dad and Ulysses had the garden dug up perfectly for the coming spring. And Dad had bought Mom a new pearl necklace for the occasion. Everything was set. And there was a steak dinner for everyone at Mom's favorite restaurant... Kathleen must have told Dad about the cake, because Dad explained that they weren't to order dessert at the restaurant, because there was already a special surprise waiting back at the house. Both boys did manage to catch the skeptical look in Dad's eye when he looked at them while he said this. “Don't worry,” Wayne whispered to Rustle on the ride home. “We'll prove to Dad we did this right.” “I hope so,” Rustle whispered back. “What do you think he's gonna say when he sees that it's purple?” Wayne shrugged. Both boys kind of already knew what Dad would do when he saw the purple cake. When they returned, everyone took

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a seat at the table except for Rustle and Wayne. “Ok, boys,” said Dad. “Kathy, the lights?” said Wayne. “Now, close your eyes, Mom,” said Rustle. “She doesn't have to close her eyes,” Wayne whispered to him. “Why would we turn off the lights and have her close her eyes at the same time?” “Well, it's not like she's not gonna see what's going on if you just turn off the lights...” “Ahem,” Dad cleared his throat. “Oh, come on,” Wayne ordered. After several moments of fumbling in the kitchen with the matches and the candles, everything was ready. “Open your eyes now, Mom!” Rustle hollered. “We're coming!” The whole family started singing Happy Birthday at the very moment the boys appeared, each holding a side of the enormous cake frosted four inches thick. As the last notes ended, and the boys set the cake on the table in front of Mrs. Grant, Rustle said proudly, “We made it for you!”

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“And Kathy helped. A little,” Wayne added, feeling obliged. Mrs. Grant could not help but smile broadly at this unexpected offering. Her two troublemakers, and there they were, with a cake they had made for her themselves, and all as their own idea, as Kathleen explained. “Dig in, Mom,” Wayne said, after she had successfully blown out the last of the candles. Then Mr. Grant handed Mrs. Grant the knife. In it went, and out came the first slice. “It's... purple!” Ulysses said for them all. Mrs. Grant smothered a laugh as she handed Mr. Grant the first slice. No one else said a word about it. But then, Ulysses took the first bite. “Holy smokes! What'd you put in this?” he cried. Wayne and Rustle looked at each other. Rustle started rattling off the list. “Flour, sugar, eggs, cocoa powder...” “Cocoa powder?” said Mrs. Grant. “I don't have any cocoa powder.” “Well, it was red whatever it was,”

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said Wayne. “We figured that was it, because the cake's supposed to be red,” said Rustle. And then Mrs. Grant could no longer hide the laugh. Kathleen's eyes widened, beginning to understand, “Chili powder! You put chili powder in the cake!” Wayne and Rustle were somewhat shocked at this announcement. Ulysses pushed away his slice. Kathleen's mouth was still open in astonishment. Dad had his head in his hand, his shoulders shaking with laughter. And Mom... well, Mom seemed the most amused of all of them. “Boys,” she said, laughing, “thank you for this cake. I've never seen a more creative interpretation, And it's just about the best gift I could ask for.” Then Christmas was called in to help polish off the remaining slices.

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Chapter 4

Leap Toad

About one week into December, Wayne and Rustle were back to their usual routine: causing trouble. That wasn't to say that they were always bad. It was merely that Mrs. Grant was receiving a small handful of calls from the school, and mothers of other students, to inform her that her sons were 'at it again'. Whether this was playing hooky to continue building the fort in the woods by the creek, tying Lulu Porkinstock's ponytails to the back

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of her desk chair during class, or putting a spider in Alice Hinderbell's lunch box... reports were slowly coming in...

So this one particular first Sunday in December, the Grants arrived at church at the usual hour, ten minutes, exactly, before the start of the service. Mr. Grant felt that it was in the best interest of the family to arrive no sooner than, and not later than, ten minutes early. This gave the family a proper length of time to locate an open pew, while not giving Wayne and Rustle enough time to boil up any certain amounts of mischief before the start of the service. Mr. Grant congratulated himself on this clever tactic, and had kept to this ritual from the very first Sunday that the twins had attended church together, at just two months old. There was, however, just one small problem. It had been an Indian Summer. So long, in fact, that the cold snap had only just begun to arrive. As a result, the 'little critters', as Grandma Grant liked

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to call them, had been out and about in the season, for an unusually long amount of time that year. Including... toads.It was Wayne's idea, as Rustle gladly explained later. Just on the way inside church. There it sat, just under the old hydrangea bush near the front door. Plump, happily fat, and blinking lazily in the cool autumn morning.“You think he's alive?” Wayne asked, as he walked closer to it.“Of course it's alive,” said Rustle. “He just blinked.”Wayne stared back at the brown creature. Then he turned around to see if anyone was looking. Mr. and Mrs. Grant had already gone indoors. Kathleen was talking with some friends on the walk. And Ulysses... he didn't seem to be around either.“Don't do it,” Rustle warned. “Mom'll be furious.”“Look at you trying to be all good,” Wayne taunted. “You were the one got in trouble for tying Lulu's hair to her chair.”“Yeah, but you put the spider in Alice's lunchbox. That was worse.”

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“So?”Rustle didn't have a prepared response.“I'm bringing it with me,” said Wayne.And before Rustle could say another word, the toad was pocketed.Rustle followed Wayne into church, hoping that Mrs. Grant wouldn't notice. He had already been in enough trouble for one week, because even the boys began to get a sense of when they had reached their quota. And it just so happened that this week Rustle had met his, if not exceeded it. But Wayne still had a little wiggle room.But not much.Inside the brown stone building, Mrs. Cliffship was already on the first hymn of the prelude. It was a very fortunate thing, then, that the boys were able to just squeeze into the end of the pew without Mr. and Mrs. Grant taking any notice of them. This was rare, and Rustle was able to breathe again. But for only a moment.As Reverend March took his place at the pulpit, Wayne clapped a hand to his pocket. He only just realized that he had forgotten to button it. Fortunately,

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Mr. Toad had not yet escaped. “What are you gonna do with it?” Rustle whispered. “Nothing. I just wanted it. That's all.” Rustle was about to say something else, when he caught Mom's eye down the pew. It was the look that said, 'If you don't stop whispering to your brother, Rustle Grant, you can't even begin to imagine the kinds of trouble you'll be in when we get home'. So Rustle said nothing else about the toad. By the time Rev. March had the congregation rise for the first hymn, Rustle had almost forgotten about the toad. Wayne seemed to have things under control. And there was also the distraction of Christmas. It was now only three weeks away, and Rustle had many ideas of what he wanted. And not only was there Christmas, but there was the inevitable possibility of snow days. Every year there were at least a few snow days. And fortunately, the big snows always seemed to come during the week, and not on Saturdays or Sundays. There would be snow forts and snowball fights and sledding and

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skating... Rustle kept thinking about these things throughout the entire set of hymns that morning. Good thing for him that Mom couldn't tell exactly what he was thinking about, because then there would be more trouble. He knew, however, that he had better at least pay a little attention to the sermon. Because Dad, as he did every Sunday, quizzed each of them individually about its content on the ride home from church. This was sometimes a little frightening. There had been many a Sunday when Rustle had either forgotten to listen at all, or had fallen asleep, and had absolutely nothing whatsoever to say about the sermon. This usually landed him with memorizing five Bible verses, which often took up the entire afternoon. But Rustle had learned his lesson. And now, he paid attention to the sermon every Sunday. Well, at least the beginning and the ending. There were often too many times in the middle where he found himself daydreaming about things such as Christmas wish lists and... toads.

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Just about the time that Rev. March took the pulpit to deliver the sermon, there was a rhumba going on in Toadland. This was suddenly one unhappy toad, and he was doing everything he could to get out of Wayne's coat pocket. “What did you do to him?” Rustle asked, ever so quietly. “I think I might have squished him a little,” Wayne replied, just as quietly. “He's ok. I think he's just mad.” “Maybe you'd better just let him go,” Rustle went on, eyeing Mom. “I can't do that!” Wayne whispered back. “If you let it go, everyone'll just think that he hopped in on his own.” “Mom won't.” This was all too true. And Rustle could see by the sideways glance of Mom that she knew something was up. Rustle immediately snapped backward, up against the hard back of the pew. Fortunately, the toad seemed to have resumed his sleepy state. And the dancing had stopped. For the first ten minutes of Rev. March's sermon, everything was rather

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quiet. And Rustle was managing to gather a decent idea of the outline of the sermon, which addressed the respect of elders. Rev. March had been reading from II Kings about the prophet Elisha:

“Then he went up from there to Bethel; and as he was going up by the way, young lads came out from the city and mocked him and said to him, 'Go up, you baldhead; go up, you baldhead!' “When he looked behind him and saw them, he cursed them in the name of the LORD. Then two female bears came out of the woods and tore up forty-two lads of their number.”

This was getting good. That would teach him not to make fun of any old men with bald heads again. There was just something kind of funny about bald heads... Once, when he was little, and he was caught staring at one of the bald-headed men in church, the bald-headed man looked at him and said, “It's alright, son. The wind just blew all

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my hair away.” And for a long time, he had believed him. Rustle was thinking about this very thing when, suddenly, a dreadful noise filled the sanctuary...

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Ribbit.

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The boys froze. They froze so still, they could have easily been statues. Never before had they been so incapable of movement. A strange silence filled the sanctuary. Then it came again, although this time even louder and more adamant.

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Ribbit.

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Silence. Rustle just kept his head plastered against the back of the pew. He shut his eyes tight. If only no one looked at him. For once, he had nothing to do with it.

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Ribbit!

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Why didn't Wayne get rid of the toad? Rustle just knew that the entire congregation was looking at him. Why didn't Wayne just let him go? And why did it sound like the ribbits were getting louder?

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Ribbit!

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Could it really get any louder than this? And were there really so many pairs of eyes in just one room?

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Ribbit!

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Rustle's eyes popped open. There it was, Mr. Toad, sitting right in his lap! And there was Wayne sitting next to him, looking as innocent as an angel! And if that wasn't bad enough, not only was half of the congregation turning around to see what was going on, but Mom was looking straight at him. Rustle clapped a hand over the toad and stuffed it into his own pocket. It wouldn't do any good to let it loose now. Fortunately, Rev. March was good enough to continue with the sermon with little interruption, and the congregation was turning back around, most of them with smiles on their faces. But there was one person who wasn't wearing a smile. And that was Mom. For the rest of the service, Rustle could feel his face burning. And there was Wayne, just sitting there, looking so completely innocent. Wayne was gonna get it.

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By the time everyone began filing out for church, however, Rustle seemed to have forgotten about the whole incident. Mr. Toad was asleep in his pocket and Rustle was distracted, once again, thinking about Christmas and its presents. But let it be said that very little got past the observation of Mrs. Grant. So that, in the end, it was Wayne, and not Rustle, who had to pay for the incident of the toad. He was sentenced to raking up the entire front yard for the rest of the afternoon. About half-way through this project, Rustle came out to join him. “Can't believe I have to do this on a Sunday,” Wayne said grumpily. “Mom says it's a punishment, so it doesn't count as a chore,” said Rustle. “Can't believe you got out of this either,” Wayne went on with a huff. “Hey, I didn't do anything!” “Yeah, well...” Rustle picked up another rake and started on his own pile of leaves. “Thanks,” Wayne muttered. “You know I still have the toad,” said Rustle.

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“You do?” Wayne's eyes lit up. “I thought you got rid of him after church.” “Naw. He was sleeping, so I kept him for you.” “Gee thanks, Russ.” And then Mom called from the porch. “Cocoa, boys!” It had been not a half-bad day after all.

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Chapter 5

The Secret Agent

Christmas was just around the corner. Wayne and Rustle were so excited about it, they could hardly stand still. There was too much to do. Hanging the Christmas lights on the roof with Dad. That was maybe the best part. Mom had shooed them outside while she and Kathleen set up the tree. But Dad had not allowed them up on the roof. Only Ulysses had been given permission, mostly because Mr. Grant knew that Ulysses would not try

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anything that could endanger his life. “Aw, why can't we come up?” Wayne asked, as Ulysses made his way up the ladder. “Because you're not old enough,” said Ulysses, in his usual methodical voice. “You're only thirteen,” Wayne had retorted. “But I'm more mature.” “Who says?” “Dad.” And that seemed to settle it. For awhile, the boys watched the strings of green lights slowly rise to the roofline. This was mildly interesting. But then things became pretty cold, and it wasn't as much fun watching than if they had also been up on the roof. “Let's go inside,” said Wayne. “What're we gonna do?” Wayne made a sly look. A little too sly. “If Ulysses thinks he's so 'mature', then I guess he's mature enough not to mind if we go snoop around his stuff a little.” “That doesn't make any sense...” Rustle started.

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But Wayne was already gone back through the front door. Rustle followed him. There was something very curious about Ulysses' possessions. Everything about him was clean and orderly. And it was only on rare occasion that they had ever even thought about entering the 'forbidden chamber' which was Ulysses' room. “Wait, Wayne,” said Rustle, hurrying down the hall after him. “What are you looking for?” “I don't know,” said Wayne with a shrug. “But there's gotta be something interesting in there.” “Like what?” “Like... the cure for the common cold. Or a tunnel to China.” “Yeah...” said Rustle, his eyes lighting up. That was the thing about Ulysses. He might tattle on them. He might destroy all of their fun, ever. But he was pretty brilliant. And the boys knew that whenever they had a problem that needed to be solved, they could ask Ulysses. He had all the answers. So it would not have been a great surprise if they had, indeed, found in his room: the

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cure for the common cold or a tunnel to China. Wayne still hesitated before entering. This was sacred territory. It wasn't to be bothered. Both boys knew that they were, in essence, risking their lives to enter. But there was little chance of Ulysses returning any time soon. It could take maybe another hour before all the lights were hung on the roof... “I'm not so sure about this,” said Rustle. “What are you, chicken?” Wayne asked. “No,” Rustle insisted. But both boys were just a little scared. “You open the door,” said Wayne. “You do it.” “Why?” “It was your idea.” Wayne put a hand on the door knob. And carefully, very carefully, he turned it. For some reason, the creak of the door seemed especially loud. And it seemed to take a century before it was opened wide enough for their entry.

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It seemed like the world might explode if Wayne stepped foot in that room. But when he did, nothing significant happened. They had made a successful arrival. The room looked completely innocent. If there was anything extraordinary going on in Ulysses' world, he had kept it well hidden. The boys still stood in awe as they looked around them. Everything was still quiet. “It's so... clean,” said Rustle. “Yeah,” Wayne nodded. “Reckon we'll find something interesting?” Rustle asked. “It's Ulysses' world. Of course we'll find something interesting.” But neither of them seemed willing to begin the search. “Wonder if he's keeping something secret.” “What kind of secret?” “It's Ulysses. He's so secretive. He could be working for the CIA and we'd never know it.” ”Isn't he too young to be in the CIA?” “I don't know. Guess there's no way of knowing 'cause he'd never tell us if he was.”

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The boys looked at each other. Maybe this was an actual possibility. Ulysses the secret agent! But there was no proof of this yet. Wayne reached out a hand toward the closet door and, with the utmost caution, slowly opened it. The boys blinked. It sure looked like a typical closet. All of Ulysses' shirts carefully pressed, on their hangers. His baseball bat and glove. Two pairs of shoes. Everything looked pretty normal. But then there was the box. Just a long brown box sitting on the floor behind the shoes. “What do you reckon's in there?” asked Wayne. “I don't know. Maybe a telescope.” “Why would it be a telescope?” “I don't know. It just seems like the right size.” “Ulysses couldn't afford a telescope.” “You're right.” “Maybe it's a disguise for all of his special agent stuff. You know -- spy glasses, passports for France and Africa and other places...”

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“Not much of a disguise. It's right there in plain sight.” “Let's open it.” “No!” Rustle whispered, catching his sleeve. “He'd know we got into it.” “No he wouldn't.” “Sure he would. He always figures it out when we've gotten into something. Otherwise how come Mom always knows what we've been up to when she's been gone?” “Yeah... but it could be something pretty swell.” “Like what?” “Maybe it is a telescope, like you were saying.” “You said Ulysses couldn't afford it.” “Maybe I'm wrong.” “You're just trying to get me to open it.” “We'll both do it, so we get equal blame if we get in trouble for it.” “Well...” “I promise I won't say it's only your fault.” “You always do that.” “I know. That's why I promise I won't do it this time. “And if you do?”

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“You can have my dessert every day for lunch for a full week at school.” “How do I know you're not bluffing?” “I swear it.” “On your grave?” “On Mom's grave.” “Fine, fine. Ok. So real quick, we both open it. Together. And just a quick look. They might almost be done with the lights out there.” They crouched down to the floor. There was no use in bringing the box out of the closet. It might be too heavy anyway. As it was, the corner of the box seemed to have been left open. Just a little. Maybe enough to see what was inside. “I think we need a flashlight,” said Wayne, as he tried to look inside. “No time. Just try to see anything.” “Well, if you'd quit blocking the light... There. That's better. Yeah. Uh... Can't really see... Well, it's... kind of... Whoa!” Wayne shot backwards out of the closet. “What? What?” asked Rustle. But Wayne was already running out of the room.

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“What? What is it?” Rustle asked, hurrying after him. “I think... you might be right about that whole secret agent thing,” said Wayne, catching his breath. “What are you talking about?” “In the box... it looked just like...” “Just like what?” “A machine gun!” “A machine gun?” “Yeah! Like the kind a sniper would use!” “What!” “Yeah! It looked like the right size and it was metal.” “Are you sure?” “Sure, I'm sure. You want to look for yourself?” “No. No way. Ulysses is probably coming back inside now. Are you sure it was a gun?” “'Course I am. And I'll bet he's got knives and foreign passports and other gadgets and stuff in his drawers. We didn't even look there.” The boys sat solemnly for a few moments. This was dire news. If Ulysses really was a secret agent, they might already be in trouble with the

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government for all the terrible mischief they had done in their young lives. “What are we gonna do?” Rustle whispered some minutes later. “What can we do?” “I don't know. Something. We might have a secret agent for a brother. That can't be good.” “Yeah. I mean, I always knew he was a genius. But I had no idea...” The boys sat in dazed silence for a few minutes longer. “We've gotta tell Dad,” said Rustle finally. “Oh that's a swell idea,” Wayne replied. “Then we can go get Dad in trouble too for knowing about Ulysses being a secret agent.” “You don't think Dad knows?” “Of course not, dummy. That's why it's called a secret agent.” “Well we can't just let a machine gun sit in Ulysses' closet. What if it goes off by accident and someone gets it?” “Well what d'ya expect me to do about it?” “Like I said, we gotta tell Dad.” “Fine. You do it.” “Me? You do it!”

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“You!” “You!” “You!” This went on for some time. And at the end of it, still neither boy had moved. “You've been on Ulysses' good side for a few days, Russ. You should do it, 'cause he'll be less mad at you if he finds out you told.” “How have I been on his good side?” “You promised to clean out the fish tank for him, remember?” “Oh, darn. I did promise to do that. Can't really remember why I promised though...” “See? You'll be on his good side. Now go.” “But...” “Come on. We can't keep living in danger like this!” Wayne could see that Rustle was cracking. “Do it for Mom, Russ. She deserves to live in safety.” “You're right.” He slid off the bed. “And you're coming with me.”

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Immediately, Rustle grabbed his brother by the arm and marched himself and Wayne downstairs to confront the matter at hand. There was Mr. Grant, finished with the Christmas lights, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. This was enough to be scared. Interrupting Mr. Grant and his newspaper was tantamount to committing theft. Theft of time, that is. “Dad?” Rustle started tentatively. “Yes, son?” Mr. Grant replied, eyes still on the paper. “We, uh... Well, Wayne found something that... maybe you should come see...” Mr. Grant immediately looked up from his paper. “What did you break?” he asked “No, no, Dad,” Rustle replied quickly. “We didn't break anything this time.” “Are you sure about that?” “Yes, sir.” “Good,” said Mr. Grant, returning to his paper. “But, Dad...” And then it just so happened that Ulysses walked in right at that moment.

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“Yes, son?” “Aw, never mind.” Both boys hurried from the kitchen. “This isn't going to work,” said Wayne quietly, as they returned to their room. “With Ulysses around, we can't tell Dad.” “Yeah, he'd never believe us anyway...” “We're going to have to do this under cover of darkness,” said Wayne, with a mischievous look in his eye. “Do what?” “Get rid of it. That's what.” “But where?” “Who cares! Just so long as it's out of here. Ulysses can just go be a secret agent someplace else. I'm not waiting around with a machine gun to go off and get one of us killed.” “I guess you're right.” “Of course I'm right. Ulysses is gonna be spending the night somewhere tonight. So when he's gone and Mom and Dad are asleep, say midnight, we'll sneak in his room, bring it out and bury it someplace. Agreed?' Rustle was a little worried with this plan. But Wayne was right. This was a

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serious situation. “Agreed.”

It was almost precisely at midnight that Wayne and Rustle carried out their proposed plan. Mr. and Mrs. Grant had been asleep for perhaps half an hour. They could tell this by the sound of Mr. Grant snoring. “Ok; let's go,” Wayne whispered. Ever so carefully, the boys slipped into the hallway. The symphony of their dad's snores was enough to cover for any accidental clumsy knocks or trips on their way out of the house. Wayne, with utmost caution, turned the knob of Ulysses' door. Fortunately, there was no creaking involved. And they were in! “Alright, you grab it,” Wayne instructed. “I'll watch the hall.” “Sure, give me the hard job...” “Just get it. It's not like anyone is gonna see you do it.” Rustle felt his way in the dark towards the closet. But in the process, he stubbed his toe on the corner of Ulysses' desk.

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“Ow!” he cried quietly. “Zip it!” Wayne hissed, his eyes peeled on the hall. Rustle recomposed himself and headed, once again for the closet. He found the door and rolled it open. Dropping down on his knees, he started to hunt for the box. “I can't see a thing,” he whispered. “Can't we just turn on the light for one second? No one's gonna see it?” “Oh, fine...” Wayne flipped the light switch. And there it was, still on the floor of the closet. The box. “What's... going on in here?” a groggy voice called out from the bed. Wayne and Rustle froze. There it was, rising from under the covers... “Ulysses!” “What are you doing in here?” he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “We thought you were spending the night somewhere...” “Changed my mind. What are you doing?” “Uh...” Ulysses adjusted his eyes to the light and saw Rustle standing by the

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box. “I see you found my big surprise for Christmas.” “Surprise?” Both boys were a little too stunned to move. “Yeah.” Ulysses walked over to the closet and pulled out the box. “It's an aluminum Christmas tree. You know, the kind we had when we were really little, until Christmas ate it up. I wanted to get one for all of us again.” “Christmas tree?!” Rustle mouthed silently to Wayne. Wayne shrugged in disbelief. Ulysses pulled it out of the box, the silver glinting in the light of the room. “I was going to set it up tomorrow night so it could be a surprise the next morning. But since you're up... you want to help me put it together?” Both boys grinned, too relieved to even think about refusing that offer.

Half an hour later, all three boys were on their backs under the tree,

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watching the silver branches reflect the light of the color wheel spinning below and the blue glass ornaments on the branches. “This is amazing,” said Wayne. “I can't believe we thought it was a machine gun... I mean, it was kind of metal and shiny and...” “A what?” Ulysses asked. And the boys just laughed.

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Chapter 6

Ladies' Man

About the end of January, school was back in session, and Wayne and Rustle were ready for some new activities. Christmas had been amazing, especially with the addition of the aluminum Christmas tree. But now the winter doldrums had set in. And it was time to find something new and interesting to do. Wayne, however, was less interested in the usual shenanigans. Because it just so happened that things

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were changing in Wayne World. It happened rather suddenly. But for some unexplained reason, Wayne was the center of attraction for all the girls in the fifth grade. This was made evident after the second week back to class. “Hi, Waaaaaayne,” “Oh, good to see you again, Wayne.” “Oh, hello, Wayne. How was your Christmas vacation?” “Wayne, would you come to my birthday party in two weeks?” By the time Wayne and Rustle had reached the end of the hallway, both boys' jaws had dropped open. “What was that?!” Rustle exclaimed. “I've never seen one girl swoon over you. What'd you do?” “I don't know,” said Wayne, equally baffled. “And how come no one said any of that stuff to me?” “Did you want them to say that?” “No. Girls have cooties.” “Yeah. They're gross.” “I don't get it,” said Rustle. “I just don't get it.”

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Neither did he get it later at lunch, when no less than four girls crowded their table in order to sit next to Wayne. They even voluntarily handed over the cookies and brownies in their lunch boxes. “This is ridiculous!” said Rustle. “Seriously, what did you do? “I don't know,” said Wayne. “But it's not so bad being a ladies' man. Just look at all of those brownies. I'm set for the rest of the week.” “You're not a ladies' man.” “Sure I am. Did you see all those girls? At this rate, Mom'll never have to make cookies for my lunch again.” “Well I still don't get it.” “I'm just a stud. That's all.” “You can't be a stud. You're only eleven years old.” Wayne shrugged. “You're just jealous,” he said. This unusual activity continued for another week. And while Wayne's collection of cookies and brownies continued to grow, Rustle was starting to get annoyed. “That does it!” he said one afternoon after Betsy Washington had given him a

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candy heart that read 'U R Sweet'. “Betsy Washington's definitely never even said 'hi' to you before this. And you're definitely not sweet.” “Well, there's about twenty girls here who would beg to differ with you,” said Wayne. “Don't get so snooty about it. I'm gonna get to the bottom of this and see what's going on. Something's fishy.” “Nothing more than my natural charms.” For the rest of the day, Rustle kept his distance from Wayne. It was essential to observe Wayne's behavior from a distance in order to get a better idea of why this phenomenon was happening. Never before had Rustle seen anything so unusual. And he was getting a little tired of watching Wayne's collection of cookies and brownies growing so fast, while he was stuck with the usual one cookie a day in his lunchbox. Nothing of any particular interest was noted for the afternoon. Or the day after. Not even the next day. But on the third full day of spy work, Rustle began to notice something unusual.

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Almost every girl mentioned the same thing to Wayne in every conversation they had with him during the day. The same thing, no matter which girl it was... Two weeks ago, Wayne had won a raffle at the winter church bazaar. The prize had been something of no small value for the female population of Kirkwood. And when word got around that Wayne Grant owned, perhaps, the most coveted possession in, perhaps, the whole country... this was the result. “Wayne, I gotta talk to you. Quick!” Rustle whispered to Wayne. “I'm kind of busy right now, Russ.” “Yeah, I can see that.” There were already about six girls sitting at his table, handing over the usual cookies and cupcakes. “I know what's going on here,” Rustle said, his voice even lower. “Ohhhh...” Wayne replied, raising his eyebrows. “Excuse me for a moment, girls.” Wayne followed Rustle out of the cafeteria. “So what's going on?” “Those Donny Osmond tickets...”

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“Yeah? So?” “Donny Osmond...” “Yeah. So?...” “Seriously, Wayne? You don't get it? Every girl in school knows you have this tickets.” “Ohhhhhh! Of course! That's what it is. And here I thought it was my own charms.” “You wish. What're we gonna do about this?” Both boys peeked around the wall to the cafeteria. “There they are, waiting just like vultures,” said Rustle. “to see which one you're gonna invite to the show with you” “Eew. I'd rather just give 'em to Kathy. Why would I want to see dumb old Donny Osmond anyway?” “Exactly,” said Rustle. “We've gotta figure out some way to turn this into a profit.” “Hey, you're right. We might be able to keep this cupcakes and brownies thing going for a long time.” “What do you mean?” “I've got a plan. Let's talk about it after school. Until then, I've gotta keep

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being a ladies' man.”

This plan did not take long to put together. With Rustle at the drawing board, everything was quickly ready for action. The next afternoon at lunch, when none of the teachers seemed to be looking, Wayne stood up at one of the benches and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Will all the ladies present, please make your way over here. Immediately.” It didn't take much for a quick scuffle to emerge as all of the girls who had been parading around Wayne for the last two weeks, arrived at the corner of the cafeteria. “Thank you,” said Wayne. “Now my representative has something to say to all of you.” “Thank you, Wayne,” said Rustle very importantly, taking his place on the bench. “Now listen very carefully, girls. My associate here, Wayne Grant, has a very unusual proposition for everyone here. Friday afternoon, we will be

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hosting a raffle at this table here. A raffle with the prize being two tickets to see Donny Osmond, live and in person...” Rustle didn't even have to finish his statement. The room was so awash in squeals and giggles. “Excuse me!” Rustle continued after a few moments of somewhat annoying prattle. “Excuse me, ladies! Now, there is just a small cost per ticket for this raffle. No payment necessary. All you have to do is bake, for my associate and myself, a dozen of the following: cookies, brownies, or cupcakes. Present them here on Friday afternoon just before the raffle, and you will receive your ticket. Even Rustle could not have imagine the success of this proposition. All they had to do was bake a dozen cookies? This was, perhaps, the easiest thing any girl would ever have to do in order to have a pretty good chance of seeing Donny Osmond, live and in person. As they scattered back to classes, Wayne ran a hand through his hair in bafflement. “Well, that went well,” he said. “I

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can't believe how easy it was. How many girls you think were there?” “Oh, I don't know... Twenty? Maybe more.” “Twenty girls at a dozen cookies or brownies or cupcakes each?” Wayne said, his eyes glazing over. “That's, that's, how many cookies and brownies and cupcakes is that?” After a moment of calculating, Rustle had the answer. “Two hundred and forty cookies and cupcakes and brownies.” “We'll be so rich!” said Wayne. “This was an amazing idea, Russ. I owe you.” “Already paid in full, sir,” Rustle replied. “I'm getting one hundred and twenty cookies and brownies and cupcakes for my efforts.”

Friday afternoon came very quickly. As the cafeteria doors opened for lunch, a buzz of very hopeful and giggly girls almost ran over each other in their enthusiasm to deposit their plates of cookies and brownies and cupcakes in exchange for a ticket.

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The tickets were all handmade by the boys the previous evening. Carefully cut out of construction paper and labeled with a number. One through forty, just in case there were extra girls. And word had definitely gotten around. “I hope we have enough tickets,” said Wayne, worriedly, as he began to hand them out. As it turned out, thirty-nine girls were present that afternoon. And the last one went to the cafeteria lady, who promised Wayne and Rustle, each, an extra slice of chocolate cake for dessert that day, in exchange for the final ticket. “Alright, ladies!” Wayne exclaimed above the chatter. “It's time to draw the winning tickets. Let me remind you that there will be two, yes, two winners today. Rustle, may I have the first winning ticket, please?” Rustle fished his hand around in the basket of homemade ticket stubs for a few seconds more, just to build some suspense. The girls leaned forward in great hopes as Wayne opened the ticket stub. “Number twenty-eight. I repeat --

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number twenty-eight!” he declared. There was a screech louder than anything Wayne or Rustle had ever heard come from the back of the crowd. Rustle actually covered his ears as Lulu Porkinstock came forward, still screaming over the fact that she had won. Wayne quickly handed her one of the Donny Osmond tickets and stepped back just as fast to avoid the incredible loudness. “And the next ticket...” Wayne started again. “Hurry it up, Russ! We're gonna have a stampede here...” Rustle quickly thrust his hand into the basket and retrieved the next ticket. “Number eleven!” Wayne declared quickly. “Number eleven.” Both boys clapped hands over their ears as the predictable groans of defeat were pierced by the horrific screech of Alice Hinderbell rising above the masses. “Here, here. Take it, take it!” Wayne ordered, thrusting the ticket into her hand. “Thank you for participating, ladies.” “No fair!” came several responses. “I

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wanted that ticket!” “Fight amongst yourselves, ladies,” said Wayne. “And thank you for playing.” Wayne and Rustle never cleared out of a place so fast in their lives. Fortunately, a sympathetic janitor gave them permission to store the mounds of cookies and brownies and cupcakes, all 468 of them, in his utility closet until the end of the day.

Two weeks later, the boys had hardly made a dent in the monstrous pile of sweet goods. Each evening, they would open up the closet to peruse the wealth and stuff themselves. Until the ants came and Mr. Grant had a word or two to say about that. “Maybe we should have just had them pay a dollar a ticket instead,” said Rustle, groaning in pain from overstuffation. “Yeah,” said Wayne, equally full. “We could have been millionaires by now...” “Next time,” said Rustle, “we'll know better.”

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“Yeah. In fact, we should start doing this on a regular basis.” “What?” “Buy stuff for cheap and auction it off in desperate situations.” “Hey... you might be right about that. I'm thinking summer camp. We bring a few bags of candy with us.” “You're right. Come mid-week the boys'll be craving candy so bad, they won't be able to help paying jacked-up prices for that stuff. We'll be rich!” And so the boys continued to make plans for the summer as they quickly forgot about their cookie-induced stomachaches.

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Chapter 7

A Light in the Dark

It was just about the end of winter. And Wayne and Rustle never found themselves in a better case of cabin fever. It wasn't to say that the winter had been a bad one. There had been plenty of fun: snowball fights, ice forts, sledding, skating, etc. But there was one element missing. And that element was being able to go out at any time of the day without bothering with coats and hats and scarves and gloves,

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because Mrs. Grant would have been highly displeased if they had tried to go out without all of these pieces on their person, which they had tried. Unsuccessfully. So as a result of this cabin fever, mischief had returned. In full. It all started simply enough. Dinner had just been cleared. Pork steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans. There had been apple pie for dessert. The boys had two slices apiece, and it was pretty obvious from the moment they took their last bites, that they had eaten just a little too much food for one night. So Mrs. Grant had sent them to bed early to rest off the uncomfortable feeling of near-explosion. This had been a good idea, at the start. Both boys were stretched out on their beds, staring up at the ceiling. All was quiet...

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“You tired, Russ?” “No. You?” “Uh uh. What time is it?” “Clock says nine.” “Oh, so it's only 8:30. It's too early to sleep.” “We can't go back downstairs. Mom'll just make us clean something 'cause we didn't help with the dishes.” “You're right...” The boys thought quietly to themselves for awhile. “What do you want to do then, Wayne?” “I don't know. What do you want to do?” “I don't know. What do you want to do?” “I don't know. What do you want to do?” “I don't know. What do you want to do?” This continued on for awhile, until the boys were laughing loudly enough to arouse suspicion. “Keep it down in there,” came a voice from the hall. It was Ulysses. “Mom's gonna come up if you don't

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stop being so loud. You're supposed to be sleeping.” “Ulysses' such a fun-killer,” said Wayne. “Yeah,” Rustle agreed. The boys were quiet a little longer. “Want to tell monster stories?” asked Rustle. “Naw, that's dumb. We're too old for that.” “You were just telling ghost stories last week at the bonfire.” “Yeah, ghost stories, dummy. Not monster stories. There's a big difference. Monster stories are for babies. Ghost stories are for...” “What?” “Not-babies.” “That's ridiculous. Ghost stories aren't any better than monster stories.” The boys lapsed into silence again. “Bet I can hold my breath longer than you can,” said Wayne. “Bet you can't.” “Time me.” “How can I tell you're really holding your breath? It's too dark.” “Honor system.” “Promise?”

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“Yeah.” “Fine. On your mark. Get set. Go!” Wayne sucked in a deep breath. “One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four Mississippi. Five Mississippi....” This went on for awhile while Rustle concentrated on keeping a consistent rhythm with his counting. It wouldn't do any good to count too fast and then Wayne could tell everyone that he could hold his breath longer than he really could. “Thirty Mississippi. Thirty-one...” Wayne gasped for air. “That's pretty good,” Rustle said, trying to act unimpressed. “My turn.” “Aw, you can't beat me.” “Wanna bet?” “Yeah.” “What'll you bet me?” Rustle pondered this for a moment, wondering how confident he really was that he could best thirty and a half seconds. “My milk money for lunch on Monday.” “Naw. Not good enough.” “I'll hold the ladder so you can go up

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on the roof tonight and look down the chimney. And I won't tell Mom and Dad about it either.” This was a tempting offer... The boys had lately been pretty fascinated with the idea of seeing if they were thin enough to fit down the chimney. “Well...” said Wayne. “Come on, Wayne.” “Fine. I guess.” “And what'll I get if I win?” “Uhhhh...” “How about you do my chores next Saturday?” “Sure.” “Sure?” “Why not. I'd agree to fly to the moon. There's no way you're beating thirty-one seconds.” “Thirty and a half.” “Whatever. You ready?” “Yup.” “On your mark...” “Count out loud so I know you're not cheating.” “Fine.” “Get set... Go!” The next twenty seconds weren't so bad. Not even up to twenty-five. By the

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time he hit twenty-seven, however, he knew he was getting close. Twenty-eight... Twenty-nine... The seconds were growing slower and slower and s--l---o----w-----e------r..... “Thirty-one mississippi.” “Yes!” Rustle announced “I did it!” “Did not,” Wayne mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did so. You owe me chores!” “I'm not doing it.” “You promised.” “I didn't sign anything!” “Cut it out in there!” It was Ulysses again. Both boys became quiet for a few moments. “Ulysses' no fun,” said Wayne. “Yeah,” said Rustle. Silence again. The moon was on a slow rise outside the window, and both boys were still not feeling very tired. “Hey, Russ, you still awake?” “Yeah. You?” “Yeah. I got an idea.” “What?” “I know where Mom hid the matches.”

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“You do?” “Yeah. She was real sneaky. They're behind a bunch of hers and Kathy's stuff in the bathroom cabinet. She thought we'd never look behind their curlers and brushes and girly stuff.” “You've gotta admit Mom's pretty smart.” “You wait here. I'm gonna get 'em.” This was a wonderful change of circumstances. Matches! This was cause for celebration. For weeks, Wayne and Rustle had been looking for the mysteriously hidden matches. Mrs. Grant was a clever woman. She knew what caused her boys to get into even more trouble than was necessary. And one of those things was a box of unused matches. And so she had put extra thought into the new place of their storage by hiding them in a place they were least likely to look. Wayne returned several minutes later. “What took you so long?” “Saw Ulysses in the hall. Think he might've heard me. So I had to wait.” “How many matches do we have?”

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“I'll count 'em. We'll split it, even.” “Mom's gonna find out, you know.” “We'll leave enough so she doesn't find out.” Wayne spilled out the box on the bed. “Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven... Twenty-seven. Ok, we leave... ten, for Mom. And the rest...” “We've gotta leave more than ten.” “Eleven.” “Fifteen.” “Twelve.” “Fourteen.” “Thirteen.” “Fine. Thirteen.” The rest of the matches were quickly split between the two. “Yes. Seven apiece. Let's light 'em!” “We can't light 'em in here. Ulysses'll smell it and tell Mom.” “Right,” said Wayne, looking around the room. “There.” “The closet?” “Sure. It'll keep out the smell of smoke.” “Well...” “Come on.” Rustle needed little convincing.

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Wayne was right. There was just enough room to sit Indian-style with the doors closed to keep out the smell of smoke. “Ok, light the first one,” Wayne ordered. “But then I'll run out of matches first.” “Oh go on.” Rustle snapped the match on the side of the box.

Fire! There was something mesmerizing about an open flame. How many times had Wayne and Rustle been caught fooling with the campfires at Boy Scout camp? There was that one time Wayne accidentally started a roaring blaze by the lake at midnight and it took about twenty scouts to put it out before it got to the mess hall... But that was another story. Both boys stared at the lit match until it burned pretty much close to roasting Rustle's fingers. “Nice one,” said Wayne. “Now my

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turn. He scratched the side of the box. And once again the glow illumined the closet, just under the rows of shirts and sweaters. It was all too easy to picture themselves as Indian braves sitting around the ceremonial fire at night. Constellations blazing in the black sky. Cries of coyotes in the bluffs across the desert. And Indian braves, Wayne Red-Head and Rustle Fast-Runner were preparing to become Indian Warriors by ritual of fire. All they had to do to complete their initiation was to pass their hands through the open flame... “Yow!” Rustle cried, grabbing at his hand. “Why'd ya leave it in there so long?” Wayne asked, laughing. “That was dumb.” “I didn't,” Rustle retorted, sticking the singed finger in his mouth to cool the pain. You followed the match with my hand.” “Did not.” “Did too.” The match fizzled out. “Alright, my turn now,” said Wayne.

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“Light one of yours.” Rustle struck the match on the side of the box. Quickly, Wayne thrust his fingers in and out of the flame. “See? That's how you do it.” Rustle's finger was still in his mouth. “Let me see it,” said Wayne. Rustle showed him his finger by the light of the dying match. “Ya big baby. It's just black from the soot. Try it again.” “No thanks.” “The other hand.” “Yeah, so I can burn both of them.” “You're just not being fast enough.” Wayne struck up the next match. “Ready?” he asked. Rustle nodded. “Go!” Rustle whipped his hand quickly in and out of the flame. Indian Brave Rustle Fast-Runner was now an Indian warrior. “That's better,” said Wayne. “We've only got a few more left. We should light something on fire.” “Like what?” “I don't know,” said Wayne, trying to

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look around in the dark for something flammable. “Hey, what about that old shirt with a hole in it. Did Mom throw that away?” “No. But it's too big. Something smaller. We might burn down the whole closet.” Wayne thought for a moment. “Cotton balls!” “Good idea. You sneak out and get some.” “But I got the matches. And Ulysses already saw me.” “Oh, fine.” Rustle slipped out of the closet and noiselessly left the room. Within two minutes, he had returned with a large handful of cotton balls. “Yes!” Wayne exclaimed. “Hand some over.” This was even more exciting than just lighting matches. And Rustle had brought two of Kathleen's hair pins as tongs. “Kathy's gonna kill us for this,” said Rustle, already beginning to regret it. “Not if we put 'em back before she finds out.” Rustle seemed satisfied with this

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response and took one of the cotton balls. He slipped it into Kathleen's hair pin and then lit the match. He held it right onto the cotton ball, and immediately, it was engulfed in flame. “Whoa...” said both of the boys at once. They stared in a daze as the little white ball grew golden in orange sparks and flamed blue around the edges. They watched until it simmered into a black wad and fizzled out. “Let's light a whole bunch of 'em now,” said Wayne. “But we only have two hair pins.” “We can set 'em on a plate or something.” “We don't have a plate up here. You'd have to sneak one in from the kitchen.” There was a moment of pondered silence. “We'll just use the glass front of your trumpet competition certificate thing.” “As long as you clean it.” “Fine.” Once again, Wayne was out and back in a flash. The boys quickly arranged a pattern of cotton balls on

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the glass. “Ready?” “Yup.” Both boys lit one match apiece and lit their cotton balls. It was a pretty fantastic blaze. Both boys watched in awe. In awe, that is, until the closet door suddenly opened, and then there was a different kind of awe when they looked up and saw Mom standing above them.

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Chapter 8

The Wild Blue Yonder

Late March escorted in spring. Wayne and Rustle couldn't be more enthusiastic. It was time for a change in the weather, and both boys welcomed it in with an unexpected activity...

It all started one Saturday morning. Early. No plans had been made for the weekend. And Wayne and Rustle were ready for something fun to do. Mr. and Mrs. Grant were gone for

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the day. Kathleen was at her friend's, June's, house. And Ulysses... well, Ulysses was always in his room, studying. So there was virtual freedom for the day. “I'm bored,” said Wayne, shortly after breakfast. “We've gotta think of something to do. We can't waste the whole day.” “You're right,” Rustle replied. “As long as Ulysses doesn't mess up any of our plans.” “We'll just have to be quiet. That's all.” “So what do you want to do?” “I don't know. What do you want to do?” “I don't know. What do you want to do?” “I don't know. What do you want to do?” “I don't know. What do you want to do?” “I've got it!” Rustle exclaimed. “What?” Rustle had a huge grin on his face. “We need garbage bags. And packing tape.” “What are you getting at?”

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Rustle rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Wayne followed his gaze. And then he smiled. “I like your way of thinking,” he said. “Let's get started.” Finding supplies was easy. Getting them was not. Almost as soon as the boys opened their bedroom door, they entered into stealth mode. Ulysses' bedroom door was just down the hall. “On my count,” said Rustle. “One... Two... Three!” Both boys shot down the carpeted hall, as silent as the wind. Ulysses heard it, sitting at his desk, and looked over his shoulder. But no one was there. He returned to his geometry homework. Meanwhile, Wayne and Rustle were congratulating themselves on making a clean escape. Down in the kitchen, things got a little easier. “I've got the garbage bags,” said Wayne. “How many do we want?” “Take four for now.” “What else do we need?” “Packing tape...”

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“We got that.” “Just one problem,” said Rustle. “What?” “The packing tape's upstairs.” “Where?” “In the hall closet.” “What's it doing in there?” “I hid it, back when we were going to tie up Arnold to the old swamp tree until he promised to stop bugging Kathy with his spider collection.” “Oh yeah... I don't remember trying to tie him up with tape.” “No rope. Remember? Then we accidentally burned it at the church bonfire...” “Oh, yeah...” “I guess I'll go get it. You get the ladder out of the garage.” “That's a two-man job. Ulysses'll hear us if I drop it.” “Ok. Stay here. I'll be right there.” Rustle resumed his stealth approach. Silently, he climbed the stairs. As soon as he was out of Wayne's sight, he held up his hand in the shape of a gun and paused just at the landing, looking around the corner. General Rustle Grant, in the heat of

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combat, ready for action at any moment. Gun at the ready... Rustle carefully stuck his head around the corner with ultimate caution. There was Ulysses, sitting at his desk in deep concentration. Didn't move a muscle. That was Ulysses. Always got all of his homework done without any distractions. And Rustle could only hope that he would be so involved in his studies, that he wouldn't hear him open the closet, rummage behind a couple of piles of things, and pull out the roll of packing tape. Rustle took a deep breath and hurried past the room. He waited for a moment after he passed Ulysses' door. Good. No sound. Then, ever so carefully, he pulled open the door to the closet, trying to gloss over the squeaky hinge. He held his breath the whole time. Somehow, he got the door opened all the way, found the role of packing tape, and back down the stairs without a sound. “Took ya long enough,” said Wayne. “Ulysses.” “Did he see you take the tape?” “Naw. He didn't see me.”

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Ulysses had lived a long eleven years with his twin brother, long enough to know that the smallest sign of disruption in the general flow of activities, could signal any sort of trouble. This trouble could come in any form. The slightest unusual sound. The lack of sound. But Wayne and Rustle had skillfully counter-trained themselves to act accordingly to Ulysses' suspicions. And this meant that their next steps would involve some tactical maneuvering to outwit their clever older brother. “Outside,” Wayne instructed. “He'll hear the packing tape.” Both boys situated themselves in the garage. They kept a wary eye and a wary ear for any sudden sounds by leaving the door to the garage slightly ajar. There was always the possibility that Ulysses might come looking for them. Immediately, they got to work. Garbage bags and packing tape went flying. “You should be the test dummy,” said Rustle. “Why? It was your idea.”

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“Exactly. So I own the rights to the product, which means I can hire you to test it for me.” “What does it pay?” “I'm not paying you.” “Then you go first. Or are you scared?” “I'm not scared.” “Prove it.” “Fine. But you've got to promise not to shake the ladder.” Wayne got a funny smile on his face. “You have to promise. Besides, if you shake it, Ulysses'll hear and come out.” “Fine. But you have to promise to stay on this side of the house, or he'll hear you walking around up there.” “Promise.” Next came the ladder. It wasn't going to be easy. Each boy took a hold of one end and lifted it away from its place on the wall. It was heavy and old. And it was already making a terrible screeching sound because it was an extendable ladder and wouldn't stay locked in place without a good rattle. “This isn't gonna work,” said Wayne.

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“Ulysses is gonna hear us.” Both boys needed little time to think on this dilemma. They had had enough experience in the past. “Got it!” said Rustle, with a snap of his fingers. The next few moments were a piece of cake. Rustle marched right up the stairs without a thought, breezed past the open door of Ulysses' room, and into his own room. With a quick flip of the switch, he turned on his shiny radio, a recent Christmas gift. Not loud enough to bother Ulysses, but loud enough to cover any suspicious sounds from the roof. Then, he sneaked back down the hall and around the back of the house to meet Wayne. “Did it work?” “Yup,” said Rustle. “Now let's get this thing going. I don't think we have a lot of time before Mom and Dad get back.” They propped up the ladder against the gutter, not worrying too much about the scrapes and rattles this time. Then, as Wayne kept a steady hand on the rickety old piece of equipment,

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Rustle hurried up, rung by rung, until he was standing on the slant of the roof. “I gotta go up one higher,” said Rustle. “Come around the side.” The two-story brick house rose up in eaves on several portions of the house, and Rustle had a time getting from one side to the other. But, with some careful climbing skills, he arrived at his destination. He observed the lay of the land from his position. Fortunately, any passing cars would likely not see him from the street, as several rather old and tall trees obscured some of his own view of the sidewalk and street below him. From up there, he could see far off, for what seemed hundreds of miles. The hill sloped downward and he could see the woods and the rest of the town stretch off into the horizon. “You gonna do it?” Wayne called up quietly to him. Rustle didn't answer right away. The contraption of garbage bags strapped to his shoulders suddenly didn't seem as much of a good idea as he had originally thought. “Chicken,” said Wayne. “I knew you

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wouldn't do it.” “I am doing it,” Rustle replied, gritting his teeth. This could hurt... Suddenly, Rustle Grant was no longer just Rustle Grant. He was Fighter Pilot Rustle Grant, headed off into the wild blue yonder. But there was a problem. The jet was malfunctioning. Something was wrong. Very wrong. There was no other option for Fighter Pilot Rustle Grant but to evacuate the air craft. Rustle backed up on the ridge of the high roof. He took in one deep breath, dug his shoes into the roofing shingles. And off he went, pounding down the ridge... For one glorious moment, Rustle soared through the air. Just as if a real parachute had opened behind him. Flying high above the ground. But then Fighter Pilot Rustle Grant realized that his silk parachute was not actually made of silk, but of garbage bags and packing tape. And despite its double layered plastic construction harnessed around his shoulders... down went Fighter Pilot Rustle Grant.

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And there was nothing he could do to stop himself. “That was amazing!” Wayne hollered. Rustle rolled over with a groan and Wayne came running over to him. “My turn!” “I don't think you want to do this...” said Rustle, flat on his back in the damp grass. “It didn't feel too great.” “Couldn't be that bad,” said Wayne. 'You can still move.” “Kind of.” Rustle carefully sat up. “Did you break anything?” “I don't think so... Help me up.” Wayne held out an arm. Rustle gripped it and stood to his feet. “Yow!” “What?” “I think I twisted something.” “Must've landed funny on your foot.” “Can you walk?” “Not much,” Rustle replied, trying to hobble a few feet across the lawn. “Well, anyway, I want a turn before Ulysses finds out we're up to something.” Rustle pulled the garbage bag

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parachute off his shoulders. “Might as well jump without it. Don't think it did any good.” “That's cause you didn't do it right,” said Wayne. “Watch.” Rustle sat back, trying to ignore the pain in his leg. It wouldn't do any good to mention the pain. He was, after all, pretty tough, and he couldn't let Wayne see him complain about the pain. He looked up to see if Wayne had made it to the top. Not yet. And still no sign of Ulysses. The music must have been working. Finally, he heard the rustling of the garbage bags. High atop the roof. And there was Wayne, looking rather like a super hero with his cape flying back in the wind. “Ready?” he asked. “You really shouldn't, Wayne...” “I won't land on you. I promise.” “Yeah, but you're probably going to hurt yourself...” “I know how to land. I watched how you did it, and so I'm going to do it different. Just sit back and watch the master.” “How can you be a master if you've

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never jumped off the roof before in your life?” “Just watch me.” Wayne backed up a good ten steps on the ridge. Rustle just sat back, eyes peeled wide to the show that was about to commence before his very eyes. And then he heard the pound, pound, pound of Wayne's feet taking off down the ridge of the roof. And then... he was aloft! Soaring out into the blue for two glorious seconds! But then came the inevitable. And down, down, down, the collapsed plastic chute spinning in the air behind him as he plummeted to earth.

“I hope you boys have learned your lesson,” was all that Mr. Grant said to them later. Mrs. Grant was busy in the kitchen, wrapping up both of their ankles, each of them having fully sprained one apiece. “Yes, sir,” they had both mumbled. “And to pay for the two sets of crutches,” Mrs. Grant had continued, “neither of you will receive your

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allowance again until summer.” The boys looked mournfully at each other. This was unexpected, but fully deserved, as they both knew all too well.

Later that week, as the boys sat on the front porch, watching traffic pass, Mrs. Grant came out to speak with them. “Well, boys, it looks like someone has decided to be generous to you this week, and donated some of his allowance.” They looked at each other. She held up three dollars. “This is for you to share,” she said. “I've been informed that a new cowboy picture is showing at the movies on Saturday.” “Ulysses did this?” Wayne asked. Mom just smiled a little. “Gosh,” said Rustle, “and we were so bad to him.” “Let's invite him to come with us,” said Wayne. “And we'll use the change to buy him popcorn,” said Rustle.

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The boys hobbled upstairs together to find their big brother. Maybe Ulysses wasn't such a 'fun-killer' after all.

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Chapter 9

Mud Caves

One Saturday afternoon in May, shortly before school let out, Wayne and Rustle were busy doing not much of anything. It was one of those rainy sorts of days, where it had been raining for several days, straight, and all of their outside play had been cut off. “Absolutely no,” Mr. Grant had ordered, when he saw the boys headed out to play mud football. And that was the end of that.

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It was on that particular day, however, that Grandma had come to visit. Because Mr. and Mrs. Grant had plans for an early dinner. And there would be no one around to keep the boys out of trouble, as Mrs. Grant had explained. It seemed that Ulysses had a good deal of homework, and Kathleen was off to spend the night with a friend. And so Grandma had arrived at three o'clock in the afternoon, sharp, with her sewing basket. She had promptly greeted each of the boys with a sharp 'love pinch' on each of their cheeks, which left them stinging. (They were used to this.) And she then made herself a cup of tea and invited them to read with her in the den until it was time for their Saturday night showers and evening television programs. But neither Wayne or Rustle were very interested in their late school-year reading material. In fact, school ended in a matter of weeks, and they were so entirely sick of school, that they couldn't even imagine wasting an entire afternoon of a good Saturday on reading.

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Besides, there were other things afoot. Some of their pals from school had been snooping around that week. Word on the street was that a set of mud caves had been found about a mile back of the old neighborhood in 'unclaimed territory'. None of the guys really knew who owned the property where the woods started. And none of them had found the need to ask. Better left unknown, so no one could get into trouble for trespassing. Furthermore, it had been decided in school, late Friday afternoon, that, no matter the weather, everyone who was interested, baring the female community, of course, was to meet at the vacant lot across from the schoolyard at half-past four and hike back to inspect this new addition to their stomping grounds. Wayne and Rustle hadn't dared to ask their parents about permission to attend. One word of 'mud' and another of 'caves' would be enough to send Mrs. Grant into never letting them out of the house again. And Mr. Grant, though not as easily scared off by the sound of caves, would have said 'no', simply

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because of the mud. “We need a strategy,” Wayne had said, earlier that day. “What kind of strategy?” “I don't know. Brainstorm.” The boys spent all of breakfast and the rest of the morning and through lunch, brainstorming. In fact, Mrs. Grant was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with her boys, because they were so quiet. Around one o'clock, Rustle found their idea. “It'll work just super,” he said. “Just do what I say. And we'll be out of here by four o'clock.” “This'd better be good,” said Wayne. “Trust me,” Rustle replied. “This works every time.” Around quarter till four that afternoon, Operation Mud Caves was fully underway. On cue, the boys, who were both in the den with Grandma, spontaneously decided to build up a fire in the fireplace. “I don't think it's cold enough for a fire, boys,” said Grandma. “Oh, it's alright,” said Wayne. “We

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don't mind. It's kind of cold outside anyway. And it's raining.” Grandma seemed alright with this sort of logic, and continued with her sewing of quilt pieces while the boys prepared the fire. It didn't take long to get a roaring blaze going, with two Boy Scouts making it. Maybe a little too warm. But that was, after all, the plan. “I'll get you another cup of tea, Grandma,” said Wayne. “Thank you, boys. This is very nice of you.” “No trouble at all, Grandma” said Rustle. “We're happy to do it.” Wayne shortly returned with a cup of tea. “I made it just at the right drinking temperature, Grandma,” he said. Grandma took a sip. “It is just right,” she said. “Thank you, boys.” Several minutes later, the plan was starting to work. Rustle winked at Wayne. It was already working. There was Grandma's head starting to nod. If it was one thing the boys knew, it

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was that if Grandma sat in the same room as a warm fire, with a cup of hot tea, it wouldn't take long for her to start snoozing. By shortly after four o'clock, Grandma was out. The boys, as silently as possible, slipped out of the den and to the coat closet. Rustle had thought to open the squeaky door in advance. And both grabbed their coats. And hats. It wouldn't do to have Mom mad at them for catching a cold on their return. Then everyone would know what they had been up to. Then ever so quietly, out the front door, with the smallest click as it shut behind them. Both boys had trouble containing the exuberance of their victory. “What did I tell you?” Rustle exclaimed. “I have to admit it was a good idea,” said Wayne, “even though it wasn't mine.” “We'd better hurry. Knowing Grandma, we've got about two hours, tops, before she wakes up. And if Ulysses comes downstairs and sees

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that we're gone...” Both boys immediately took off in a run, the rain still falling lightly over the neighborhood. They were free! And all on their own genius too. It was a super feeling, not to mention the prospect of seeing an actual honest-to-goodness mud cave! Ten minutes later they arrived panting, out of breath, at the school yard. “About time you showed up,” said Arthur. “Are we all here now?” The group of seven boys huddled together in soggy clothing were more than ready to get going. “You'd better be right about this being here, Arthur,” said one of the guys from the back. “Don't worry. I've got it on good authority from my big brother. Let's head out.” The troop of boys started their march across the schoolyard, a field that seemed to have at one time long ago housed a crop of corn, and into the woods. For living in such a nice neighborhood, they weren't that far from the wild. And this particular 'wild'

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was the wood where all the boys in the surrounding neighborhoods met to build forts and secret 'no girls allowed' clubs, especially in the summer. The hike started out alright. The rain wasn't falling too hard, and by the time they hit the woods, it was even less of a bother because of the tree cover. But Wayne and Rustle couldn't entirely enjoy the adventure, due to the constant reminder of Grandma sitting at home snoozing by the fire. “She's a pretty heavy sleeper, right?” Wayne asked, as they followed the others down the now-muddy path. “Sure. Most of the time.” They walked on in silence a little while longer. “Ulysses probably won't notice we're gone, right?” Rustle asked. “Naw. He never notices anything when he's doing algebra homework.” Their walk continued on, silent. “He was doing algebra, right?” Wayne asked. Rustle's eyes grew wide. “I thought you said he was.” “Well, I didn't check or anything. Doesn't he usually do algebra on

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Saturdays?” “I don't know.” “You were supposed to check.” “What do you mean, I was supposed to check? You were supposed to check.” “This isn't going anywhere.” “Well, we can't go back now.” “Yeah. We can't go back now. We're almost there.” The boys trudged on in silence. Suddenly, the idea of mud caving wasn't quite as exciting when there was a double possibility of getting found out. Especially by Ulysses. That would be the worst. It didn't take long, however, for them to forget about their problems. Because it was just about at that moment that Arthur called out that they had arrived at their destination. “It's kind of small,” said one of the boys. “Yeah. I thought this was supposed to be a big cave.” “Quit your whining!” Arthur ordered them. “Wait until you get inside. Who wants to go first?” Rustle's hand shot up.

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“Fine, Russ. You first.” “Russ!” Wayne grabbed at his shoulder. “It's fine, Wayne. I'm been caving before.” “Yeah, but...” Wayne looked at Arthur. “What if it's not safe?” Arthur laughed. “My brother knows everything about this cave. He says it wouldn't cave in even if there was an earthquake.” “Since when is your brother an expert on caves?” Wayne asked, maybe a little snidely. “Why I oughta...!” Arthur said, starting at him. “Whoa!” several of the boys called out as they pulled him back. “Never mind him, Wayne,” said Rustle. “I can hold my own.” But Wayne didn't look so sure. Russ boldly walked up to the thin mouth of the cave. He swept aside the bunches of wet leaves caked with mud. He paused for just a moment. It did look awfully small... But if he stopped now, he'd look like a chicken. Besides, there was something pretty exciting about crawling through a tunnel just tall

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enough to stay flat, in all that mud and... “You scared, Russ?” Arthur half-sneered. “Of course not.” “I don't think so. I think you're chicken.” “No one calls my brother a chicken.” Arthur spun around. For a moment, everything was quiet, as he and Wayne stared each other down. Rustle saw it first. Wayne's hand clenching into a fist. “Wayne, don't!” But it was too late. Wayne's fist went flying toward Arthur's nose. But Arthur's fist went flying back. And both missed. However, that was all it took. Immediately, all the boys started a brawl. Fists were flying. There was enough yelling and scuffle to think that maybe it was an honest-to-goodness cowboy and Indian skirmish. “Having fun, boys?” Everyone froze. “Grandma!” Wayne and Rustle exclaimed together.

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The walk home was kind of a miserable one. Neither Wayne nor Rustle said a word. And Grandma just marched straight on, her galoshes squishing through the mud and a raincoat pulled up over her head. Maybe that was the worst part -- Grandma not saying a word to them that whole walk back. And the rain was falling harder, soaking them to the skin. When they returned, Grandma sent them upstairs for hot showers, then a bowl, each, of hot oatmeal. This was pretty bad too. No one wanted oatmeal for dinner on a Saturday night. But that was all they got, while Ulysses had pork steak, baked potato, and an enormous slice of Mrs. Grant's Coca-Cola cake. And instead of any of their usual Saturday night television programs, Grandma had them clear their dishes and straight to bed. She followed them upstairs to tuck them in. “You know I love you, boys,” she said. And that was it. Her not mentioning

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their crime had seemed to have almost more impact than if she had. “We're sorry, Grandma,” said Rustle. “Yeah, really sorry,” said Wayne. “I think you've learned your lesson,” she said with a smile. And did they ever, when they, and all of the other boys at the mud cave that afternoon, came down with bad colds the next morning.

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Chapter 10

OA

The time had come. The time Wayne and Rustle had been looking forward to for the whole summer leading up to that point. The single most important moments of the summer of their sixth grade year.

OA

Order of the Arrow. A most solemn and important of ceremonies, to take place on the Thursday night of their

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Boys Scout summer camp at S – F Scout Ranch. And both Wayne and Rustle had the greatest of hopes that, this being their second year at summer camp, and they were now officially qualified, that they would be one of the chosen...

“We've gotta get it this time,” said Wayne. “We're good Scouts. Sure they'll vote us in.” “Maybe...” said Rustle. “Why wouldn't they?” “What about the stew we made where all the ants got mixed in?” “That was just funny. They wouldn't vote us out of OA for that.” Both boys were relaxing in their hammocks during their hour of free time that relatively quiet Thursday afternoon. “And we finished the mile swim,” Wayne went on. “That's gotta count for something.” “But you buried Johnny Dingle in sand up to his neck on the beach.” “That was a joke.” “I don't think he thought it was too

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funny...” “Aw, quit trying to sound like you didn't cause any of the trouble either,” said Wayne. “Who's idea was it to teepee Arthur's tent last night?” “Yeah... well... he had it comin' to him. My point is, don't be surprised if you don't make OA.” And Rustle opened his Johnny Quest comic book, quickly forgetting about the whole idea of OA as he was lost in a world of jungles and rivers and Johnny Quest catching the bad guys.

Several hours later, the rest of the Grant family arrived: Mr. and Mrs. Grant and Kathleen. Ulysses was also at summer camp. Although, being older and more responsible, he had been given a nicer tent and accommodations. “Have you been behaving yourselves?” Mrs. Grant asked later, when they were all sitting around the picnic table for dinner. “Well...” Rustle started, until Wayne kicked him under the table. “Oh, yeah, Mom,” he cut in. “No

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problems.” The boys could tell that Mrs. Grant was not entirely convinced of this. However, she had received no phone calls, no telegrams, no letters from any of the Scout leaders. And so she had to assume that nothing very calamitous had taken place throughout the five short days of camp thus far... The boys ravenously stuffed themselves full of dinner, a picnic of sandwiches and fruit salad, which Mrs. Grant had brought for them, while Ulysses explained about the weeks' events of canoeing, swimming, hiking, merit badges, etc. Fortunately, Ulysses had not been present for the ants in the stew or the burying of Johnny Dingle in sand, or the teepeeing of the tent, etc. But if he had heard about it, he didn't say anything. Ulysses was the perfect Scout. He had already received Order of the Arrow, and was in the final process of completing his initial plans for his Eagle Scout project. Following the clearing of the picnic hamper, Ulysses escorted the family down to the lake to await the beginning of the ceremony, while Wayne and

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Rustle prepared to leave for the procession. “Behave yourselves out there,” Mr. Grant ordered. “Do us proud, boys,” Mrs. Grant added. “Have fun,” said Kathleen. Wayne and Rustle didn't need anyone to encourage their intention to have fun. But one look from Mr. Grant told them that if they did happen to cause any sort of trouble, there wouldn't be much fun happening when they got back from Scout camp. “I'll expect you to serve me watermelon and dump cake when you get back,” continued Kathleen with a wink. Wayne stuck out his tongue. “You wish. We won't be there, 'cause me and Russ, we're gonna be tapped out. So don't expect to see us again until Sunday...” But Rustle had already grabbed him by the shoulders and started carting him off down the trail. “Don't say that so loud!” he commanded. “What if we don't get picked. Then everyone'll laugh at us.”

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“You just watch and see who's laughing in the end,” said Wayne. The boys joined up with the rest of the Scout troop. Dusk was falling, and it was time to get in line for the big ceremony. “You nervous?” Johnny asked Wayne, as they filed together. “Naw. This is old stuff. We did this last year. Just keep your arms folded and don't trip on anything. And whatever you do, don't talk. I learned about that last year. The leaders don't like you talking.” Johnny nodded, and got into line. “Why did you tell him not to trip on anything?” Rustle asked Wayne. “Don't you remember last year? When I tripped over the smudge pot and went flying into the lake?” “Oh, yeah... Can't believe I forgot that one... You were pretty mad.” “No kidding, Russ. It was the best thing that happened all camp. Where's your brains? How'd you forget that?” “I don't know. Just concentrating I guess...” But then the signal came for silence. Each of the boys crossed their arms

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and waited quietly in line. No one moved. No one spoke. Far off, they could hear the beginning of the ceremony. The Indian chief beginning his chant on the lake. “I want to be the Indian chief one day,” Rustle thought to himself. It was an important part to play in the Order of the Arrow ceremony. To dress as an Indian chief in the war paint and feather headdress. Standing in the canoe on the lake giving an address to the crowd of parents and brothers and sisters of the Scouts seated on the opposite bank... And then it was time to march. A silent march out of the woods, across the bank, single file, standing in an endless line of Scouts, arms crossed, at dusk, across the lake from their equally quiet audience. Their eyes adjusted to the dusk of the bank across the lake. Rustle thought he could maybe see his parents and Kathleen, sitting right up near the front. Along the whole of their line were set the smudge pots, flickering orange flames, reflected in the dark lake.

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As the Indian chief continued his chant, the sun was almost gone now, and the stars were beginning to glitter. Rustle got the shivers as he continued to listen to the mysterious and ancient chants. Then came the time of choosing. This was it. This was the big time of revelation. Who would be tapped out? Who would be chosen? The two Indian braves took their flaming torches and ran down the end of the Scouts, the sound of bells ringing as they ran. Wayne and Rustle stood perfectly still as they ran past. Silence for just a moment. And then the first brave started his turn. Back down the path, just a few steps. Wayne and Rustle could not turn their heads to see. But they heard the bells stop. And there was a silent pause. And then they heard the slap of the Indian's hand on the Scout's chest. “You! Have been chosen!” the Indian brave shouted. And immediately, the Scout would be removed from the line. On and on it went. One Scout after

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another... Sometimes just one... “You! Have been chosen!” And then a long pause, as the face of the Indian warrior stared at the faces of the Scouts, flickering in the light of the Indian's torch. And sometimes, several in a row, all at once... “You! Have been chosen!” “You! Have been chosen!” “You! Have been chosen!” Wayne and Rustle were holding their breath. They knew the Indian braves could tell which Scout had been chosen by looking just past them, where Scouts who already had OA, held the OA sash above their heads. And only for those who had been chosen. One time the Indian warrior passed them by, looking sternly at both, and then he ran away down the path. They both felt a wave of disappointment. Had they been passed over? Had they gone unchosen? Would they have to wait another year to be escorted into the Order of the Arrow? And if not that year, than another year

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more? Or another? The ceremony continued. The warriors continued to take their turns pacing the long row of scouts, never altering the stern expression of their faces. It seemed as though it would continue forever. But the Indian warriors had not come back to look them in the eye. They were about to give up. Maybe next year. Maybe next summer they would be chosen and get to be a part of the secret society and camp out under the stars and...

WHAM!

Rustle looked sideways next to him to see Wayne reel a little from the impact.

“You! Have been CHOSEN!”

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As Wayne was pulled out of line, Rustle tried not to be too disappointed. He was happy for Wayne, but... And then he saw the steely eyes of the Indian warrior staring at him.

WHAM!

Rustle felt himself thrown backward at the thrust of the punch.

“You! Have been CHOSEN!”

They were stunned. Both at the same time. And then they felt a hand on their shoulders. “Congratulations, guys,” came a quiet whisper. They turned around. It was Ulysses. He had been standing just behind them, holding their OA sashes just above their heads. “Come on,” he said, smiling. “And no

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talking.” The boys grinned at their older brother. They had been accepted into the Order of the Arrow. And there were no overturned smudge pot fires or any other disasters involved. No mischief.

At least until the next time...

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