Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life Read online

  “Um, thank you for that,” I say haltingly. “But we’re in this together. I asked you for help, and you’ve had really great ideas.”

  “Aw, shucks,” she says, punching me lightly on the arm.

  Always one to try the easiest way first, I say, “Before we go to Harold’s office, let’s at least call him. Maybe he’s still there and will look a little harder.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Lizzy says. She jumps off the couch and puts up her hand for a high-five. I give her a weak one. She takes the letter out of my backpack and reaches for the phone. As she dials, I remind her that it’s Saturday and maybe we need to wait till Monday. She shushes me and moves the phone between us so we can both hear.

  It’s a recording. “You have reached the law offices of Folgard and Levine. We have closed our Manhattan branch and will be reopening in Long Island in September, following a safari in Africa. Peace out.”

  “Peace out?” Lizzy repeats, hanging up the phone. “What a strange guy.”

  “Maybe Levine is the strange one,” I offer.

  “Who’s Levine?”

  “The other guy in the office. Harold might be perfectly normal.”

  Lizzy shakes her head. “If he was friends with your parents, he’s probably not normal.”

  She has a point.

  “We need to make a list,” she says, suddenly all business. She grabs a pencil off the coffee table and looks around for something to write on. “To recap what we’ve learned: It will be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to find keys that will fit the box. The box cannot otherwise be broken into, at least not without destroying it and, most likely, its contents. We know Harold is no longer in his office, and might even be in the jungle.” She finds a copy of an old issue of Post Office Weekly and rips off the back, which is blank. She begins to scribble. “We’ll need gloves, a flashlight, a screwdriver, a briefcase, candy, a map of the city, and some nice clothes.” She taps her forehead a few times with the pencil. “Now what am I forgetting?”

  “The kitchen sink?” I volunteer.

  “Why do we need the kitchen sink?”

  “Why do we need a briefcase or a flashlight?” I ask. “We’re not going in the middle of the night. And candy? You know I’m in favor of bringing candy anywhere we go, but why for this mission?”

  “Duh,” she says. “To bribe the security guard, of course.”

  I laugh. “You think a security guard is going to let us snoop around someone’s office because you give him a Twizzler?”

  “I was thinking more like a bag of Skittles,” she says. “And then if he still won’t let us in, a king-sized Snickers oughta do it.”

  She may have something there. He’d have to be a man of strong resolve to turn down a king-sized Snickers.

  “And if that doesn’t work,” she says, pulling her hair out of its ponytail, “I’ll just use my feminine wiles.”

  “What feminine wiles would those be?”

  She shakes her hair out and does this pouty thing with her lips.

  I burst out laughing. “You look like one of my fish!”

  She chases me around the room, swinging her hair and hips, and puckering her lips.

  “Speaking of my fish,” I say, running to the door. “I have to go feed them. Cat and Dog were ganging up on Ferret last night. I better make sure they haven’t eaten him.”

  Lizzy says, “You’re just afraid of my feminine power.” She closes the door behind me. I give a little shiver. I don’t usually think of Lizzy as a girl at all. It’s just too disturbing.

  I awake on Sunday morning to the sound of one of those big trucks backing up. Beep, beep, beep. The brakes hiss as the truck comes to a stop. Why would a big truck park in front of my building? Unless…

  I jump out of bed and peek through the blinds. It is a moving truck! Our new neighbors have arrived! A small red car pulls up behind the truck, and the four doors open. The first thing I see are four blond heads. Mother, father, boy, girl. At the same time, all four crane their necks and look up at the building. The father points first to the roof, where people sit on July fourth to watch the fireworks, and then down to the window of the apartment that will be theirs. He doesn’t look like a minor league baseball player or an acrobat, or any of the other things I had been hoping for. He’s actually wearing a suit, which I think is weird for a Sunday and even weirder for moving day.

  Since my window is only about ten feet above their heads, I can see them very well. The boy is scowling, and the girl’s face is sort of crumpled. Streaks of brown makeup run off from the sides of her eyes. She must have been crying. I want to call down that this is a nice place to live, but never having moved in my life I can’t really identify with what they must be feeling. I plan on living here forever.

  The parents start directing the moving men, and the kids lean against the car. The boy crosses his arms and kicks at the ground while the girl twists a strand of hair around her finger. I’m about to go get Mom to tell her the new neighbors are here when I see our upstairs neighbor, five-year-old Bobby Sanchez, run down the porch steps and up to the car. His mom hurries to catch up.

  “Hi!” Bobby says to the new kids, sticking out his hand.

  I can hear him clearly through my window screen, but the new boy pretends not to. The girl forces a smile and shakes his hand. “I’m Samantha,” she says. “This rude kid is my brother, Rick. We’re moving in today.”

  “Cool!” Bobby says, scratching his head with one hand and shuffling his feet. That boy is never still.

  “I’m five,” Bobby adds. “How old are you?”

  “We’re fourteen,” Samantha replies. “We’re twins, but I’m older by six minutes.”

  Rick kicks her in the shin, and she jumps. “Well it’s true!” she says. A roll of thunder passes by, and everyone checks the sky. I hope it doesn’t rain on them.

  With both of my parents being identical twins, I would have expected to come across more twins in my lifetime, but this is the first boy-girl set I’ve ever seen. They don’t look very much alike. She has an oval-shaped face, and his is squarer. I am starting to feel a little creepy spying on them, so I scribble a note to Lizzy and stick it through the hole. By the time I use the bathroom and throw on shorts and a T-shirt, there’s a response waiting for me.

  J—

  Not leaving my apartment today = not meeting new neighbors. You can come over if you want. Your grandmother e-mailed me about the state fair. I’ll wait till you get here to open it.

  L

  I write back:

  L—

  Why aren’t you leaving your apartment?

  J

  She responds:

  J—

  N.O.Y.B.

  L

  N.O.Y.B.? Why isn’t it my business that she won’t come downstairs? And Grandma was very sneaky to e-mail Lizzy instead of me. She knows I delete anything with “state fair” in the subject heading.

  I go back to the window, but the new family is no longer outside. They must have gone up to their apartment. It has started to drizzle, and the movers are carrying bundled furniture up the stairs along with a seemingly endless number of boxes. I debate going to their apartment, but figure I should wait for Mom to do that. She’d want to bake something probably. I think that’s what you do when someone new moves in. If these were just new kids at school I wouldn’t even think of trying to meet them. But I feel it is my neighborly duty to be, you know, neighborly.

  Since I’m dressed now, I might as well go to Lizzy’s. I leave a note for Mom on the kitchen table. I am very responsible that way.

  Grandma knows I’m dreading keeping my end of the bargain that we made last summer. Each summer Lizzy, Mom, and I visit her at the bed-and-breakfast she runs in New Jersey. It’s basically the only time I leave the state. Last summer, as she does each year, Grandma took us to the state fair nearby. I basically ate my way through the whole thing—caramel apple, candy apple, funnel cake, cotton candy, and a root beer float. Mom said I wo