Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life Read online

  “So where did you move from?” Lizzy asks. She unconsciously reaches up to touch the spot where her covered-up pimple is, and then quickly lowers her hand.

  “From New Jersey,” Samantha answers. “Our dad works in the city and was tired of the commute.”

  “Did you ever go to the state fair?” Lizzy asks, in an unfamiliar high-pitched voice. “We’re going to be in it next month.”

  I’ve never heard her so talkative to strangers. Why would she mention the state fair of all things?

  “The state fair?” Rick repeats with a laugh. “Only hicks go there. What are you going to do? Pull a tractor with your teeth? No, wait, you’re going to race pigs!”

  “Shut up, Rick!” Samantha says, pushing him hard into the wall. “Ignore him,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He can be so obnoxious.”

  “No problem,” I mumble, even though I don’t mean it. Rick is still laughing, and Lizzy has turned mute. It looks like it’s up to me. “Well, we hope you’ll like it here,” I tell Samantha, ignoring Rick. Then, as Mom trained me to do, I add, “Let us know if you need anything.” I point out which apartments are ours, and seeing as Lizzy is still mute, I pull her down the stairs with me.

  “What was that all about?” I ask once we get outside and a few yards away.

  The usual spring is missing from her step, and she’s walking very slowly. Could she have been nervous because of Rick? Does she think he’s cute or something? Finally she says, “I feel so stupid. Samantha’s gonna think I look like this every day, with this dorky skirt. And then I go on about the stupid state fair. Why did I say that? And this stupid briefcase. Did you see her earrings? And her toenails were red!”

  “I won’t ask why you were looking at her feet. But why do you care if some girl you don’t even know thinks you look like this every day? What’s wrong with the way you look?”

  “Oh, never mind,” she says. “You don’t understand girls at all.” She walks faster, almost jogging, and I have to hurry to keep up. Well, at least the spring is back in her step.

  Chapter 6: The Office

  Mitch is just opening the locks on the front door of Fink’s Comics and Magic when we arrive. I can’t help noticing the large ring of keys in his hands.

  “Hey, dude and dudette,” he says in a kind of drawl. He’s always trying to sound like he’s from California, when I know he’s never even been there. It is my secret hope that he’ll move there for real after he graduates. Then maybe Uncle Arthur will retire, and I’ll take over the store. A kid can dream, can’t he?

  Mitch gives Lizzy’s outfit an approving glance, but she doesn’t notice. She’s too busy eyeing the key ring, too.

  As we follow him inside, I whisper to Lizzy, “We should check his keys in case my mom is wrong and my dad did leave an extra set in the store. Then we wouldn’t have to go uptown.”

  She nods in agreement. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “I’ll go ask Mitch for them.”

  “Wait,” Lizzy says, pulling me back. “He’s gonna want to know why you want them. Do you really want him to tell him about the box?”

  She’s right. I don’t want him to know about it. He might try to lay claim to it somehow, or at the very least make fun of me. I know they store the keys under the counter, so all we have to do is wait until an opportune moment to grab them. We pretend to be looking through the comics while Mitch finishes opening the register. He asks me to watch the front for a minute while he gets a new cash drawer ready in the back.

  “No problem,” Lizzy and I reply at the same time.

  “That was too easy,” Lizzy whispers once he disappears into the back room. We run behind the counter, and she grabs the keys. I unzip my bag and we quickly try the keys in each keyhole. No luck. Not even a nibble. Well, at least now I’m convinced that Harold’s office is our only hope. My uncle heads behind the counter just as I’m zipping up my bag. He gives me a suspicious look.

  “Whatcha doing?” he asks, glancing from me to my bag to Lizzy. Besides his physical resemblance to my dad, his voice is identical to Dad’s, too. This always creeps me out (when it doesn’t make me want to cry, that is).

  “Nothing,” I answer, swinging the bag over my shoulder. “Mitch asked us to watch the front, so we were just, you know, watching the front.”

  “Yeah,” Lizzy says, sliding past Uncle Arthur and around to the front of the counter. “And now we’re going to buy some candy.”

  I smile weakly at my uncle and join Lizzy on the other side. She’s already placed two bags of Twizzlers and a king-sized Snickers on the countertop.

  “Job interview?” my uncle asks, giving my outfit the once-over.

  I shake my head. “Lizzy’s dad is bringing us to work with him.” It’s amazing how easily I can lie to my uncle. All I have to do is remember the time he was supposed to take me on the father-son campout in sixth grade and never showed up. It may not excuse the lying, but it makes me feel less guilty.

  He gives Lizzy her change and puts her candy in a bag. She flashes him a bright smile and says, “Thanks!”

  We wave as we go through the door. “That was a close one,” she says when we’re halfway down the block.

  “Why?” I ask, watching as she unwraps one of the packs of Twizzlers. “It’s not like we stole anything.”

  She hands me a Twizzler, and I remember who I’m talking to. “We didn’t steal anything, right?” I ask.

  “No, we didn’t steal anything!” she says. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if that uncle of yours thinks we did.”

  “I guess I can’t blame him,” I say. “Each year the store loses a few hundred dollars in stolen candy and comics.”

  “That’s so like you,” she says, sucking on her Twizzler. “Always trying to find the best in people, even him.”

  “Hey, weren’t you going to buy Skittles for the security guard, not Twizzlers?”

  “I panicked, all right? Just eat your Twizzler.”

  At that moment we catch sight of the bus rounding the corner. We run toward it, the bag thumping against my back. Two businessmen are waiting at the stop, both holding bus passes in their hands. The bus pulls up to the curb, and I ask Lizzy if she knows how much the bus costs. Mom has always taken care of this sort of thing. I’ve really got to start paying more attention.

  “Two dollars each way,” she says. “I checked this time. You have money, right?”

  “You don’t?”

  “I just spent it on the candy!”

  I pull out my wallet as a Girl Scout troop gets in line behind us, giggling and pushing each other. The two men step on, stick their bus passes in the slot, and pull them back out. They’re the same MetroCards we were supposed to use on the subway. Those things carry a lot of power in this city! The driver is waiting for us. I hand him our four dollars. It’s a good thing I have my usual eight, or else we wouldn’t have enough to get home.

  “Quarters only,” the driver says, not even looking at us.

  “We don’t have any quarters,” I say meekly.

  The driver rolls his eyes and booms, “Anyone got a card?”

  The Girl Scouts behind us are getting restless. I hear one of them mutter, “Dorks!” and a few others giggle. For their rudeness, I may just demand a free box of cookies this year.

  “I’ll do it,” a middle-aged woman in the front seat says, standing up. I elbow Lizzy when I see the woman is wearing a Yankees cap and sweatshirt, just like the guy who helped us in the subway. Good thing baseball fans are so superstitious! The woman lowers her card into the slot twice, and then grabs the four dollars from my hand.

  Anxious to be away from the front of the bus, we make our way to the back and take the last two seats. Lizzy immediately turns and stares out the window. I know she feels bad for messing up our second mode of public transportation.

  “Hey, Lizzy, one of the Girl Scouts just made another one cry. That should make you feel better.”

  I can see her smile in the reflection of t