Stuck on a Crazy Cul-De-Sac
Chapter One: Mean Pies
I need to warn you. My neighbor, Felicia, wrote all the even numbered chapters in this book, and some of the things she’ll tell you about me are total lies. Don’t worry, I’m completely honest when I talk about her.
My name’s John. I don’t know what the worst part of last summer was, but the doorstep wars and crashing our own birthday party were pretty bad.
I lived on a cul-de-sac, and all of my neighbors were old people. There was the guy with the perfect lawn, the guy with the perfect car, the lady with the miniature poodle, the lady with the German Shepherd, and the people who were never home (were they dead?).
That’s why I wasn’t too excited when Mom told me some new people had just moved into the house across from us. Mom had made a “welcome neighbors pie” for them, and Dad made me put away my tablet to go meet them.
We walked across the cul-de-sac in the super hot sun. I was annoyed because I hadn’t gotten a chance to finish my game, but I cheered up when I saw that their car had a bumper sticker from an elementary school on it. Maybe they had kids my age.
Mom rang the doorbell and we waited on the front step.
“Hi,” a smiling woman answered.
“Hi,” said Mom. “We live across from you and just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“Oh, that’s so kind of you. Here, why don’t you come in? I’m Laurel, this is my husband Dave, and our daughter Felicia is upstairs. Felicia!” she called.
We walked through the doorway and immediately I was hit with a strong smell of wet paint. A girl my age came bounding down the stairs in a lime green skirt and top, her curly blond hair bouncing on her shoulders. She smiled at me and said brightly, “Hi, you’re the kid from across the street. My name’s Felicia. What’s yours?”
I kind of wanted to say some fake name like Bob, but Mom and Dad were right nearby. So I told her my name is John.
“Wow, that’s a good name,” Felicia replied. It’s a name, honestly. It’s not like my name is Indiana Jones or anything cool like that.
“It’s just a name,” I said.
“I know, but it’s a good one.”
“Nah. It’s just a name”
“But it's a good one.”
I shook my head.
“Yes it is!”
“Why don’t we all sit down. Would anyone like a glass of water?” Felicia’s mom asked, interrupting our argument. The adults all followed her to the kitchen, but Felicia grabbed my arm and tugged me toward a living room full of cardboard boxes.
“This is the fort room. Look there, don’t you like the fort I made?” she asked me.
I glanced over at the heap of boxes piled into what could resemble a fort. “Not particularly,” I responded.
Felicia’s face fell. “But it’s good. Isn’t it? … Okay, fine. If you don’t like it, oh well. Let’s go upstairs; I can show you around.” She led me away from the chatter of the grownups.
It was sort of interesting getting to look around the house. We arrived upstairs and Felicia turned left into a small bedroom. This was her room, I presumed. There wasn’t much in it yet, but I could tell that all the walls had been newly painted white. One of the walls was splattered with vivid handprints of all different colors and sizes.
“Who did the handprints on the wall?” I asked.
“Oh, those are from everyone who ever went into my room,” Felicia replied. “You’ll get to do that too.”
“Me?” I questioned.
Felicia looked at me as if I were stupid. “Yeah, you,” she said. “Everyone who ever goes into my room needs to put their handprints on my wall. It’s a rule. See, these red prints were from the guy who painted my room. And the blue ones are Mom’s and the orange ones are Dad’s. See? The pink ones are mine.”
I thought about what she had said. “But you can’t have everyone that’s ever been in this room,” I pointed out. “You can’t have the people who just moved out…”
Felicia considered this. “No,” she said slowly. “But I only need the people who have been in my room since it’s been my room.”
“Oh,” I said. “I see.”
There was a slight awkward pause before Felicia said, “Are you ready to do your handprints?”
I hesitated. Putting my painted handprints on somebody else’s wall just seemed like it was asking for trouble.
“You get purple,” she added.
“No thanks… and purple’s a girl’s color.” I backed out of the room.
“Fine, but you’d better do it sometime…”
Felicia and I went downstairs, where our parents were now apparently talking about us. They broke off when they saw Felicia and me and began talking about the weather. Wow… really? These guys went to college.
After listening to our parents talking about nothing for two minutes, I got bored and let Felicia drag me back to the living room.
“Want to play a game?” she asked.
“Okay,” I said.
She picked Truth or Dare. We relaxed in her lousy fort and she began.
“I’ll start easy. Your Dare is to go into the kitchen and steal the pie your family brought over.” She paused. “Your Truth is, have you ever kissed a girl?”
It would be simple to answer the Truth. I would even answer it honestly. No, I had not ever kissed a girl. But I didn’t want to give Felicia the satisfaction of hearing my answers to nosy Truth questions. “I pick… Dare,” I said. “I’ll take the pie.”
“Great,” said Felicia. “Well, go do it…”
I got up and walked to the edge of the kitchen, peering around the doorway. Our parents had gone back to talking about us. I started to eavesdrop on their conversation, but was distracted by a tap on the shoulder.
“What?” I hissed.
“I forgot… there are two more parts to the Dare… first, you can’t be seen,” Felicia whispered. Easy, I thought. “And second, if you do get seen, you need to answer the Truth question as well.” She grinned.
“That’s not how the game’s played,” I protested.
“It is when I play the game,” Felicia responded defiantly. I didn’t want to get into another argument with her, so I tip-toed into the kitchen and got on my hands and knees. I crawled quietly, and then inched my hand up onto the counter where the pie was resting. I grabbed the side of the aluminum pie dish and started pulling it gently toward me.
“John… what are you doing?” The deep sound of my dad’s voice startled me. My hand lurched but I continued to hold onto the pie pan. I pulled the pie straight off the counter and it fell right on top of my head. Mom’s pie was cherry and I hate cherry. It was also very sticky and worst of all, I had dumped it on top of myself when everyone was watching!
Behind me, I heard some poorly concealed giggling. In front of me I saw the stunned expressions of our parents.
Ooops.
I got up feeling dizzy. Vaguely, I heard Dad saying something, but I was focused on Felicia, who was now bent over in laughter. She wasn’t trying to be mean, but at that time, it seemed mean to me. I felt like crying.
Of all the things I could have done—said I’m sorry, actually bawled my eyes out, ran for it—I did the only thing that could have made things a lot worse. I threw the pie at the laughing Felicia. It was like watching some sort of slow motion movie. One second, Felicia was laughing, the next, her eyes widened as she saw the pie coming straight toward her.
Felicia tried to dive out of the way. She slipped on the kitchen floor and fell, knocking into the side of the counter.
But not before WAM! The pie clobbered her in the face.
Mom screamed.
Bits of red, gelatinous pie exploded out of the pie tin, landing on the carpet and the freshly painted walls.
I need to warn you. My neighbor, Felicia, wrote all the even numbered chapters in this book, and some of the things she’ll tell you about me are total lies. Don’t worry, I’m completely honest when I talk about her.
My name’s John. I don’t know what the worst part of last summer was, but the doorstep wars and crashing our own birthday party were pretty bad.
I lived on a cul-de-sac, and all of my neighbors were old people. There was the guy with the perfect lawn, the guy with the perfect car, the lady with the miniature poodle, the lady with the German Shepherd, and the people who were never home (were they dead?).
That’s why I wasn’t too excited when Mom told me some new people had just moved into the house across from us. Mom had made a “welcome neighbors pie” for them, and Dad made me put away my tablet to go meet them.
We walked across the cul-de-sac in the super hot sun. I was annoyed because I hadn’t gotten a chance to finish my game, but I cheered up when I saw that their car had a bumper sticker from an elementary school on it. Maybe they had kids my age.
Mom rang the doorbell and we waited on the front step.
“Hi,” a smiling woman answered.
“Hi,” said Mom. “We live across from you and just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“Oh, that’s so kind of you. Here, why don’t you come in? I’m Laurel, this is my husband Dave, and our daughter Felicia is upstairs. Felicia!” she called.
We walked through the doorway and immediately I was hit with a strong smell of wet paint. A girl my age came bounding down the stairs in a lime green skirt and top, her curly blond hair bouncing on her shoulders. She smiled at me and said brightly, “Hi, you’re the kid from across the street. My name’s Felicia. What’s yours?”
I kind of wanted to say some fake name like Bob, but Mom and Dad were right nearby. So I told her my name is John.
“Wow, that’s a good name,” Felicia replied. It’s a name, honestly. It’s not like my name is Indiana Jones or anything cool like that.
“It’s just a name,” I said.
“I know, but it’s a good one.”
“Nah. It’s just a name”
“But it's a good one.”
I shook my head.
“Yes it is!”
“Why don’t we all sit down. Would anyone like a glass of water?” Felicia’s mom asked, interrupting our argument. The adults all followed her to the kitchen, but Felicia grabbed my arm and tugged me toward a living room full of cardboard boxes.
“This is the fort room. Look there, don’t you like the fort I made?” she asked me.
I glanced over at the heap of boxes piled into what could resemble a fort. “Not particularly,” I responded.
Felicia’s face fell. “But it’s good. Isn’t it? … Okay, fine. If you don’t like it, oh well. Let’s go upstairs; I can show you around.” She led me away from the chatter of the grownups.
It was sort of interesting getting to look around the house. We arrived upstairs and Felicia turned left into a small bedroom. This was her room, I presumed. There wasn’t much in it yet, but I could tell that all the walls had been newly painted white. One of the walls was splattered with vivid handprints of all different colors and sizes.
“Who did the handprints on the wall?” I asked.
“Oh, those are from everyone who ever went into my room,” Felicia replied. “You’ll get to do that too.”
“Me?” I questioned.
Felicia looked at me as if I were stupid. “Yeah, you,” she said. “Everyone who ever goes into my room needs to put their handprints on my wall. It’s a rule. See, these red prints were from the guy who painted my room. And the blue ones are Mom’s and the orange ones are Dad’s. See? The pink ones are mine.”
I thought about what she had said. “But you can’t have everyone that’s ever been in this room,” I pointed out. “You can’t have the people who just moved out…”
Felicia considered this. “No,” she said slowly. “But I only need the people who have been in my room since it’s been my room.”
“Oh,” I said. “I see.”
There was a slight awkward pause before Felicia said, “Are you ready to do your handprints?”
I hesitated. Putting my painted handprints on somebody else’s wall just seemed like it was asking for trouble.
“You get purple,” she added.
“No thanks… and purple’s a girl’s color.” I backed out of the room.
“Fine, but you’d better do it sometime…”
Felicia and I went downstairs, where our parents were now apparently talking about us. They broke off when they saw Felicia and me and began talking about the weather. Wow… really? These guys went to college.
After listening to our parents talking about nothing for two minutes, I got bored and let Felicia drag me back to the living room.
“Want to play a game?” she asked.
“Okay,” I said.
She picked Truth or Dare. We relaxed in her lousy fort and she began.
“I’ll start easy. Your Dare is to go into the kitchen and steal the pie your family brought over.” She paused. “Your Truth is, have you ever kissed a girl?”
It would be simple to answer the Truth. I would even answer it honestly. No, I had not ever kissed a girl. But I didn’t want to give Felicia the satisfaction of hearing my answers to nosy Truth questions. “I pick… Dare,” I said. “I’ll take the pie.”
“Great,” said Felicia. “Well, go do it…”
I got up and walked to the edge of the kitchen, peering around the doorway. Our parents had gone back to talking about us. I started to eavesdrop on their conversation, but was distracted by a tap on the shoulder.
“What?” I hissed.
“I forgot… there are two more parts to the Dare… first, you can’t be seen,” Felicia whispered. Easy, I thought. “And second, if you do get seen, you need to answer the Truth question as well.” She grinned.
“That’s not how the game’s played,” I protested.
“It is when I play the game,” Felicia responded defiantly. I didn’t want to get into another argument with her, so I tip-toed into the kitchen and got on my hands and knees. I crawled quietly, and then inched my hand up onto the counter where the pie was resting. I grabbed the side of the aluminum pie dish and started pulling it gently toward me.
“John… what are you doing?” The deep sound of my dad’s voice startled me. My hand lurched but I continued to hold onto the pie pan. I pulled the pie straight off the counter and it fell right on top of my head. Mom’s pie was cherry and I hate cherry. It was also very sticky and worst of all, I had dumped it on top of myself when everyone was watching!
Behind me, I heard some poorly concealed giggling. In front of me I saw the stunned expressions of our parents.
Ooops.
I got up feeling dizzy. Vaguely, I heard Dad saying something, but I was focused on Felicia, who was now bent over in laughter. She wasn’t trying to be mean, but at that time, it seemed mean to me. I felt like crying.
Of all the things I could have done—said I’m sorry, actually bawled my eyes out, ran for it—I did the only thing that could have made things a lot worse. I threw the pie at the laughing Felicia. It was like watching some sort of slow motion movie. One second, Felicia was laughing, the next, her eyes widened as she saw the pie coming straight toward her.
Felicia tried to dive out of the way. She slipped on the kitchen floor and fell, knocking into the side of the counter.
But not before WAM! The pie clobbered her in the face.
Mom screamed.
Bits of red, gelatinous pie exploded out of the pie tin, landing on the carpet and the freshly painted walls.