The Entirely Fabricated Story of Lizzie Nickerson

Chapter 31

For the next hour, Lizzie stood at the window watching the boys loading the truck on the street below. Once most of the large boxes were stowed, the procession of furniture began. Caleb and Scooter carried their grandad's overstuffed upholstered chair to the truck and pushed it into the cargo area. Wooden chests and an old oak desk followed but there was no sign of the purple corduroy couch.

The guy in the bright green T-shirt carried Frederick Gibbs' foot stool out of the apartment building and handed it up to the Dan-O in the cargo area of the truck. Caleb followed with the old metal toolbox, his cheeks red from strain. It slipped from his hands before Dan-O could secure it and landed with a BANG, just missing the toes of Dan-O's sneakers. Caleb scowled at his greasy, glistening hands. 

Lizzie heard a knock at the front door and a moment later, her Aunt Sonya's voice. "Lizzie, there's someone here to see you."

She exited her room and saw Scooter standing in the kitchen, cradling Mr. Gibbs' fish bowl.

"Hey, Lizzie," he said with a smile. "My mom was wondering, actually I was wondering, too, if maybe you'd want the fish."

"Buddy," said Lizzie, eyeing the solitary guppy.

"Caleb was gonna flush him and my mom said we should ask you. Maybe you'd want him."

"Flush him?" said Lizzie, her eyes wide. "Oh, geez. You mean he was gonna flush Buddy down the toilet?"

Scott nodded.

"That's very nice of you," said Sonya. "You can set the fish bowl on the table."

Lizzie kept her eyes on Buddy, still unable to free herself from the thought of Buddy swimming desperately from the toilet out to the Ohio through a maze of Cincinnati plumbing.

Oh, how she wished that Buddy was a dog instead of a fish. Caleb would never attempt to flush a dog down the toilet. To Lizzie's way of thinking, having a dog would solve so many problems. She thought about it every time she slipped the key from beneath the Me Wet Home doormat and unlocked the door to Mr. Gibbs' apartment when he was out of town. How she wished there was a dog named Buddy eagerly waiting for her, a dog who would leap up repeatedly, overwhelmed with enthusiasm, to lick her face. 

She had vivid dreams about Buddy the dog. In her dreams, Lizzie was somewhat athletic and would throw a ball or a Frisbee that Buddy would happily retrieve. They traveled the world together, solved crimes, and won agility competitions. Authors wrote books about them.

Nobody would write a book about a girl who takes care of her neighbor's pet fish. She had to admit she wouldn't read a book about that.

Mr. Frederick Gibbs had managed to hide a cat in his apartment but a dog would be an entirely different matter. Obeying the 'no pets in the building' edict, the best he could manage once his cat had departed, was Buddy the guppy. 

"So you want him, right?" said Scooter who preferred to be called Scott.

Lizzie nodded.

"That was very thoughtful of you," Sonya said, taking advantage of the teachable moment. "Wasn't it, Lizzie?"

"Yes," she said.

"Well, okay, then," he said, the smile on his face having wilted. "Guess I better get going."

Lizzie couldn't explain it but it was happening again, first with his mother, and now with Scooter. Somehow, she'd made them sad.

"Scooter?" Lizzie said. "You wanna hear a joke?"

"Uh, okay," he said.

Sonya held her breath.

"When is the best time to go to a dentist?"

He shrugged.

"Two-thirty," she said and then forced a smile.

Sonya looked from her niece to the boy and back again.

"I guess that's funny," he said, clearly uneasy.

After a protracted pause, Lizzie said, "It doesn't even make sense. I never thought it was funny. I thought I didn't understand what's so funny about jokes because of my Aspie rigid thinking. But you're an NT and you didn't laugh, either."

"What's an NT?"

"Neuro-typical," she said. "You know, a normal person."

Sonya was busy on her phone.

"You know what?" Scott said. "A lot of times people don't get jokes but they laugh anyway."

"Why?"

"I guess they don't want to feel left out. They want to be like everybody else. But you don't care about that." His smile indicated he thought that was a good thing.

Lizzie paused to think about that.

Sonya giggled. "Here's the joke, Lizzie." She read from her phone. "The best time to go to the dentist is tooth-hurty. Tooth. Hurty. When your tooth hurts. That's a good time to go to the dentist. Get it? It sounds like two-thirty but it's really tooth-hurty."

Scott grinned. "That is pretty funny. I mean for a little kid joke."

"Oh, geez. I've been thinking about that joke since fourth grade," Lizzie said. "And now it finally makes sense with a made-up word. But why would it be funny if your tooth hurt?"

"It's just a silly joke," said Sonya.

"Scott!" Caleb called from the second floor. "Kiss your girlfriend goodbye and let's get moving."

"What a jerk," Scott mumbled, his face reddening.

Changing the subject, Sonya offered, "Scott, would you like a drink? A glass of water? Apple juice?"

"No, thanks, I'm good." Then, directing to Lizzie, he said, "Hey, look. We're gonna be back again next weekend to pick up the rest of the stuff. You wanna maybe hang out or something if I get some free time?"

"Who's the girlfriend you're going to kiss?" she asked.

"That was nothing." He blushed again. "Just my stupid brother saying dumb stuff."

"We'll be here next weekend," said Sonya.

"I'll research some better jokes," said Lizzie. "Probably nothing about a dentist."

"Okay. Good," he said. "I'll see you then." He jogged down the stairs to the second floor.