Previous superfudge part 8.
I told Jimmy Fargo about Princeton.
“You’re moving?” he asked, like he couldn’t believe it.
“Not exactly,” I answered. “We’re just going for a year.”
“You’re moving!” he said. “I can’t believe it.”
“Neither can I.”
“You don’t have to move,” he said. “You could stay here if you really wanted to.”
“You think I don’t want to say? I don’t know anybody in Princeton. You think I want to go to some school where I don’t have any friends?”
“Then tell your mother and father you refuse to go. That’s what I’d do.”
“But where would I live?”
“But where would I sleep?”
“On the floor,” Jimmy said. “It’s good for your back to sleep on the floor.”
I thought about sleeping on the floor for a year. And about living with Jimmy and his father. Mr. Fargo used to ben an actor, but now he’s a painter. He paints these weird-looking pictures of circles and triangles and squares. He’s so absentminded that he only buys food when Jimmy reminds him. One time I looked in their refrigerator, and all they had was an empty bottle of wine, half an apple, and a salami and onion sandwich so old it had turned green.
“If you don’t stay, I’m never going to talk to you again,” Jimmy said. “I mean never!” He bent down and tied his shoelace. Jimmy’s laces are always undone. “And I’m going to tell Sheila Tubman she can have your rock in the park,” he added.
“Some friend you’re turning out to be!”
“Same for you!” Jimmy turned and walked away, his hand stuffed deep into his pockets.
I thought of plenty more to say as soon as he was gone, but instead of running down the street after him, I went home.
“Is that you, Peter?” Mom called.
“No!” I went to my room and slammed my bedroom door. I was glad that I hadn’t bothered to hang up my map of the world again. I took out my Kreskin’s Crystal. Jimmy gave it to me on my last birthday. When I can’t fall asleep at night, I hold the chain above the Lucite base and watch the small ball swing from side to side. I concentrate on it until my eyes get this heavy feeling and want to close.
I opened my window enough to throw out my Kreskin’s Crystal. I imagined it smashing into a zillion pieces on the sidewalk below. But suppose I had trouble falling asleep in Princeton. What would I do? I put it back in its box. There had to be a better way to get even with Jimmy Fargo.
Two hours later, I was still thinking up ways to get back at him, when the doorbell rang. And it was Jimmy.
“Changed my mind,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”
“Yeah… well… me too…”
“I was disappointed, that’s all. I don’t want you to move… but there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s not your fault…”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” I said.
“My father says Princeton’s just an hour by train.”
“So I won’t give Sheila your rock, after all.”
“Thanks. She wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway,” I said.
“But I’m not going to use it until you come back.”
“Okay. I won’t use my Kreskin’s Crystal until I get back, either.”
“Deal!” Jimmy said.
And we shook on it.
Next superfudge part 10.