Book 2 of the ‘Izzy Jeen the Big-Mouth Queen’ series

by Wil Mara

One—I Can’t Sit Around and Do Nothing

I’m going to tell you what happened with my bike. So whatever you’re doing, stop doing it. Put down your phone or your tablet or whatever and just listen.

I’d spent the last few days dealing with another annoying problem. It had to do with the park up the street from me. My park. (It isn’t really, but that’s how I think of it.) The mayor of our town wanted to build townhouses on it. I wasn’t going to stand for that. So I did this thing where I fought it—and I won!

And just as I’m finished with that, something else happens. I’m standing at the park with my G-ma. That’s what I call my grandma because she’s the best ever. And we’re looking at the park and feeling all good about ourselves. Then Lissa—my best friend, who’s also the best ever—comes running up to me. She looks real nervous and scared. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me someone had stolen my bike. Right out of my front yard! My parents got me that bike for my last birthday! It’s pink with a checkerboard seat and a little silver bell! I lovethat bike more than anything! And someone’s STOLE IT!!!

AAAAAHHHH!!!!

****

I have this thing where I get real mad when something goes wrong. It happens all the time. Too much, I guess. But that’s who I am. And when I get like that, it feels like a volcano is about to blow inside me. Then I go around yelling and screaming a lot. That’s where my nickname comes from—Izzy Jean the Big-Mouth Queen. Someday I’m going to find out who gave that nickname to me. (It was on the chalkboard in school one morning, next to this dumb drawing of me.) And when I do, boy I am going to give it to her. Or him. Or them…

Anyway, Lissa told me about my bike being gone. Then the volcano started rumbling. I breezed past her and my G-ma and headed straight for my house. I didn’t have to look in a mirror to know my face had turned red. My fists were tightened into hard little balls. And I could’ve spit fire like a dragon.

“Izzy!” Lissa blabbered a few steps behind me. “Now, don’t get all, y’know, the way you do…”

But I didn’t pay any attention to her. I swear I could’ve punched a hole in a brick wall at that moment.

When I got home, I marched right inside. I found my mom and dad in the kitchen. They were sitting at the table, eating sandwiches. Huh? What?! My bike had been stolen! How could they be having lunch?!

“How can you be having lunch?!” I squawked. “While someone’s out there riding my bike around?! What kind of parents—”

My dad put his hands up. “Now, Izzy,” my dad said. I knew that sound in his voice all too well. He’s trying to calm me down. That means I’m not going to like what comes next… “Just take it easy.”

“Take it easy?! Someone stole my bike, and I’m supposed to take it EASY?”

“We’ve already called the police, Izzy,” my mom told me. “They were here, and they made a report.”

A report? I didn’t know police had to…

“Do a report!?”

“No, not like a book report,” my dad said with a little laugh. Then he saw I wasn’t laughing back, so he stopped. “They have to do paperwork when there’s a crime. It’s called a police report. Then they bring that back to the police station.”

I stood there staring at him, and he stared back.

Then I held my hands out and shook them. “AND???”

“And what, sweetheart?”

“And that’s all they’re going to do? Write a REPORT???”

“No, Isabella,” my mom said. She likes to use my full first name sometimes. This is her way of telling me to calm down. “That’s just where they start—with the report. Then they spread word to the other police officers. Not just in our town, but in the towns near us, too.”

“And then what?”

“Then all the police keep a watch for your bicycle.”

“That’s IT?!”

My dad shrugged. “What else do you expect them to do? A house-to-house search?”

“Uh, yeah!”

“This isn’t the old Soviet Union, Izzy,” he said. I had no idea what the “Soviet Union” was, but it probably had to do with history. My dad loves history. And I think he says things like this just to show off how smart he is.

“Well, I’m not going to sit around and just wait!” I told them.

“What do you have in mind?” my mom asked.

“You’ll see…”

Two—Stupid Face

Lissa and G-ma were waiting for me outside. Lissa looked scared half to death.

“What happened?” she asked.

I breezed past her again, and she me followed again. G-ma trailed behind both of us but said nothing. I think she just wanted to keep an eye on us.

“The police came and did a report,” I said.

“The police did a book repor—?”

“A report about my bike, Liss,” I told her. “They bring it back to the station. Then they tell other police officers, who’ll look for it. Y’know, when they’re driving around and stuff.”

“Oh…”

As soon as I got to the sidewalk, I turned left.

“Okay, then what are we doing now?” Liss asked.

“I’m going to get it back.”

“Huh? I don’t understand.”

“I know who took it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah—Stupid Face.”

Lissa gasped. “Seriously? How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“Uh, Izzy…that’s probably not a good enough reason to say she took it.”

“It is for me.”

“Stupid Face” is a nickname. (I’m sure you figured that out already.) And this time I was the one who gave it to someone. Her real name is Madison Pace—and I can’t stand her. She’s one of those people who thinks they do everything right. She wears the right clothes. She has the right friends. She likes the right music. She says the right things. And if anyone thinks differently, she’s treats them like dirt. She’s been nasty to me from the first day she moved here. So I started calling her Madison Pace with the Stupid Face. (She doesn’t really have a stupid face, by the way. I’m not even really sure what ‘Stupid Face’ means. But hey, the nickname rhymed—just like mine…)

I got to the end of my street and made another left turn. Lissa kept trying to talk me out of doing this. We went four blocks and she didn’t shut up once.

“She’s always wanted that bike,” I reminded her. “Remember when I first got it? She saw me riding it around and couldn’t stop looking at it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then she was like, ‘I want a bike like that, too!’” I did a pretty good impression of Madis—I mean Stupid Face’s voice. It would’ve been funny if I weren’t so angry.

“I know, Izzy, but—”

I didn’t hear anything she said after that. My mind was made up.

We got to Stupid’s house, which was huge. And like everything else about her, it was so right. The lawn was cut just right. The bushes were trimmed just right. Everything was perfect. The paint…the windows…the mailbox…all of it.

I pushed the button by the front door. There was a deep bingggg-bongggg inside. I already decided I’d be real nice if her mom or dad answered. Yelling at them wouldn’t get me anywhere.

But when the door swung back, it wasn’t her mom or dad. It was her.

Her lips squished into this little shape for a second. Then—unfortunately—she started talking.

“What do you want, Big-Mouth?” she asked.

“You know perfectly well, Stupid-Face,” I replied.

 Her whole body tightened up when she heard that.

“I really don’t,” she said.

“My bike,” I told her. “I want it back, right now!”

She pretended to look shocked. “I don’t have your dumb bike!”

“Yes you do. It was stolen earlier today. And I know it was you because you’ve always wanted it!”

“I did not steal your bike!”

“Don’t lie!” I howled.

We went back and forth this way for a few minutes. We were like two dogs barking at each other in the street or something. 

Then she put her hands on her hips and said, “I wasn’t even here earlier today!”

I stared at her hard, looking for the lie in her face. She stared back at me, and she didn’t even flinch.

Then someone said softly, “Hi, Madison.” It was Lissa. I’d forgotten she was standing behind me.

“Hey, Liss,” said Stupid Face’s stupid face.

“I really don’t want to get in the middle of this,” Lissa went on. “But can you prove you weren’t here earlier?”

Madison turned and called for her mom. Mrs. Pace came to the door a moment later. She was a tall and thin with dark-brown hair. And—I admit it—she also had a very pretty face.

“Yes, Maddie, what do you—oh…hello, Isabella. Hello, Alyssa.”

“Hi,” we both said at the same time.

“Mom,” ‘Stoop went on, “which mall were we at this morning?”

“Piedmont Hills,” she said. “Down Route 32. Why?”

Stupid gave me this nasty look for a second. Then she said, “Alyssa wanted to know.”

Her mom nodded. “It’s Piedmont Hills Mall, dear.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pace,” Lissa said nervously.

“Any time!”

They both went back inside then. And Stupid gave me that same nasty look as she was closing the door.

Three—Abby and Logan

“I was trying to tell you,” Lissa said as we were heading back. “Madison’s family could just buy her a bike like yours! She wouldn’t need to steal it!”

“And I’m sure they would,” I said angrily. “She gets anything and everything she wants.”

“Either way, you should’ve thought about that before you went over there!”

“You sound like my parents.”

“You should listen to them once in awhile.”

“I do,” I replied. Once in awhile…

“Uh-huh,” Lissa said without meaning it. “So what now?”

“We go down the list.”

“List?”

“The list of other people who might have taken it. Stupid Face was at the top. But she’s not the only one.”

Lissa sighed. “I have a feeling it’s a pretty long list.”

“You’re so funny,” I told her.

I glanced back and saw G-ma. She was still watching us. But she had also started talking to Mrs. Clarke, who was out walking her poodle.

We went past the football field. It was where all the high school games were played. Today they were only practicing. One of the coaches, Mr. Tate, saw me and waved. He and my parents have been friends forever.

Then I heard voices coming from parking lot on the other side of the field. And when I looked over there, I couldn’t believe what I saw.

“Liss!” I screamed. “There it is!”

I didn’t wait for her to say anything back. I just took off running. As I got closer, I saw who was there. It was Abby Parker and Logan Lewis. Abby’s a little younger than me. Logan’s in my grade. I always thought they were both really nice! But now, seeing Abby on my bike… Then it all started to make sense—

This is why they’re back here…in this empty parking lot…behind the field…on a day when there isn’t a game being played…so no one else can see them…

“Hey!” I shouted. “HEY!!!”

They stopped and turned. Both of them seemed confused. Logan, in fact, seemed really confused. (He’s very smart and gets amazing grades in school. But there are times when he doesn’t seem to have a clue what’s going on. I have no idea what that’s all about.)

As I crossed into the parking lot, Abby said, “Hey, Izzy! What’s up?”

“Don’t ‘hey Izzy’ me,” I said between deep breaths. I leaned down with my hands on my knees. “Just give it back, okay?”

Abby looked at Logan, and Logan looked at Abby. Then they both looked back at me.

“Give what back?”

“The bike,” I told her. “My bike!”

Now they seemed more confused than ever. “What are you talking about? You mean this bike? The one I’m sitting on?”

“Yeah, the one you took from my yard this morning! I know it when I see it!”

“Izzy, this is not your bike!”

“DON’T LIE!” I yelled.

“I’m NOT!” Abby yelled back.

“She really isn’t, Izzy,” Logan said. It was odd how calm he sounded.  

“Um, Izzy—” Lissa began to say. She’d caught up and was standing behind me.

“Not now,” I told her, waving my hand.

“Izzy, you really should—”

“Not now, Liss!” I turned around and gave her the look. You know the one I mean.

She smiled and shrugged. “Okay, good luck!”

I turned back to Abby. “Look, I’d know my bike anywhere!” I started pointing. “The pink frame! The matching pedals! The checkerboard seat! And the little silver bell on the—”

My mouth snapped shut (which it rarely does). I couldn’t think of a single thing to say for a moment. (Also very rare.) Then this horrible sinking feeling came in my stomach.

The little silver bell was on—

“—the other side of the handlebars,” Lissa was saying. “Yours is on the right, Izzy. Abby’s is on the left.”

“That’s because Abby’s left-handed,” Logan pointed out.

“That’s right,” Abby said, clearly very angry now. “What do you think I did, Izzy? Rode home and said to my parents, ‘Hey, I just stole this bike. Could you please put the bell on the other side of the handlebars?’ Is that what you think happened?”

Umm…

Uhh…

Err…

Oops. 
Four—Dad Makes Me a Detective

Lissa went home to have lunch. (And, probably, to get away from me for awhile.) And G-ma and I went back to our own house. I didn’t get anything to eat, though. Eating was the last thing on my mind.

I sat on the front porch with my chin in my hands. I looked around the yard, especially where the bike had been. I remembered lying it down in the grass the night before. When I came out this morning, I didn’t even check to see if it was there. I just figured it would be.

I started thinking about all the things that could’ve happened to it. Maybe a kid from a different town took it. If that was right, it could be ten or a hundred or a million miles from here. Or maybe someone was driving through from another state. A family on vacation. And one of the parents grabbed it and threw it in the trunk. Sometimes grownups do stuff like that…

I kept thinking, kept imagining. Every idea made me feel sadder than the last. Pretty soon, I could feel tears coming. I tried to force them back because I hate crying.

Then my dad came outside. He sat down next to me and put an arm around my shoulder.

“Rough day, huh?”

“Yeah. Have you heard anything from the police?”

“No, not yet.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe it got stolen.”

“I can’t, either.”

“It makes me so mad! And sad, too!”

“I know. A bike is a big deal when you’re a kid. It’s a way of getting around. It’s freedom.”

“Oh absolutely,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I could ride to the moon and back, no problem.”

“You know what I mean.”

I took a deep breath. “Yeah, I do. But what does it matter now? The bike is gone.”

“Then we’ll just have to find it.”

“I haven’t been doing a very good job of that so far,” I told him. “Abby’s mad at me. And Stupid Face hates me more than ever.”

“Well, it’s hard to like someone who’s calling you ‘Stupid Face.’”

I looked up saw that he was smiling. Of course he was—he always smiles at times like this.

“That’s not helping, dad.”

“No, I suppose not. But then neither is running around yelling at everybody, right?”

I gave him my sucking-on-a-lemon face. Then I said, “I suppose not,” in the best dad-imitation voice I could manage.

He laughed. “When you let yourself get all crazy, your emotions clog up your thinking. Then all the really good stuff can’t get through. So you have to stop and shift gears a little bit.”

“‘Shift gears’? Seriously, dad, I’m eight years old. Do you really think I know anything about cars?”

“Sorry. That means try something different. This is a mystery, Izzy. And who solves mysteries?”

“Detectives.”

“Good. And what’s the first thing a detective does after a crime?”

“They look for evidence.”

“So they can find the…”

“The facts.”

“Excellent. And what facts do you know so far?”

“I know the bike was in the yard here early this morning. Then it was taken.”

“Good. Go on…”

“Umm…okay, well, the thief picked it up and rode off with it.”

“That’s very likely.”

“But someone could’ve put it in their car or something.”

My dad shook his head. “That would’ve been an adult, so I doubt it. Even if an adult wanted to steal a kid’s bike—”

“They wouldn’t do it at a time when everyone could see them,” I said.

“No, probably not.”

“Then it was some kid.”

“Right. And if a kid picked up the bike and rode away—”

The answer came to me like a beautifully wrapped present.

“Someone might’ve seen them!”

My dad was nodding slowly. “So what do you think we need to do now?”

“I think we need to get on the computer!”

“Exactly,” he said. “So let’s get to it!” 

Five—So Much for Scaring People

The sign we made looked pretty good. It said MISSING BICYCLE at the top in really big letters. There was also a picture of the bike with me sitting on it. (And sticking my tongue out.) Underneath that was the time and day it was stolen. We also put our phone number. Then our name—THE MARINO FAMILY. Finally, my dad put REWARD GUARANTEED. I didn’t really like that idea. We had to give a reward for something that was mine in the first place?! But he said it had to be there. Ugh…whatever.

 We printed it and showed it to my mom and G-ma. My mom didn’t like the picture of me with my tongue out, of course. But G-ma did (also of course).

After that, my dad and I went to this place that could make copies of the sign. We printed a hundred! After that it was time to put them up. My dad brought along two things to help with that. One was a roll of tape. The other was something he called a “staple gun.” It didn’t look like a gun at all. But it did shoot staples out of it, which was kinda neat.

He asked me where the signs should go. I thought about it for a minute. Then I said anywhere that a lot of people would see it. He looked all proud of me and said that was right.

One place we went was the supermarket. Another was the library. We also put signs on poles where lots of cars drove by. We put a few by my school, and a few more at the high school. I couldn’t believe how quickly we went through—

“—a hundred of them!” I said that night while we ate dinner. My mom made my all-time favorite—spaghetti and meatballs. She also made that awesome garlic bread with the cheese melted on it.

“Wow, a hundred signs,” she said. “That’s incredible.”

“Whoever the thief is,” G-ma added, “I’ll bet you’ve scared them out of their wits, Izzy.”

“I sure hope so!”

My dad wiped his mouth and nodded. “Well, I can tell you one thing for sure. The thief would be crazy to ride the bike around now.”

“He certainly would,” G-ma agreed.

I was chewing on a piece of the awesome bread when an idea came to me. And it wasn’t a good one, either.

“Hey, do you think that could be a bad thing?” I asked.

“What do mean?”

“Well, if the thief gets all scared, wouldn’t they just hide the bike? So they don’t get caught with it?”

“I suppose that’s possible,” my dad said.

“So what if putting all those signs up was a bad idea?”

“Now Izzy, don’t think like that,” my mom told me. But then she turned to my dad with this look. It was a look that said, Maybe she’s right…maybe we should be worried about this.

“It’s true!” I said. “I’m never going to see my bike again!” All of a sudden, I didn’t care about the spaghetti and meatballs anymore! Or the garlic bread with all the cheese melted on it! (Yeah, I was that upset.)

“Take it easy, Izzy,” my dad said, holding his hand up. “You don’t know that that’s what will happen.”

“Yes I do!” I bawled. “I just know it! That’s exactly what’s going to—”

Then the phone rang. 

Six—Our First Suspect!

Someone saw it.

Someone saw my bike being stolen. I couldn’t believe it. I just…I couldn’t actually believe it.

My mom put the call on speaker.

“They were riding as fast as they could,” the woman said through the phone. My dad told me her name was Mrs. Clawson. I had no idea who that was, but my mom did. She said she lived in Carteret Street—just a few blocks away! “I’d never seen anyone going so fast!”

“Of course they were going fast,” I muttered. “That’s what you do when you steal a bike.”

“I guess so,” Mrs. Clawson went on. “I was out in my garden, and zoom! They went right past my house!”

“Did you see who it was?” my dad asked.

“No, I’m sorry. By the time I looked up, they were too far down the street.”

I started thinking like a detective again—“Was it a boy or a girl?”

“I really couldn’t tell.”

My mom reached over and covered my mouth with her hand. She knew what I was going to say. Something like, You couldn’t tell? Seriously?! You couldn’t tell if it was a BOY OR A GIRL???

“Not even a guess?” my dad asked politely.

“No, sorry.”

“What about their clothes?” I asked.

“Jeans,” she said right away. “And a plain t-shirt. There was nothing on the shirt at all.”

Great, I thought. She just described half the kids in the neighborhood.

My mom tapped her finger on her lips. This was a sign that she was thinking.

“Did you see where they were going?”

Mrs. Clawson took a deep breath. “Well…when they got to the end of the street, they turned.”

“Oh?” my mom said. “Which way?”

“Let me see now….” Mrs. Clawson replied. She sounded like she was talking more to herself than us. “I’m trying to remember…”

“Was it left or right?” my dad asked.

“I think it was…no, maybe it was…”

“Mrs. Clawson?”

“Or am I thinking of someone else?” she wondered. I wanted to crawl out of my skin at that point. The volcano started rumbling again…

“Mrs. Clawson?” my mom said very nicely. (I have no idea how she does this.) “Maybe if you—”

“Left!” she said suddenly. “Yes, it was left!”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, they definitely made a left turn at the end of my street. Yes!”

“Okay, that’s great. Thank you so much for your help, Mrs. Clawson.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” she replied.

My mom switched off the speaker but kept talking to Mrs. Clawson. I didn’t hear (or care about) a word of what they were saying, though. I was already thinking about all the houses that were over where the thief went. And all the kids I knew who lived over there.

And what I was going to do to the one who had my bike…

Seven—Following the Thief

It was my idea to make more signs. A ton more.

I wanted to hang them everywhere in that part of the neighborhood. Mrs. Clawson saw the person who stole my bike, right? So maybe someone else did, too. There were lots of houses, lots of kids, and lots of grownups over there. And if no one saw the thief yet, they would. Sooner or later, they would…

My dad went with me again. He had his tape and his staple gun. And he had added another sentence to the sign. It said, IF THE BIKE IS RETURNED, THERE WILL BE NO QUESTIONS ASKED. I wasn’t sure what this meant, and I’m almost sorry I asked him. It meant that the person who took it wouldn’t get in any trouble. I couldn’t believe it! Was he joking? Wouldn’t get in trouble? For stealing someone’s bike?! And MY bike, no less?! I don’t get grownups sometimes. I really don’t.

Anyway, we walked past Mrs. Clawson’s house and went to the end of the street. This was where Mrs. Clawson last saw the thief before they turned left. We put a sign on the telephone pole at the corner. Then we also turned left and went to the next corner. Another sign went on another pole. Then to the next corner…then the next…then the next…Whew—it started to feel like actual work after awhile.

When we got to the corner of Vine Street and Rosemary Avenue, we came to another pole. This one had a bunch of signs on it already. (And there were about a million staples where others used to be.) One of the signs was for a concert at the high school. Another said a new coffee shop was opening downtown. Then there was one for a lost dog named Buster. As soon as I saw it, I wanted to cry.

“Dad, look…”

The sign was kind of like ours. The words LOST DOG were in big letters at the top. Below that was a picture of Buster. He was small, with brown and white and black fur. He was looking up at the camera. And he had the biggest, saddest eyes ever.

Underneath the picture, it said FAMILY IS HEARTBROKEN. PLEASE HELP US FIND HIM. The family’s name was THE TURNERS. And when I saw that, I really did think I was going to cry.

“That’s Kaylee’s family!”

I look up at my dad. He was reading the sign and nodding.

“That’s right. I know the Turners very well. Kaylee’s been a classmate of yours since they first moved here, right?”

“Yeah. Oh, poor Kay…”

It was kinda weird. A minute before, my lost bike seemed like the most important thing in the world. But now, all I could think about was Kaylee’s dog. I certainly love my bike. It’s one of the best presents my parents ever gave me. If we didn’t find it, my dad said he’d just get me another one. But a pet…wow. We have one dog (Frodo) and one cat (Sam), and I can’t imagine losing either one. I’d be crushed.

And right after I thought that, I thought something else. Something really terrible.

What if the same person who stole my bike stole Buster?

“Oh no….” I said.

“What’s wrong?” my dad asked.

“What if the same person who stole my bike stole Buster?” 

He looked confused for second. Then he got that this-is-probably-something-to-worry-about look again.

“I guess it’s possible.”

“What kind of a person would do that?” I demanded. The volcano was rumbling fast inside me now. Just the thought of someone stealing a dog…

“A pretty awful person, to be sure,” my dad replied.

“I want to help,” I said. “Right now, this minute.”

“Help?”

“Yes. I want to go to Kaylee’s house right now. Let’s see if we can help them find Buster.”

“What about your bike?”

“That can wait,” I told him.

My dad smiled.

“Okay, Izzy,” he said. “Let’s go check it out.”

Eight—So Much for Teamwork

“Maybe we could help each other,” I said as we walked toward Kaylee’s house.

“What do you mean?”

“We could help them look for Buster. And they could keep their eyes open for my bike!”

“Teamwork,” my dad replied. “I like it.”

We got to the end of Vine Street and turned right. A few minutes later, we were in front of Kaylee’s house.

And I stopped.

Wow.

I know some people are rich and some aren’t. My parents certainly aren’t. We don’t live in a mansion or have a butler or anything. And our house has its share of problems. Like, some of the steps are creaky. Sometimes the toilet on the first floor doesn’t flush right. And my mom says the kitchen needs to be “updated.” (That’s the word she always uses.) But the house I was staring at now…

Just…wow.

It looked like a strong wind could blow it down. The screens on the front porch were all torn up. The paint was flaking off everywhere. And there weren’t any nice flowers or bushes in the front. It was just weeds.

I felt like crying again.

And now Kaylee’s lost her dog, too.

“They’ve fallen on hard times,” my dad said. He put his hands on my shoulders. He knew I was upset. “I know that Kaylee’s father lost his job awhile back. And he hasn’t gotten one since.”

“It’s not fair,” I said.

“I know it isn’t.”

I was more determined than ever to find Buster. Nothing in the world was going to stop me.

“We need to help them right now,” I said. “We at least need to find their dog.”

“I agree.”

So we went up the front steps (which also creaked) and rang the bell. The door opened a moment later, and there was Kaylee’s mom. She was much younger than I imagined she’d be. Her brown hair was tied back in a long ponytail.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Marino! And, umm…Izzy, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

“I thought so. Can I help you with something?”

“We’re here to help you find Buster!” I said quickly. I wanted her to know we meant business. “And we’re not going to stop until we do!”

“That’s right,” my dad said, patting me on the head.

Mrs. Turner smiled. “Aww, that’s so nice of you. And I really do appreciate the offer. But we found Buster this morning!”

A big ball of warmth filled my stomach. “You did?”

“We did!”

“How?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. He slipped through the gate early yesterday…” She pointed toward the side of the house. “I think one of us left it open by mistake. Then he just showed up at the door this morning. He was scratching to be let in, like always.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” my dad told her. “Good for you.”

“Thanks.” She rolled her eyes. “Kaylee and Billy were so upset.”

“I’ll bet,” my dad replied. “Well, we’d better get going then.”

Now Mrs. Turner looked like she wanted to cry. “Okay. Again, thank you so much for offering to help. I’ll tell Kaylee you were here, Izzy!”

“Thanks…” I said.

She closed the door, and we walked back to the sidewalk. Then I looked over at the gate Mrs. Turner had been talking about. I wanted to make sure it was closed. What I saw next made me freeze in my tracks.

There, on the other side of the gate, was my bike.

Nine—It All Makes Sense Now

It was leaning against their house, right in front of the chimney. And it was half-covered by this big sheet of brown plastic. But I knew it was mine. I could see just enough of it. The pink frame and matching pedals. The checkerboard seat. The little silver bell. And this time the bell was on the right side…

Yeah, that’s it. Definitely.

The volcano started rumbling again.

“Dad…”

“I see it, Izzy.”

“That’s my bike.”

“Yes, I believe it is.”

“My bike.”

“Izzy…”

“MINE!”

“Now Izzy, don’t—”

I stomped my way back to their front door. And before my dad could stop me, I rang the bell again.

(I should point out here that I really wasn’t planning to yell at Mrs. Turner. My parents would FREAK if I did that. But…well…I was certainly going to say something.)

The door opened, and there she was with that smile again.

“Hi,” she said as cheerfully as before. This time she sounded a little confused, too.

“Hi,” I replied. “Hey, I was just wondering why—”

My dad reached around my head and covered my mouth.

“Sorry to trouble you again,” he said. “But Izzy lost her bicycle recently. And she seems to think the one in your driveway might be hers.” He laughed. “I’m sure that’s crazy, but—”

“I…I don’t understand,” Mrs. Turner replied. “Kaylee doesn’t have a bicycle.”

Everything in the world seemed to a stop at that moment. We all stood there staring at each other. I tried to get my brain around what she’d said.

“But there’s a bicycle right over there,” I told her, pointing. “And it looks just like mine!”

“What?!”

Mrs. Turner came out of the house and walked to the gate. As soon as she saw the bike, I could tell she really didn’t know anything about it. At first she looked shocked beyond belief. Then her face turned super red. I didn’t know if she was embarrassed or angry. I realized later that it was a lot of both.

She breezed past us and went into the house again. When she came back, Kaylee was with her. And Kaylee looked scared to death.   

“H-hi, um…Izzy,” she said. Tears were starting to roll down her cheeks. “H-how are you today?”

“I’m okay,” I said back. “Hey, did you really steal my bike?”

Kaylee didn’t reply right away. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere else in the world.

“Kaylee,” her mom said sternly. “Go on, answer Izzy.”

Now Kaylee’s tears really started flowing.

“I did! But I didn’t mean to!” she wailed, covering her face. “I was looking for Buster! And I knew he could run so much faster than me! So I saw your bike and I took it! I only wanted it so I could find him! But I didn’t! I didn’t!I couldn’t find him anywhere! And then…and then…”

“And then you were too afraid to bring the bike back,” I said.

Kaylee kept sobbing for a few minutes. Then she took her hands down. (What a mess her face was. All shiny and snot-sticky and everything. Ugh.)

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I was afraid because…because…”

“Because I get mad all the time,” I told her. My voice had gone real soft, which kind of surprised me. “Right?”

She nodded again. “Yeah.”

I stood there feeling so many things at that moment. I felt mad, yes. But this time it was at myself. I was mad that I always got so mad! How strange is that?

I also felt terrible for Kaylee. For having lost her dog (even if it was only for one day). For being so upset. For how hard things were on her family. For so many things I couldn’t fix or change to make her life better. It was like I couldn’t do anything for her. Anything.

And then I realized that wasn’t true at all…

Ten—How Dare They?!

When we got back home, we went to find my mom. She was in the living room reading a book.

She set the book in her lap as soon as she saw us. “You guys have been gone awhile,” she said. “I was beginning to worry! So how’d it go?”

I looked up at my dad. He had the biggest smile on his face I’d ever seen. 

“You cannot believe…honey, you just…I…I don’t even know how to—”

“Michael!” my mom said with a laugh. “Just say it!”

My dad stopped, put his hands up, and took a deep breath. Then he told her everything that happened.

“…and then do you know what your daughter did?” he asked.

My mom looked at me. Her smile was still there. But there was also a little fear in those eyes. I could almost see the words running through her mind—Uh oh, what did our darling little Izzy do now?

“What…?” she asked.

 He looked at me in that great way again.

“Go ahead, Izzy,” he said. “Tell her.”

“I, uh…I gave my bike to Kaylee.”

My mom didn’t do anything for a few seconds. She just sort of sat there staring at me. Then—and I totally didn’t expect this—she started crying a little.

(Wow, I just realized something. There sure was a lot of crying that day!)

She set the book on the couch and came over to me. Then she hugged me so hard I thought I might pop.

“I am so, so proud of you, Izzy,” she said.

“You’re not mad?”

She leaned back and looked straight at me. “Why in the world would I be mad?”

“Because I don’t have a bike now. And you guys bought that one for my birthday and all.”

My mom wiped her tears away and laughed again.

“Well,” she said, “I guess we’ll just have to fix that, won’t we…”

****

We were at Carlson’s Cycle Center a few days later. It was the same place where they got the last bike. I wasn’t sure I really wanted the exact same one, though. There were so many to choose from! Did I want to go pink again? I couldn’t decide. There was a really nice one that was lime green, and another that was sky blue. Ugh…decisions!

While I was looking and thinking, Lissa came running in. Through the front window I could also see her big brother, Kyle, with a bunch of his friends outside. 

“Thank goodness I found you!” she said, out of breath.

“Hang on…” I told her. “Big decision here. Major moment in a kid’s life.”

“Well, when you’re done, you need to come over to the Hip Hop Ice Cream Shop.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“The Strawberry Fudge Ripple Triple-Swirl Ice Cream,” she said.

Now that caught my attention. Strawberry Fudge Ripple Triple-Swirl was my favorite ice cream flavor in all the world. And the only place that had it was the Hip Hop Ice Cream Shop in town.

“What about it?”

“They took it off the menu! They don’t have it anymore!”

“What?!”

“I was just over there. And they told me they’re not serving it anymore!”

There was the volcano again. It was rumbling, a lot.

How dare they?! They didn’t even ask me if it was okay first! Didn’t even care!That’s my favorite ice-cream flavor ever!

Mine!

HOW…DARE…THEY?!

“Now, Izzy,” Lissa said. “Don’t go getting all mad—”

Was she kidding? Of course I was mad!

When am I not?