When Zachary Beaver Came to Town Read Online Free Page B

guess I’m excited because this will be the first year that Cal and I get to empty the sacks of ladybugs in the field. “Where to now?” I ask.
    â€œLet’s go to the Bowl-a-Rama.” That’s what’s boring about living in Antler. There’s only a handful of things to do, and when we don’t have money for those things, we usually go anyway and watch other people do them.
    The Bowl-a-Rama sits across the street from the Dairy Maid. As we approach, I’m surprised to see the
trailer still parked in the lot. But this time something is missing—Paulie Rankin’s blue Thunderbird.
    Cal and I stop pedaling at the same time and stare at the trailer. “Maybe they went to another town to eat,” I say.
    â€œDo you think he’s still there?” Cal asks. “I mean, the fat kid?”
    â€œNah,” I say, but I wonder too. “Come on. It’s too hot to stay out here.” We park our bikes on the sidewalk and head inside.
    The Bowl-a-Rama smells of sweaty feet and cigarettes, but it’s the coldest place in town. Today the air conditioner is cranked so high, goose bumps pop out on my arms. Two of the six lanes broke last summer, but Ferris hasn’t bothered to have them fixed.
    Ferris leans against the counter, where the bowling shoes are kept, rubbing his long Elvis sideburns. With his shirtsleeves rolled up, his two tattoos are visible. One is an anchor, the other a hula girl. He said he got them the night he met Jim Beam. Cal thought he was talking about a real person until I explained that Jim Beam was whiskey and Ferris was drunk as a skunk when he got the tattoos. That was before Ferris met Jesus and got religion.
    Ferris is staring out the window, and it takes him a
moment to recognize us. Finally he rubs his eyes with his thumb and finger. “Hey, fellas, if you stare into the sun too long, it’ll blind ya.” He yawns and scratches his day-old whiskers, making a wisk-wisk sound. “How’s your mom, Toby?”
    â€œGreat.” I guess.
    â€œWell, the next time she calls, you tell her that her job is waiting for her. After all, where else can folks in Antler get a meal with free entertainment?”
    Mom is known as the singing waitress. She makes up songs for the customers, and if they’re a pain, she makes up songs about them. Her voice is high and strong with just the right twang. She may sing songs about honky-tonk angels while serving Bowl-a-Rama specials, but in her mind she’s probably on the stage of the Grand Ole Opry.
    In the cafe, next to the picture of the Lord’s Supper, Ferris hung a huge banner above the soda fountain counter—Good Luck, Opalina!
    Ferris comes out from behind the counter, limping to the door and turning the Open sign around to face the front. The talk around town is his limp was a self-inflicted wound so he didn’t have to serve in the Korean War. Ferris claims it was a pure coincidence that he was cleaning his gun the day before he was to report for active duty.

    Before that happened, Ferris wanted to be a preacher. He even went a semester to a Bible college in Oklahoma. Now he never goes to church, but Mom says he knows the Bible from Genesis to Revelation. It’s almost as hard for me to picture Ferris a preacher as it is believing he’d ever ditch a war.
    Cal hops on the counter. “What’s up, Ferris?”
    â€œOh, nothing much in here. But I’ve been curious about what’s going on across the street.”
    â€œHow’s that?” I prop my elbow on the counter and rest my chin on my fist.
    â€œThat freak show fella took off in his Thunderbird about an hour ago.”
    â€œDid the fat guy go with him?” Cal asks, hopping off the counter.
    â€œDon’t think so,” Ferris says. “That’s what’s got me to wonderin’. Thought they’d be pulling out by now.”
    Cal heads for the door. He glances back and waves