January 18
“Cut it out, Pat!”
John had expected to be clobbered by a snowball long before this. Before he could fire off a retaliatory shot, he was slammed by a flank attack from Jake and Anne. Glasses hanging from one ear, John squinted at the blinding white world Shenango had become. Twenty-two inches of snow had fallen in twenty-four hours, bringing commerce, industry, education and every other activity to a halt. Shenango had become one great playground of snowmen, snowforts, snowslides and an infinity of snowballs, too many of which, John grumbled, were aimed his way.
When the snow had finally stopped and a brilliant sun shone above the drifts, Patrick phoned every young person he knew, telling them to meet at Nerd Hall and to bring a snow shovel. After a difficult slog downtown, everybody arrived wearing thermals and bearing tools. Pat announced, “Nothing’s moving in this run-down old city, so it’s up to us to do our civic duty and clear people’s driveways and sidewalks—for nothing less than $25 a yard, right?”
This fund-raising crew included John, Anne and Patrick, Jake, Zim, Nonnie, Jude and Mitch, Jefferson Wrightley and a half-dozen Nerdites. Because even the snowplows were behind in removing such a heavy fall, the shovelers were met with gratitude and hot chocolate, cookies and sandwiches along with the required twenty-five bucks.
“Hey Jake,” Patrick called across Mrs. Delahunty’s driveway, “Did you ever figure out how Beamer and that kitten got into Anne’s car?”
Jake swiped an ice-crusted glove across his streaming nose. “Nope. But I’m glad Beam’s home. There’s something special about that cat, y’know.”
“People don’t give animals enough credit,” said Jude. She was in her element, engaged in a shoveling competition with her brother who was flailing away at the sidewalk. “You’re supposed to lift snow with that shovel, Mitch, not beat it to death,” she yelled at him.
“Some people never get enough credit, either,” Mitch yelled back.
Anne said, “It’s almost as if we were supposed to find Deegan. He already seems like family.”
Skinny Nonnie and Zim were turning blue, so they climbed into Jefferson’s new GMC Hummer EV to warm up. “Glad to have a reason to use that monstrous thing,” Jeff said. “It’s not cheap to charge and it’s terrible on ice and snow.”
“Why’d you buy it?” asked Patrick, resting against his upright shovel handle.
“Didn’t,” Jefferson replied. “A business partner gave it to my father.” Seeing Pat’s frown, Jeff said, “You don’t like big business much, do you?”
Just then Mrs. Delahunty clomped outside in mukluks, bearing a tray of cookies. The gang attacked these as if they hadn’t just consumed doughnuts and coffee at Mr. Porter’s a half-hour before.
Chewing a lemon bar, Patrick held it aloft in a professorial attitude. “Cats live in colonies, you know.,” he pronounced. “A kind of ‘catocracy’. They don’t need a big-business CEO telling them what to do. Nothing personal meant, Jeff,” he added.
“Nothing personal taken,” Wrightley assured. “I have problems myself with the predatory habits of American corporations.”
“I don’t think cats have much to do,” Zim mused over his snickerdoodle.
“No? Then how do you think Beamer and Deegan got into Annie’s car and found their way to the Escher?” Pat raised his eyebrows.
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