Rotten (9780545495899) by Northrop Michael

Author:Northrop, Michael
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Scholastic
Published: 2013-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

“Court,” I say. “Like Judge Judy?”

That question probably doesn’t capture just how mad I am right now, but it does a pretty good job of capturing, you know, what the heck do I know about getting sued? All I know are the crazy stories that make it into the news, like the one about the guy who fell through a skylight trying to break into a house and then sued the guy he was trying to rob.

And it always seems like people are suing for these huge, fantasy-land amounts of money, millions of dollars, because their herbal tea was too hot or the dry cleaner lost their pants. I should probably get less of my news online, but the more I think about it, the madder I get.

I’m trying to ask Mom more questions, but I’m too mad to talk. And then I remember Mars and that smug look on his face: “You’re going to be getting more than a bill….” He already knew, Mom had already heard, and I was still clueless, still trying to be nice to him. Now I really want to punch someone, but Mom is the only one out here, and she’s one of the few people I don’t want to hit.

I spot an old bobblehead figure that Mom rescued from the trash and put out by the little cement birdbath like an extra sporty garden gnome. I got the thing at a baseball game when I was a kid.

Back then I could have been anything: a baseball player, a bobblehead collector, anything. But the last sport to interest me at all was skateboarding, and that was years ago, and the only thing I collect now is loud music. So I threw the bobblehead out as part of a larger room purge last year. And Mom rescued it, and now I have it again. For a second, I’m just holding it in my hand. The head bounces stupidly on its rusty spring, the blue cap going up and down, like: Yes, do it.

“Oh, don’t,” says Mom, but she says it softly, and that just makes me madder.

My hand goes up and then comes down hard as I throw the thing at the concrete base of the birdbath. It’s a direct hit. The fat little body goes one way, the head goes another, and the spring splits the difference. I turn back toward Mom. I don’t know if I feel better, but at least I can get the words out now.

“They’re suing?” I say.

She looks at me for a moment, then looks around at the broken pieces. Finally, she just shakes her head.

“They’re looking for money,” she says. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Like, millions?” I say.

“Not millions,” she says. Stupid Internet.

“So what, then?” I say. “I mean … what?”

“We’re going to have to go to court,” she says. She sizes up the blank look on my face, takes a breath, and continues. “They’ll ask for what they think they can get, probably more, and your uncle Greg will help us.

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