Iggy the Legend Read online

  Guess what kind of club it was.

  A video-gaming club?

  Nope.

  A camping-out club?

  Nope.

  A let’s-keep-our-neighborhood-clean club?

  AHAHAHAHA! You’re killing me! No.

  It was a crime-fighting club.

  Why, you ask?

  Because it was Diego’s club, that’s why. He said it was his club and he was the president of it and he could call it whatever he wanted. What he wanted to call it was the Fighting Legends. He said it sounded awesome in Spanish.[*] Then Owen said he wasn’t going to be in it because he didn’t want to fight anyone. Diego said he didn’t have to fight anyone.

  “Why is it called the Fighting Legends if it’s not about fighting?” asked Owen.

  Diego thought for a while, and then he said, “Because it’s a crime-fighting club.”

  After that, there was a long argument about which crimes they were going to fight, and it turned out that all the crimes they could think of were too dangerous for them to fight, except possibly cat stealing. They decided that the main point of the club would be to call the cops if they saw a crime happening (unless someone was stealing a cat, which they would deal with themselves).

  By this time, lunch was almost over, and they hadn’t even left the table. “What’s the holdup?” yelled Monica. (Remember? She’s the lunchroom lady.) “Finish your lunch, kids!”

  A holdup? They started laughing. “Don't worry, Monica!” Arch yelled. “The Fighting Legends are here!”

  Then they ran around, pretending to fight each other until Monica told them to get lost, and they swarmed out the door for the blacktop. Everyone was laughing and goofing around, everyone but Diego. Diego was serious, because he was the club president (even though nobody had elected him), and over the laughing, Diego yelled, “You’re not a Fighting Legend until you pay me eleven dollars and sixty cents!”

  CHAPTER 4

  One Is Silver and the Other’s Gold

  Iggy caught up to Diego on the blacktop. “But not me, right?”

  “Not you what?” said Diego.

  “I don’t have to pay eleven sixty to be in the club. Right?”

  “Why wouldn’t you? Everyone has to pay,” said Diego.

  Iggy’s mouth dropped open. “I’m your best friend!” he yelped.

  “Still. You gotta pay,” Diego insisted. “It wouldn’t be fair if everyone else paid and you didn’t. The only person who doesn’t have to pay is me. And Andrés,” he added glumly. “My mom said I had to let him in.”

  “I don’t have eleven sixty,” moaned Iggy.

  Diego shrugged.

  “You know. I had to buy that lipstick for my mom.”[*]

  Diego shrugged again.

  “Why are you even charging anything?” demanded Iggy. “Why isn’t it free?”

  Diego rolled his eyes. “I said why: if everyone pays eleven sixty, I can get a Realms master edition and we’ll all be able to play at once. It isn’t that much,” he added. “Don’t you have any money saved? Didn’t you get money for your birthday?”

  Iggy didn’t say anything. He had gotten money for his birthday.

  On his birthday, he’d been rich. The day after his birthday, he was still rich. Then, the day after that, he’d gone to a place called Laff-Mart and spent twenty-four dollars on rubber waffles and snake-in-a-can and fart spray.

  And then—

  Never mind. None of your beeswax.

  It was none of Diego’s beeswax either.

  Iggy noticed an important fact. “Hey! You let me into the treehouse yesterday! I’ve already been there—for free! It already happened. So I’m already in it.”

  Diego shook his head. “Doesn’t count. That was before it was a club. Now it’s a club, so you gotta pay the membership fee. Eleven dollars and sixty cents,” he added, in case Iggy had forgotten.

  Iggy squinched his eyes into tiny slits. He could say Forget it. He could say I don’t want to be in your club anyway. He could say The Fighting Legends is a stupid name and I wouldn’t be in it even if it were free. He could say I already went to the clubhouse, and it wasn’t that fun. He could even say My real best friend is my cousin Ike.

  Unfortunately, none of these things was true.

  Iggy wanted to be in the club. He thought the Fighting Legends was a cool name for a club. He thought the clubhouse—especially the trapdoor—was awesome. He didn’t have a cousin named Ike.

  So Iggy unsquinched his eyes and said, “Okay, I’ll try to get eleven sixty somehow.”

  “Cool,” said Diego. “When you have it, come over.”

  CHAPTER 4½

  BLAME REASSIGNMENT REPORT #1

  I think we can all agree that our search for truth and justice has revealed an important fact: Diego, by demanding his pal Iggy pay him $11.60, caused Iggy to need money, which, as you will see, caused Iggy to do several other things. From this we learn that Diego is at least partly to blame for the events of November 16 to 20, which in turn means Iggy should NOT be blamed anywhere near as much as he is being blamed for those events.

  Yay for truth and justice!

  CHAPTER 5

  Iggy Looks for Work

  Arch had $11.60.

  It was in his closet. He had to go home after school to get it, and then his mom would take him over to Diego’s. Then Arch would be a Fighting Legend.

  Owen had $11.60 too. He had something to do after school, but the next day, he also would be a Fighting Legend.

  Miles and Aidan were going to ask their parents to give them their allowances early. It would be no big deal, they said. They would be Fighting Legends tomorrow too.

  Hm.

  No big deal.

  Iggy decided it was worth a try.

  When he got home from school, he practiced in his room. Hi, Mom, can I have some money? Hey, Mom, can I have my allowance early? Mom, no big deal, but I need $11.60.

  Okay. It was no big deal. He walked down the hall and opened the door to his mom’s workroom. “Hey, Mom, can I have my allowance early?”

  His mom looked up from her computer. “Excuse me?”

  Iggy smiled a no-big-deal smile. “I really need some money, so I was, um, hoping I could, well, you know—have my allowance early.”

  His mom’s face was not good.

  “Please,” he added quickly.

  “Did you or did you not put fart spray on your sister’s comforter?” his mom began.

  Oops.

  We’ll just skip this part.

  . . .

  . . .

  . . .

  Okay! Whew! That’s done! It is now fifteen minutes later.[*]

  Iggy still didn’t have any money, though.

  He stood in the hall for a few minutes, thinking. Then he went to the family room and stared at Maribel until she looked up from her homework.

  “What?” she said.

  “I was just wondering if I could help you with anything?” Iggy remembered to smile.

  “What?”

  “Do you need help with anything?” His face felt stretched.

  Maribel’s eyes got narrow. “What do you want?”

  “Eleven dollars and sixty cents,” said Iggy truthfully.

  “Eleven dollars and sixty cents,” repeated Maribel. She thought for a moment. Then she smiled. “No problem. I can give you eleven sixty.”

  “You can?” asked Iggy. “You will?”

  Bigger and bigger, Maribel smiled. “Sure. But you have to do everything I tell you for the next three days.”

  “Oh, right.” Iggy rolled his eyes. “You’ll tell me to jump off the roof or go lie down in the middle of the street. I’m not an idiot, you know.”

  Maribel shook her head. “No, I swear! I promise.” She held up her right hand.
“I won’t tell you to do anything that hurts. Only nice, easy things.”

  “Only nice, easy things?”

  “Completely nice, easy things,” she confirmed. “Cross my heart.”

  Iggy thought about it. She had sworn and promised. She had crossed her heart. “Okay,” he said. “Give me eleven sixty, and I’ll do something nice and easy.”

  Maribel began to giggle. “Good,” she said. “My money’s upstairs.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Lying Down in the Middle of the Street Begins to Sound Pretty Good

  Upstairs, Maribel laid one five-dollar bill, five one-dollar bills, and six quarters on her desk. She started to put down a dime too, but Iggy (Fairly! Honestly!) said, “That’s okay. I have a dime.” He crumpled the money into a ball and jammed it into a sock. Then he turned to Maribel. “What do I have to do?”

  Maribel had that smile again. “First, you get on your knees and say, ‘You are the most awesome sister in the history of the world. You are also a genius and beautiful.’ ”

  Iggy made a face. “Ew. Get out of here. No.”

  “Excuse me?” It was amazing how much she sounded like Iggy’s mom.

  Iggy thought about the Fighting Legends. Midnight feasts. Video games. The trapdoor. He got down on his knees. “You­are­the­most­awesome­sister­in­the­history­of­the­world­you­are­also­a­genius­and­pretty.”

  “Beautiful,” she corrected.

  “Beautiful,” he muttered.

  “Say the whole thing again,” she ordered.

  “Aw, come on!” Iggy whined. His knees hurt.

  “Excuse me?” said Maribel.

  “You­are­the­most­awesome­sister­in­the­history­of­the­world­you­are­also­a­genius­and­beautiful.” He almost gagged.

  Maribel nodded. “Good.”

  Iggy staggered to his feet, muttering things about nice and easy. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks for the money.” He turned to go to his room.

  “Excuse me?” There she went again! “Get back here. That was just the beginning. For the next part, you’ll need a glue stick.”

  * * *

  • • •

  By eight o’clock that night, Iggy had glued Maribel’s diorama of Canadian fur traders (and his fingers too); he had typed her language arts paragraph (which took a long time, because of his fingers being gluey); he had set the table for her; and then he had set the table for her again because she didn’t like the way he’d folded the napkins; he had brought her milk; he had brought her ice cream; he had carried her plate into the kitchen; and he had cleared off the table.

  “It’s so nice of you to help Maribel with her chores!” his mom said, beaming.

  “Hunh,” grunted Iggy. All the real words he was thinking would have gotten him in trouble.

  “Okay, Ig,” said Maribel sweetly. “Let’s go.”

  “No way!” he protested. “I already did everything! There’s nothing left to do!”

  Maribel laughed. “That’s what you think. It’s time for my pedicure!”

  * * *

  • • •

  “Don’t breathe on my feet,” Maribel said.

  “What? I’m supposed to not breathe? I have to breathe!” said Iggy. “It’s not like I want to breathe your stupid feet anyway.”

  “Stop talking! It’s about to drip!” squawked Maribel.

  A bright drop of purple nail polish splattered on Iggy’s pants. “Oh, man!” he yelped. “Look what you made me do!”

  “I did not! It’s you!” snapped Maribel. “You’re not paying attention!”

  “I am too! This is stupid!” shouted Iggy.

  “Stop yelling! You’re going to drip it again!”

  “I’m not going to drip—”

  “Ahhh! You dripped! You ruined it! Ew! It’s on my toe, you big doofus!” Maribel flicked Iggy on the head. “Now you have to start all over again.”

  “It’s fine!” bellowed Iggy. “It looks gross anyway! I’m not doing it again!”

  “Oh yes, you are!”

  “Oh no, I’m not!”

  “You have to fix it!” She flicked his head again.

  “No I don’t,” said Iggy. “I quit.” He turned the bottle of nail polish upside down over Maribel’s toes, and very shortly after that, Iggy became, once again, a person who didn’t have $11.60.

  CHAPTER 6½

  BLAME REASSIGNMENT REPORT #2

  Our search for truth and justice—which is going really well, in our opinion—clearly shows that Maribel, who could have helped Iggy and didn’t, who oppressed and tormented him instead, is partly to blame for the events that occurred between November 16 and November 20, which in turn means—what?

  Sheesh! Pay attention!

  It means that Iggy should not be blamed anywhere near as much as he is being blamed for those events.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Mandibles of Fate

  The next morning (November 18), Iggy dragged himself sadly to school. He slomped sadly into Ms. Schulberger’s classroom. He was too sad to trip over Sarah’s feet or hiss at the class snake. When Cecily showed her henna tattoos and all the girls went “Oooooh!” Iggy didn’t say they looked like chicken footprints (which they did). That’s how sad he was. He just sat there while Ms. Schulberger talked about the difference between regular writing and a poem, and he didn’t bother to groan when she said they each had to write a poem. He just did it, that’s how sad he was. Ms. Schulberger said it was the best poem she’d ever read about not having $11.60.

  The morning dribbled by.

  Then it was lunch.

  Guess what Diego and Arch and Aidan and Owen and Miles talked about excitedly in the lunchroom.

  Right.

  Iggy was too sad to eat. Except for three tacos and a grape.

  After school, the Fighting Legends went to Diego’s house for their first meeting.

  Iggy slomped home.

  * * *

  • • •

  There are some people who say that going into nature is the key to happiness. If you’re in a bad mood, these people will say “Go outside, breathe the fresh air, look at the trees, listen to the birdies, and you will be happy.”

  Guess what!

  These people are big liars.

  The truth is, nature is out to get you.

  At least, it was out to get Iggy.

  Sometime during the afternoon of November 18, Iggy was ordered outside. Specifically, he was ordered to walk around the block and see if he could come back in a better mood.

  “I know when I’m not wanted!” he hollered as he left. He may have slammed the door. He stomped down the front path, down the front stairs, down the block. Did he see the little birdies and the big trees and feel joy? No. He saw the same old regular boring things he had already seen a million times and felt crabby. House, flowers. Fence, apartment house, flowers, trees. He went down another block. Houses, bushes, trees, houses, bushes, trees. Still crabby! What was the matter with being crabby, anyway? He crossed the street and went down another block. Houses, rocks, trees—

  Wait.

  Iggy stopped in his tracks.

  It couldn’t be.

  Iggy looked again.

  It was.

  Picture this: Iggy was standing on a sidewalk. On one side of him, there was a house, just a regular house, with a regular yard, with all the regular bushes and flowers. On the other side of him, there was that grassy space—you know, that space that has no name—between the sidewalk and the curb. In this grassy, no-name space beside Iggy, there was a tree. And in the grass, among the roots of the tree, there was a bag of teeth.

  No way.

  Teeth?

  Iggy leaned over to take a closer look.

  It was teeth. Inside a bag, the kind with a zipper top, there were hundreds of sh
iny little whitish teeth.

  Iggy poked the bag with his foot. It didn’t explode.

  Iggy looked around to see if anyone was watching. No one was watching.

  He picked up the bag. It felt sort of like a beanbag. Except with teeth.

  Iggy looked up and down the sidewalk. Did the teeth belong to someone? No one was running toward him, screaming “My teeth! My teeth! I lost my teeth!”

  Just to be sure, Iggy turned the bag over to see if there was a name on it. There was a label, but on the label it said MAND. PREM. #2, which obviously wasn’t anyone’s name. No one is named Mand. Prem. #2.

  Finders keepers.

  That was the rule. Even grown-ups said so. Even grown-ups said that if you were walking along and you saw a quarter, you could pick it up and keep it. It wasn’t stealing; it was finding. Iggy had always wanted to find a puppy. Instead, he had found teeth.

  Iggy opened the bag and looked at the teeth. They were perfectly clean. They were all the same color. They weren’t bloody. They weren’t cracked. They didn’t have cavities.

  They were probably fake, Iggy decided.

  But they looked real.

  Anyone would think they were real. Especially a grown-up. Especially a grown-up mom or dad whose kid said “Lookit, I lost my tooth.”

  Iggy’s own teeth started to show because he was smiling. If someone had given him the choice between finding a puppy and finding a bag of teeth, he’d have chosen the puppy. But now that he’d found a bag of teeth, he was happy. You can’t take a puppy to school and sell it.

  CHAPTER 7½

  BLAME REASSIGNMENT REPORT #3

  What do we discover here, friends? We discover that Iggy was sent out of his house by his mom. Did she say, before he left, “Oh, Iggy, if you find a bag of something, don’t pick it up, okay?” No, she did not, and she had never said it before either. As far as he knew, finders keepers was the rule unless it was obviously something that had been lost by someone. The bag of teeth had no name on it; it was not obviously anyone’s. I think we can all agree that as far as he knew, Iggy was breaking NO rules when he picked up his bag of teeth.