The cutlery disappeared on Monday. I was getting my breakfast ready the same way I always do it. Bowl, Raisin Bran, whole milk, spoon. But when the spoon part came, there weren’t any. No forks or knives either. Not in the drawers and not even in the dishwasher, and there’s always stuff in the dishwasher.
I could hear Dad swearing at Talk Radio in his bedroom, which is what he does right before he barges into the kitchen and shouts about how he can’t find something. He doesn’t actually expect me to help him look, but if I’ve got to ask him something, I have to pretend to help. Otherwise he won’t listen.
Anyway this time it was his glasses.
I figured he’d want to know about the empty drawers, so after I’d made enough noise pretending to look, all dragging the kitchen chairs and lifting up pieces of the newspaper, I said, “Dad, the cutlery’s gone.”
I didn’t think he’d heard me, but then he said, “Where’d you learn to call it that?”
“You, I think.”
He smiled. “Really?” But it wasn’t a question and he went back to digging around under the newspapers.
“Dad?”
He found his glasses. “Aha! They were hiding.”
I said it louder. “Dad!”
He spun around. “What? Oh.” He scratched his head. “I don’t know, Kip, use your hands. Like an Indian! That’s what they do there, I think.” He took a deep breath. “Yes, that’s right.” He grabbed his keys.
“But the milk, Dad.” How was I supposed to eat milk like an Indian?
“Don’t waste the milk!” He yelled from the door. “And don’t miss the bus!”
That night Dad brought home pizza, so of course no one said anything about the cutlery. And the next morning there were six boxes of the plastic stuff up on the counter by the microwave. The day after that, Dad grounded me, which sucked so bad I pretty much forgot about the cutlery for the whole afternoon. But now I just don’t care at all, because yesterday I found out I’m not the only one in big time trouble this month. Drew and Ellie are grounded too. And I’ve got to find out what they did.
(End of part one.)