Jackson Jones and Mission Greentop Read Online Free

joking now, though. The worry frown was deep between her eyes. She set down her college book. “You want me to make dinner tonight? So you can relax?”
    “No way.” I slid off the couch. “Didn't I promise scrambled eggs?”
    Mama wanted to ease my sadness, I knew. But how could I relax with all this bad stuff? Blood tearing up Captain Nemo. Juana's tomato tearing into Blood. Mr. K.'s phone call. The Drane and Company letter. The garden soon to be bulldozed. Destroyed.
    That was just today. What might happen tomorrow?
    I sliced Mailbags's two tomatoes for Mama. Thick, the way she liked them. Served toast and scrambled eggs.
    Mama ate fast, then headed to the computer. Her big paper was due soon, she said. She had to trace the history of a local garden.
    Boring.
    “Look at this Web site, Jackson.” Mama clicked the computer mouse. “Tudor Place has a knot garden, one of the oldest in the country. Want to visit with me?”
    And see a knot garden? Whatever that was. I
don't
think so.
    “Got plans with Reuben that day,” I answered quickly.
    “Ah,” said Mama. “I didn't mention a day.”
    Whoops.
    “You do NOT want to visit the KNOT garden.” Mama smiled. “So I will NOT expect you to come.” She tugged my ear. “Like my plant humor?”
    “Not,” I said.
    Mama laughed, then asked gently, “You okay? I can clean up.”
    No, Mama had to write about some boringgarden. I was the Man of the House. I'd do my part.
    Besides, we had an agreement. Before Mama started classes, we used to clean up together. Now the cook also cleaned. This had been my idea, since I usually needed only one pan for canned soup, say, or fish sticks.
    But tonight my strategy had backfired. That's what I got for cooking fancy. My scrambled eggs had stuck to the pan. Tomato bits were all over. Each pulpy seed reminded me of Blood.
    I scraped and scrubbed, sponged and washed. Finally I turned out the kitchen light.
    “Jackson,” Mama called from the computer. “Could you give the ficus a drink?”
    What was I, a guy Cinderella? But I didn't say a word. Mr. Helpful Man of the House filled a jug and lugged it over.
    By the phone, the tree kind of drooped. Maybe feeling a little lonely. Mama was spending so much time with her book plants that she was forgetting her real ones. No more pep talks or songs. Just a quick “hi” when she watered.
    “You think you've got it bad,” I murmured, patting the ficus. “I know a whole garden that's gonna be bulldozed. And a person that's gonna get creamed.”
    I meant to cheer up the tree. But it only drooped worse.

C HAPTER S EVEN

    Over the next few days, the ficus and I spent a lot of time together. I was always dodging its leaves to answer the phone.
    Most of the calls came from Mr. Kerring. I could hear the worry each time he barked a command.
    He told Mama and me about his talk with a lawyer, who said there was nothing we could do. He had talked to another lawyer, who gave the same answer. The garden could be sold, bulldozed, developed. Drane and Company's action was legal.
    That still didn't make it right.
    What might save the garden? I thought andthought. Tried to come up with a strategy. We needed one soon.
    Another strategy I needed soon: a way to save myself. And Reuben.
    Word of the tomato incident had spread through school faster, well, than Juana's throw. These days kids snickered whenever Blood swaggered by. They whispered, “Tomato Head.” Blood's bullying had caught up with him.
    And he was waiting to catch up with me.
    Blood had strategy, though. He started spreading on niceness, thick as jam. “Hello, Jackson” in the halls. “How's it going?”
    The boy was as friendly as a welcome wagon.
    He wouldn't strike at school, I knew. Too many teachers. Too easy to get caught.
    No, Blood had gone underground. Like a mean snake in a burrow.
    But Reuben and I refused to be gophers. Two gophers waiting for that snake to strike. We had our own strategy: going to and from school a different