The True Meaning of Smekday (Smek 1)

“Boovcop,” I whispered. Then I grew angry. What if this Boov was a threat? Wasn’t this exactly the sort of thing J.Lo was meant to be protecting me from?

“Get back up here!” I yelled at him as I slowed Slushious and cut the gas. In the mirror I could see both the scooter Boov coming around our left side and the blanketed lump of J.Lo trembling in the backseat.

“Stupid Boov!” I shouted, and then the scooter cop was right there. Right beside my window, knocking his little frog hand against the glass. I rolled down the window.

“What did you to say?” asked the Boovcop in a low, wet voice. He was dressed in gray-green rubber and a helmet with the flashing siren thing mounted on top. It was still turning and flashing, purple green, purple green, and making its weird noise, but softer now. He had these frilly epaulets, like the leader of a marching band. It was way too much shoulder decoration for someone with no real shoulders.

“What did I say?” I asked. “When?”

“Just now, before I did to knock on your window.”

The Boov’s eyes narrowed. Seconds passed. The siren whispered ploobaloo? over and over.

“It was French,” I said.

“Say it again.”

I hesitated. Did the Boov know French?

“Ah…stoopeeedabouf.”

“What does it to mean?”

“It was a compliment. I was admiring your scooter.”

I think I picked the right subject. I’d seen his scooter out of the corner of my eye, and it was a little fancier than J.Lo’s had been. There was a lot of chrome and an entire aquarium full of turtles in the back. The Boovcop grinned and puffed himself up. And I mean that literally—his head actually got a little bigger.

“Yes, yes,” he said, patting one of the antlers. “Thank you.”

“Le moron,” I answered.

Soon the Boovcop’s smile faded and he was all business again. “Why have you to come here so late? Alls other humans did to come three days ago.”

“Yeah…I just thought, you know, that I could drive instead. Save you guys a seat on those rocketpods.”

At my mention of driving, the Boov took a good look at Slushious. His throat crackled and whined.

“Humanscar…humanscar do not float.”

“Well,” I said, “that’s not entirely—”

“Howfor does this float?” the Boov growled. His brow curled and pinched symmetrically, like an inkblot test that meant “angry.” His head grew a little bigger. “Did someone do this to for you?”

I swear he dropped one arm to his side, and I was reminded of those guns. I didn’t think before I answered.

“Yes.”

In the rearview mirror I could see the big lump of blanket behind me begin to shake again.

Okay, so I’m not stupid. I had some impression at this point that J.Lo had not been totally up front with me. Maybe he was in some kind of trouble. Maybe he was even some kind of Boov criminal. Perhaps that was why he wanted a ride to Florida, so he could hide among the humans. The problem was that I didn’t know, and I couldn’t know what I was supposed to do. Would turning him in just get me in trouble? Would it be worse if I didn’t?

“Who did do this forto you?” the Boov demanded. “Who did?”

“A Boov,” I said slowly. “Some maintenance officer.”

“Where?”

“Up north, in Pennsylvania. A couple days ago.”

The Boov’s face brightened. This seemed to interest him quite a bit.

“Was he working onto antennas? At an antenna farm?”

He was, of course, and now I really knew J.Lo was in some hot water. And it would have been the easiest thing in the world to jerk my thumb back at the jiggling woolly blob in the backseat and be done with it. But then I thought, looking squarely at the Boovcop’s slowly inflating head, You people took something of mine. Something I want. So now I have something you want. I played it cool.

“He didn’t say anything about a farm,” I said. “His English wasn’t so good. But he did say something about heading north. Into Canada.”

“Ha!” shouted the Boov, and his head deflated with a soft whistle. “He will not to get far.”

“Uh-huh. So…can I keep going? Into Florida?”

The Boov seemed more relaxed now, casually looking around the car.

“So you do not to know?” he said. “What has happened?”

“No,” I answered, not liking the sound of the question. “What’s happened?”

“You may to go,” he said. “You are not the only latecoming person. Drive ontoward Orlando. Report onto the first Boov you see.”

“Will they help me find my mom?”

“Mimom?”

“My mom. I need to—”

“Drive onto Orlando. Report onto first Boov,” he said again; then his gaze froze on the backseat. On the blanket.

“Whyfor is that—”

“It’s just my cat,” I said quickly. “Pig! Treat!”

Pig made a little sound and crawled out from under the blanket.

The Boov frowned. “Your cat’s name is ‘Pig Treat’?”

“Um…Sure.”

“You humans is so weird,” he said, and he glided away.

“All right,” I said, “start talking!” The Boovcop was safely behind us, and J.Lo was slowly crawling out from the blanket like a slug from a rock.

“Talking?” he said, wearing the blanket like a poncho. “Is there something for talking about?”

“The whole point of you coming along, the only reason I agreed to it, was because you were meant to play my escort if we met any other Boov. You were supposed to keep me safe! And now I find out you’re in more trouble than I am.”

J.Lo made a noise like Maaa-aa-aa-aa-aa! I figured this was him laughing.

“I is in no troubles!” he said as his eyes darted from window to window.

“So why’d you—”

“That Boov, it was…Carl. I just…was not wanting to see Carl just now. I owe Carl money.”

“I heard as well as you did what he said—”

“She said,” J.Lo corrected. “She.”

“She?”

“She.”

I shuddered. “Fine. I heard what she said about the antenna farm. They’re looking for you. You can tell me why or you can be a jerk, but I know they’re looking for you.”