The Order of Odd-Fish Read Online Free PDF

sit on his lap.
    “Did you know, Colonel,” said Aunt Lily, snuggling up to him, “I used to be a movie star?”
    “I did not,” said Korsakov, shifting uncomfortably.
    “I was, I was…. Before that, a bit of burlesque. And magic shows, vaudeville. Maybe that’s where I recognize this box from?” Aunt Lily turned the black box over. “You want to see a magic show today, Colonel?”
    Jo smiled at the rearview mirror, glad that Aunt Lily had recovered her spirits. She pressed the gas harder, enjoying the dusty wind in her hair. She glanced at her new silver ring, with its strange swirling fish and their jeweled eyes. For the first time in years, she felt like things were changing.
             
    The Dust Creek Café was packed.
    It was a grubby room crowded with metal folding chairs and simulated-wood tables, dimly lit and almost intolerably hot, swimming in the thick stink of burnt coffee, fried dough, and maple syrup. The only decoration sat next to the cash register, a plastic armadillo so dented and abused that Jo almost pitied it.
    Mrs. Beezy grabbed Jo as she walked in. “Jo! You’re over an hour late!”
    “Sorry, Mrs. Beezy!” Jo rushed to the kitchen, punched in, and tied on her apron. Then she took a deep breath and started her workday.
    Soon Jo was so busy that she almost had no time to think of that morning’s events. She had to be everywhere at once, washing dishes, taking orders, settling fights—and Jo had to do everything herself, since the only other waitress, Ms. Quince, was one hundred and seven years old and seldom moved from her wobbly stool.
    “Jo! Jo!” shrieked a dried-up, insect-like woman with huge ears and tiny yellow teeth. “Jo!”
    “Yes, Mrs. Cavendish!” Jo finished drying a dish and rushed over.
    “Where’s Mr. Cavendish’s birthday hat?” demanded Mrs. Cavendish, and poked her husband violently. “On my husband’s ninety-ninth birthday, he’s entitled to a birthday hat! I mean, he hasn’t got much longer to live! Do you, Mr. Cavendish?”
    “Don’t bury me yet,” said Mr. Cavendish slowly.
    “Not
quite
yet! But soon, eh?” said Mrs. Cavendish with relish. “Every minute’s a roll of the dice, eh, Mr. Cavendish?”
    “I’ll get the birthday hat,” said Jo.
    “And more waffles!” cried Mrs. Horpness.
    Jo ran to find the birthday hat for Mr. Cavendish. The senior citizens loved wearing the cardboard crown on their birthdays; Jo could never understand why. The withered Mr. Cavendish sat at the “birthday table,” immobile and glassy-eyed, with Mrs. Cavendish, the plump, flowery Mrs. Horpness, the stern-faced Mr. Tibbets, and the undertaker, Mr. Pooter. Colonel Korsakov sat with them, but he was ignored, for he was only seventy-five years old—a child by Dust Creek standards.
    “Here’s your hat, Mr. Cavendish!” said Jo, placing the yellow crown on his head. Mr. Cavendish’s jaw trembled, as if his head couldn’t support the weight.
    “Adorable! It looks so precious on Mr. Cavendish!” said Mrs. Cavendish. “Why, he should wear it at his funeral!”
    “Don’t bury me yet!” said Mr. Cavendish desperately.
    Jo trotted over to another table to take an order. The café hummed with the familiar din of old people, mostly complaining: about the wretched food, about their painful and embarrassing illness, about their good-for-nothing grandchildren…
    And about Aunt Lily. As usual, Aunt Lily was bullying the other old people, snatching waffles off plates, “accidentally” spilling people’s orange juice, and gobbling everyone’s medication. The old people squawked in dismay, and some feebly tried to stab Aunt Lily with their plastic forks.
    “Aunt Lily, behave yourself!” said Jo, pouring out some coffee. “I’m busy enough as it is.”
    “But they won’t let me do my magic show!” pouted Aunt Lily. “You said I could, Jo!”
    “We want to watch the Belgian Prankster!” said Mr. Pooter.
    Jo heard someone else say her name, but the