Hamsters Rule, Gerbils Drool Read online

  A small red-haired boy wearing a shirt and tie waved politely from the desk next to Sally.

  “Yes, Rodney?” asked Mr. Zukas. “Did you have a question?”

  “Not a question, Mr. Zukas. Just a remark. It might interest the class to know that the Pioneers frequently ate deer as well as buffalo. They shot them with rifles.”

  Mr. Zukas beamed at him. “That’s right, Rodney. I’m glad someone’s been doing their homework.”

  Rodney smirked proudly while behind him the rest of the class rolled their eyes.

  “Can anyone else tell me what other animals the Pioneers might have hunted?” asked Mr. Zukas.

  Sally waved furiously.

  “Anyone at all?” Mr. Zukas asked somewhat desperately.

  Sally bounced up and down in her seat, arm still waving.

  Mr. Zukas sighed. “Yes, Sally.”

  “They ate gophers.”

  Loud expressions of disgust erupted from the rest of the class. Sally turned around and glared at them.

  “I’m fairly certain the Pioneers didn’t eat gophers, Sally,” said Mr. Zukas. “I believe gophers are inedible.”

  “Nuh-uh,” said Sally. “Gophers are super edible. The Pioneers roasted them over campfires and put hot sauce on them. They tasted like corn dogs. Only furry.”

  “Eeeww.” The rest of the class unanimously decided it was grossed out. Rodney cleared his throat and looked disdainfully at Sally.

  “In the unlikely event that the Pioneers ate gophers,” said Rodney with a sneer, “they would have skinned them first. The fur would have been removed before roasting.”

  “Nuh-uh,” retorted Sally. “The fur’s where all the vitamins are. Just like potatoes. You keep the skin on for the vitamins.”

  Behind Sally, Katie gasped and put her hand over her mouth. She had turned a sickly shade of green.

  Mr. Zukas peered at her. “Katie, do you need to use the Little Girl’s Room?”

  Katie nodded tearfully at him. He waved impatiently in the direction of the door and Katie dashed out of the classroom.

  Mr. Zukas sighed and turned a page in his textbook. “Let’s get off the topic of the Pioneers’ diet. Class, have a look at the picture on the next page. See the tin star this man is wearing? That meant he was a sheriff. He kept order in the lawless Wild West. Of course, it was a difficult job, and he needed lots of help. Frequently he would deputize. That means to create a kind of temporary sheriff. Who do you think he deputized?”

  “Hamsters,” said Sally at once.

  Mr. Zukas pulled at his tie, looking like he was tempted to strangle himself with it. “Hamsters cannot be deputies or anything else in the law enforcement arena, Sally. Hamsters are furry rodents, just like gophers.”

  Sally’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Hamsters are nothing like gophers! Hamsters and gophers are sworn enemies. Just ask my hamster, Melvin. You don’t want to get him started on gophers. He gets so mad his fur stands straight up and he hops around like microwave popcorn. Besides, hamsters can so be in the law enforcement arena. Melvin is in the law enforcement arena. He’s a Secret Agent. He has a Secret Agent JetPack and everything. He straps it on and flies around San Francisco looking for bad guys. If he finds any bad guys he zaps them with his Secret Agent Laser Gun.” Sally jumped up and aimed an imaginary laser gun at Mr. Zukas. “Kerpow!”

  Mr. Zukas sighed and put a hand on his forehead. “Recess is early today,” he said. “Everyone clear out of here. And stay out until the bell rings. I don’t care if a tornado sweeps through the schoolyard. If anyone so much as puts one toe inside this classroom in the next half hour I’ll personally feed them to the monster that lives in the school basement. He loves to snack on little kids. Especially ones who own hamsters.”

  * * * *

  “There he is. Charlie Sanderson, Snot Extraordinaire. Are you ready?” Sally was on the Jungle Gym, hanging upside down by her knees. One of her braids had come undone and her long hair was covering her face. She parted it with her hands and peered at a blond-haired boy walking past. He was wearing baggy pants, expensive sneakers, and a backwards baseball cap and was surrounded by a bunch of boys dressed exactly like him.

  Katie peered up at Sally worriedly from a safe perch on the lowest bar of the Jungle Gym. She had her skirt neatly tucked under her legs and her shiny patent leather shoes were carefully resting on a clean patch of grass. “Ready for what?” she asked.

  “The Plan,” whispered Sally.

  “You never told me the plan. I don’t know what to do. You just said you had a Secret Revenge Plan, and that there were no Iguanas.”

  “That’s right,” said Sally. “We don’t need an Iguana for this plan, which is a good thing because Arnold the Iguana is retiring from the revenge business. Arnold had a little chat with Melvin at one of their Secret Agent meetings in the school cafeteria. Arnold told Melvin that he was getting too old for Secret Revenge Plans. He’s going to retire to a home for elderly Iguanas in Florida. They spend all day sleeping in hammocks and drinking chocolate milkshakes. Melvin tried to talk him out of it. Mel’s afraid Arnold will get fat from all the chocolate milkshakes, but Arnold’s already pretty fat because Emily Niederbacher keeps feeding him her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” Sally grabbed the Jungle Gym bar with both hands, flipped her legs through and dropped to the ground. “We don’t need Arnold for this particular Secret Revenge Plan. You can be my back up. Follow me.”

  Katie sighed and reluctantly followed Sally across the playground.

  Sally swerved around a group of kids playing hopscotch and sauntered in the direction of Charlie Sanderson and his posse, who were leaning against the schoolyard’s chain-link fence and attempting to look cool. One of the boys nudged Charlie in the ribs and pointed at Sally.

  Sally walked up to Charlie and slapped him on the back. “How’s it going, Sanderson?”

  The posse laughed and Charlie angrily pushed Sally away. “Get away from me, Hesslop, you freak.”

  Sally smiled. “I may be a freak, but you’re a geek. And may I say, you really reek.”

  Charlie tried to shove her again, but Sally dodged away. She waved at Charlie as he and his posse stalked off to a far corner of the playground. Sally pulled something out of her pocket and tied it to the chain-link fence.

  “What are you doing?” whispered Katie. “Are we going to get in trouble again? I can’t go to the Principal’s office again. I just can’t. Mrs. Finsterman always says she’s going to pinch my arm with that clothes pin she keeps on her desk.”

  “She won’t pinch you,” said Sally, watching the boys depart.

  “How do you know? She always says she will.”

  “I know ’cause she always says she’s going to pinch me too, but she never does. It’s a psychotogical strategy, like when Xena pretended to be a goddess and the Mud People worshipped her.”

  Katie stared at her in bafflement. “Mrs. Finsterman is a Mud Person?”

  Sally put a finger to her mouth to shush Katie and pointed at the group of boys. Charlie and his gang were about twenty yards away, torturing a first-grader by throwing pebbles at him. The first-grader hopped around like a frightened puppy, not sure whether to cry or run.

  Sally checked the fence and muttered to herself. “Two more feet. Come on, you poophead. Keep walking.”

  Katie frowned at her in confusion. She peered at the group of boys then bent down to examine the fence. “Sally, what . . .”

  Sally waved her arms to shush her. The school bell rang, signaling the end of recess. Kids started running for the doors. Charlie Sanderson and his posse followed at a leisurely pace. Suddenly Charlie halted, frowning. He pulled at the waistline of his baggy pants, shrugged, and took another step. Sally yanked Katie away from the fence, giggling wildly. She ran into the school building, pulling Katie along behind her.

  A huge burst of laughter suddenly erupted from the school yard. Sally stood on her tiptoes and peeked out of the glass window in the front door of the buil
ding. Charlie Sanderson was standing in the middle of the playground with his baggy pants down around his ankles and his Finding Nemo underpants on display for all to see. Kids pointed at him, wetting themselves from laughing. Grinning wickedly, Sally pulled a small piece of fishing line from her pocket and showed it to Katie.

  Chapter Three

  Sally was lying on the floor of the Hesslop’s living room, peering under an armchair. Muttering under her breath, she reached under the chair and pulled out a slinky and a blackened banana peel. Behind her, Robbie was sitting in the middle of the room wearing Snoopy underpants and his bike helmet. He giggled and whacked himself on the head with a toilet brush, matching the rhythm of Michael Jackson’s Beat it, which was playing on the radio.

  Sally sighed. The armchair was not delivering the goods. She crawled over to the sofa. Darlene Trockworthy was sitting there with her legs stretched out on the coffee table, painting her toenails. As she crawled under Darlene’s legs Sally accidentally bumped them. A streak of Cotton Candy pink shot across Darlene’s toes and up her ankle.

  “Damn it, kid,” groused Darlene, “Watch what you’re doing. You made me mess up my pedicure.”

  “Sorry,” Sally mumbled grudgingly. “It’s just that I can’t find Melvin. Have you seen him?”

  “Nope, and good riddance,” said Darlene. “That rodent’s always creeping around underfoot. I swear he tries to trip me on purpose.”

  Sally sat back on her heels and smirked at Darlene. “He does that ’cause it’s part of his Secret Mission. He’s Special Agent Melvin, and he goes to Washington BC every weekend for Super Secret Hamster Orders. He’s trained to trip all enemy combatants.”

  Darlene wiped the nail polish off her foot. “Well, if you can’t find him maybe he’s at the White House meeting the President,” she said. “I hear they serve hamster every Friday.”

  Sally gave her an evil glare and flopped on her stomach to peer under the sofa.

  Behind her Melvin suddenly appeared, rolling across the living room on an old-fashioned four-wheeled roller skate. His chubby rear-end didn’t quite fit on the skate, and he dusted a path across the floor with his fur. He rolled from one end of the room to the other and disappeared into the kitchen. Robbie waved the toilet brush at him as he passed.

  Sally pulled her head out from under the sofa and hopped to her feet. She planted her fists on her hips. “Drat you, Melvin. Where are you? If you’re hiding in the microwave again I’m going to spank your little furry butt. You know Dad hates it when his microwave popcorn tastes like hamster.”

  She stomped into the kitchen and opened the microwave. No Melvin. She banged open cupboards and rattled pans. “Melvin, if you’ve gone on a Secret Mission again you are soooo in trouble. You know you aren’t supposed to go on Secret Missions after your bedtime. I’m gonna write to Washington. They’ll remote you back to Janitor Melvin and take away your Secret Agent Jetpack.”

  Sally crawled under the kitchen table and peered inside an empty box of Wheaties. Behind her Melvin had managed (by methods known only to himself and other Secret Agent Hamsters) to get himself on top of the fridge. He poked his nose over the side and surveyed the perilous drop to the kitchen counter. After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped off the fridge, executing a perfect swan dive with a half-twist. He landed face-first on the kitchen counter then slowly toppled over onto his back, legs in the air. He tried to roll onto his feet but was hampered by a touch of middle-aged spread. After several tries he got himself right-side up and waddled to the edge of the countertop. At that moment Robbie wandered in, fencing with his toilet brush. Melvin took a step into the unknown and landed splat on top of Robbie’s bike helmet, all four feet splayed out and hanging on for dear life. Oblivious to his stowaway, Robbie fenced back into the living room, taking Melvin with him.

  “Sally, get off the floor,” said Mr. Hesslop as he entered the kitchen, a pencil behind his ear and the grumpy look of a man who’s just been wrestling with his tax returns. “You’re as bad as Robbie. Remember, you’re supposed to set a good example for him. Now, go brush your teeth. It’s bedtime.”

  Sally scrambled out from under the table and saluted. “Sir. Yes Sir. Your orders we obey. We’re here to save the day. Good dental hygiene is a must. We’ll clean our teeth or bust.” She marched out of the kitchen, humming a martial tune. At the end of the hall she pivoted sharply and entered a small bathroom whose plumbing fixtures dated from the fifties. A bulging hamper full of wet towels sat in the corner and a flotilla of rubber ducks was lined up along the edge of the bathtub. The back of the toilet overflowed with half-empty shampoo bottles.

  Sally knelt and began throwing towels out of the hamper. “Melvin, you varmint, you’re about to become a garment. My Xena doll needs a fur coat, and you’ve got my vote.”

  She stuck her head into the now empty hamper. Behind her Melvin sauntered into the bathroom and scrambled up onto the edge of the tub, climbing the pyramid of wet towels Sally had dumped on the floor. He wound his way along the rim of the bathtub, which was full of soapy water leftover from Robbie’s bath. Melvin dodged the rubber ducks with surprising agility, but overconfidence got the better of him and he slipped, falling into the bathtub with a splash.

  Sally pulled her head out of the hamper and rushed over. “Melvin, you poophead. Your Secret Agent Swimming Lessons aren’t til next week.”

  A stream of bubbles floating up from under the water was the only answer. Sally scooped Melvin up and deposited him on the bathroom rug. Melvin shook like a tiny dog and sat shivering, his orange fur matted to his sides.

  “It’s okay, Mel,” said Sally. “I’ll fix you right up with my Top Secret Air Blaster.”

  She grabbed a blow drier and turned it on High. The blast of hot air rolled Melvin over backward. He did a full somersault and ended up on standing on his head against the side of the bathtub. Sally picked him up and aimed the blow drier at his tummy. His fur blew straight backward as if he was in a hurricane. When Sally had finished drying him he was twice his normal size and had the hamster version of an Afro.

  “Melvin! That’s a great disguise. You can use it on your next undercover mission. Nobody will ever recognize you. You can be Horace the Hairdresser, famous for your skills with a curling iron. All the lady hamsters will be lining up to make an appointment with you.”

  Melvin’s Afro started to deflate.

  “Hang on Melvin,” said Sally. “You just need some Product to maintain volume. That’s what those hair commercials on TV are always saying.”

  Sally grabbed a can of hair mousse from the cabinet under the sink and sprayed a big glob on Melvin, who promptly disappeared under a pile of foam. Sally dug him out of the foam and rubbed the mousse into his fur, then snatched a toothbrush from the sink. “This is Dad’s. He won’t mind,” said Sally as she brushed Melvin’s fur into spikes. She sat him back down on the bathroom rug.

  “There! You totally look like a cool dude. You look like one of those singers on American Idol. You just need to learn how to dance.”

  Sally jumped up and launched into a wild dance step. Melvin backed into a corner as Sally’s flailing arms whacked the shower curtain and knocked a shampoo bottle into the toilet. Sally finished with a flourish and bowed low before an imaginary audience. “C’mon Mel. It’s not hard. You just do little wiggle and a little rap. You just gotta have attitude. Like this.”

  Sally grabbed a rubber duck and sang into it like a microphone. “My name’s Sally J. and I’m here to say, I’m doing my dance ’cause I pulled down Charlie’s pants.”

  Sally picked up Melvin and danced around with him. “You need a hamster rap. All the tough hamsters have one. And maybe some bling. I wonder if Dad would buy you a gold chain.”

  Melvin looked decidedly skeptical about this, not to mention seasick from all the dancing.

  Sally danced into her bedroom, singing. “I’m furry and I’m cute. I’m a Secret Agent to boot. I’ve got a special JetPack which is totally wack.” />
  She tucked Melvin into his Hamster Habitat. Melvin trundled down the orange tube to his usual nest, his sticky moussed fur attracting bits of sawdust. By the time he reached his nest in the middle of the Habitat he looked like a tiny pile of kindling.

  “Another super disguise, Mel,” said Sally. “Totally cool. You can do your next Secret Mission at Tony’s Pizza. They have sawdust all over their floor. They’ll never spot you. You can sneak into the kitchen and find out the ingredients of their Secret Pizza Sauce.”

  Melvin burrowed into the sawdust of his nest until he was just a sawdust-lump. Sally yawned and blew him a kiss. “Night Mel.”

  Chapter Four

  “Sally Jane Hesslop, you are a demon spawn.”

  Mrs. Patterson, leader of Brownie Troop 112, wiped the milk off her sour face and glared down at Sally. The two of them were faced off in the middle of the Montgomery Elementary School cafeteria. A table with cartons of milk and a plate of Rice Krispie Treats was setup in one corner.

  The wayward milk had ended up on Mrs. Patterson’s face through totally unavoidable circumstances. Sally had been chasing another Brownie while holding a carton of milk and a straw. Squirting had been inevitable.

  Sally planted her fists on her hips and regaled Mrs. Patterson with a cold stare. They were old enemies. They had disliked each other from the very first day that Mrs. Patterson had assumed the leadership of the troop. On that fateful day Sally had been showing the other brownies how to slide along the newly polished wooden floor in their stocking feet. She had just launched into a particularly energetic slide when Mrs. Patterson had walked through the door of the cafeteria. The resulting collision had knocked Mrs. Patterson off her feet and onto her support-hose covered knees. Mrs. Patterson had been trying to transfer Sally to another Brownie troop ever since, so far without success.