Hamsters Rule, Gerbils Drool Page 3

  “Well,” said Sally, “if I’m a demon spawn then I bet it’s a cool demon, one that can shoot flames out of its eyeballs. I wish I could shoot flames out of my eyeballs. I’d turn Charlie Sanderson into a crispy critter.”

  Mrs. Patterson raised her eyes to the heavens. “When I say that you are a demon spawn, Sally Jane Hesslop, it means that you are a very bad girl. One of the worst I’ve had the misfortune to meet in all my years of guiding Brownies along the difficult path to becoming young ladies.”

  Sally fiddled with her straw. “I’d rather be a demon spawn than a young lady. I bet demon spawn have cool super powers. The coolest super power would be to turn people into potato bugs. My first victim would be Charlie Sanderson. If I turned him into a potato bug it would be a big improvement. I’d probably get a medal from the President. Then they’d have a parade for me and I’d ride on a float past the White House and wave to the crowd. Like this.” Sally energetically waved her arms, spraying drops of milk onto Mrs. Patterson’s bouffant hairdo.

  Mrs. Patterson closed her eyes and kneaded her forehead with two shaking fingers. “Sally Jane Hesslop, we were discussing you spewing milk everywhere and making a mess, not super powers and potato bugs. Now go get some paper towels from the restroom and wipe this up.”

  “Okay” said Sally, shrugging. She tucked the straw under her Brownie beanie. “When do we get to make bird feeders from pinecones? That’s in the Brownie handbook, you know. Page forty-nine. You stick peanut butter in the pinecones so the birds can peck it out. Though I don’t understand why we can’t just spread the peanut butter on Ritz crackers. Then the birds could peck it real easy. Molly Sanderson says it’s because the birds like to work hard for their food, but that’s just stupid. Besides, Molly is Charlie Sanderson’s sister and she picks her nose, so you know anything she says is suspected. That’s what my Dad says. Nose pickers are Dim Bulbs and to be suspected. The crackers don’t have to be Ritz. Wheat Thins would work good too.”

  Mrs. Patterson sighed. “Sally Jane Hesslop, I don’t know what you’re blathering on about. Get this mess cleaned up. Now.”

  Mindy Nichols, a thin black girl with red bows on the ends of her cornrows, ran up to Sally. She peered after the departing Mrs. Patterson with a fearful expression. “Sally, guess what? Mrs. Osterman isn’t coming today. She’s in the hospital.”

  Mrs. Osterman was the co-leader of the troop. She was a quiet young woman with a warm smile who was liked by all the Brownies.

  “You mean it’s just us and Prissy Patterson?” groaned Sally. “Oh barf. Why is Mrs. Osterman in the hospital?”

  “Molly Sanderson says it’s because she’s having an operation,” whispered Mindy.

  Sally rolled her eyes. “Molly is always saying stupid stuff. You know that. She’s a Sanderson. You can’t believe anything she says. C’mon. Let’s go ask Sandra Chang. She’ll know.”

  Sally and Mindy ran up to a group of girls gathered around Sandra Chang, a tall, graceful Chinese girl with a curtain of shiny black hair hanging all the way to her hips. A purple silk scarf was artfully tied around the neck of her Brownie uniform.

  Sally barged her way through the group. “Hey Sandra.”

  Sandra nodded at her graciously, like a benevolent Queen acknowledging her subjects.

  “Sandra, what’s up with Mrs. Osterman? Mindy says she’s in the hospital.”

  “I’m sorry, Sally,” replied Sandra Chang in a quiet, authoritative voice. “I don’t know the details. All I know is that Mrs. Patterson is taking over as Troop Leader.”

  Loud groans erupted from all the Brownies within earshot. Molly Sanderson, a short, pudgy blond girl with two front teeth missing, sister to the infamous Charlie Sanderson, jumped up and down frantically, waving her hand as if in school.

  “Thandra. Thandra,” lisped Molly, “I know what’th happened to Mrs. Othterman. My brother Charlie told me.”

  On hearing Charlie’s name Sally made loud gagging noises and clutched her throat. Molly ignored her, looking intently at Sandra. Finally Sandra gave her a regal nod.

  “Mrs. Othterman ith having a Hystertology,” whispered Molly excitedly. “That’th an operation. It meanth thee can’t have babiesth anymore, unlesth she goeth to Mexico and getsth it reverthed. Then her babiesth will come out backwardsth, like when your Dad backth the car out of the garage. Latht week my Dad backed our car out of the garage and ran over my brother’th bicycle. My Dad said a very bad wordth.”

  Sally planted her hands on her hips and gave Molly a look of scathing contempt. “That’s not a Hystertology, Sanderson. A Hystertology is when you have your ears pinned back. The doctor staples them to your head so you don’t look like Dumbo.”

  “Mrs. Othterman doesthn’t look like Dumbo,” said Molly.

  “Well, not anymore,” shot back Sally. “She’s had a Hystertology. Sheesh, Sanderson. You are such a dimwit sometimes. I guess it runs in the family.”

  Molly advanced on her, fists clenched. “You take that back Hessthlop.”

  Sally assumed a Xena fighting pose. “C’mon, Sanderson. I’ll lick you, and then I’ll go lick your stupid brother.”

  “Charlie’s a twit,

  He’s Molly’s brother.

  He has half a wit,

  Molly has the other.”

  Sally raised her leg in preparation for a super-duper martial arts kick. Molly stood her ground for a second, then thought better of it and dashed off to find Mrs. Patterson.

  “Girls! Girls!” shouted Mrs. Patterson from the center of the cafeteria. “Everyone gather round. It’s Share Time. Bring the item you’re going to share with the group over here.”

  There was a noisy scramble as all the Brownies rushed to a pile of backpacks stacked against the wall, and then convened in the center of the room. They threw themselves on the wooden floor in a cross-legged circle around Mrs. Patterson.

  “Molly, dear, why don’t you go first,” said Mrs. Patterson.

  Molly Sanderson smirked at the others and walked to the center of the circle. She held up a Barbie doll dressed in an immaculate princess-type costume of white silk with a red velvet cape. “Thith ith Princeth Thophie of Bavaria. Thee’s dressthed for the ball. Thee’s a Spethial Edition. My Mom bought her for me in New York at Bloomingdaleth.”

  “She’s just beautiful, Molly,” said Mrs. Patterson. “So precious. I bet all the young ladies here want to be Princesses, don’t you, girls?”

  Sally sprang up. “Of course. I’m Princess Scary Fighting Eagle from the Moping Moose tribe. We get dressed for balls too. We paint our faces with red stripes, stick eagle feathers in our ears, and do our Special Moose Waltz around the campfire.”

  Sally launched into a fast-paced dance, shaking her arms and kicking her legs over her head. Her Brownie beanie flew off, and girls scrambled backwards as she lunged wildly toward them. She concluded by spinning rapidly in a circle, then staggered dizzily back to her spot on the floor.

  Mrs. Patterson closed her eyes during this performance. After Sally had sat down again she opened her eyes, a pained expression on her face. “Mindy,” she sighed, “why don’t you go next?”

  Mindy Nichols moved to the center of the circle, bashfully pulling at her cornrows. She pulled a brightly colored paper bird from a bag. Several of the Brownies oohed and aahed. Mindy smiled gratefully. “This is a Japanese art called Origami. My Mom learned it when she was stationed at a Navy base in Sasebo, Japan. She taught it to me. This is a tsuru. That’s Japanese for crane. All the kids in Japan learn to make them. The crane is a symbol of peace.” Mindy sat down abruptly, looking embarrassed. The Brownies applauded.

  Mrs. Patterson pursed her lips as if she’d just drunk lemon juice. “Very, er, multi-cultural, Mindy. Though maybe you should bring something a little more American next time. These exotic things aren’t really Brownie appropriate for Brownie meetings. Let’s see, Sandra, why don’t you come up.”

  Sandra Chang nodded and rose gracefully to her feet. She unrolled a pape
r scroll which displayed a vertical line of beautiful Chinese characters. “This is called calligraphy. It’s a very popular art in China. These characters are in the Mandarin language, which my mother and grandmother speak. My grandmother taught me how to do calligraphy. We use a pot of black ink and a brush made of sheep’s hair.”

  Sandra sat down and the Brownies applauded respectfully.

  “My goodness,” said Mrs. Patterson, “This is certainly an international group. I feel like I’m at the United Nations. Well, onward. Who’d like to volunteer?”

  Sally waved her arm wildly. Another Brownie across from Sally dared to raise her arm as well. Sally glared daggers at her opponent, and the offending Brownie promptly dropped her challenge and looked like she’d be thrilled to sink into the floor. Mrs. Patterson tried mightily to avoid Sally’s gaze, but resistance was futile. Sally marched unbidden to the center of the circle, carrying a paper takeout carton. Mrs. Patterson raised her eyes heavenward.

  “I’ll go next, Mrs. Patterson,” said Sally. She opened the carton and pulled out something wriggly. The Brownies gasped in horror and the ones closest scooted away. Molly Sanderson screamed.

  “Mrsth. Patterthon, Thally’th brought a rat! Eeeuww. Make her take ith away!”

  Sally rolled her eyes. “It’s not a rat, Sanderson, you doofus. It’s my hamster, Melvin. My Dad shaved him. See, what happened was, I put some of Darlene Trockworthy’s Super Hold Hair Mousse on him. Darlene wants to be my Dad’s girlfriend, and she left her hair mousse in our bathroom.”

  Mrs. Patterson clutched the pearls around her neck and muttered something about tramps.

  “Anyway,” continued Sally, “it turns out you should never mousse a hamster. It glues their fur up something awful. Plus you should especially never put mousse on your hamster and then let him roll around in sawdust. My Dad said there must have been some kind of chemical reaction between the pine sap in the sawdust and Darlene’s Super Hold Hair Mousse. It hardened up like that shellac stuff we used on our birdhouses last year. Poor Mel here couldn’t even walk. He just rolled around like a pinecone with feet. So my Dad used his electric razor and shaved off all of Melvin’s fur. So now Mel’s got a crew cut, like an Army guy. Anybody want to hold him?”

  The Brownies all recoiled. Melvin dove back into the takeout container as Mrs. Patterson stepped forward and made shooing motions at Sally. Sally reluctantly relinquished center stage and sat back down. She dropped a Rice Krispie Treat into the takeout carton. “It’s okay, Mel,” she whispered into the carton, “Don’t mind Prissy Patterson. The troop loved you. You were a big hit.”

  Chapter Five

  “I wish you could have been there, Katie. Melvin was the star of the show. It was like American Idol, but with hamsters.”

  Sally and Katie were walking across a wide green lawn. Sally was wearing baggy blue shorts and a T-shirt that said “Girl Power!” in sparkly red and blue letters. On her feet she had one red basketball sneaker and one black one. Katie was uncomfortably over-dressed, as usual, in a starched white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, a kilt, and black patent-leather Mary Janes. Sally was swinging a takeout container by its wire handle.

  “American what?” asked Katie.

  “Oh jeez Katie. Are your parents ever going to let you watch TV?”

  “Probably not. They say it turns your brain into Swiss Cheese.”

  “That’s just stupid,” said Sally. “Everyone knows that brains are made out of spaghetti. Don’t you remember Mindy’s Halloween party? We had to put our hands in the brains, and they were spaghetti. Cooked spaghetti, of course. Nobody has raw spaghetti for brains, except maybe Charlie Sanderson. Hey, want to see Melvin’s outfit?”

  She stopped and set the takeout container down on the grass. When she opened it Melvin popped his head out, his whiskers twitching. He was wearing a purple and white striped doggie sweater. Sally picked him up and held him out to Katie, who scratched his shaved head. Melvin yawned and had a good stretch, waving his tiny tail back and forth, which was the only part of him which still had fur on it. Sally put him on her shoulder. “Isn’t this sweater cute? Mel was cold without his fur, so my Dad bought it at a pet store. They didn’t have any hamster sweaters, so he got this one. It’s for Chihuahua puppies. Melvin didn’t want to wear kid’s clothes, but I finally talked him into it.”

  “It’s very stylish,” said Katie.

  “You bet,” said Sally, scratching Melvin’s nose. “Mel’s a stylin’ dude. I wish you could have been at our Brownie meeting. We had Show and Tell. Sandra Chang brought some fancy writing called colonoscopy, cause she’s Chinese. Mindy Nichols brought this paper bird called a guru. You could have brought that droodle toy. I don’t get why your parents hate the Brownies.”

  “It’s a dreidel, not a droodle. And my parents don’t hate the Brownies. They just don’t like Mrs. Patterson. They don’t like the way she’s always telling people they aren’t American.”

  “Yeah, she’s stuck on that,” said Sally. “My Dad says she’s got a psychotological problem about it. A Pixation. That’s when Pixies get inside your head and turn your brain into scrambled eggs. Hey, if Mrs. Patterson watches a lot of TV and your parents are right about the Swiss Cheese, then her brain will turn into a cheese omelet.”

  They passed through a garden full of pink and yellow roses. In front of them loomed an imposing mansion flanked by towering oak trees. A driveway bordered with rhododendrons led to the front entrance, but Sally headed toward a door on the side of the house.

  Katie glanced around nervously. “Gosh, this is a very fancy house. Is your grandma nice?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  “Oh yeah,” said Sally. “She’s super nice. Well, to me, anyway. She’s only mean to people she doesn’t like. Like salespeople and missionaries. She chases them. Once she chased this missionary all the way down the driveway. She was hitting him on the head with a broom. She said she wanted to hit him on the head with a shovel, but then she’d have to hide the body. Bodies are hard to hide. They turn into zombies and start showing up every day for breakfast. And my grandma hates having guests for breakfast. She always has her breakfast in bed. A piece of toast with two poached eggs and her special coffee. I tasted her special coffee once. It made me hiccup. My Dad took it away and said I was too young for special coffee.”

  Katie started to whimper quietly. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

  Sally patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Katie. I promise she’ll like you. It’s just salespeople, missionaries, and Mean Darlene Trockworthy she doesn’t like. Grandma says Darlene is on the make. That means she wears too much makeup. Which is sooo true. Once I saw a huge piece of her face fall off. It just peeled off like a big piece of paint peeling off a wall. It was so gross.”

  Katie turned a bit green around the gills. She took an embroidered handkerchief out of the pocket of her kilt and coughed into it. Sally went up to the side of the house and stood on tiptoe to peer in a window. Robbie was inside the house. All that could be seen of him was his rear-end, which was hanging over the edge of a large pot full of daisies. Sally pushed open the side door.

  “C’mon, Katie,” said Sally. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

  Sally skipped into the room and grabbed hold of Robbie’s shorts, hauling him out of the flowerpot. Robbie was wearing a little sailor suit and tennis shoes. A goatee of dirt circled his mouth. Sally sighed and shook her head. Robbie grinned at her and held up a worm in his chubby little fist. Sally grabbed it a split second before he put it in his mouth. She deposited the worm back into the flowerpot.

  “Katie, can I borrow your handkerchief?”

  Katie looked at her, then down at Robbie. She reluctantly pulled out her lacy handkerchief and handed it over. Sally scrubbed Robbie’s face with it until his face turned red and the handkerchief turned brown. Robbie giggled and ran off, pulling another worm out of the pocket of his sailor suit.

  “C’mon,” said Sally. “Just follow Robbie. He’s p
robably headed straight for grandma. She always stuffs him with sugar cookies. They’re his favorite. After dirt, of course. And dust bunnies. He’s been on a dust bunny binge lately. Yesterday my Dad found him under his bed, rolling the dust bunnies into little pancakes and pouring maple syrup on them.”

  Sally and Katie ran after Robbie, who led them down a hallway lined with beautiful silk wallpaper. Robbie ran his hand along the wallpaper, leaving a long brown streak of dirt. At the end of the hall he darted out of a sliding glass door.

  When Sally and Katie followed Robbie through the door they found themselves on a patio which had a spectacular view of San Francisco bay and the Golden Gate Bridge.

  Bill Hesslop, dressed in a suit and tie, was perched on the edge of a deckchair. Next to him, stretched out comfortably on a matching chair, was Sally’s grandmother. Mrs. Belinda Worthington was a trim, stylish woman of sixty-five with white hair and blue eyes. She wore tailored trousers and a cashmere sweater. Robbie ran up to her, pulling something out of the pocket of his sailor suit.

  Mrs. Worthington held out her hand. “What have you got there, Mr. Robert?”

  Robbie deposited a large pink earthworm into her hand. Bill Hesslop winced, but Mrs. Worthington didn’t even blink. “Well. This is a fine big wriggler, isn’t he? It’s too bad your grandpa isn’t with us anymore. He’d take this fine specimen down to the pond and show you how to catch a fish with him. The gardener stocks the pond with trout, you know.”

  Robbie nodded at her solemnly. “Fishes eat worms.” Robbie took the worm back and tried to put it in his mouth, but his grandmother was too quick for him. She calmly snatched up the worm and handed it to Bill Hesslop. “Bill, dear. Dispose of this, would you.”