Welcome to Wonderland #4

by Chris Grabenstein

  “Who?” asked Mom.

  “Laurette Oldewurtel. She’s a stockbroker. Used to come here when she was a kid and count the seashells in the parking lot.”

  “Oh, right,” said Mom. “Laurette…”

  “You’d take all that money and invest in my stock picks, Mr. Wilkie?” said Gloria.

  “You bet. You’re a winner, kid. A winner!”

  When Gloria heard that, she ran across the room and hugged Grandpa.

  I did, too.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” said Mom when the hugfest was over. “We just had a check-in. A family of three. You need to take their bags to their room ASAP, P.T.”

  She gestured to a pile of suitcases stacked on a rolling cart.

  “Any chance they’re our mystery shoppers?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so. They made their reservation weeks ago.”

  Since I’m the closest thing the Wonderland has to a bellhop, I rolled the newly arrived family’s luggage to a room on the first floor.

  A boy opened the door.

  “Hi, again!”

  It was that kid Dill.

  “Mom? Dad?” he called over his shoulder. “The bags are here.”

  “Great.”

  I wanted to make double-triple sure that Dill’s parents weren’t our mystery shoppers.

  “So,” I said, “you folks here to have some fun in the sun?” I winked to see if they’d wink back.

  They didn’t.

  “Not really,” said his mom. “Too much work to do.”

  “We’ll be indoors mostly,” said his dad. “As long as the AC works, we’re happy.”

  “Is there room service?” asked his mom.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I told her.

  “Perfect. We may never have to leave the room.”

  Dill’s mother and father quickly unpacked their twin laptop computers, asked me for the Wi-Fi code (it’s GRAPEFRUIT123), and sat down at the desk to start clacking keys.

  “Have fun, son,” they said to Dill.

  “Will do,” he said back.

  Then he turned and smiled at me.

  Like he wanted somebody to play with.

  “So,” I said, because I felt sorry for the guy. “You should definitely hit the pool. It’s a blast.”

  “Cool,” said Dill. “Let’s go!”

  “Um, do you want to change into your swimsuit first?”

  “Already wearing it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hey, it’s Florida? Am I right?”

  “Riiiight.”

  To be perfectly honest, I had never once thought about wearing a swimsuit all day. And I live in Florida.

  We left the room and headed for the pool.

  “Maybe your mom and dad will come out for a dip later.”

  “No way,” said Dill. “They’re super-busy e-commerce entrepreneurs. Their idea of a fantastic family vacation is an air-conditioned room with high-speed Internet at a motel with a babysitter for me.”

  When Dill said that babysitter bit, he was smiling straight at me.

  The next week at school, fired up by Grandpa’s faith in Gloria (he had five thousand dollars in those coin jars!), I wrote a new show during my free periods.

  All the best amusement parks have shows: Disney World, Universal Studios, even Weeki Wachee Springs, where the mermaids put on (what else?) The Little Mermaid.

  I called my new script “Ponce de León Discovers the Fountain of Tall.”

  We’d already painted our twenty-five-foot-tall Muffler Man statue (a molded fiberglass giant Grandpa had bought from a tire-repair shop in Michigan back in the 1990s) to look like Ponce de León, the famous explorer my middle school is named after.

  As you may not know, because you don’t go to my middle school, Ponce de León spent years searching for the Fountain of Youth—magical waters that would totally reverse the aging process way faster than all those makeup ads promise on TV. But I digress.

  With the help of Gloria and her friends in the Junior Achievement club at school, we’d already put a new spin on the old legend. We said that Ponce de León never had found the Fountain of Youth but he had stumbled across the Fountain of Tall, right here on St. Pete Beach. That’s why our twenty-five-foot-tall statue of Señor de León is “life-size.”

  The Junior Achievement kids helped us design and market Ponce de León water bottles, which we fill from our motel’s magical fountain (also known as Grandpa’s garden hose) and sell for five dollars. Most buyers do it as a joke, the same way some tourists buy invisible-dog leashes when they’re on vacation.

  Now, with the help of another friend from school, Lily Lawler, we were ready to take the Fountain of Tall to the next level. Literally. Because Lily, an eighth grader, is six and a half feet tall. I kid you not. Her last growth spurt had a growth spurt.

  Plus she has a Mini-Me little sister in fifth grade named Matilda Lawler, who looks exactly like her.

  If we were going to be judged on our activities and entertainment options, we needed new shows.

  Maybe even a magic show with one funny trick!

  On Thursday we were stoked.

  First we learned that Grandpa’s five-thousand-dollar investment in Gloria’s stock picks was suddenly worth twenty thousand dollars.

  The theme rooms were fully financed.

  Grandpa called Gloria a genius. They celebrated with Dr. Brown sodas. Cel-Ray for Grandpa. Black cherry for Gloria.

  Then we put on our brand-new Ponce de León pageant during the dinner rush at the Banana Shack. I wanted to try it out in front of an audience before our prime mystery shopper suspects checked in the next day.

  We had maybe a hundred spectators.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” I said into the microphone we’d rigged up, “welcome to the Wonderland Motel, where there are always marvels to behold and stories to be told. Tonight’s marvel? The Fountain of Tall Extravaganza!”

  We didn’t have a fog machine like the Fun Castle to make everything look super spooky, but Jimbo hooked up a couple of fans and blew the smoke from his burger grill our way. When it hit the colored floodlights beaming up from the ground, the effect was awesome.

  In the concession stand (it was Mom’s card table with a pink-flamingo tablecloth), Gloria and her Junior Achievement sales team were standing by with crates of Ponce de León bottled water for sale.

  After my opening rap number, I launched into the amazing tale of the conquistador’s quest for the Fountain of Youth.

  “They never found it,” I said. “Probably because, like all conquistadors, he never bothered to ask the locals for directions. However, Señor de León did accidentally discover the legendary Fountain of Tall!”

  I pointed to our swimming pool.

  “See that dolphin spewing crystal-clear water? That astonishing elixir is bubbling up, straight from the source. Of course, the chlorine in the pool cuts down on the water’s magical properties, so don’t worry, you won’t go swimming and come out too tall for your swimsuit.”

  “Ha!” honked Dill, seated in the front row. “Hilarious!”

  Now it was time for the fun twist, because like they say, every story needs a beginning, a middle, and a twist.

  “But don’t take my word for it. I have a bottle of water taken directly from the Fountain of Tall with nothing added to dilute its oomph. That bottle is sitting on a table behind this life-size statue of Ponce de León. Who would like to see the magical marvel at work?”

  Everyone clapped.

  “Very well. I need a volunteer from the audience.”

  Dozens of arms shot up.

  I, of course, picked Lily Lawler’s little sister, Matilda.

  “You there. In the front row. Yes, you. Head on back and take a swig. See what happe
ns.”

  “You bet!” said Matilda, because she’d memorized her line.

  She scampered behind the statue.

  We heard some very loud glugging.

  And six-and-a-half-foot-tall Lily Lawler came out.

  The crowd cracked up.

  After the show, Gloria and her friends sold a ton of molded water bottles.

  “This will make a great gag gift,” I heard one happy customer say with a laugh.

  “I’ll take six!” said another.

  “I need a dozen,” said Dill. “What can I say? I’m short.”

  Within fifteen minutes, the bottles were sold out.

  The show was a hit! The souvenir merchandise was a hit! People were having fun in the sun, even though, technically, the sun was starting to set.

  We were definitely on our way to winning Grandpa his trophy.

  But then I heard another customer.

  He wasn’t so happy.

  “How’d you clowns even make the short list? This place is a joke.” He slapped a finger-and-thumb L on his forehead. “Loser.”

  It was Bradley.

  The funmeister from the Fun Castle.

  “I want to beat those Fun Castle guys so bad,” I told Gloria in the cafeteria the next day.

  Everybody else loved our Ponce de León show, and we had completely sold out our water bottles, but all I remembered was Bradley calling me a loser and the Wonderland a joke.

  “I think we have a very good chance,” said Gloria. “Your grandfather has spent the week cooking up even more amazing ideas for theme rooms.”

  “Really? He didn’t tell me about them….”

  “That’s because you’re not the one picking securities to finance the venture.”

  “True. So, what does he want to build next?”

  “A game room.”

  “We already have a game room.”

  “This would be a room that looks like one of those wacky Lemoncello board games your grandfather always wins when we do game night. You have to solve puzzles and go on a scavenger hunt to find the shampoo and toilet paper.”

  “A room like that would cost a fortune!” I said.

  “Well, P.T., as your grandfather said, it takes money to make money. That’s why he and I are talking to Ms. Oldewurtel this afternoon.”

  “But you’ll be back home by three, right? It’s Friday. Those two guests are checking in today. The ones who mysteriously made their reservations minutes after we received the letter about the competition. We need to work undercover in the lobby. Scope out which one is our mystery shopper.”

  “I’ll be back in plenty of time. Your grandfather’s picking me up right after lunch. Mr. Sharp, my math teacher, signed a permission slip for early dismissal. He thinks, win or lose, this stock market enterprise will be a very educational experience.”

  “Have you made your stock picks?”

  “Yes.” Gloria pulled out the three-ring binder she used to track what she called her mock stock portfolio. There were all sorts of newspapers and magazines only adults read stuffed into the cover pockets. Junk like the Wall Street Journal, the Financial Times, and something called Barron’s, which I guess you read if you want to become rich enough to be a baron.

  “I’m focusing on fast-growth stocks,” said Gloria. “And a few companies nobody else is looking at because they don’t have what I call the kid’s-eye view of the market or a nose for the next high-flying fad.”

  “What’ve you got?”

  “I’m intrigued by this one company that makes pencil toppers you can chew and blow bubbles with. One, shaped like a slice of pizza, also tastes like pizza.”

  “Snackable school supplies. That’d be great, especially if you have a late lunch.”

  “Exactly. Sure, the risk in all my picks will be a little higher than most investors are comfortable with, but greater risk can mean greater reward. Plus, we’re looking for a super-quick payday. Your grandfather is spending money like mad, fixing up all these theme rooms.”

  So now the pressure was on Gloria, too.

  She had to turn her make-believe profits into real money. Fast.

  * * *

  We reconnected at three o’clock sharp in the lobby.

  Mom was behind the counter, twisting a pencil in her hair because she was nervous about our mystery guests, too. Gloria and I sat, as nonchalantly as possible, on the wicker sofa near the postcard rack.

  “Did you buy the edible eraser company stock?” I asked.

  Gloria nodded. “Definitely. They just signed a deal with Jelly Belly. The new eraser flavors should be phenomenal.”

  “Now what happens?”

  “We wait.”

  “For the stock to go up?”

  “Hopefully.”

  Yeah, I guess I forgot that part. What goes up can also go down.

  At three-fifteen p.m., neither of our prime suspects had arrived in the lobby.

  But Dill did.

  “What’re you guys doing?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Gloria said, “Reading magazines,” which was probably a better answer.

  “Those are from, like, last Christmas,” remarked Dill.

  “Never too early to find a new cookie recipe,” I said.

  “Cool,” said Dill. “Can I hang with you guys?”

  I almost said, “No. We’re too busy spying.” But I caught myself.

  “Sure.”

  Dill grabbed a wrinkled Sports Illustrated. “Awesome. A preview of last year’s Super Bowl. I already know who wins!”

  Gloria and I raised our magazines and peered over the tops—just like we’d seen undercover espionage agents do in movies. Dill, of course, copied our moves.

  Finally, someone came into the lobby to register: a very athletic middle-aged guy (probably as old as Mom and Mr. Ortega) in a baseball cap, a jogging shirt, shorts, and flip-flops.

  His luggage? A bunch of duffel bags, stuffed to the max. He had a small notebook jammed into the back pocket of his high-tech shorts. He looked like the kind of guy who’d go to football games and shout “woo-hoo” a lot.

  Right behind athletic Mr. Jim Nasium (well, that was the name I made up for him) came a woman with her son, who I pegged to be a second or third grader. They were wearing matchy-matchy outfits and looked like something out of a resort-wear catalog. They had two small rolling carry-on suitcases. Ms. Matchy-Matchy kept looking around the lobby, checking everything out.

  I figured Mom had pegged Ms. Matchy-Matchy to be our mystery shopper. That was probably why she gave her and her son the newly renovated Mermaid Room.

  Jim Nasium, our other leading contender, got the Banana Cream Pie Room—complete with a coupon for a free slice of banana cream pie at the Banana Shack.

  “Fine,” said the guy. “I’ve always wanted to sleep in a high-calorie, high-fat dessert.”

  Unlike Ms. Matchy-Matchy, he didn’t want any help taking his bags to his room.

  Did that mean he was our mystery shopper?

  He might’ve been afraid we’d see some top secret judge stuff in his luggage. Or read his notes on that notepad in his pocket!

  “It has to be one of them,” I whispered to Gloria.

  “But which one?” Gloria whispered back.

  “Why are you guys whispering?” whispered Dill.

  “It’s a secret,” I told him.

  “Awesome. I love secrets!”

  Me too. But I loved secret mystery shoppers even more. Especially if one of them helped us win this thing for Grandpa.

  Dill struck me as super lonely.

  You probably know the type. The new kid at school. The girl sitting all by herself in the cafeteria. The boy nobody wants when choosing up sides for volleyball. The kid who doesn’t see too many o
ther kids his own age because his parents are so busy tapping their computer keys that they don’t take the time to organize family activities.

  I guess you could say I have a soft spot for lonely kids.

  After I took Ms. Matchy-Matchy’s bags up to her room, I saw Dill sitting by the pool. He had his head in his hands and heaved a sad sigh.

  “Hiya, Dill,” I said cheerily.

  “Hey.”

  Gloria came down the steps from the second floor, peeling a tangerine.

  “We need to start wowing those two new arrivals, ASAP,” she said.

  “How come?” asked Dill.

  “Because, Dill,” I said, “here at the Wonderland, we like to wow all our guests! And to do that, we might need your help.”

  Dill instantly perked up. “Really?”

  “Yep. I’m thinking we should add you to our fun-in-the-sun entertainment crew.”

  “Great idea,” said Gloria. “Dill can be our intern.”

  “What’s an intern?” asked Dill.

  “Someone who learns a lot,” I said, “and has a ton of fun doing wacky stunts and shows with us.”

  “Awesome!”

  “Plus, you don’t get paid,” added Gloria.

  “That’s so cool!” said Dill.

  “First job,” I said, “sampling one of Chef Jimbo’s Surf Monkey burgers.” I led the way to the Banana Shack.

  Dill crinkled his nose. “Is it made out of monkey meat? Is this like an initiation test?”

  Gloria shook her head. “I keep telling Jimbo he needs to change that name. It sends the wrong message.”

  “It sounds like it’s made out of monkey meat,” said Dill.

  “It isn’t, man,” said Jimbo, slapping three softball-sized globs of chopped beef onto the griddle. “You want monkey tail fries?”

  “Are those made out of monkey?” asked Dill.

  “No way, man,” said Jimbo. “Our fries are totally vegan, because potatoes are, like, a vegetable.”