The Messy Life of Blue

by Shawna Railey

  “For ten cents!” Arnie said proudly.

  “Ten dollars.” Jackson shook his head.

  I turned around and stormed out of the room. I marched upstairs and pulled all the money out of my piggy bank. Fifteen one-dollar bills, all crumpled up, fell into a pile on my bed. I scooped them up, stomped back into the living room and dumped them all in Jackson’s lap.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You won,” I told him. “Jane didn’t pay me anything. I had to do it for free because we trashed her yard. Enjoy your game.”

  I left him there and went to my room. My back muscles were sore from all the digging. I stretched out on my bed like a cat. Which reminded me of a lion. Which reminded me of the Cowardly Lion. Which reminded me of the shoes. A few minutes later, there was a knock on my door.

  “Go away,” I said, rolling over.

  Jackson opened the door and sat on my bed. “Here,” he said, giving me back my crumpled dollars. “Just keep it. I messed up the yard, too. It’s not fair.”

  Who was this kid lately? The Jackson I knew wouldn’t have cared. He would be halfway to the store by now, singing the theme song to Four Force Seven. If it even had a theme song.

  “Besides, with the ten dollars we earned, I only need five more dollars and then I can buy the game anyway.” He stood up to leave.

  “Wait.” I counted out five dollars and held it out to him. “Here. At least one of us will get what we want.”

  “Really?” He jumped up and down. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Maybe it was the heat of the day, or maybe it was just pure exhaustion, but when he tried to hug me, I actually let him. It felt weird, like a wiggly octopus trying to use its tentacles for the first time. I managed a smile as he ran out of the room, waving the money in his hand. “Dad, will you take me to the store?” he called out.

  A few minutes later they left, but I stayed in bed. I think I dozed off, because the next thing I knew, the doorbell was ringing.

  “Is anybody here?” I called. No answer. The doorbell rang again. I pulled my tired legs off the bed and dragged myself to the front door. When I swung it open, no one was there. I almost cried. All that work getting out of bed was for nothing? I was about to close the door when I saw it.

  There on the welcome mat was a small box. I bent down to open it and gasped. One exquisite pair of the most beautiful red sparkle shoes you could ever imagine was staring up at me. The jewels on the shoes caught the sunlight just right, and they looked even more magical than I’d ever thought possible. I lifted up the box, and a small piece of paper fell out. I picked it up.

  Our memories make us who we are.

  Love,

  J

  I searched the space between our house and Jane’s, but she was already gone. I stood in place, not sure what to do. My eyes stung with the beginning of tears. Then I cradled my shoes in my arms and quietly shut the door.

  13

  I had to spy Arnie out of the corner of my eye a few times before it finally registered that he was up to something. He was being so quiet that I almost didn’t notice what he was doing. What I should have noticed was the fact that he was actually being quiet. I took a bite of my toast and chewed slowly, squinting my eyes as I waited for him to make another move. It didn’t take long.

  Arnie’s entire diet consisted of three food groups: the hot dogs, the yogurts, and the cheeses. I don’t know how, but he survived entirely off of those three items alone. And the occasional cookie, of course. This morning, he was eating cut-up fried hot dogs with a side of strawberry yogurt.

  How original.

  Only, as I began to watch him, I realized the little weirdo was only eating half of his pile of hot dogs. The other slices were being methodically placed into the pocket of his pants. Why in the world would Arnie want a pocket full of mushed-up hot dogs? So gross.

  I was determined to find out what he was up to. I slurped down the last of my chocolate milk while I waited for Arnie to finish eating. He was taking foreverrrrrr. I thought about all the reasons he could be collecting pieces of hot dog.

  Maybe he thought if he planted them in the garden, little dogs would grow.

  Maybe he was tired of his rock collection and was moving on to something more original.

  Maybe he had a hungry imaginary friend.

  Maybe he was saving them for a midnight snack.

  Arnie finally finished his last spoonful of yogurt and swung down from his chair. I casually pretended to yawn and stood up, too. When he left the room, I followed to see where he went. He headed straight for his bedroom.

  I waited another minute and then crept up the stairs, stepping around the left side of the third stair, because that one creaked. I tiptoed down the hall until I was in front of Arnie’s bedroom, and then I put my ear up to the door to listen. The only noise coming from inside his room was a quiet scraping sound. Whatever he was doing, it couldn’t be that exciting. I had just decided to leave him in peace when the door flew open in my face. He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Then again, he was wearing nothing but his underwear and a cowboy hat. I was fully clothed, of course, because I am a civilized human being.

  “Whatcha doing?” Arnie asked me.

  “Huh? What?” I looked at a framed picture hanging on the wall and pretended to wipe some dust off the glass.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  I tried to deflect. “What are you doing, Arnie? Hmmm?”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Nothing.”

  “Well, I’m doing nothing, too.”

  We eyed each other, and I can only imagine I looked at him as suspiciously as he looked at me. I tried not to look away first, on account of the dog rule. With dogs, WHOEVER LOOKS AWAY FIRST IS THE LOSER. In this house, I try never to lose. I leaned against the door frame and raised my eyebrows. Arnie tried to push me out of the way and close his door. He must’ve been doing something good in there if he didn’t want me to see it.

  I was totally going to see it.

  “Well, I’m going to go now,” I told him casually, swinging one leg forward and back.

  “Arnie’s going, too.”

  We stood there awkwardly, so I finally turned around to leave. He waited for me to close my bedroom door before he moved. I know this because I heard his footsteps and saw his shadow pass under my door.

  I left my room and slithered back down the hall like a snake. I kind of felt like a snake, too, spying on my little brother. But it was up to me to protect our family and to protect our home.

  Not really. I just wanted to know what he was doing with the hot dogs.

  I slid through a crack in his door and quickly scanned the room for any obvious oddities, but it looked just like his usual messy room. It did have a rotten-egg smell, but, sadly, I was pretty sure that was normal. I needed to search his room for anything suspicious, so I started with his bed. I shook out all of his blankets, and when I did, something black fell to the floor. I dropped the blankets back onto the bed and bent down to investigate. A fuzzy black caterpillar was just starting to uncurl itself.

  I picked it up and let it crawl on my hand, petting its soft, prickly fur with my finger. So this is what Arnie was trying to hide. He had a pet caterpillar! And he was probably trying to feed it the hot dogs. Children can be so adorable sometimes.

  The caterpillar had crawled across my hand, so I put up my other hand for it to keep going. I hoped Arnie hadn’t named him yet, because he really looked like a Herman.

  “Hi, little guy. Is your name Herman?” It curled itself back up, but not because it didn’t like the name Herman. It was probably just scared of my voice, that’s all.

  The door swung open, and Arnie stood in the doorway, a toy gun holster now strapped around his waist. It took the already inappropriate outfit to a whole ’nother level. Why, for the love of ice cream, did the boys in my family insist on walking around in just their underwear all the time?

  “This is Arnie’s room. Get out.”


  “I was only looking for you. Besides, I found your little secret.” Arnie glanced back at his bed. “He’s so cute. I understand why you wanted to keep him, but we need to take him back outside.”

  “Why? Arnie wants him to be a pet.”

  “Okay, but you need to keep him outside,” I told him. “He doesn’t belong in a house.”

  “Arnie likes his home.”

  I shook my head. “If he sleeps with you, he might get hurt. What if you roll over on him?”

  Arnie looked confused. “He won’t get hurt. He has a shell.”

  “No, Arnie, that’s not a shell. That’s just fur.”

  “Fur?” Arnie laughed, clutching his stomach and doubling over. I waited with my hand on my hip for him to finish. Herman was sitting in the palm of my other hand. “That’s not fur. Fruit Ninja doesn’t have fur!”

  Fruit Ninja? Geez, with a name like that, he might as well have named the poor thing Beulah.

  “I think he likes the name Herman better,” I said.

  “No Herman!”

  “Okay, okay. I was just trying to help.” I cupped the caterpillar in my hand. “Let’s take him outside and let him have some fresh air.”

  “He doesn’t go outside. He doesn’t like it,” Arnie said.

  “Of course he likes it. He’s an animal.”

  “It’s too cold.”

  “What? It’s not too cold. It’s the middle of Spring, silly.”

  Arnie shook his head and started to back away from me.

  “We’re taking him outside,” I demanded. “Now, Arnie.”

  He sighed and stopped backing up. When he came toward me, I thought it was to take the caterpillar out of my hand. Instead, he got on his knees and pulled out a box from underneath his bed.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  “It’s his house.” Arnie looked confused again.

  “Arnie, that box is huge. You put that tiny thing in there?” No wonder the bug was still alive. He’d been living in a mansion with all the hot dogs a caterpillar could want.

  Arnie stood up, the box in his hands. “Arnie’s ready!”

  “We don’t have to carry the whole box down. We can just hold him.”

  “But Dad will see Fruit Ninja.”

  “I told you, Dad isn’t going to care. Besides, he’s so small he won’t even notice him in my hand.”

  “You held Fruit Ninja?” Arnie peered down at my hand, confused. “Where?”

  I looked at Arnie strangely. “I’m holding him right now.”

  “No. Arnie’s holding him.”

  “No, I’m holding him. Look. He’s crawling on my hand.”

  Arnie stared blankly down at my hands. Then he took the giant box to the bed and lifted the lid. “No. Nope. I told you. Arnie’s holding him.”

  I followed him over to the bed and peered into the box. There, tucked into the corner, wedged between two rocks, was a tiny box turtle. He had a yellow stripe down the center of his shell, with bright yellow fireworks on either side.

  “Arnie! What is that?”

  “Fruit Ninja.”

  I thrust the caterpillar into his face. “I thought this was Fruit Ninja.”

  Arnie smiled. “That’s Fruit Ninja’s food. Arnie lost him.” He reached out to take the caterpillar out of my hand, but I snatched it back.

  “This is not Fruit Ninja’s food. This is now Herman, thank you very much!”

  “Oh. Well, can we take Fruit Ninja outside now?”

  “Are you crazy? Dad’s never going to let you keep a turtle. You have to let him go.”

  “You said Dad would let Arnie keep him!”

  “No, I said Dad would let you keep a caterpillar. Where did you get a turtle, anyway?”

  Arnie shuffled his feet and looked away. “Mrs. Atchinson’s garden.”

  “Arnie! You know you’re not allowed in her garden, not since you stole all her sugar snap peas that one time.”

  “Arnie had to catch Fruit Ninja.”

  “Arnie did not have to catch Fruit Ninja.” I thought back to earlier in the week. “Did you sneak away on Tuesday when we had that picnic?” He nodded and stared at the ground shyly. “Arnie! That was four days ago!” I finally remembered the whole reason I’d been following him in the first place. “Wait a minute. Have you been feeding him hot dogs?”

  Arnie nodded. “And yo-yurt and cheese.”

  I looked into the box at Fruit Ninja. “Does he eat all of that?”

  Arnie shook his head. “Fruit Ninja isn’t very hungry.”

  “Of course he’s hungry. What did you say his name was again . . . ?”

  “Fruit Ninja,” Arnie said, sounding annoyed.

  “Right. And it still didn’t occur to you to try feeding him, you know, fruit?”

  Arnie looked surprised. “Arnie did feed him fruit.”

  “Good.” I sighed with relief. “Because you have to feed him what he likes, not what you like.”

  “He eats raspberries! Arnie fed him all of Arnie’s raspberries!” He looked down at his turtle and his chin started to tremble. “Arnie’s bad?”

  “No, Arnie’s not bad—I mean, you’re not bad. But we have to let him go. It’s not okay to take a wild animal out of its environment, Arnie. He needs to find proper food and be with his family.”

  “Arnie is his family.”

  I sighed. How could I make him understand? “Fruit Ninja has a turtle mommy and a turtle daddy outside somewhere. He might even be lucky enough to have an amazing and perfect turtle sister, just like you do. So we should put him back, don’t you think?”

  Arnie vigorously shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Arnie, we’re taking the turtle outside where he belongs.”

  “No!”

  “Then I’m telling Dad.”

  “Noooo!”

  “Well, then help me carry him outside, and let’s find a spot for him.”

  “Find a spot for who?” Jackson asked, barging into Arnie’s room.

  “Go away,” I said at the same time Arnie said, “Fruit Ninja.”

  Jackson walked right up to the bed and looked inside the box. “Whoa. You got a turtle?”

  “He’s Arnie’s turtle,” Arnie said. “Not Blue’s turtle.” He reached inside the box and picked up Fruit Ninja, cradling him in his arms.

  “He’s no one’s turtle because he’s a wild animal. I’m trying to explain to Arnie that he can’t keep him,” I said.

  “Blue’s right, you can’t keep him . . .” Jackson started, then finished, “. . . on your own. But with our help, you can.”

  Arnie held tight to Fruit Ninja as he jumped up and down, grinning ear to ear.

  “What? No, Jackson!” I sputtered, but it was too late. Jackson was already carrying the box out of the room, and Arnie was following. “If Dad sees—”

  “He won’t, he’s next door talking to Jane.”

  “Why is he talking to her?” I asked. That seemed odd. I really hoped they weren’t going to become friends.

  Jackson shrugged. “I don’t know. Who cares? We have a turtle!”

  “Arnie has turtle,” Arnie said.

  I followed my brothers down the stairs, with Jackson carrying the box, Arnie carrying Fruit Ninja, and me carrying Herman. I stopped to google what turtles eat, and then I went to the fridge and collected everything we had available: one banana, two carrots, three strawberries, and a handful of lettuce. I also filled a dish with water before I went outside to meet up with my brothers.

  By the time I got there, they’d already found a pretty good spot to make his home. A small flower bed surrounded the orange tree in the far corner of our yard, and Jackson was already halfway finished building an enclosure around it. He’d taken a pile of large rocks from the side of the house and carried them over to the tree to build a stone wall. I put Herman and the food on the ground and helped Jackson carry the rest of the rocks. When we finished, I stood back and admired our work.

  “Not bad.”

  The in
side of the wall had lots to offer the sweet little turtle. There were tree roots sticking out of the grass, which gave Fruit Ninja lots of little nooks and sleeping spots. He had flowers and dirt and grass, and he’d even have oranges when they dropped to the ground. Normally the orange tree was a pain. We always had to clean it up, and we never ate as many oranges as it dropped. But this was perfect for Fruit Ninja. Jackson had placed a couple of rocks inside the wall along with the dish of water I’d brought outside. I piled all the food next to the water and hoped he would want to eat at least one of the choices.

  “Okay, put the turtle in,” Jackson said, bouncing with excitement, until he saw Arnie’s face. “Arnie . . .”

  I looked over at my youngest brother. Arnie’s chin was trembling, and he was holding Fruit Ninja tightly as he backed away from us.

  “Arnie,” I told him, “it’s okay. Jackson made him an awesome home. He’s going to be so happy here. Let’s just see if he likes it.” I put my arm around Arnie and ushered him closer to the enclosure. “Put him down near the food,” I added, cringing at the thought of all those hot dogs. At least he had some berries to hold him over.

  Poor Fruit Ninja.

  Arnie reluctantly placed him in the grass. The turtle went straight for the bananas and started eating.

  Poor, poor Fruit Ninja.

  “Arnie? Next time you decide to keep an animal and give it a name, pay better attention to what you choose. Did you name him Hot Dog Ninja?”

  “No.” Arnie laughed. “Silly Blue! Why would Arnie name him that?”

  “That’s a good question. Kind of like how ‘Why would you try to feed him hot dogs?’ is a good question.”

  Arnie’s laugh died down, and he looked at the turtle eating the fruit. “Oh.”

  Jackson shook his head, and I gave Arnie a hug. “I don’t think Dad will even notice him back here. Let’s just make sure he always has food and water, okay?” The boys nodded. I crouched down and took both of Arnie’s hands into my own. “Arnie? No more hiding secret pets in your room, got it? It’s not good for them.”

  Arnie looked confused. “Can I hide one if not in Arnie’s room?”

  “No. Don’t hide them at all.”

  “Can I hide them in your room?”