The Upside of Ordinary

by Susan Lubner

At three thirty, Mom calls and says she’ll be home in half an hour. Time to clean the hamster cages! Zelda and Katrina come downstairs to help. Katrina has never cleaned a hamster cage, never mind seven, and is pretty excited.

  “Don’t you have seven hamsters, not eight?” Katrina peeks under the Ping-Pong table.

  “Oh, that’s the guinea pig from my sister’s classroom. She’s pet-sitting,” Zelda tells her.

  “There’s a guinea pig in that small cage?” Katrina asks.

  “Harry’s not a guinea pig!” Melinda laughs. Zelda screams when she peeks inside Harry’s cage.

  “What the heck—wh-wh-where did this thing come from?” she stutters.

  “What is it?” Katrina bends down to see. “EEW!”

  “I told you, our guinea pig died,” I remind Zelda.

  “You didn’t say they replaced it with a disgusting spider,” Zelda says.

  “You didn’t ask,” I tell her. I look up at the clock. “But don’t worry. He’s very sweet.”

  “SWEET? Mom is going to flip when she finds out. He won’t be staying here tonight.”

  “I plan to drop him off at Tyler’s later. I only need him for a segment for my show,” I explain.

  “Obviously at Mom’s expense,” Zelda says angrily.

  I wish she hadn’t said that. I’m already feeling a little uncomfortable with this plan in the first place. “Zelda, just clean the cages so I can film, already,” I tell her. I zoom in on Harry’s cage. He’s tucked away under his spiral of bark. “Wave hi, Harry!” I say, trying to lighten the moment.

  Zelda places each hamster inside a plastic ball to keep them from running away while we change the soiled bedding. In a few minutes, seven colorful “run around” balls roll across the basement floor.

  “Don’t they get claustrophobic in those things?” Katrina asks.

  “Claustrophobic? They live in a cage.” Zelda laughs. “They’re out of luck if they’re claustrophobic.”

  Soon I hear the garage door.

  “Quick! Mom’s home! Someone let Harry out of his cage!” I order.

  “Why?” Zelda practically squawks.

  “Where is everyone?” Mom asks loudly.

  “Just do it! Hurry up!”

  “This is mean!” Melinda tells me.

  “I know, but it’s only mean for a second while I get some footage for my show!”

  “Is he poisonous?” Katrina asks.

  “Yes,” Zelda tells her, “you might die if he bites you.” Katrina freezes.

  “No,” I say, “that’s not true.” I hear Mom talking to Dad in the kitchen and I’m worried I am going to miss my chance for some excellent footage. “Come on! Someone let him out. It’s only for a few seconds and I’ll put him back in.”

  “I can’t,” Melinda says. “I don’t want to.” She re-hangs the water bottles onto their metal hooks.

  “Hold this,” I say to Katrina, shoving my camera into her hands. Katrina holds the camera up to her eye and films Zelda pouring seed into the hamsters’ dishes. I scoot under the Ping-Pong table and pull the top off Harry’s cage.

  “Jermaine! Do not take that thing out!” Zelda looks scared.

  “It’s okay, Zelda. I know what I’m doing. Come on, Harry.” I tip the bark back and scoop him into my hand. “ARRRHGGG!” I scream, and drop him to the floor. I’m such a wimp. Luckily he isn’t injured.

  “She would have been plenty scared just seeing him in his cage!” Zelda says.

  I hadn’t thought of that. I guess I could have filmed her discovering him in his cage. It still would have been dramatic … but now it’s too late. I hear Mom’s footsteps on the creaky basement stairs. I grab the camera back from Katrina. Zelda screams.

  “What’s happening, girls?” Mom sings out to us. “What’s all the screaming about?” She’s carrying a basket of dirty laundry.

  All of a sudden I feel an overwhelming urge to warn her.

  “Don’t come down here!” I shout.

  “Hey,” Mom manages to say just as she reaches the bottom of the staircase. One of the hamsters jogging inside a green ball spins toward Harry. Mom sees the tarantula right away. She drops the basket and screams just as the ball smacks into Harry’s fuzzy legs. Harry makes a mad scurry out of harm’s way. Mom’s manic screaming somehow pushes the guilt-ridden Jermaine aside while the producer Jermaine takes over. I film her jumping up and down.

  “Uh-oh,” I hear Katrina say behind me.

  “Put that thing in his cage!” Zelda squeals. Mom flaps her arms so frantically it looks like she could fly around the room. (That would really be something!) She lets loose a few choice words which I’ll have to bleep out since they could qualify my very own show as one I’m not allowed to watch! Mom continues to shriek and … oops! I didn’t realize she knew so many swear words!

  “Where the BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP did that horrible thing come from? Why? WHY is it in my house?”

  “It’s the class pet,” I say sheepishly.

  “What class pet? WHOSE CLASS PET? GUINEA PIG …” Mom’s words are all jumbled. I zoom in on her face. She actually looks ill. That’s when guilt-ridden Jermaine kicks producer Jermaine right in the gut. I shut the camera off.

  “WHERE IS IT? WHERE’D IT GO?” she cries. I look around the basement floor. Harry has disappeared. “I CAN’T STAY HERE!” she shrieks. “I can’t stay in this house with that thing on the loose. I can’t … I can’t …,” she pants. Her pink slipper flies off as she runs up the steps. “CLAAARRRRRK!”

  “It won’t hurt you, Mom, I promise!” I call after her.

  “Uh-oh,” Katrina says again.

  I hear Mom’s frantic voice through the ceiling. I feel bad that she’s so upset, but at the same time I feel a ping of excitement—a tiny jolt that sends a chill straight through me. Then I hear the sound of Mom’s truck backing out of the driveway. I rush up the stairs to the kitchen.

  “Wait! Mom! I’m sorry!” I shout. But I’m too late. She’s gone. And the ping of excitement is quickly forgotten.

  13

  Losers Weepers

  “I am so angry with you, Jermaine,” Mom shouts in my ear. It is less than ten minutes after Mom peeled out of the driveway that she calls me from Aunt Edie’s. “How could you do this to me?”

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I’m really, really sorry.” That last sorry barely makes it out of my throat, it’s so tight with shame.

  “How could you bring that thing into our home when you know how I hate spiders? You know how I hate them, Jermaine! Ugh! I feel like something’s crawling over me!”

  Before I have a chance to respond, Mom says: “I’m staying at Aunt Edie’s until you find that monster. I can’t imagine having that thing show up in my bed! You’re in big trouble, Jermaine! Big trouble!” she tells me.

  “I’m sure it won’t go all the way upstairs to your bed, Mom,” I say hopefully, scanning the kitchen and then the staircase that leads to the bedrooms.

  “You don’t know that, Jermaine! You do not know that! And I am not going to find out if it can or it can’t! Find that horrible thing, and get it out of the house, because I am not coming home until you do!”

  “But what if …” I start to say. What if I never find it? Panic rattles through me when the thought crosses my mind.

  “And tell your father to pack me a bag with my toothbrush and underwear … tell him to check the suitcase first, just in case … oh never mind! The spider could be setting up a nest in one of those suitcases right now! Who knows where that thing could be … it could be in my underwear drawer … oh no, it won’t lay eggs, will it? Oh please, Jermaine! Tell me it won’t lay eggs!”

  That never occurred to me. Harry is a boy, but then again we have a hamster named Bernie with seven kids.

  All I can think of to say is, “I don’t think spiders make nests.”

  “Jermaine, get off the phone and help us find this spider!” Dad yells up from the basement.

  “I’ll find him. Don’t worry,”
I tell her.

  “PLEASE, Jermaine. You find him, and then you find someone else to spider-sit, because your pet-sitting days are over! Do you understand?”

  “Yes … I promise … I have to go, Mom,” I say. “Bye.” When I hang up, I realize that I have a missing Uncle and a missing spider and now Mom is gone, too.

  Down in the basement Susie follows Dad around. Dad looks under the dryer, Susie looks under the dryer. Dad looks behind the sink, Susie looks behind the sink.

  “We’re probably going to have to move,” Zelda says.

  “Stop standing around and wasting time,” Dad commands. “It has to be around here somewhere.” I check under the Ping-Pong table. The hamsters are back in their cages. Susie comes over and sniffs at the floor.

  After an hour or so of searching, we still haven’t found Harry. “Maybe he’s gone upstairs,” Dad says, looking up at the ceiling. There are pipes and wires and all sorts of great hiding places up there. Maybe there’s a crack big enough for a tarantula to squeeze through. Maybe he took the stairs.

  “Nice going,” Zelda frowns. “You scared your own mother out of the house.”

  “She’ll be back once we find Harry,” I say.

  “If we find Harry.” Zelda looks around. “Do you see a creepy tarantula anywhere? We may never, ever find it … all because you’re so obsessed with being famous.” She scowls at me. “Parents don’t run out on their family for nothing!” I can tell by the look of horror on Zelda’s face she’s sorry she said that the minute it flies out of her mouth. Melinda, who is quietly looking between some half-empty paint cans, bursts into tears. I cover my mouth in surprise. Katrina looks completely confused.

  “It’s one big disaster around here after another!” my father says sharply. He walks over to Melinda and puts his arms around her. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he tells her softly.

  Zelda walks over and hugs Melinda, too. “Sorry, Mel, I didn’t mean to say that, I … I’m sorry.” I don’t know what to say. I wonder why a father would run away from his family. It has to be pretty bad—much worse than a runaway tarantula. I wish I had magic powers to bring Uncle Larry home. I wish the roof hadn’t leaked in Mrs. Finn’s classroom. I wish Harry was Sugarplum the guinea pig or that I had let Tyler Gibbs take Harry home when he begged me to. I wish Mom hadn’t left because of me and that Zelda hadn’t said what she said. Maybe I should forget all about this reality show. What’s so great about being a producer, anyways? I use my camera to zoom in on the maze of wires and pipes above me. Harry has to be here somewhere. I scan the back corners of the basement. Through the lens, I see Melinda’s sobbing has stopped. She sniffs and hiccups.

  I shut the camera off and walk over to her. “Are you all right?” She nods. I give her a hug. “Everything is going to be okay,” I tell her, though I’m not so sure about that.

  “Jermaine,” Dad says firmly. “Hand over that camera right now!”

  “But it’s turned off! I’m looking for Harry,” I say quickly. All those wishes I tucked away a few minutes ago spill out inside my head. They seem to be fighting with the horrific thought of losing my camera again … which reminds me exactly what’s so great about being a producer … being famous.

  “There will be no camera until you find that spider!” Dad takes it out of my hand.

  “Please, Dad,” I beg, “I just got it back yesterday!”

  The phone rings. Dad looks toward the staircase. “I’ll be right back.” He lays the camera on the Ping-Pong table before he runs upstairs to answer it. “Keep looking,” he tells us.

  “I think I see him,” Zelda shouts. She’s peering into the small space between the washer and dryer. “Quick! Get me a broom!” Katrina finds a mop in the corner of the basement. She hands it to Zelda, who flips the handle to the floor and squeezes it into the small space.

  “Don’t hurt him,” I warn. “Mrs. Finn will never trust me again.”

  “She shouldn’t have trusted you in the first place,” Zelda says. I hear Dad’s muffled voice upstairs. I pick up the camera. Since we may have found the spider, then technically it’s okay to use it. I focus on Zelda and then where the mop handle disappears into the tight space.

  “Come on, Harry, I see you.” Zelda jabs with the mop. “I’ll slide him out, but I’m not touching him,” she says.

  “Just be careful,” I remind her. Zelda drags the handle out.

  “Got him!” she yells. I zoom in on the basement floor. It’s only a balled-up black sock. “Oops, guess not.” Zelda pushes the sock back between the washer and dryer. “Well, it looked like a spider,” she says. I quickly turn the camera off and place it back on the table.

  “I think we need to split up,” I say anxiously. What if Harry is lost forever? That would be a complete disaster. We’ll have to sell this house and buy a new one. Where will Mom make her pickles? What if she has to shut down her business? I know one thing for sure. She’ll never live in a house with a tarantula on the loose. And I’ll never get my camera back. I’ll never be famous! The thought of riding the bus to school instead of taking a limo is depressing.

  “Zelda, you and Katrina stay down here. Melinda, you take the first floor, and I’ll search the bedrooms,” I instruct.

  “I don’t think he’s upstairs,” Zelda says. “Splitting up would be a waste of time.”

  “He’s not down here,” Melinda says. “I’ll go upstairs and look.”

  “It’s a waste of time!” Zelda insists. We argue back and forth. None of us notices Dad coming back downstairs until we hear him clear his throat. We look up. He’s smiling.

  “You found Harry!” I shout. Dad doesn’t answer me. Instead, he puts his hand on Melinda’s shoulder and hands her the phone.

  “Your father would like to speak to you,” he says.

  14

  Finders Creepers

  Melinda’s face turns whiter than its usual white. Slowly she takes the phone from Dad’s hand and holds it to her ear.

  “Hello …” she barely whispers. We stand in a half circle around her, gawking inappropriately, Dad, too. Finally Dad comes to his senses and hustles us upstairs.

  “What happened?” Zelda asks frantically. “Where is he, is he home?”

  “Where is he?” I repeat. “What happened?” Katrina’s head turns from side to side like she’s watching a tennis match.

  “Hang on,” Dad says. “Stay here.” He runs back down the basement stairs.

  “Wait!” I shout.

  “Stay up there,” Dad orders. Zelda and I start to sneak down the stairs, but the steps are too creaky. We stand still. We can hear Melinda.

  “What’s going on?” Katrina whispers. Zelda starts to explain.

  “Shush! I can’t hear,” I tell them.

  “Okay, Daddy,” she’s saying. “I miss you, too. I love you, too.” She starts to cry. My father must take the phone at this point, because I hear him say, “Yes, okay, that’s good, Larry.”

  “Should we go downstairs now?” I whisper to Zelda.

  “Yes, go.” She pokes me with her fingers.

  We clomp down the basement stairs. Dad has finished speaking. The phone is on the Ping-Pong table next to my forbidden camera. Zelda and I don’t say a word. Melinda is smiling, but wiping away tears. This surprises me and makes me wonder how it’s possible to smile and cry at the same time … like when it’s raining but the sun is shining … weird.

  “Is Uncle Larry okay?” Zelda asks.

  “Yes,” says my father. Then he asks Melinda, “Are you okay?” Melinda nods her head.

  “Where is he?” I ask.

  “He didn’t say.” Then Dad gives us a look that says, Not now!

  “Can I call my mom?” Melinda interupts.

  “Of course.” Dad hands her the phone. Then Dad turns to us and says, “Let’s check upstairs for the spider.”

  Once upstairs I ask, “What’s the matter with Uncle Larry?” Dad drags his hand over the top of his hair.

  “It seems Uncle Larry
is alive and well,” he tells us.

  “We know that already,” I say impatiently.

  “Did he do something bad? Is that why he hasn’t come home?” Zelda asks. I imagine filming poor Uncle Larry’s arrest, handcuffed and led to a police car. The cop places his hand on Uncle Larry’s head to protect it from getting bumped. Then the officer guides Uncle Larry, butt-first and bent at the waist, into the backseat of the police cruiser. Blue lights are flashing. It’s probably like a scene from Cops and Convicts, one of the reality shows my parents won’t let me watch.

  “Look, we’ve been through all this and there’s not much to tell,” Dad explains.

  “Come on, he must have said something,” I prod.

  “He said he had to work something out.” Dad stops talking when Melinda walks into the room. I so wish I had my camera to record the awkward moment of silence. Then Dad says: “I’m going to pick up some pizza in a while and we’ll all have dinner with Mom and Aunt Edie. But first we must find that spider!” That’s it? The missing uncle calls and all I get is … pizza? And what exactly does Uncle Larry have to work out? There has to be a reason he took off. Even Harry has a reason … he probably is claustrophobic and likes it out of his cage. Or he’s confused and doesn’t know how to get back. Maybe Uncle Larry feels claustrophobic … but that doesn’t make sense … he loved living in that cramped camper all those years. Maybe he’s confused … I’m confused right now, but I wouldn’t run away.

  Zelda and Katrina help Dad search the kitchen and family room, while Melinda and I decide to search the bedrooms. Melinda heads to my parents’ bedroom, and I check my own room. Zelda won’t let me in hers, even to rescue a tarantula. But Harry’s nowhere to be found.

  I sit on my bed and think. I twirl the skull ring around my finger a few times. I need some good luck and some answers. Inside my desk drawer I find my Magic 8 Ball wedged between a stash of magazines and my jewelry box. I hold the 8 ball in both hands and slide myself to the floor, leaning my back against the side of my bed. Before I get to the important questions I test its accuracy.

  “Do I have blue eyes?” I ask. I gently tip the ball back and forth. I peer into the foggy window.