He looked up at me and growled plaintively. This time, the sound wasn’t coming from his mouth. It was coming from his little belly.
“What? You’re still hungry?” I said. “You just ate twice your weight in romaine.”
He hopped off the bed and stomped toward the bedroom door and started scratching at it.
“No. Sorry, you have to stay in here,” I said. “I can’t have you shedding all over the house. My mom is extremely allergic to anything with fur. That’s why our cat looks like a grandpa. And speaking of Raisin, hamsters and cats are natural enemies. For your own safety, I need to keep you two separated. Sit tight and I’ll see if we have any more hamster snacks.”
I ran downstairs and came back with a bag of green apples. One by one, Hamstersaurus Rex gobbled them down, core and all. He was still hungry.
“Look, we don’t have any more food,” I said when he was done. “Why don’t you play with this yo-yo instead?”
I held out a yo-yo. Hamstersaurus Rex looked at it. He looked at me. Then he kicked the yo-yo. It hit the wall and broke into two pieces.
“Guess you’re more of a Slinky guy,” I said.
Hamstersaurus Rex sniffed the air and looked longingly at the door. He wanted out.
“Nope. I’m not going to resuscitate you just so you can get eaten by my geriatric family cat,” I said.
Hamstersaurus Rex didn’t listen. He backed up, pawed the ground a couple of times like a bull, and charged the door.
“Wait, stop, you’ll hurt your—”
KA-BLAM! The little guy smashed his head into my bedroom door, hard, blasting it wide open. He didn’t just have a dinosaur tail and dinosaur fangs, he had dinosaur strength, too!
“Dude, I think you broke the door!” I said, gaping at a hand-sized splinter that had been knocked out of the frame.
But Hamstersaurus Rex had frozen in his tracks. In the hallway, I saw a pair of gleaming green eyes. It was Raisin! Her eyes were green? Weird. I’d never actually seen them open. My mom and I mostly know that Raisin is still alive because she sleeps in different locations around the house.
“Okay,” I said, “everyone remain calm.”
Raisin hissed.
“I think we can find a diplomatic solution to the current—”
Raisin pounced.
Hamstersaurus Rex reared back and unleashed another earsplitting roar. Somehow, Raisin changed direction in midair. With a strangled yowl, she tore off down the hallway like a terrified flesh-colored lightning bolt. I heard something break on the other side of the house.
“Stay right there until I get back!” I said to Hamstersaurus Rex. He hopped up and down and wagged his dino tail, like he thought it was a game.
I found Raisin wedged inside the filing cabinet in my mom’s office. There were files all over the floor. She’d somehow managed to break the stapler, too.
“Sorry, girl,” I said, trying to soothe and dislodge her at the same time. After a few minutes of tugging, I was finally able to get her unstuck. (Raisin gets kind of gummy on warmer days.) The old cat seemed to be medically unhurt but psychologically scarred. She immediately went to sleep.
I ran back to my bedroom, but there was no sign of Hamstersaurus Rex.
I found him downstairs in the kitchen. He’d knocked open the cupboard to get at my mom’s forbidden strategic reserve of “hidden” junk food: Funchos Flavor-Wedges, Sugar Noshers, Spicy Cheez Wallets, Mint-Caramel Choconobs, and many more nutritionally empty goodies. Hamstersaurus had torn into the packages, like some brutal nature show predator, and was feasting upon the processed innards of his prey.
“Dude!” I said. “How am I going to deal with this mess before my mom gets—”
I heard the sound of her car in the driveway. I sighed. If she checked the mail, I had about a minute and a half. In a flash, I cleaned up everything as best as I could and skidded to a halt in the foyer just as my mom’s key scraped in the lock.
My mom opened the door holding some envelopes. “Hi, Bunnybutt, I’m home!”
“Hffffff,” I wheezed. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto the floor.
“Wow, you’re just . . . standing here in the dark panting, huh?” said my mom.
I nodded.
“That’s not creepy at all,” she said as she flicked on the light and headed toward the kitchen.
I still hadn’t caught my breath. My mind raced. Had I remembered everything? Sugar Noshers packaging? Check. Shredded Cheez Wallet bags? Check. Choconob wrappers? Check. Yep, that was all of it. Except, wait, wasn’t there something else?
Hamstersaurus Rex! Not check! Not check at all! The little guy was still at large. I made it to the kitchen just as my mom turned on the light.
But Hamstersaurus Rex was nowhere to be seen. I’d already started trying to talk my way out of the situation before I realized there wasn’t one. “See, Mom, the thing is . . . ,” I said, trailing off.
“Yes?” she said, looking skeptical.
“The thing is, um, I really like your scarf. Would you call that color ‘maupe’?”
“That’s not a color, Sam. But thank you,” she said, cocking her head and squinting. “You know, something looks different in here.” She sniffed the air and ran her finger along the counter.
I shrugged. Then shrugged again.
“Sam, be honest,” she said. “Did you clean up the house?”
“Guilty as charged,” I said, smiling a little too hard.
She smiled back at me. “Well, aren’t you a good little ah, ah, ah, ACHOOOOO!” My mom sneezed. Again, this is debatably the loudest sound known to science. She wiped her nose, which was now bright red and running. “Oh, Sam, tell me you didn’t bring some kind of furry animal into the— ACHOOOOOO!” She sneezed again.
“No way, Mom! Of course not. I know how allergic you are,” I said, feeling particularly guilty as I handed her a tissue. “There might be a little dust in the air. I dusted.”
“You did? Well aren’t you . . . ACHOOOOO!”
When I made it back to my room, Hamstersaurus Rex was sitting on the floor. He’d strewn the contents of my backpack all over my room.
“Hey, come on, there’s no food in there!” I said, closing the door behind me.
But he wasn’t looking for food. He was standing on my open sketchbook, staring at a picture that I’d drawn—a picture of him.
“Yep,” I said. “That’s you.”
He squinted at the picture, then back at me. He waggled his dino tail. He looked confused.
“Well, you’re a little different now,” I said. I grabbed a pencil and added a tail and fangs and used the eraser to redraw his arms stumpier. “There.”
He looked at the new picture and burped. I took it to mean he was satisfied. Somewhere in the house, my mom sneezed.
“Look,” I said, plopping down on the floor beside him. “I’m not sure you can stay here after all.”
Hamstersaurus Rex whined and stared up at me, looking cute and innocent (well, as cute and innocent as a fanged hamster can look). My mom sneezed again. A framed poster of a spaceship fell off the wall.
“I wish you could live with me, but I don’t think it’s going to work. I guess I’m taking you back to school tomorrow. But you have to rein it in, though. Keep it low profile. Otherwise you’re going to be in real danger. No more rampaging, okay?”
I drew a quick sketch of Hamstersaurus Rex rampaging and then a big X over it.
“See? No rampaging. Stay calm, like this.”
Beside the first picture, I drew another of Hamstersaurus Rex calmly meditating and a big thumbs-up and a bunch of stars next to it. Hamstersaurus Rex looked at the two pictures for a minute. He blinked. Then he burped again.
I hoped we had an understanding.
CHAPTER 8
“YO, SAM!” SAID DYLAN as she took her seat beside me in class.
“Shh!” I said. Hamstersaurus Rex was sound asleep in the pocket of my extra-baggy shirt, and I didn’t want him to wake up.
“What? Why?” said Dylan.
“Um. I’ve—I’ve just got a headache. That’s all.” I rubbed my temples.
“Hmm. You did take a medicine ball to the skull. Maybe you have permanent brain damage,” said Dylan cheerfully. “Quick, how many pasta salads am I holding up?”
Her hands were empty.
“Zero?”
“Correct! Great, no brain damage. Your headache is probably just from stress. You should play some disc golf. Studies show it can reduce stress by up to forty-seven percent.”
“Studies, plural?”
“One study,” she admitted. “Paid for by the American Disc Golf Council.”
“Morning, kids,” said Mr. Copeland as he entered the classroom.
The whole class greeted him loudly. I winced, but Hamstersaurus Rex kept on sleeping. He seemed to have recovered from all the mutating he did the day before, but I still wanted to keep an eye on the little guy. Today, I planned to keep him hidden in my pocket.
“My, you’re looking very well today, Mr. Copeland,” said Martha Cherie.
“Really? Because my car got towed and I had to walk seven miles to get here.” He sighed and dropped his bag on the floor. “Kids, if I teach you nothing else in sixth grade, remember this: when you have outstanding parking tickets, you need to pay them in a timely manner.”
A few kids wrote this down.
“All right,” said Mr. Copeland, plopping down at his desk. “The Pilgrims. Where were we with those Pilgrims?”
And so we continued to learn about Plimouth Plantation and the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Hamstersaurus Rex slept all the way through the founding of Rhode Island. It wasn’t until around eleven thirty that I felt him stir.
“Morning, sunshine,” I whispered, scratching the top of his head with my finger. He blinked and yawned. Then he sniffed the air.
I heard a crinkling sound from the next desk over. Omar Powell was carefully unwrapping something under his desk. A flash of shiny green wrapper told me it was a Mint-Caramel Choconob. Omar saw me staring at him and shrugged. I shook my head. He frowned and kept unwrapping the candy.
Suddenly, my desk jumped a foot toward his. Omar and I stared at each other. It was Hamstersaurus Rex, pulling me from inside my own pocket! The little guy smelled SmilesCorp junk food. He was crazy for the stuff.
“Sorry,” I whispered, scooting my seat back.
Omar was staring at me like I was insane now. “First you draw a picture of me where I look like a scared owl,” he whispered. “And now you want to eat my candy?”
“I don’t want to eat your candy!” I whispered. “And the drawing was nothing personal, I was just trying to learn how to do caricatures—”
“Sam!” said Mr. Copeland. “I’m assuming that you’re so thrilled to learn more about how the Narraganset were subordinate to the Wampanoag Confederacy that you just can’t contain yourself.”
“Wampanoag Confederacy,” I said, tapping my head. “Got it.”
Mr. Copeland frowned and went back to lecturing. Omar continued to unwrap the Choconob. I shook my head again and made a praying-hands gesture. Again Omar nodded and continued peeling the wrapper. Once more, my desk lurched toward his—this time, two feet!
Hammie Rex was murmuring and wriggling. “Calm down!” I hissed into my pocket.
“You calm down!” whispered Omar.
“How about both of you calm down,” said Mr. Copeland. “Now what seems to be the issue, gentlemen?”
I opened my mouth and a loud growl came out . . . of my pocket.
The whole class stared at me.
“Excuse me,” I said, covering my mouth. “I had, some, uh, bad tuna fish.”
“For breakfast?” said Tina Gomez.
“Yep,” I said, staring down at the ground. “For breakfast.” I was trying to mentally will Hamstersaurus Rex to stay silent.
“Sam puts tuna on his cereal!” said Beefer. “Now do you all see how weird this kid is?”
“Who asked you, Beefer?” said Dylan.
“Quiet, everybody!” said Mr. Copeland, exasperated.
“If I could address the class for just a moment,” said Martha Cherie, standing. “I think everyone should know that tuna fish is an excellent source of protein and omega-3 fatty acids. In fact, all of you should probably be eating more tuna.”
“Don’t tell us how much tuna to eat,” said Dylan, gritting her teeth. “I eat enough tuna. I eat loads and loads of tuna.”
“Oh, then you might be eating too much, Dylan. You don’t want to get mercury poisoning,” said Martha. “Mr. Copeland, perhaps the class should have a designated Tuna Monitor to ensure that everybody eats the right amount of tuna and nobody gets mercury poisoning.”
“Nope. That would be insane,” said Mr. Copeland. “Now can we please get back to—”
“Um, speaking of mercury poisoning,” said Jared Kopernik. “Can you get lead poisoning from eating a pencil?”
The whole class turned to stare at him now.
“No, Jared,” said Mr. Copeland. “But . . . that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”
“Yeah, no. Of course not,” said Jared with a high-pitched, nervous laugh. I couldn’t help but notice that there was no pencil on his desk.
That’s when the lunch bell rang. I sped out the door before Hamstersaurus Rex could growl again.
CHAPTER 9
“UGH! I CAN’T believe she wants to be the tuna police, too,” said Dylan, glaring at the back of Martha Cherie’s head in the cafeteria line. “She thinks she knows everything.”
With all the mayhem and sneezing at home, I’d forgotten to pack a lunch like normal.
“Hey, did you ever get to look in Coach Weekes’s office for Hamstersaurus Rex?” asked Dylan.
“He’s not in there,” I said with a shrug. It was true. Technically. That didn’t make me feel much better for deceiving my best friend. “His office had a bunch of weird dietary supplements and a loose sock.”
“Sounds about right,” said Dylan. “Too bad. Let me know if you want help looking for him. I’d love to find him before Martha does. Beat her at her own game.”
I wanted to tell her everything. “Actually, Hamstersaurus Rex is . . .”
“Is what?” said Dylan.
“Is probably long gone by now. I like to think he hitched a ride on a train bound for parts unknown. Maybe he’s out there, riding the rails of this great land of ours, staring up at the—”
Hamstersaurus Rex growled. Dylan stared at me.
“Sorry,” I said. “Breakfast tuna.”
In the cafeteria line I picked up an extra hamburger for Hammie Rex. I put my tray down on the table beside Dylan’s. Then I pretended I forgot the mustard, so I could sneak off. I ducked behind a stack of chairs and waited until I was sure nobody was watching.
“Okay, pal,” I said, stuffing the hamburger into my pocket for him to gobble. “Here’s lunch, but you’ve got to make it—”
Three bites and Hamstersaurus Rex was already done and whining for more.
“Last,” I said.
I went back through the line again. “Can I have another hamburger, please?” I said to Judy, the lunch lady.
“You’ve got quite an appetite, son,” said Judy, dropping one onto my tray.
“Actually, can you make it three extra hamburgers?” I said. “I’m trying to bulk up for Little Mister or Miss Muscles.” I flexed.
“Looks like you need it,” she said. And she served me two more hamburgers.
I sat down at Dylan’s table.
“You know what,” I said, “now I forgot ketchup!” I leaped up, carrying the stack of burgers.
“Sam, wait,” called Dylan after me. “If you’re feeling sick to your stomach, maybe eating five hamburgers isn’t the greatest idea.”
I pretended I didn’t hear her and hid behind the chair stack again. I stuffed three more hamburgers into my pocket for Hamstersaurus Rex. He scarfed them, but still he wanted more! I went back through
the line and asked Judy for another burger.
“Legally,” said Judy, “I’m not sure I’m allowed to serve one kid six hamburgers.”
“Please,” I said. “I forgot to eat breakfast.”
“I thought you ate tuna for breakfast,” said Tina Gomez, who was getting a fruit cup.
“The tuna was a pre-breakfast snack,” I said. “To tide me over until . . . lunch?”
“Son, that makes absolutely no sense,” said Judy.
But she grudgingly served me one more burger. Hamstersaurus Rex was more than happy to eat it. His appetite seemed to defy the laws of physics. But at last, the little guy seemed satisfied. He growled and nuzzled my hand and poked his head out of my pocket to get a look around the cafeteria.
“Low profile,” I said, gently pushing him back down with my finger.
I finished my own lunch just before the bell rang. Dylan looked at me funny the whole time.
The rest of the day passed pretty uneventfully. Hamstersaurus Rex was full and kept quiet. He didn’t fling me around from inside my pocket anymore, either. Yay!
I realized that the key to preventing him from going berserk was keeping him fed. As long as he wasn’t hungry he stayed calm, pleasant even. Simple enough.
After school, I made my way to the library to wait for my mom to pick me up. I gave it a minute, then I offered up some excuse to the librarian—my excuse count was off the charts these days—and I snuck off to my locker to deploy the second phase of my plan. The hallway was totally empty. Perfect.
I reached into my backpack and pulled out two bags of sand I’d brought from my mom’s garden. I emptied the sand into the bottom of my locker. Then I pulled out more set dressing: dozens of toy dinosaurs and some plastic palm trees from an old fish tank I had. (One of several hairless pets that didn’t quite work out. RIP Gill-iam Shakespeare.)
Last of all I taped a picture I’d drawn of an exploding volcano to the inside of my locker as a backdrop. In all the illustrations I’d seen in books, it seemed that dinosaurs loved hanging out around exploding volcanoes. Also in meteor showers.
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