How to Outrun a Crocodile When Your Shoes Are Untied

by Jess Keating

  Daz took another look out the window and gasped, then raced up to his room.

  “Daz, where are you going? Get back down here and see your grandfather!” Now it was Mom’s turn to yell. She grabbed my hand and thrust me out the front door. I winced at the blasting music. The whole street was looking now, with neighbors peeking out from behind their curtains. “Go say hi and help them in,” she hissed. “I’ve got to deal with that darn smoke alarm.” She bustled back to the kitchen.

  At that moment, I would have rather been in that burning pot of noodles than standing on the porch.

  Ugh. I suppose I should mention that my grandfather is pretty much a celebrity. He’s a naturalist, sort of like my mom and dad, but instead of working at a zoo, he travels all over making movies and documentaries about animals. Sometimes he does really crazy stuff, like swim with great whites without a cage and sleep in rattlesnake-infested deserts.

  For fun.

  He once filmed a reality television series about how long he could live in the jungle with his latest girlfriend without either of them succumbing to malaria or death by leaf-cutter ants. TV Guide gave it a great review. Top that off with the fact that he’s had more dates than Prince Harry, and you’ve got yourself an A-list grandpa. The last I heard he was dating some actress from Hollywood or something. At least that’s what the tabloid said. I just knew I was lucky that nobody at school had figured out I was related to him, since we have Dad’s last name instead of his.

  He got to me before I could run. Maybe it was the years of working with venomous snakes and snapping crocodiles, but my grandpa is always pretty quick on his feet. He was on the porch before I could say anything and swept me up in a hug, squashing me with his strong arms.

  “My Ana banana. It is so good to see you!” He held me back by the shoulders to get a better look at my face. His deep tan was set off by the bright flowers and dolphins on his shirt. “You’ve gotten so tall. Must take after her mother, huh? Ha ha! Sugar! Take a look at my gorgeous granddaughter!” His laugh echoed under our porch ceiling and out through the street. He grabbed me by the cheeks and planted a big kiss on my forehead. The smell of woodsy cologne wafted around me. But Grandpa wasn’t alone.

  I tried to stop my eyes from bugging out at the blond woman who tottered up our driveway in bright red stilettos. She looked about seven feet tall, six of which were just her legs. Her miniskirt was deep blue and sequined, and she wore a black lace tank top over her (how do I put this?) ample chest. She looked like a mermaid from Las Vegas.

  “She is gorgeous!” she trilled, appraising my T-shirt and cutoffs as she clicked up the stairs. (Clearly this woman was a liar.)

  She paused for a moment to reach down and pull a chunk of grass from her heel and beamed her dazzling white teeth at me. “It’s fab to meet you, Ana. Shep never stops talkin’ about y’all.” She sounded like a character from those western movies Dad likes. Her head shook like a bobblehead so fast that I was afraid she’d lose the large diamond studs in her earlobes.

  I stared at her, desperately wishing that the neighbors would stop watching. Fat chance of that.

  “Hi. Thanks,” I said, grasping blindly behind me for the doorknob. “You guys should come inside. You must be”—I eyed Leggy McSequins timidly—“hungry?”

  She looked like she’d be full after one M&M.

  “Oh, yes,” my grandpa said. “You guys go ahead, and I’ll give the camera crew directions to the hotel. Plenty of time for all that soon enough—I want to catch up with my family!” He slapped me on the back and hopped down to the lawn toward the RV, leaving Leggy staring at me.

  I desperately wanted to shove her inside before we attracted any more attention. Some neighbors had stepped out onto their porches now, watching the chaos unfold.

  “I’m sorry, but he called you ‘Sugar’—I don’t know your actual name,” I said, slamming the door behind us and pulling the thin curtain over the window. Dad followed behind us.

  She giggled and plopped her tiny green handbag onto the small table by the front door. “It is Sugar, silly. Sweet as candy, ’cept I won’t give you a cavity!” She nudged me with her shoulder.

  Good Lord.

  I gritted my teeth and swiveled around to check for Mom.

  There was a loud crash and then Mom emerged from the kitchen with a towel on her shoulder and a waft of thick smoke billowing out around her. She tripped as she noticed Sugar, who lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “You must be Jane!” Sugar cooed, rushing over to grip Mom in a tight hug. Mom stood rigidly and patted her on the back awkwardly, a messy spoon in her hand.

  “Let’s take this party to the dining room,” Dad said, nudging for me to grab some extra plates and cutlery. “Never a dull moment when your grandfather arrives,” he said dryly, giving me a wink.

  “Great idea, Henry. Sugar, you and Dad are welcome to join us for dinner,” she said, tidying her messy hair. “Daz!” she called out, eyeing the stairs angrily. “Get down here and say hello to your grandpa and his…girlfriend.” She ushered us all into the dining room with a look of determination in her eyes. It was the same look she wore when she had to deal with angry lions.

  A few minutes later, I helped Mom scoop spaghetti and sauce onto our plates and listened while Grandpa started up with the adventure stories from his tour.

  “I’m not kidding, Henry—he was forty-two feet long! Right there in the middle of the river! The whole village was lucky not to have been eaten by the dang thing!”

  Sugar was beside me, nodding gravely at the thought of a forty-two-foot-long snake.

  Right when my mom was about to yell for him again, Daz sauntered in. And boy, did he look like a moron.

  His usual wacky hair had been gelled down, leaving only a flip of hair above his forehead spiking forward. He had also replaced his death metal T-shirt with a blue-and-white-striped button-up that he only wears on the rare occasion Mom drags us to a fancy gala for the zoo. I caught his eye and shook my head in disappointment.

  My own brother, gone to the dark side.

  “Hey, Grandpa,” he said casually, sliding into his seat and straightening out his plate. He nodded at Grandpa, then turned to Sugar, who was sitting beside me, checking her teeth in a spoon.

  “And you must be?” He gave her a crooked smile and shoved his arm in front of my face to reach hers. He sounded weird to me, then I realized it was probably because he was lowering his voice a couple of octaves, so he sounded like a croaky frog. I doubted he could keep it up.

  Mom cleared her throat and looked at my dad, who did nothing but pile some spaghetti onto his plate. “This is Sugar, Daz,” she said, giving his new hair the “are-you-an-idiot?” look.

  Sugar giggled and reached out to clasp Daz’s hand, but instead of keeping her thumb up like a normal person, it was more of a dainty finger-drape sort of handshake.

  “I beg your pardon, young man?” Grandpa sputtered. “You don’t see me for years and now all of a sudden you’re ‘Hey, Grandpa-ing’ me? I don’t think so!” Grandpa shoved out of his chair, and to Daz’s horror, snatched him right up from his chair into a totally nonmanly hug. He ruffled his hair under his fist and laughed. “That’s much better. Good to see you, son.” He let Daz go and chuckled at the state of his hair. Now he looked like he’d been electrocuted.

  That’ll teach him.

  “DAZ IS A PAIN!” Darwin nattered, shimmying on his perch as he watched us eat. I choked on a mouthful of spaghetti, trying not to laugh. I’d taught him that little gem in less than a week.

  Grandpa swiveled to look at him, nodding with appreciation. “I like this bird.” He gestured to Darwin with his thumb. Darwin clicked his beak happily at him.

  “So how did you and Sugar meet?” Daz asked, which caused Sugar to perk up with another dazzling smile.

  “It’s such a darling story, isn’t it, dear?” She batt
ed her eyes at Grandpa. I glanced at Mom, who looked as grossed out as I felt.

  “I was in Hollywood for an audition,” she said.

  An actress. Surprise!

  Daz piped in, “You’re an actress! That’s great. I bet you’ll be super famous one day.” He nodded wildly and practically frothed at the mouth.

  Sugar touched her chest and bowed her head at him with a little giggle. “So, the audition went fine”—she leaned to my mom like she had a secret and said—“although I never did get it. They gave the part to some floozy.” She waved at the air with a manicured nail. “Anyways! What was I saying? Right! Well, who would believe it, but I broke one of my heels on the pavement on the way out!”

  Daz looked shocked. “Oh no…that’s terrible!”

  I shot him a look as Sugar continued. He was such a dolt.

  “And your grandpa saw me, hobbling along outside the studio, looking as disheveled as a popsicle in July…”

  Dad raised his eyebrows at Mom.

  “And he just appeared out of nowhere and scooped me up in his arms! Said he couldn’t bear to see such a pretty girl hobbling along the street with one shoe on!” She turned to him with glassy eyes. “Shep’s so thoughtful.” She grinned at him and reached out to touch his cheek, a rock the size of a small planet perched on her middle finger.

  Oh, please. Grandpa randomly picks her up, literally, without even knowing her? I’d have called the cops if some guy tried that.

  Grandpa grinned at her, then looked back at Mom. Her jaw was clenched, and she was blinking so fast I was sure I’d see smoke. Daz, on the other hand, was so enthralled with Sugar’s story that he didn’t even notice his mouth had been hanging open the entire time. I kicked him under the table, but he just spit quietly on his palms and ran them through his hair again.

  Has there ever been a grosser dinner?

  Just as the tension was starting to rise again and my mom had lifted her finger to point at Grandpa and say something, Dad spoke up.

  “So,” he said. “To what do we owe the big surprise? Really, if you’d have called, we could have made something nicer.” He eyed Sugar, while handing her a basket of garlic bread.

  I twirled my pasta, trying to ignore the clenching feeling inside my stomach, while Daz gawped over Sugar cutting her noodles into tiny pieces. There was a napkin tucked into her tank top as a makeshift bib, and I’m pretty sure that if it hadn’t been there, Daz would have been covered in drool.

  Grandpa beamed. “Well, if you’d read the latest issue of Entertainment Network, you might have seen a little interview with yours truly! Maybe my beautiful granddaughter should announce the news.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out ripped page from a glossy magazine and handed it to me. I blinked at the headline and read it aloud with a wavering voice.

  Reality Star and Naturalist Plans Documentary

  In entertainment news, fans will be delighted to hear that Shep Foster is planning a documentary of his life, with friends and family slotted to make guest appearances. The sixty-three-year-old reality star and naturalist, known for his rugged charm, outgoing personality, and trademark Hawaiian shirts, has been touring the world recently, promoting his new book, Wild Thing. With both his daughter and son-in-law working at a zoo, Shep said he was eager to take some well-deserved time off to visit them, begin the documentary, and provide some funding for his daughter’s project that will focus on large carnivores. “I can’t wait to visit,” Shep told us. “I haven’t seen my grandkids in ages! It’s been great to travel, but I’m looking forward to seeing them most of all.”

  I set the paper down. “What does that mean? Guest appearances—what does that mean?” The spaghetti was twisting up in knots inside my stomach. “Mom?” I asked.

  But she was too busy staring in awe at her dad.

  “You’re…you’re funding my carnivore project?” Her eyes were misty. Grandpa reached over to touch her hand. “Of course I am, Janie,” he said. “It’s about time those bozos at the zoo knew what they have in you!”

  Mom stammered, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Dad, that’s amazing. Thank you!” She looked at Dad, all googly-eyed.

  “Wait, is this that lion project thing you wanted to do?” I asked. I gripped my fork hard. Daz peered at her curiously and slurped a noodle.

  “Yes! The one with the place inside!” She gripped her hands into fists and shook them in the air.

  The place inside.

  Three little words. But they latched on to my chest and pressed down until I could barely breathe.

  I knew what she meant. The zoo had a few houses on the grounds, mostly for staff that had to be there around the clock for feeding or veterinary help. The houses were tucked in the back, in between the exhibits. Normally you walk right by them without noticing, mainly because they look like huts or fake base camps and are plastered with “Save Our Tigers” posters.

  “But that means,” I started. I couldn’t finish that sentence without throwing up.

  “We’re gonna be living in the zoo!” Daz shrieked. He slammed down his fork and high-fived Sugar, who was giggling with delight.

  All of my energy drained down through my toes and out my chair when I saw how happy they were. This couldn’t be happening. First Liv moves away and now I’m expected to live in a zoo? Like a real zoo, with monkeys and lions and crocodiles as my neighbors? Without Liv, I wanted to stay anonymous. How the heck can I do that if I live in a zoo? Why did I have to be in the weirdest family on the planet?

  “It will only be for a few months,” Mom added. “A summer thing, really. You’ll have so much fun!”

  Gag me with a spoon. Not everyone is cool enough to be in the spotlight like Grandpa and Mom. Some people get called “Scales” every second of the day, no matter how much they try to pull off the whole “cool and confident” shtick.

  “And this documentary you’re filming—is it true that you would like us to be featured in it?” Dad asked. “How big are we talking here? Both of the kids are finishing up school, and I know that their exams are soon…”

  I glanced at the newspaper article beside me. It practically glared back at me.

  Grandpa put down his fork so he didn’t poke himself in the eye; he was such a hand talker. “Well, the producers said they’d like to feature my family if they could. They already got a lot of footage of ol’ Sugar here.” He patted her on the shoulder.

  “Oh, I’ll bet they have,” Mom said quietly, as she twirled her fork.

  Grandpa ignored her. “And I’ve got a few public appearances now that I’m here. The bookstore in the Downsview Mall wants to have a signing for Wild Thing, and a few of the TV news stations around here have already talked to Herb for an interview with you all. I’d like to focus the footage on you guys, of course.”

  Honestly, at that point I stopped being able to feel my face. The half smile that I had plastered to my face sort of froze, and I was left with what I can only imagine was a zombielike sneer. I looked at my parents in horror.

  I have to be on TV.

  My stomach lurched. I felt the distinct tremor of sickness in my throat. Everything from the past week was all balled together, making my hands sweat and tremble.

  I am going to puke.

  Instead of arguing for my chance at freedom from insanity, my last chance to cling to anonymity, I, Ana Wright, shoved my chair out from the table and dashed upstairs to the bathroom, where I got a front row seat to the second viewing of my dinner.

  Take that, Hollywood.

  chapter 5

  “Elephants can communicate with sounds well below the human hearing range.”

  —Animal Wisdom

  This just in: I have to communicate with my best friend over the Internet from now on, because she can’t be bothered to show up for a cupcake wish.

  When I sat down at my bench in art class the next day, the smel
l of paint and clay felt like a warm hug from a friend. All I wanted to do was lay low and make it to summer, so Daz had promised not to tell anyone at school about Grandpa. Okay, he had bartered dish duty for a month, but it was worth it to avoid the Sneerers finding out. The only thing worse than them knowing I’m a scaredy-cat zoo freak would be them knowing I’m related to people who are so much cooler and braver than me.

  Hello, I don’t need that comparison.

  All of this might not be nearly so bad if Liv was here. Before she moved, she used to glue tiny googly eyes on my binder whenever I was upset about something. But now? She’s got better things to do, and it feels like I’ll never have my best friend back again. How do I know this? Because last night, my life got so much worse.

  Embarrassing grandfather shoving me into a TV interview? Check.

  Parents forcing us to move into a zoo? Check.

  Best friend ditching me for the rest of our lives? CHECK, CHECK, AND CHECK.

  That’s right.

  You’d think that Liv would have had to have been in some awful accident to miss our cupcake wish, right? You’d think she would want to come back home so we could be best friends together again and do all the things that best friends should, like marry brothers and buy nice purses in matching colors.

  But you’d be wrong.

  When I clicked open my e-mail late last night, this is what I saw.

  Dear Ana,

  Sorry I missed our cupcake wish. I know it was important to you, and I feel super bad about bailing. The thing is, I sorta like it here, you know? I mean, it’s not HOME yet, but it’s crazy beautiful, and the people are really nice, and I just don’t know if that’s the right wish to make. I’ve never gotten to explore someplace cool and new before, and this whole adventure is kind of fun! I even met a girl with purple hair! Her name is Leilani, and she plays the flute. I know, I can see your face now all scrunched up and mad at me. I really am sorry. I know we can still be best friends from where we are too!