“What should I feel good about? That I’m sleeping in the hall? That I get to go to school tomorrow wiped out, with dark circles under my eyes?”
“You are missing the point, William. We took care of business. Who cares if you miss one night of sleep?”
“I care. I happen to have a math quiz tomorrow that I was hoping to do well on.”
“The problem with you, Billy Boy, is that you’re so responsible. Who cares about a math quiz? You’ve got to lighten up a little.”
“The problem with you, Hoove, is that you’re not responsible enough! If you looked up Hoover Porterhouse the Third in the dictionary, it would say irresponsible.”
“I disagree with your definition. I think it would say handsome. Or dashing. Or both.”
“No wonder the Higher-Ups are flunking you in Responsibility.”
“This conversation has taken a boring turn.” The Hoove yawned. “So if you’ll excuse me, I will retire and snooze it up on the ceiling-fan blade.”
“Oh, sure, you can sleep anywhere,” Billy said to the Hoove. “But not me. I’m going to fail my math quiz. I have to listen to the toilet flush all night. And all because of you. You and your lack of responsibility are driving me crazy.”
“Let me remind you, William, that you’re not a perfect peach, either.”
The Hoove floated up to the ceiling and stretched himself out on a blade of the hall ceiling fan. He put his hands behind his head, let out a loud yawn, and said, “Hey, this is a first for me. In all my ninety-nine years, I’ve never slept on a fan. And you know what … it’s kind of cozy up here.”
Down below, Billy paced back and forth in the little aisle that was left between the futon and the wall. He was furious at the Hoove. He dropped to his knees on the futon and pounded the mattress with all his might.
“Hey, do you mind keeping it down?” the Hoove called out. “Some of us have to get our beauty rest.”
“I swear, Hoove, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to figure out some way to stuff responsibility down your nonexistent throat.”
“You do that, buddy. In the meantime, I’m going to get some shut-eye. Though it’d be a lot easier if I had eyelids.”
The Hoove guffawed at his own joke, then fell immediately asleep.
Not Billy. He paced back and forth, trying to figure out how to teach a ghost to be responsible. By the time the sun came up, he still hadn’t found an answer.
Billy had a miserable night. The lack of sleep and his impending math quiz thrust him into the grumpiest mood of the century. When he brushed his teeth the next morning, he gargled with a vengeance. He didn’t even bother to change his clothes. All he did was scrub under his arms with soap without ever taking off his shirt. Slipping into his sneakers, he stomped into the kitchen, where Bennett was preparing some sunny-side-up eggs.
“Hey, Bill,” Bennett grinned. “Sit yourself down and fortify yourself for the day with a hearty meal. Nothing like Dr. Fielding’s Fabulous Fried Eggs to give your system the proper jump start.”
“Thanks but no thanks, Bennett. I’m too tired to be hungry.”
“Hey, you were warned,” Breeze said, shuffling into the kitchen in her Australian sheepskin slippers. “I told him, Dad. I said, ‘Touch my guitar, and the hand of doom will slap you silly.’”
“Well, the hand of doom didn’t have to toss me in the hall,” Billy said. “You see these eyes? See how bloodshot they are? That’s because they didn’t close for a second all night.”
“Oh really?” Breeze said, full of fake concern as she slipped into her chair at the breakfast table. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I got a great night’s sleep.”
Bennett put the plate of eggs in front of Breeze.
“You kids have to try to get along when you have conflict,” he said. “Take the human mouth, for example. It contains all kinds of teeth and yet they all work together to get the chewing done. Bicuspids, incisors, molars …”
“Enough, Dad,” Breeze interrupted. “My wisdom teeth got the point. He touched my property, he had to pay.”
“Well, there will be no more sleeping in the hall,” Bennett said. “It’s unfair, unheatlthy, and uncalled for.”
“You forgot the major un,” Billy chimed in. “Uncomfortable.”
“I think it’s safe for you to go back into your own room tonight,” Bennett said. “We’ll leave the windows open and the paint fumes should be gone by bedtime.”
“Too bad,” Breeze said to Billy. “It was nice rooming with you.”
“Wish I could say the same,” Billy answered, picking up his lunch and putting it in his backpack. He grabbed a piece of toast and headed for the door.
“If you want a lift, your mother should be leaving for school in five minutes,” Bennett offered.
“I need to walk,” Billy answered. “Maybe some fresh air will wake up my math brain cells.”
Before Bennett could get his usual “Have a great day” out of his mouth, Billy was out the door and down the stairs, crossing the backyard toward the sidewalk. On the way, he ran into Amber Brownstone, Rod Brownstone’s eight-year-old sister. She was carrying a small plastic cage with a mesh front.
“Hi, Billy,” she called out. “Want to say hello to Mr. Claws? He’s excited to meet you.”
She came running over to Billy and shoved the cage in front of his face. Billy looked inside and saw a pink, hairless creature with gray whiskers and two long front teeth that made whatever it was look like a mini beaver.
“What exactly do you call that animal, besides ugly?” he asked Amber, trying hard not to throw up at the sight of the weirdly wrinkled pink skin.
“He’s a hairless rat,” she said. “Isn’t he cute? We love each other.”
“Wow. My mom always says there’s somebody for everybody. Lucky that you and Mr. Claws found each other.”
“Do you want to hold him?”
“That would be a firm no,” Billy said as he hurried out of the backyard to the sidewalk. Amber followed close behind him.
“Do you mind if we walk to school with you?” she said. “I’m not allowed to walk by myself, and my brother doesn’t get along with Mr. Claws so he won’t walk me to school today.”
“Whatever,” Billy said. “Just make sure Mr. Claws keeps his distance.”
“Mom!” Amber yelled in a surprisingly loud voice for a little girl. “I’m going to school with Billy Broccoli. See you later.”
“Thank you, Billy,” Mrs. Brownstone called out from inside the house. “You’re such a nice boy. Just remember to look both ways before you cross the street.”
Billy stepped onto the pavement, trying not to look too closely at Mr. Claws. He wasn’t a big fan of bald animals. Once, he had a parakeet named Leo that lost all its feathers. Leo was so embarrassed about it that he constantly dive-bombed at Billy’s ear lobes. Ever since then, Billy had demanded that any animals he was around be covered in whatever nature intended them to be covered in.
“Mr. Claws is going to school with me because it’s Pet Day,” Amber rambled on. “Everyone has to share their pets and tell the class how we take care of them.”
“Did you warn them about Mr. Claws’s furless condition? Some people might be shocked,” Billy commented.
“Oh no. Everybody loves Mr. Claws. He’s very social.”
“Like how?” Billy asked. “Does he dress up for dances, or take girl rats to the movies?”
Amber laughed so hard her eyes watered.
“You’re such a silly Billy,” she said. “I wish my brother, Rod, was funny like you. All he does is report me to my parents for behavior infractions, whatever they are. He says they’re in the police codebook, which I won’t even be able to read until the fourth grade. Mr. Claws and I get really frustrated with him, don’t we, Mr. Claws?”
Billy and Amber stopped at the corner and waited for the crossing guard to hold up her WALK sign. Meanwhile, Amber chattered on … and on … and on. Billy could hardly wait for the light to t
urn green.
“It’s a lot of responsibility to have a pet,” she pointed out. “I mean, Mr. Claws depends on me to feed him and clean up his cage and give him water and fresh wood chips, which he uses for a comfy bed. But I like taking care of him.”
“Why?” Billy asked. Something in what she was saying was stirring his curiosity.
“Because it makes me feel good. And it makes me feel grown up. My teacher, Ms. Glockworth, says that learning to be responsible is the most important part of growing up.”
The light changed, and the crossing guard came to take them across the street. Amber rambled on, but Billy had stopped listening. Instead, he was thinking about what Amber had said. Taking care of a pet was a great way to learn responsibility. And who needed responsibility badly?
The Hoove, that’s who.
Billy smiled to himself all the rest of the way to Moorepark Middle School. He was already planning his after-school schedule. A peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich on toasted wheat. A glass of Bennett’s homemade pink lemonade. And a trip to Fur ’N Feathers Pet Store.
Billy could barely keep his eyes open all day at school. He yawned so loudly in English class that Mr. Wallwetter thought he was answering a question about semicolons. During his math quiz, he nodded off in the middle of a word problem. And in PE, when he lay down on the soccer field during halftime, he got a lecture from the coach about the importance of staying upright during the game. But by the time the final bell rang at three o’clock, he got a sudden surge of energy at the thought of implementing his new plan. He felt that he had discovered the key to helping the Hoove learn to be responsible and he couldn’t wait to put it into action — not just for the Hoove, but for himself. It was no fun living with a grounded ghost.
Billy hurried home and flew through the back door, heading straight for the peanut butter and jelly. Before he could even drop the two pieces of bread into the toaster, he felt a cold draft behind him and smelled the distinct aroma of tart orange juice. Then he heard the whistling of “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad,” which could only mean one thing. The Hoove was in the kitchen and making his presence known.
“It’s about time you got home,” Hoover snarled. “Do you know what it’s like being locked up in this house all day with just your single self?”
“I thought you’d find yourself so interesting and entertaining that the day would just fly by.”
“Even for a fascinating person such as myself, eight hours is a long time to be alone in this house, unless you’re the type of person who wants to spend your time browsing Bennett’s collection of antique tooth extracting equipment, which I am definitely not.”
Billy opened the peanut butter jar, got out a knife, and started to make his sandwich. He didn’t even cast a glance in the Hoove’s direction, which infuriated the Hoove even more.
“I’m not feeling any sympathy for my situation coming from your direction,” he snapped.
“Oh really? I didn’t hear any sympathy coming from your direction when I was trying to fall asleep in the hallway all night.”
“Apples and oranges, Billy Boy. You and I are not alike.”
“The thing about you, Hoove, is that you can’t see anyone else’s problems, you only see your own. That’s why it’s so hard for you to be responsible to other people. But I have a fix for that.”
“Don’t you think you should discuss it with me, your life coach?”
“No. You don’t have a choice about this. I have to get you ungrounded. Not just for you, but for me, too. And I think I know the perfect way to do it.”
“So what do you have in mind?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Billy said, slapping the jelly-covered bread slice on top of the peanut butter slice. As he grabbed his sandwich and shot out the back door, the Hoove tried to follow him, but bumped smack into another invisible barrier.
“Whatever you got up your sleeve, you better pull it out fast,” he yelled to Billy. “Because I cannot take one more minute of this.”
In his frustration, the Hoove picked up a patio chair and tossed it onto the lawn.
“You can’t break my spirit,” he shouted up to the sky. “There’s not a wall in the world that can contain Hoover Porterhouse the Third.”
Suddenly, a black cloud appeared overhead and shot a bolt of lightning so close to his feet that he could feel its heat.
“I was just joking,” he hollered to the Higher-Ups. “You guys have no sense of humor.”
Another bolt of lightning shot out of the sky and burned the word enough into the grass. If Hoover Porterhouse needed proof that those Higher-Ups weren’t kidding, this was certainly it.
Billy walked up and down the aisles of Fur ’N Feathers Pet Store, his ears filled with the sounds of the animals in every section. Parakeets chirped, lovebirds cooed, and parrots squawked. Puppies yelped, cats meowed, and if you had very good ears, you could even hear the sound of snakes slithering across the sand at the bottom of their glass terrariums. He was so involved in looking into every cage, that the sound of the store owner’s voice almost sent him flying out of his shoes.
“I can sense it,” she said to Billy. “Can you?”
Billy turned to her and was about to ask what she meant, but she put a finger up to her lips.
“Shhh, listen. I can hear the buzz of excitement. Everyone here is so happy you’re in the shop, and they all want to get to know you. Who would you like to meet first? Oh, why don’t we start with me? I’m Daisy Cole.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Cole.”
“Call me Daisy — everyone does.”
From a perch over the cash register, a gray parrot squawked, “Daisy. Daisy.”
“See, I wasn’t kidding,” Daisy laughed. “That’s Robert over there on the perch. He and I have been together since he was an egg. Isn’t that right, Bobby, honey?”
Robert didn’t answer in words. Instead, he burst into a rollicking chorus of “You Ain’t Nothing But a Hound Dog.” Daisy laughed.
“That Robert, he’s a big Elvis Presley fan,” she giggled. “He’s got great rhythm for a parrot, don’t you think?”
Billy didn’t really have much of an opinion about that, since he didn’t know any other singing parrots to compare him with.
“Is this your shop, Daisy?” he asked, swiftly changing the subject.
“Oh, this isn’t a shop, this is a play space for all my creature friends. Now, how can I help you?”
“Well, my name is Billy Broccoli, and I’ve recently moved into the neighborhood.”
“Don’t tell me, you’re looking for a puppy for your new house.”
“Soon, maybe, but not today. I need something in a smaller size that would help teach this person I know to be responsible to others.”
“Can I assume we’re talking about a brother or sister?”
“Definitely, absolutely, without a doubt, no. This guy is no relation to me. I think of him more as a project.”
“Well, that’s a very thoughtful thing for a friend to do.”
“I didn’t say he was a friend, either. He kind of just floats around my house being a pain in the neck.”
“So he’ll need a soothing pet, one that will keep him calm. I have just the thing.”
Daisy clopped down the aisle in her red patent leather clogs. At the sound of her footsteps, all the animals started to yelp, bark, meow, squawk, chirp, or whatever else they did … and scampered up to the front of their enclosures. They were happy to see Daisy, and she was thrilled to see them, too.
“Hi, Freddy! Hello, Andrea! I love you, too, Buttercup!” she sang as she walked down the aisle. Her enthusiasm was boundless, and as Billy followed her, he found himself feeling warmth for every animal he saw, including the snakes … which would normally have given him a large dose of the creeps. At the end of the aisle, Daisy stopped at a glass tank, where a dark brown creature with a white stripe down its back was standing perfectly still on a green branch. She turned to Billy
and smiled.
“Meet Berko,” she beamed. “He’s a fat-tailed gecko.”
“Doesn’t it hurt Berko’s feelings when you call his tail fat?”
Daisy laughed again, and when she did, Robert the parrot imitated the sound of her giggle exactly, which set off all the other animals. It was like a laugh factory in there.
“Fat-tailed gecko is the name of this species,” Daisy explained. “They store their fat in their tails. If they lose their tail in a fight, they grow another one, but often it looks more like a head than a tail.”
“Sounds borderline disgusting,” Billy said. “And the reason I’d want this guy as a pet is why, exactly?”
“Berko is very calm. He sleeps through the night, and as you can see, he has such soulful eyes. Sometimes I wonder what deep thoughts are running through his sweet little lizard brain.”
“Maybe that a fly would taste delicious right about now,” Billy suggested.
“Actually, it’s probably a cricket he’s craving. Berko loves crickets, don’t you, Berkie, honey. Yes, you are mommy’s little hungry lizard.”
Billy bent down and stared into Berko’s soulful eyes, trying to see even one deep thought rolling around in there. But all he saw was his own reflection staring back at him from Berko’s shiny black eyeballs.
“Hey, Berko,” he began. “How would you like to come home with me?”
Berko shot out his tongue. Apparently, he didn’t quite understand how long it was, because it smashed into the glass and bent at a ninety-degree angle.
“Easy there, buddy. I’m not a cricket.”
“Berko was just giving you a high-tongue-five,” Daisy said. “It’s his way of saying yes. He’s such a positive little gecko.”
Billy looked closely at Berko, wondering if this was an animal the Hoove could get along with. He didn’t seem to require much care, which was a good thing, because the Hoove was going to have to ease into responsibility. Billy knew the Hoove certainly couldn’t start off with a pet like a rabbit, which required a lot of care, especially cleaning up those pellets that seemed to fall fairly frequently from the area under their cute little cotton tails. And Daisy had said that Berko was very calm and slept through the night. That worked well with Hoover Porterhouse’s Rule Number 26, “Never disturb my beauty sleep.”
How to Scare the Pants Off Your Pets Page 3