by Kris Langman
“Then stop talking!” hissed the voice from under the table. “Sheesh, Katie. You’re going to mess up the plan. If someone sees you talking to a picnic table they’re going to get suspicions. Suspicions cause all kinds of problems. My Dad is always having suspicions, and when he does I always have to go to my room and do my homework.”
“I can’t help it if I’m talking to the picnic table,” moaned Katie. “I talk when I’m nervous. My Mom says it’s a coping strategy. She says I cope with emotionally upsetting situations by becoming verbose. What do you think ‘verbose’ means? I think it’s what happens when you’re going to throw up but you don’t make it to the bathroom in time and you verbose all over the floor. I think I’m going to verbose right now. And how can I mess up the plan when I don’t know what the plan is? You never tell me the plan.”
Sally’s hand reached out from under the tablecloth and pulled it lower. “I never tell you the plan cause every time I do you say we’re gonna get in trouble. Nobody ever tells Xena she’s gonna get in trouble, and her plans always work out perfectly. Mine do too.”
“Really?” asked Katie doubtfully. “What about that time you tried to shoot Rodney Conners with a rubber band? You hit Mr. Zukas in the nose instead and he sent you to the principal’s office and she stuck hot pokers in your ears.”
“She didn’t stick hot pokers in my ears. She stuck a Q-Tip in her ear and cleaned it while I watched. It was disgusting.”
“Jamal Warner said it was hot pokers.”
“Jamal Warner is a poophead. Speaking of poopheads, do you see the target?”
“The what?” asked Katie.
“The target. Charlie ‘The Sniveler’ Sanderson.”
“What’s a Sniveler?”
“Someone who whines a lot, only there’s more snot.”
Katie wrinkled her nose. “Ick. Charlie’s in the pen, trying to ride one of the sheep. I don’t think the sheep likes it very much. It keeps trying to roll over on him.”
Sally snickered. “Smart sheep. Maybe I won’t need the plan, not if the sheep squishes him. Squished by a sheep. They can put that on his tombstone.”
“Here lies Charlie Sanderson.
He was done in by a sheep,
But only his mother will weep.
He ended up as jam
When he was flattened by a ram.”
“Charlie’s climbing out of the pen,” said Katie. “I guess he’s not gonna get squished. The sheep chased him, though. It looked like it was trying to bite him.”
“Cool,” said Sally. “Okay, time for action.”
A rustling sound came from under the picnic table. Katie frowned and took another quick peek under the tablecloth.
“Katie!” admonished Sally.
“Sorry. It’s just, well, Charlie hasn’t actually done anything yet. Nothing bad, I mean. Okay, he was kinda mean to that sheep, but other than that he’s been almost nice. He even brought Sandra a present.”
A loud snort came from under the picnic table. “That’s just a trick, to throw us off the track. Barbarians do that all the time. They pretend to be all polite, and they take a bath and comb their beards, and they make pleasant conversation about the weather while drinking tea. Then when your back is turned they throw you into a pit full of diapers.”
“Diapers?” asked Katie, confused.
“Yeah. Barbarians are always throwing people into pits full of diapers. It’s guaranteed to kill you. When Robbie was small one of his diapers could kill an elephant, even if the elephant was two miles away and wearing nose plugs. I tried it once when the circus was at the Convention Center. I brought a diaper in my backpack and put it in the elephant tent. When the elephants keeled over they thought it was an earthquake. There was an investigation and everything, but they never suspected it was Robbie’s diaper. There was a government guy there who said it was chemical weapons. Government guys are obsessed with chemical weapons. Which is totally stupid. Diapers are way more dangerous.”
“You don’t have a diaper under there, do you?” asked Katie nervously.
“Nah. Those things are way too dangerous to bring to a birthday party. Plus, now that Robbie uses big-boy pants my supply has dried up.”
More rustling came from under the picnic table.
“Okay, where’s Sanderson now?” asked Sally.
Katie scanned the lawn. “Um, he’s sitting over there behind the presents table. He’s drinking Coke with two of his friends. Billy Somebody and that boy with the huge ears. What’s his name?”
“Dunno,” said Sally. “We’ll just call them Doofus One and Doofus Two. Okay, here’s the plan. You’re gonna distract ’em. You know, create an immersion. You need to get Doofus One and Doofus Two away from the table.”
“How?” asked Katie, her voice rising in panic.
“I dunno. You’ll think of something.”
“No I won’t,” protested Katie. “I never think of something. Whenever someone says that my brain gets scared and all the thoughts fall out of my head and run away screaming.”
A big sigh came from under the picnic table. “Okay, okay. Let me think. Um, I know. Tell ’em there’s a phone call for them in the house.”
“For both of them? Will they believe that?”
“Sure. They’re Doofuses, remember.”
“Okay,” said Katie reluctantly. “I’m going.” She stood up slowly and fiddled with the bow in her hair, her panicked gaze jumping from Charlie Sanderson to Grandma Chang. “Do I really . . .?
“Yes,” said Sally firmly. “Now.”
Katie moaned and trudged slowly towards Charlie Sanderson’s table, feet dragging. She spoke briefly to the boys sitting next to Charlie, who looked surprised, but dutifully got up and headed into the house. Katie wandered off to the petting zoo and tried to look engrossed in the rabbits.
Grandma Chang, sitting on a rocking chair on the back porch of the house, was a very elderly, very tiny Chinese lady wearing a silk Mao jacket and trousers. Her eyes darted back and forth, watching the children. Suddenly they narrowed.
Sally had crawled out from under the picnic table. Sally crouched down, hidden from the children gathered around the petting zoo. She dashed to the nearest table and crouched down again. Repeating this, she finally ended up at Charlie Sanderson’s table, hidden by the tablecloth. Charlie had his back to her, watching a little boy being butted by one of the sheep. Charlie laughed as the boy was knocked face first into the grass. Quick as a flash, Sally slid up to his paper cup full of Coke, dumped something into it, and dove under the table.
Still chuckling, Charlie took a big swig of Coke. He spluttered and started to cough. A little girl pointed at him and shrieked. The rest of the kids looked where she was pointing. A gusher of foam was spewing from Charlie’s mouth. He wretched and spit on the grass, but the foam kept gushing out.
Mrs. Greenwald ran up and made him lie down on the grass. Kids gathered around, whispering excitedly.
“I bet he’s got that Ebola thing,” declared a redheaded boy. “My Dad told me about that. First you foam at the mouth, then you start to bark like a dog, then you keel over, dead as a tree stump.”
“He’s not barking like a dog,” objected the boy next to him.
“That’s cause he’s still foaming. Wait til the foaming stops. Then you’ll see.”
“He doesn’t have Ebola, you weiner-head,” said a little girl in pigtails. “He’s got the Swine Flu. First you foam, then you grunt like a pig, then you start rolling around in the mud. Swine Flu doesn’t kill you, you just can’t eat bacon for the rest of your life.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said the girl behind her. “Anyone can tell he has Australian Barfing Sickness. It’s super icky. My aunt had it. She barfed for twenty years. No one wanted to visit her cause she’d barf on them instead of saying Hello. If you didn’t like someone you’d take them over to her house and make them shake hands.”
“So, do ya think he’ll die?”
“Sure.”
“Of course.”
“He’s a gonner.”
“Cool. That means I get to pitch at our next Little League game. I wonder if his Dad would let me have his glove?”
Charlie sat up, groaning. The groans were very loud and very fake, but no one seemed to notice. Mrs. Greenwald helped him up and they stumbled slowly towards the house. The kids wandered back to the petting zoo, talking excitedly.
Grandma Chang hopped off her rocker in a remarkably spry manner. She marched straight to the picnic table Charlie had been sitting at and pulled up the tablecloth. She beckoned abruptly. Sally sheepishly crawled out.
Grandma Chang pointed imperiously at the table and Sally sat down, looking at her feet. Grandma Chang remained standing, hands on hips, staring down at her.
“So,” said Grandma Chang. “This poison. What is it?”
Sally gasped and stared up at her, horrified. “No! You don’t understand. It wasn’t poison! It was just a joke. I put baking soda in his Coke. When you put baking soda in Coke you create a chemical retraction. That’s what causes all the foam. I saw it on the Discovery Channel. It looks really cool, but it doesn’t hurt anyone. I wouldn’t poison anyone, not even Charlie Sanderson.”
Grandma Chang regarded her skeptically. “If not to poison then why? He is your enemy?”
Sally nodded emphatically. “Oh yeah. Definitely. We’re sworn enemies for life.”
“This I understand,” said Grandma Chang. “I had many enemies, back in the old country. Our clan swore revenge on the family in the next house. They were pig-dogs who did not deserve to live. They caused a tree to fall on our cabbages. Our cabbages were the pride of the village. People would come from many miles to see them. Such an outrage against our cabbages could not go unpunished. We poisoned the chickens of this family and let their sheep out of the pen. The sheep ran into the temple and chewed on the best silk robe of the most honored monk. Also we stole their goats. This boy, his father has many goats?”
“Er. . . I don’t know. Should he have many goats?”
“If his family is rich, he will have many goats,” Grandma Chang declared. “Goats are very important. They show that the family is honorable and wealthy. You will steal his goats.”
“I will?” asked Sally doubtfully.
“Of course. It is the way. Come, we will consult the fortune sticks. We will see if the fates smile on your revenge.”
Grandma Chang marched off toward the house. Sally followed uncertainly, looking back over her shoulder at Katie, who was still pretending a fascination with the rabbits in the petting zoo.
Grandma Chang led Sally into the Chang’s house and down a long hallway to her bedroom. The rooms they passed were furnished in standard, middle-class, American fashion, but the room they entered was a throwback to imperial China. Bamboo shades blocked the light from the windows, making the room spooky and dim. Incense was burning in a stone jar on a lacquered dresser. Scrolls depicting watercolor scenes of misty mountains and imperial palaces hung from the walls.
In one corner sat a small wooden shrine inscribed with Chinese characters. An offering of coins was placed in front of it. Grandma Chang took a red lacquer cylinder from a drawer and sat on a silk cushion on the floor. She pointed to a bamboo mat across from her. Sally sat. Grandma Chang muttered something in Chinese and vigorously shook the cylinder, which was full of thin bamboo sticks. After a few shakes a stick fell out. There was a number burned into it at one end. Grandma Chang set down the cylinder, examined the number at the end of the stick, and opened a small, much-thumbed book. She paged through this, muttering. Sally watched her warily.
“Ha!” shouted Grandma Chang.
Sally jumped.
“Here it is written,” announced Grandma Chang. “Your future path. You will have much success. Your enemies will be crushed underfoot. Your cleverness will defeat them. But you must take care to give proper remembrance to your Sacred Ancestors. They will help you in your search for revenge, but you must show them proper respect. Make many offerings.”
“Um, okay,” said Sally uncertainly.
“You will have a helper in the battle against your enemies. An animal. Small, but brave of heart.”
“Melvin!” said Sally.
Grandma Chang peered at her solemnly. “This Melvin, he is a monkey? The Monkey God is powerful.”
“No,” said Sally, “Melvin’s a hamster. But he is very brave. He’s a secret agent. He has a laser gun, and he can swim without Water Wings, and he wrestled an octopus without getting eaten, and he has a rap song too. Plus his fur’s growing back after being shaved.”
Grandma Chang nodded approvingly. “All these things will help much with the stealing of your enemies’ goats. The Monkey God’s spirit is strong within him. The Monkey God is clever and fond of mischief and can walk unseen.”
“Ooh!” said Sally excitedly. “So can Melvin. He has a T-Shirt of Invisibility. Though he doesn’t like to wear it very often. It smushes his fur.”
Grandma Chang nodded and put her fortune sticks back in the drawer. She motioned to Sally. “Come. We will talk to your enemy, to this pig-dog. Does his family grow cabbages?”
“Um, I don’t think so. Sorry.”
Grandma Chang looked disappointed. “It is too bad. Destruction of their cabbages would be a fitting target for our wrath. But,” she shrugged, “perhaps they grow peaches.”
She led Sally out of the bedroom. They searched room by room until they found Charlie Sanderson lying on a couch in the living room, his muddy sneakers up on the satin brocade upholstery. The shades in the room were drawn and Charlie had a wet washcloth covering his forehead. When he saw them he quickly chucked the comic book he’d been reading under the couch and groaned loudly.
Sally rolled her eyes. “Cut it out, Sanderson, you snot. You’re not dying.”
“Yeah?” Charlie shot back. “How would you know, Hesslop? All my insides were coming up. Mrs. Greenwald thinks it might be serious. She’s calling my parents. I expect they’ll take me to the hospital. I might die on the operating table.”
Sally rolled her eyes again.
Grandma Chang folded her arms and regarded Charlie coldly. “To die is no more than you deserve, son of a pig-dog.”
“Wha . . .?” said Charlie.
“We have sworn eternal vengeance against you and all your worthless clan of pig-dogs. The fates are in our favor. You will be crushed under our feet and so will your cabbages.”
Charlie sat up and pulled off the washcloth, looking alarmed. He glanced at Sally for some indication of what was going on, but she folded her arms like Grandma Chang and regarded him stonily.
Charlie started to inch down the couch, away from them. “Ya know, I’m starting to feel better. Yeah. I think I’m cured. It’s a miracle. I’ll just be going now.”
Charlie stood up, ready to bolt. At that moment Mrs. Greenwald came in with Mrs. Chang. Mrs. Chang was a tall, elegant woman dressed in a Chanel suit and high heels. She glanced worriedly at her mother. Grandma Chang ignored her.
“Charlie!” exclaimed Mrs. Greenwald. “You’re up! You must be feeling better.”
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “I’m feeling much better. Thanks. Well, I think I’ll just wait for my parents outside.”
Charlie slunk toward the door, but Mrs. Chang held up her hand.
“Charlie, wait a moment please. Mother, what have you been saying to this boy? Have you been frightening him?”
Mrs. Greenwald glanced at her in surprise.
Sally cleared her throat. “It’s okay, Mrs. Chang. She just came with me to make sure that Charlie was okay. She was telling him about some old Chinese remedies for an upset stomach.”
Mrs. Chang looked skeptical, but decided to let it pass. “Well, Charlie, I’d stick to what your doctor tells you. Mother’s homegrown remedies can have some peculiar effects. And some peculiar ingredients. For some reason, powdered dung beetle seems to figure prominently in all of them. Her cures can be worse than the
disease. I’ve had to take more than one perfectly healthy relative to the hospital after Mother fed them one of her cures.”
“Yes,” said Grandma Chang. “Dung beetle is very powerful. It cures all ills. You stay. Lie down. I will make you some.”
“No, no,” said Charlie, backing toward the door. “That’s okay. I feel much better now. Really. Um, thanks for everything. Bye.” He bolted out the door.
Sally giggled, but stopped abruptly when she caught Mrs. Greenwald watching her.
Mrs. Chang took her mother’s arm and led her away. “I’m just going to get Mother settled for her nap. Would you gather the kids together? It’s time to cut the cake.”
Mrs. Greenwald nodded and beckoned to Sally to follow her. “Well, Mrs. Chang’s mother certainly is quite a character. You two seem to have hit it off. Were you by any chance plotting something? Something I should know about?”
Sally gave her an innocent, Bambi-eyed look. “Plotting? No, we weren’t plotting. We were just discussing, um, gardening. Yeah, gardening. You know, carrots, broccoli, spinach. But not cabbages. Definitely not cabbages. Hey, there’s Katie. I’ll just go see if she wants some cake.”
Chapter Eleven
“C’mon Mel,” coaxed Sally. “Even a gerbil would be brave enough to go down this slide. You aren’t going to let a stupid gerbil make you look like a wimp, are you? C’mon. It’s super safe.”
Melvin stared at her in a way which suggested he had some doubts about this. Sally was attempting to lure Melvin down a slide she’d built out of orange Hot Wheels tracks. It started on the Hesslop’s coffee table, bumped over a pile of school books, swooped around an empty fishbowl, and ended in a pile of bean bags. Sally held a piece of Ritz cracker under Melvin’s nose and slowly moved it toward the top of the slide. Melvin didn’t budge from his spot on the coffee table.
“Maybe you should try an Oreo,” suggested Katie. She and Sally had changed into their pajamas after returning from Sandra Chang’s birthday party and were having a sleepover. “Or how about a potato chip? Do hamsters like potato chips?”