He jerked the bolt and reached for a tangle of wires that Blue guessed were his electrocution system. Then he leaned back against the door, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
“What’s the matter with you?” Blue demanded. His eyes were taking in the rest of Howard’s bedroom. It was full of stuff that didn’t make sense.
There was a barbell in one corner and an old television in the other. It had Insane Pain Fitness discs stacked on top of it. The box of MoonPies Millie Flat had sent over weeks ago was beside them, unopened. And against the opposite wall, a jumbo-size trash bag bulged with garbage. It was so stuffed that the white plastic had stretched thin, and the contents were almost visible.
Blue could identify the previous night’s sweet potato soufflé by its orange color. And there was a stick of beef jerky poking out of the top of the bag. “What is all of this?”
Howard groaned and slid down the door to sit at the base of it with his face in his hands.
Blue realized then that he was wearing workout clothes. And he was sweaty. “Why would you work out?” he asked. “I mean . . . your whole talent is staying healthy no matter what you eat.”
“I just really like to exercise,” Howard said into his hands.
Blue frowned. “You like to do workouts called Insane Pain?”
Howard nodded.
“But it’s some kind of a secret?” Blue’s brain couldn’t wrap itself around the problem. Why had Howard hidden sweet potatoes in his room? Had he just taken a plate up and then realized he didn’t want to eat it?
And . . . Blue sniffed. Why was Howard keeping garbage up here when it smelled like it should have been thrown away days ago?
“Don’t tell the others,” Howard said. “Please. You can’t.”
“Well, I mean, it’s weird that you would lift weights if you don’t need to,” said Blue. “But I don’t see why the others would care.”
“Because,” said Howard, finally looking up. “Blue, I . . . I lied about it.”
“About the weight lifting?”
“Nooo,” Howard moaned. “About my talent.”
■ ■ ■
“Every couple of generations, someone gets eaten,” said Howard, aiming a can full of Glorious Gardenia air freshener at the garbage bag. “By the alligator. By Munch.”
Blue, who had been flipping through the stack of exercise videos, looked up. “What?”
“I said someone gets eaten by the alligator!” Howard hissed.
“That’s ridiculous,” said Blue. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“Because your dad is so interested in the rest of us,” Howard said sarcastically. “I’m sure he tells you family stories all the time.”
Blue didn’t know what to say.
Howard tossed the air freshener onto his bed. “It’s true,” he said. “Someone will be born with a weird birthmark, shaped like an alligator tooth, or there will be something else about them . . . and then one day they’ll just be gone.”
“You’re not going to be eaten by an alligator, Howard,” said Blue. “Those other Montgomerys probably ran away from Murky Branch. People do it all the time in this family.”
Howard glared. “I know what I’m talking about. And it’s not an alligator. It’s the alligator. The one from the story.”
He stalked over to the window and pulled up the blinds.
“So you have a weird birthmark somewhere?” Blue said skeptically.
Howard turned the window latch. Blue noticed that there was a small decoration on the wall right beside Howard’s window—Walcott Montgomery by himself, staring up at a circle. The carvings must be all over the house.
“Not a birthmark,” said Howard. “In my case it was my birth certificate.”
“Your birth certificate said you were going to be swallowed by a golden alligator named Munch?”
Howard lifted the window and started fanning the flowery garbage smell outside. “Sort of,” he said. “When I was born, the nurse got my name wrong. Howard Munchgomery. That was when everyone knew.”
Blue tried not to roll his eyes. “Howard . . . a typo doesn’t mean you’re going to be eaten.”
“It’s not something I just made up.” Howard’s voice was tight. “They say that Cousin Norabelle went all the way to Australia, hoping to avoid Munch, and she had to come back to Murky Branch for just one night to be a bridesmaid at her sister’s wedding, and when they went to wake her up the next morning . . .”
“They saw the gator?”
“They found mud and claw marks all over the room, and the only thing left of Norabelle was a crinoline.”
Blue hoped a crinoline was something like an appendix— not absolutely necessary for your continued good health.
“Maybe Norabelle was playing a joke on the family.” Blue stacked the Insane Pain videos back on top of the television. “Maybe she hated her sister and wanted to give her nightmares.”
Howard shook his head. “Everyone knows it happens sometimes. Someone will be born without any apparent talent or curse, and then one day? Gulp.”
“Is that why your mom . . .” Blue didn’t know of a nice way to put it.
“Oh, she didn’t want one of us messed-up Montgomery kids,” Howard said bitterly, slamming the window back down. “She was hoping for some bright little starlet, just like herself. Granny Eve won’t even talk to her.”
“But if everyone knew you were going to be . . . munched on . . . when you were born, then why—”
Howard stared out the window. “It was always so depressing, you know? Even when I was a little kid. People would look at me, and they would get sad. Then, when I was six or so, Granny Eve made these miniature strawberry cupcakes for the twins’ birthday. I started shoving them into my mouth as fast as I could, and I think it was Jenna who said, ‘Wow, he really is a Munchgomery!’”
He pressed his forehead to the glass.
“I just thought how nice it would be if she was right. If I were one of the lucky ones. So, I started to eat tons of food any time anyone was watching me, and then they all got kind of hopeful. Pretty soon I was stuffing my face all the time, and they finally decided that it could be a talent. Like, maybe I was this eating machine, who could just eat whatever, whenever, without any consequences.”
“So you pretended it was true?” said Blue.
“Well, you know, for a while I thought it might be. I wanted it to be. But then I ate four bowls of Frosted Flakes one morning, and it made me barf. Only by then . . . I couldn’t tell anyone the truth.”
“Because they’d stop looking at you like you were someone special,” Blue said.
“Yeah.” Howard turned back around. “I wanted to be one of the special ones. But it was more than that. I don’t want them all to worry about me.”
Blue couldn’t imagine fooling people for that long. “So you work out a lot.”
“Sure,” said Howard, flexing his arms so that his muscles stood out. “I do enjoy it, but it also deflects suspicion. I try to eat a lot of protein and vegetables. And I have all of these tricks—I hid eight pieces of French toast under my shirt once without anyone noticing.”
“Gross.”
“Yeah. And it’s wasteful,” said Howard. “But if it keeps people from knowing the truth, I’m okay with that. Granny Eve doesn’t need to be afraid for me on top of everything else.”
“Howard,” said Blue, suddenly remembering. “The swamp cake–eating contest—”
“I’m doomed,” Howard groaned. “But I guess I always was.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE ONLY DIFFERENCE
“It’ll be fine,” Blue promised Howard. “Everything’s going to be great with the gerbils tomorrow. Ma Myrtle will be so impressed there won’t even be a Grand Revue. You won’t have to eat a million swamp cakes without puking.”
The two of them had been talking for over an hour, and it was almost time for supper. Blue would be watching closely to see what his cousin did with his meal.
“Are you even a member of this family?” Howard said, fiddling with the battery pack and wires that powered his electric-shock system. “It’s never that easy.”
“It will be,” said Blue. “It’s going to work great. We’ve got it all planned out.”
“Six seconds,” said Howard.
“What?”
Howard pointed toward an empty plate on the floor beside his dresser. It was covered in green crumbs and cane syrup. “I’ve been practicing. I hate the Flats’ pancakes. They taste like green dye, and they stick to the roof of your mouth. But I can eat one every six seconds.”
“Maybe that will be—”
“I’ve seen Bagget Flat eat,” said Howard. “He can probably do three times that many.”
They both fell silent, contemplating the empty plate.
“I guess we should go,” Howard said after a moment. “Do me a favor and take those MoonPies with you. I told Millie I liked them once so that she would stop bringing me swamp cakes. But I’m kind of sick of everything with the word moon on it.”
Blue fetched the box, and by the time he turned around, Howard was unwrapping the final wire from the doorknob.
“Why’d you burst in here anyway?” he asked before he turned it. “What did I do to make you so mad?”
Blue didn’t say anything.
Howard gave him a long look. “Or were you mad at somebody else?”
“I’m sorry about kicking your door.”
Howard still hadn’t turned the knob. “You know,” he said, “your dad leaving you here isn’t your fault.”
Blue looked down at the box in his hands. The yellow crescent moon on the top of it was smirking up at him. “Yeah.”
“Listen,” said Howard. “Ida’s always telling me to keep my thoughts to myself. She’s all, ‘Let Blue figure this out on his own, Howard.’ And, ‘You don’t know what Uncle Alan might be dealing with, Howard.’”
Blue’s head jerked up. “You’ve talked about me behind my back?”
“A little. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you know it’s not even about you. Your dad leaving you . . . it’s about him.”
Blue forced a smile onto his face. “Okay. Fine. Great. Can we go to supper now?”
Howard frowned. “Yeah, okay. Just remember what I said.”
“Got it.”
“And Granny Eve’s not mad about you being here, either. In case you were worried. She’s just mad that your dad wants to race again. After the last time, with his talent causing all those wrecks . . .” Howard opened the door. “She’s afraid he’s going to get someone killed.”
Howard stepped out into the hall, but Blue was too dumbstruck to follow him.
“Hey,” said Howard, looking around, “don’t leave me standing here with the door open. Someone might see my—”
“What?”
“I said don’t leave me stand—”
“No.” Blue took a step toward him. “What do you mean, he caused the wrecks? Those were accidents.”
Howard raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you think happens when your dad isn’t the best racer on the track?”
“He’s always the best racer on the track.”
“No,” said Howard. “He always wins. It’s not the same thing at all.”
“That’s not—”
“Blue,” Howard interrupted. He pointed to the stitches running up Blue’s shin. “The only difference between you and your dad, is that when your dad races, it’s everyone else who gets tackled by the deer.”
TWENTY-NINE
JUST ONE GERBIL AT A TIME
“I think,” said Tumble, “that somebody ought to find that alligator and give it a kick in the tail, before it ruins anyone else’s life.”
It was the next morning, and the two of them were sprawled across the beanbag chair in the attic. They were eating Howard’s MoonPies and watching the dust motes swirl over their heads. Blue had just told Tumble about what his cousin had said.
He had stayed up all night, trying hard not to believe it, but the more he tried, the more questions he had. How did his dad win everything? He wasn’t the strongest man in the world, and he was fast but not the fastest.
In fact, Blue’s dad was pretty normal.
But his talent let him win. Every single time.
How?
By making everyone else lose. It had to be the truth. Only, Blue had never known the truth was something that could gnaw on you with invisible teeth.
“Maybe if you got your dad’s side of the story . . .” said Tumble.
“He’d have to answer the phone for that to happen.”
“Ah,” she said. “Right.”
“What did you want to tell me again?” Blue asked. “Before I mentioned Howard and my dad and . . . all of it.”
Tumble hesitated. “Nothing major.”
“You said it was about your fate.”
“It’s not important. I mean . . . it’s . . . it might not matter after today anyway. Breaking Ida’s curse might get rid of the fates for good.”
“I’m trying not to be too hopeful,” Blue said. “If it convinces Ma Myrtle to send the relatives away and tell the twins how to find Munch, that will be enough. For today.”
“You have to think more positively,” said Tumble. “Doubters can’t be do-gooders.” She sat up and reached for her emergency backpack. “Here, let me show you something.”
She pulled a wrinkled silver envelope out of the front pocket. It was covered in tiny sparkling stars.
“It’s from the Maximal Star Young Heroes Fan Club,” she said, passing it to Blue. “I found it in the trash can.”
“Your parents threw it away?” said Blue, outraged. “Without telling you!”
“They don’t trust me to take care of myself. They think that they’re keeping me safe by bringing me out here where I can’t see anyone or do anything, and I guess Maximal Star doesn’t fit into their plans.”
Blue pulled the flyer out of the envelope and read it. “It says Maximal Star’s on tour! He’s going to be in Georgia.”
“I looked it up on a map,” said Tumble. “The town is about an hour away from here.”
“But they have to let you go.” Blue waved the flyer at her. He didn’t care about Maximal Star, but this would be a huge deal for Tumble. “He’s your hero. And you’re a hero. And this is a huge heroing event! How many chances like that do you get?”
“They don’t think I can do it,” said Tumble. “They never have.”
“Well,” said Blue, “you’re going to prove them wrong today.”
They didn’t have much longer to wait. Ida was doing breathing exercises to relax herself before the ordeal. Howard and Jenna were preparing the Gerbellion for their most important mission ever. And Millie Flat had volunteered to help.
When it was time, Tumble pulled Blue to his feet.
“This is it,” she announced to the attic at large. “Today, we’re going to break a curse. And we’re going to prove to everyone that there’s nothing wrong with us. And everything is going to be terrific.”
■ ■ ■
Ida wasn’t terrific. She was terrified.
Blue had gone to fetch her while Tumble, Howard, and Millie were setting up the Gerbellion’s maze in the front yard. The maze included gerbil-size tight ropes and tubing and staircases. According to Jenna, the gerbils could navigate it in under a minute on a good day.
If the exhibition was going well, Ida was supposed to help Jenna direct the gerbils through the maze to a pile of sunflower seeds. But that was advanced stuff, and Ida was in an advanced state of panic.
“I kn-know you all th-think I’m a big dumb cow-c
oward,” she stammered. She was huddled in the corner of the twins’ bedroom, shaking.
“Well . . . you’re not dumb,” said Jenna.
Blue glared at her.
They were both crouching beside Ida, who was crushing her hands to her head in misery.
“You’re not a coward,” he said to Ida. “It’s not wrong to be afraid of things that can really hurt you.”
It was Jenna’s turn to glare. Excuse me? she mouthed at Blue. Not helping.
But Blue thought he knew what he was talking about better than Jenna ever could. “It’s not wrong to be afraid,” he insisted. “It’s smart, actually. If you were dumb, you’d run around trying to pet cats, and you wouldn’t wear snake boots, and you’d probably be all kinds of dead.”
Ida finally looked up at him. “So why am I d-doing this?” she said. “It’s c-crazy!”
“Because,” said Blue, “sometimes being smart and afraid isn’t okay anymore. Sometimes being afraid of losing is worse than actually losing. And when it gets that bad, you’ve got to do something different. Even if it’s a little crazy.”
Ida took big, slow breaths, trying to calm down. “I could . . .” She swallowed. “I could hold . . . maybe . . . just one gerbil at a time. Like yesterday?”
Jenna hesitated. “That’s not what we planned—”
“That’ll be fine,” said Blue.
Ida was the kind of person who gave you a lemon cake candle and a beanbag chair to welcome you to your attic. Blue wasn’t sure about a lot of things lately, but he was sure that she didn’t deserve to be bullied into saying yes.
THIRTY
THE STAPLER
“But, Blue!” Tumble said frantically. “This won’t work! It won’t break the curse, and Ma Myrtle won’t be impressed. She’ll want to see more.”
They were standing in the front yard behind a pair of tables covered with the gerbil cages and the maze. The porch was filling with droopy-looking relatives. Competing for Ma Myrtle’s favor was starting to wear on them all.
“Ma Myrtle needs to get over herself,” said Blue.
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