by Judy Delton
“They can see you too, silly,” said Roger. “You think they have tunnel vision, like they can only look at one person on a stage?”
Roger made a telescope with his hands and looked at Mary Beth up close to her face. She shoved him away.
“Unless they are really very very old,” said Roger. “Then they won’t see anyone at all on the stage, even Molly!”
“Roger White, my grandparents are not very very old!” said Molly, stamping her foot. She gave Roger a kick in the shin. “They hike and travel and take karate classes, and they see perfectly well! My grandpa hasn’t even got glasses!”
“All right, already!” shouted Roger, grabbing his leg. “They can see, they can see!”
What was bothering Molly was not her grandparents’ eyesight. It was Mrs. Peters’s words: “ ‘If you are extra clever, you can combine what you do for Grandparents Day with your hobby.’ ”
Extra clever. Molly was extra clever. She was not going to be the only one who couldn’t combine. Why, every day someone told her how clever and smart she was! Her mother, her father, her grandma, her teacher. She had to combine her hobby with the program.
And before she did that, she was going to have to find a hobby.
The next afternoon after school, she and Mary Beth went to the public library. Mary Beth was still moping about her missing grandparents.
They got lots of books out and put them on the table. They paged through all of them.
Mary Beth pointed to a picture of a boy pasting stamps into a stamp album.
Molly shook her head. Old canceled stamps didn’t interest her. She used a stamp when she wrote a letter, but she didn’t love stamps. One per letter was enough. Who wanted a whole book of them? Bor-ing.
She came to a picture of a girl making little dots on paper. “Learn a code” it said underneath. Dots and dashes did not seem like a good way to send messages. Why figure it all out when she could call them on the phone? Or send a letter? Or even a fax or an overnight express? S.O.S. was not for her.
Molly slammed the book shut.
“There are no hobbies in here I want,” she whispered to Mary Beth.
“You’re too fussy,” said Mary Beth. “You don’t need a perfect hobby.”
Molly thought about that. If someone was extra clever, they would have a perfect hobby. Anyway, who would want a hobby that was no fun if hobbies were meant to be fun?
“But I want a perfect hobby,” said Molly. “I’m not going to do something dumb like collect stamps.”
“Suit yourself,” said Mary Beth. “I’m going to make a vase out of a bleach bottle. Then I can send it to my grandparents, even if they aren’t here.”
Molly looked at her in shock. “A bleach bottle?” she echoed. “An ugly plastic bleach-bottle vase?”
“Well, you paint it,” said Mary Beth. “You paint fancy designs on it, and no one knows it was a bleach bottle.”
Molly was disgusted. She wouldn’t want to give her grandma a bouquet of flowers in a bleach-bottle vase, painted or not.
The librarian looked at the girls and put her finger to her lips. “Shh,” she said.
“Let’s go,” said Mary Beth. “I want to get home and start collecting stuff for my hobby.”
At the corner of her block, Mary Beth said good-bye to Molly. Molly walked home past the variety shop. She looked in the window. There was a display of pencils and notebooks for school. There were book bags and flower bulbs and sewing kits and yarn. But right in the middle was a fishbowl. In the bowl were brightly colored goldfish swimming back and forth and sparkling in the sun.
On the shelf with the bowl were bird cages and pet food and rubber bones and seaweed. There were colored pebbles and little castles. There was a book about setting up an aquarium and raising fish.
A RELAXING HOBBY it said on a sign.
Fish! Molly could get a mother and father fish and they would have babies and Molly could sell them! It could be her hobby, and she could make money at the same time! She could prove she was extra clever to Mrs. Peters, because she would give her grandparents two of the baby fish on Grandparents Day! Could this be the perfect hobby?
Molly ran home to shake her piggy bank. Adding up all the dimes and nickels and quarters, she had exactly five dollars!
“Can I spend some of my money on goldfish?” she asked her mother.
“If you take care of them,” her mother replied. “Remember the last time you had pets.” Molly did. But these new fish were not exactly pets. They were a business!
Her mother gave her an extra dollar to spend. Then Molly dashed back to the store and bought a fishbowl. She bought the book too, and some stones for the bottom and a piece of the green seaweed. With food it came to over five dollars. But the fish were only thirty-nine cents each.
“I want a boy fish and a girl fish so they can have babies,” Molly told the clerk with the net.
“The females aren’t as bright,” said the clerk, scooping one out of the tank that had small brown spots on her sides.
Molly wondered if the clerk meant the girl fish weren’t as smart as the boys, or if he meant the color.
“You see how bright the males are,” said the clerk, catching a bright orange fish in the net.
It didn’t seem fair, but if Molly wanted baby fish, she couldn’t get two bright orange ones. Besides, she felt sorry for the spotted girl fish.
“Sometimes we give the females away free,” said the clerk. “On Saturdays.”
It sounded as if girls weren’t very important, Molly thought. But if it wasn’t for them, there wouldn’t be any babies!
Molly couldn’t wait till Saturday to start her new hobby. No, she would start now. She’d have to pay full price and her whole six dollars would be gone, but she would soon be head over heels in money, selling her babies.
The clerk wrapped the bowl and put the fish in a plastic bag with water and tied a knot in it. He gave Molly a snail free.
“It will keep the bowl clean,” he said.
Molly hurried home. She tried not to jiggle the fish.
When her mother opened the door, she held up her purchases.
“I have a perfect hobby,” she said. “When my fish have babies, I can sell them!”
Her mother looked at Molly’s things.
“You have to remember to feed them every day and keep their bowl clean,” her mother warned.
“I’ll do that,” said Molly. “I’m going to spend all my free time with my fish.”
Molly’s dad helped her set up the fishbowl on the bookcase in her room. She put the pebbles in and the seaweed. She set the fish food beside the bowl. Then her dad helped her put the fish in.
“Pretty,” he said. “Those are nice guys.”
“One’s a girl,” said Molly. “The spotted one.”
Molly sat in front of her fish and watched them swim. Back and forth. Back and forth. She gave them a tiny bit of food and watched them fight for it.
Now all she had to do was sit back and wait for the babies to come. She had only one tiny worry: What if they didn’t come in time for Grandparents Day?
CHAPTER
4
Molly’s Bad Day
Every morning Molly fed her fish. And every evening she looked to see if there were babies. There never were. Grandparents Day was getting closer and closer, and there was no sign of a baby fish.
On Tuesday, Molly went to her Scout meeting. Everyone was gathered around Jody’s wheelchair. Molly suddenly wished she had a wheelchair. Everyone made a fuss over kids in wheelchairs.
After they sang and told good deeds, Mrs. Peters asked how the hobbies were coming. Hands waved in the air.
“I made this vase,” said Mary Beth when Mrs. Peters called on her. She held it up. It had two fake flowers in it.
“Good for you!” said Mrs. Peters. “That is very creative.”
She called on Rachel.
“I’m just doing my regular hobbies,” she said, “which I’ve had for ages.
” She tap-danced across the room, doing a step she called Shuffle Off to Buffalo.
“My hobby is emptying the garbage,” said Tim.
The Pee Wees broke into laughter. Even Jody laughed.
“That’s a chore,” said Kevin. “That’s not a hobby.”
“Hey, Noon, are you giving your grandma a bag of garbage at the program?” yelled Roger. “Happy Grandparents Day!”
Poor Tim. Roger picked on him as much as Sonny. But then, thought Molly, he picked on everyone.
“My hobby is eating,” said Sonny. He had his eye on the cupcakes on the table. “And collecting old pop bottles. I turn them in and get money.”
“What a fine ecology hobby,” said Mrs. Peters. “Keeping our country free of litter.”
“How can you do that for Grandparents Day?” asked Lisa.
“I can,” said Sonny. “I can go over to their house and pick up bottles and stuff on their lawn. It would be a good deed and a hobby!”
No one could argue with that. Sonny did combine the hobby with Grandparents Day.
Roger had a piece of wood with him. He held it up.
“This is my hobby,” he said.
The Pee Wees looked at the wood. It had little holes in it, all in a row.
“What is it?” asked Kenny.
“Those holes are cavities,” said Roger. “I’m going to be a dentist, and my dad let me use his drill to practice.” He passed the piece of wood around.
“Of course, when I get good, I’m going to drill on real teeth,” he added.
“Not on mine, you’re not, White!” shouted Kenny.
Roger was drilling into a piece of Styrofoam now with a pencil. “Bzzzzz,” he said.
“Who would let Roger drill their teeth?” whispered Mary Beth.
“No one,” Molly agreed.
Now Roger was pretending to drill into Mrs. Peters’s table with a fork.
Jody told about collecting compact discs.
“I get them for my birthday and Christmas, and I buy them with money I earn at the garden center.”
“Can you cut grass for people?” asked Patty politely.
Jody shook his head. “My aunt owns the store, and I pot plants and get boxes ready for the deliveries. Sometimes I fertilize the plants and spray them.”
The Pee Wees looked surprised. Jody was the only Pee Wee with an honest-to-goodness job! For money!
“I go to concerts too, when my favorite groups come to town,” Jody went on. “And sometimes my parents take me to the city.”
Jody had a pretty exciting life, thought Molly. More exciting than people who could walk! But Jody had even more to say: He told the Pee Wees about his compact disc parties at his house and how he played the guitar.
“Not real well,” he said, “but I’m learning. Someday I’d like to play with a rock band.”
After Jody’s hobbies, the other Pee Wees’ hobbies seemed tame.
Molly told about her fish, and Mrs. Peters didn’t seem as excited as Molly thought she should be.
“It isn’t easy to raise fish,” said Tracy. “Unless they’re guppies. Guppies have babies by the zillions.”
“But guppies aren’t as pretty as goldfish,” said Molly.
“Yes, they are!” said Tracy.
“No, they’re not,” replied Molly.
Mrs. Peters clapped her hands. “Other hobbies?” she asked.
Some of the Pee Wees didn’t have hobbies yet.
“I can’t think of anything,” said Patty.
“You can collect things,” offered Mrs. Peters. “Like leaves or rocks or pictures of pets.”
Lisa’s hand was waving.
“Mrs. Peters?” she said. “My aunt collects salt and pepper shakers! She’s got about a hundred pairs. She’s got these little grapefruits from Florida and potatoes from Idaho and this little dog and cat, and one set is real sterling silver.”
Who in the world would need a hundred pairs of salt and pepper shakers? thought Molly. At her house there was one set on the stove and one on the table, and that was enough salt for anyone’s baked potato.
“How could you use all that salt and pepper?” asked Molly.
“They aren’t to use,” said Lisa. “They’re to look at.”
A hundred pairs salt and pepper shakers filled with salt and pepper just to look at? That seemed like a real waste to Molly. What good was something if you didn’t use it? Besides, you look at pictures and sunsets and lakes. You don’t look at salt shakers.
But Mrs. Peters seemed to think it was a fine hobby and said that she used to collect salt and pepper shakers too!
“What a dumb hobby,” Molly said to Mary Beth on the way home. “I hate salt and pepper shakers.”
“Well, fish aren’t so great either,” said Mary Beth. “You don’t like anything.”
Molly felt hurt. She wanted to cry. Did she really hate everything? Was she going to fight with her best friend over some dumb salt and pepper shakers, of all things?
“My mother collects them too,” Mary Beth went on, “and she collects little silver spoons from every state.”
Molly wondered what she used all those spoons for. It must be like the shakers: nothing. Just to look at.
“Well, I don’t hate them,” said Molly.
“Yes, you do,” said Mary Beth.
Now it was Mary Beth who was hurt. Before Molly could say anything else, her friend turned the corner and ran toward her own home without even saying good-bye.
“Rat’s knees!” shouted Molly out loud to no one. “I have no baby fish, and my best friend is mad at me!”
Molly kicked the curb as she crossed the street. It wasn’t a good day.
And when she got home, her orange goldfish was dead.
CHAPTER
5
Trying Again
At first Molly thought her fish was sleeping. But when she gave him food, he didn’t eat it. He just lay on top of the water, and his bright orange didn’t look bright anymore.
“My fish died!” called Molly to her mom and dad.
They came to look.
“And I took good care of him,” Molly said, sobbing.
“It was nothing you did,” said Mr. Duff. “Pets die. Maybe he was an old fish, or maybe he missed the other fish. It could have been anything.”
Molly’s dad scooped the fish out of the bowl and took it away. Now the girl fish looked lonely. She swam around through the seaweed, looking for her friend.
“How can I have babies now?” said Molly.
Her mother and dad had no answer for that.
The next day Molly’s dad came home from work with a plastic bag full of water, and in the water was a brand-new fish that looked something like the first one, except that the new one had black marks on his tail.
“This one looks healthier,” said her dad. He emptied the bag into the bowl.
“He’s pretty,” admitted Molly. She gave her dad a hug. Maybe there was hope for babies yet.
“If at first you don’t succeed …” said her father.
“Try, try again,” said her mother.
Molly fed her fish every morning. And every evening she looked for babies. But instead of baby fish, there seemed to be baby snails. One, two, three, four snails. Before long there were thirty snails, and then Molly stopped counting. Pretty soon she could hardly see the fish because there were so many snails.
Mrs. Duff shook her head. So did Mr. Duff.
“Maybe you should sell snails instead of fish,” he suggested.
But no one wanted to buy snails. They were not pretty, and they did not swim, as fish did. And surely her grandparents would not want snails for a present!
Now she had a new problem, and she couldn’t even talk it over with her best friend, because her best friend wasn’t talking to her. Molly’s eyes filled with tears, and after her parents left, she tried to take the snails out of the bowl with the little fishnet. No matter how many she took out, there seemed to be just as many remaining.
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As she was lying on her bed feeling sad, she saw her fish book on the bookshelf. She had forgotten all about it. She took it off the shelf and opened it.
Chapter one was about setting up the aquarium. Molly did not have an aquarium. She had a fishbowl. She did not have a charcoal filter. She did not have a heater. Or a light. Or a thermometer.
“No wonder my fish died!” she said out loud.
She showed the book to her parents.
“It looks like we should have read this before we got the fish,” said her dad.
“Raising fish is harder than we thought,” said Mrs. Duff.
“ ‘Snails in the aquarium keep the sides of the aquarium clean,’ ” read her father. “ ‘But beware of too many snails. A catfish or algae eater can do the same job and not multiply as fast.’ ”
“What does it say to do if you already have too many snails?” asked Molly.
Her dad paged through the book.
“Snail killer,” he said.
“I don’t want to kill those baby snails!” said Molly.
“It says goldfish rarely breed in a fishbowl,” said Mr. Duff.
“Maybe there’s another hobby that you’d like better,” said Molly’s mother kindly.
How could her mother say that about her extra-clever hobby? The hobby it took her so long to find? The hobby she had spent all her money on?
“I don’t want another hobby!” shouted Molly. “I want to raise fish!”
She ran to her room and threw herself onto her bed. In a little while her dad came in.
“You are taking this whole hobby thing too seriously,” he said. “Hobbies are supposed to be fun. They don’t have to be perfect.”
So Mary Beth was right. She was being a baby about this.
“I’ll try to find a new home for them if you want to try something else,” he said.
Molly nodded.
Her father took the fishbowl and the fish book and the food away.
Molly knew what she had to do. She had to tell Mary Beth she was sorry she criticized her mother’s hobby. And she had to find a new hobby for herself, even if it wasn’t perfect. Even if she wasn’t wild about it. She had to get that badge.