Hazy Bloom and the Pet Project

by Jennifer Hamburg

  • laying out more materials

  • testing every single power tool known to man

  • deciding they needed to go to the hardware store for more tools and materials

  As for me, I chose to spend my weekend sulking, moping, and imagining ways to get back at Milo.

  On Sunday afternoon, I was lying on my (not loft) bed picturing an iguana pooping in Milo’s shoes when Mom popped her head into my room. I rolled away from her. I was in no mood to talk.

  “Phone call for you, Hazy,” she said.

  “Tell Elizabeth I’ll call her later,” I grumbled.

  “It’s not Elizabeth. It’s Aunt Jenna.”

  I sat up.

  5

  Do you know what it’s like to be excited, nervous, scared, and itchy all at the same time? Because that’s how I suddenly felt. To be fair, the itchy part was just because I had gotten some fish flakes inside my sweater. But the rest of it was because of Aunt Jenna. I was finally going to talk to her about my tomorrow power. Or rather, our tomorrow power.

  Because I think Aunt Jenna has it, too.

  Let me explain. Last month, Aunt Jenna came to visit for a week. While she was here, she did a whole bunch of weird stuff—not weird like when Milo sniffs his feet after he takes off his sneakers, or weird like when The Baby says “meow” to the dog—I mean weird as in this: during the entire week, everything Aunt Jenna gave me or told me about was something I ended up needing the very next day. As in, tomorrow. The craziest part is that I didn’t even figure out she had tomorrow power until after she’d gone, so I never got to talk to her about it. Since then, I’d called her and left messages, but so far I hadn’t heard back. Until now.

  Sure, I wished she had called me sooner, but it’s like I always say: it’s better to be late than to never show up at the farm. Actually, I’ve never said that, but I’m pretty sure someone has in this type of situation. Whatever it means.

  I took the phone from Mom, my heart beating out of my chest. This was it. I was finally going to hear Aunt Jenna admit she had tomorrow power, just like me. I’d already imagined that together we’d be a team of doom-preventing superheroes with a hidden lair and secret signals and matching uniforms. I’d wondered if she’d be okay with purple.

  I put the phone to my ear, first making sure Mom was far down the hall. “Hello?”

  “Hazy Bloom!” Aunt Jenna chirped. “I am so sorry I didn’t call back sooner, but I’ve been away on a work trip.” She continued, “Do you want to hear the funniest thing?”

  If it wasn’t about tomorrow power, I did not, but I said, “Sure.”

  So Aunt Jenna launched into a long story about a cornfield, a turtle, and a twice-baked potato that I very patiently listened to and even laughed at a little (the potato part was kind of funny).

  After her story, she asked me how school was going, what the weather was like, and if I was doing anything fun this weekend.

  I answered all of her questions, then felt it was time to get to the point. “What about … you know…”

  I trailed off, hoping she would finish the sentence.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know,” she replied. “What about what?”

  I covered my mouth and whispered into the phone, like I was in a spy movie. “Our tomorrow power.”

  “Our what? I’m sorry, Hazy Bloom, I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Well, that was a curveball. I tried a different approach. “Aunt Jenna, is there anything special you want to tell me? About you? And me? And preventing doom?”

  “Doom? Well, I’ve started planting an herb garden, but I accidentally put the oregano in the parsley section and the mint where the basil should be, if that’s what you mean! I’m also growing rosemary and cilantro and…”

  Aunt Jenna rattled on, naming herbs I’d never heard of, but I was NI (not interested).

  Number one, if there is anything more boring than lumber, it’s herbs.

  Number two, why was she saying she didn’t have tomorrow power?

  In the background, I heard Aunt Jenna’s doorbell ring.

  “Oh! My friends are here to see the garden. Call me again soon, okay?”

  That was it?

  “Oh, and Hazy Bloom?” From her voice, it seemed like something had just occurred to her.

  “Yes?”

  “Remember to drink water at school, okay? Love you!” And she hung up.

  So much for discussing matching uniforms.

  I was seriously confused. Why would Aunt Jenna say she didn’t know what I meant? Did she know what I meant? Or was I completely wrong about Aunt Jenna having tomorrow power after all?

  Also, why was she talking about water?

  I flopped back onto my bed to continue my sulking-and-moping marathon, especially given the pointless conversation I’d just had. Outside my door, I could hear Milo on the phone, telling his friend about his cool new bed, which once again reminded me of the iguana I wasn’t getting. I considered opening my door and hurling my pillow at his head, but I stopped at the last minute because a) I really liked that pillow, and b) I suddenly realized exactly how I could get my iguana. I just had to prove to my parents that I was the most responsible kid on the planet. I could totally do it! And I’d start by picking up the heap of clothes on my floor.

  But before I got through a single layer of shirts (so that’s where my sparkly mermaid hoodie was!), I was interrupted by the familiar sensation of prickles and goose bumps, and next thing I knew, I was staring at a series of letters and symbols that made no sense at all:

  6

  Luke was doing his chair-kicking thing again. Every time I’d write something on my fractions worksheet, he’d kick the back of my seat and make my pencil skid across the page. As a result, my equation looked like this:

  Luke does this kind of thing for one reason and one reason only: to be annoying. This is why I call him “Mapefrl,” which stands for “most annoying person ever, for real live.”

  I’ve known Mapefrl since kindergarten and had been sure he couldn’t get any more annoying. But it turns out, due to the chair-kicking thing, he could. Who knew?

  “All right, everyone. Papers forward!” Mrs. Agnes said.

  I quickly erased my scribble scrawl caused by Mapefrl and handed off my paper. I thought about complaining to Mrs. Agnes and requesting a new seat assignment, which shouldn’t have been difficult since they do it on airplanes all the time—but then I thought better of it. The truth was, I didn’t want to waste time dealing with Mapefrl when I had more important things to do, like studying my hand. Because that’s where I’d written the series of weird letters that had appeared in my vision the day before. I had meant to write them on a piece of paper, but I couldn’t find one on account of my room looking like a hurricane had blown through (I hadn’t gotten very far with the heap of clothes). So I ended up grabbing a marker and writing on the back of my hand as neatly and clearly as possible, then made sure not to use that hand for anything until the next day, which, let me tell you, is not easy when you’re doing your business on the toilet.

  The good news is, twelve hours later (or ½ of one day, if you’re practicing your fractions), I had managed to not smudge the word at all. It was still as clear as day. And it still made absolutely no sense. Total gibberish. Luckily, right after math we have free time. Now was my chance to figure it out.

  Then, as usual, Mrs. Agnes ruined everything.

  “Instead of free time today, we’re going to discuss our ideas for the Third-Grade FUNdraising Challenge!”

  So, about this FUNdraising Challenge. It was a big deal. Each of the three third-grade classes would be spending the next few weeks coming up with a unique and original FUNdraising event, planning that event, then hosting the event for the entire school, and when it was all over, the class that raised the most money would be declared the FUNdraising Challenge winner. The point is, it didn’t seem that fun, so I would recommend they change the name.

  Clearly, Mrs. Agnes did not agre
e, because she was now excitedly wheeling out her whiteboard, which she only uses to write important things like “Spelling quiz tomorrow!” or “Field trip forms!” or “Be inquisitive!” which, if you ask me, is a hard thing to do when it’s being demanded of you. In any case, while Mrs. Agnes was getting out five different-colored dry-erase markers, Mapefrl kicked my chair again, so I whirled around and swatted at him.

  “Hazel! Luke! Please behave,” Mrs. Agnes scolded. “We have a lot to talk about today and I don’t want any distractions.”

  I scowled at Luke and turned back around.

  Mrs. Agnes gleefully wrote “FUNdraiser” on her whiteboard, then turned to the class. “So! Who has ideas for our class fundraiser?”

  “Me! I have ideas! I’ve put together a list and made copies for everyone. I’ll hand them out!”

  I’ll give you one guess who that was. Yup. Elizabeth. She jumped up from her chair and started handing out sheets of paper to each row. Mrs. Agnes looked a little bummed, probably because now she had nothing to write on her whiteboard.

  I took a sheet from Elizabeth and read through her ideas:

  If it occurred to you that everything on this list was alike in exactly one way, you’d be right: they were all opportunities for Elizabeth to perform. I, for one, was perfectly fine with any of these ideas, especially the magic show, because I have a card trick that would blow your mind, for real live.

  Unfortunately, the rest of the class didn’t feel the same way. Over the next five minutes, everyone discussed Elizabeth’s ideas one by one. And by “discussed,” I mean “said no to.”

  I could tell she was disappointed. But not as disappointed as Mrs. Agnes, who still had nothing to write on her whiteboard. Soon it was almost lunchtime and we had exactly zero ideas.

  Mrs. Agnes said to take a quick break and then we’d continue.

  I was stretching my legs when I suddenly remembered what Aunt Jenna had said about drinking water. At first I thought about ignoring her advice because I a) still didn’t understand why she said it, b) was still a little mad at her for not having tomorrow power after all, and c) wasn’t thirsty. But after a moment, I changed my mind. I’m not sure why. I just felt like I should do it.

  I went to the classroom sink, grabbed a paper cup, and filled it up. As I took a sip, I stared in the mirror above the faucet. And that’s when I saw the reflection of my hand, and the gibberish that was written on it. Except now I could see that it wasn’t gibberish at all. It was a word—or words—in reverse. And in the mirror, I could read them perfectly.

  “Pet … day,” I said to myself slowly. “Pet. Day. Pet Day.”

  Derrick, whose desk is right next to the sink, looked over his shoulder. “Pet Day? That’s a great idea!” Then he called to the class, “Hey, everyone, Hazy has an idea for the fundraiser!”

  I swirled around. “Wait, what?” I stammered.

  “Ooh, what is it?” said Lila, Derrick’s twin sister.

  “It’s nothing. I—”

  “Yeah, what?” May asked.

  “No really, I was just talking to my—”

  “Pet Day!” Derrick practically screamed.

  Everyone went quiet. Then they all looked at each other. And erupted in cheers.

  “Yes! Pet Day!”

  “That’s it!”

  “I love it!”

  “That’s our FUNdraiser!”

  Before I knew it, the entire class was clustered around me, ideas gushing like water from a fire hydrant a dog had just peed on and accidentally set off.

  “We can have a pet wash!”

  “And a pet fashion show!”

  “And pet treats!”

  “And pet portraits!”

  “Yes, pet portraits!”

  Mrs. Agnes jumped in. “It does sound like fun. I could bring Pookie!”

  I guessed Pookie was her pet. With that name, I hoped it wasn’t a human, for its own sake.

  As my classmates (23/23 of them, to be exact) chattered nonstop to me about all the fun pet-related things we could do, I glanced nervously at Elizabeth, hoping she’d come to my rescue. But she looked deep in thought. Maybe even a little upset. Was she mad that everyone was excited about my idea and not any of hers?

  I cleared my throat. “What do you think about Pet Day, Elizabeth?” I asked loudly, so the whole class would give her the attention she deserved.

  “I think … I think…” She paused. “I think you’ll need entertainment. And that entertainment will be me!”

  Leave it to Elizabeth! She’s the only person I know who can find a way to perform at an event featuring animals.

  After a quick classroom vote, it was settled, and Mrs. Agnes wrote in big block letters on her whiteboard: PET DAY! I imagine that must have felt very satisfying.

  I was satisfied, too. Now that I had solved my tomorrow vision, suggested a brilliant idea for our fundraiser, and pretty much booked a gig for Elizabeth, I could move on to other things, like making a plan to keep my iguana away from predatory birds (an iguana’s worst enemy).

  But then the worst thing in the entire world happened, for real live. I suddenly heard Mrs. Agnes saying that we’d need a team leader for Pet Day, and then my classmates were saying things like “It was her idea” and “She suggested it” and “She should do it!”

  Then Mrs. Agnes said this: “Well, then, it’s settled. Class, your team leader for our FUNdraiser is … Hazel Bloom!”

  I could not believe this.

  Mrs. Agnes wrote my name on the whiteboard. Everyone clapped. Except for Mapefrl, who kicked my chair again.

  I imagined I was an iguana, which are known to use their tails to punch their enemies. That would have felt very good right about then.

  7

  At lunch, even though Mom had packed my favorite sandwich—cream cheese, jelly, and pickles on wheat bread with the crusts cut off—I wasn’t hungry because I was freaking out about my new job as team leader.

  “How am I going to do this?” I wailed to my friends. “I’ve never been a team leader. I’ve never even been a regular leader!”

  “You’ve been line leader,” Lila reminded me.

  That was true.

  “But she led the line to the playground instead of art as a joke and got us all in trouble,” said Derrick

  That was also true.

  I sighed and picked at my sandwich. “I don’t want to be in charge of the fundraiser. All I want to do is go home and make a hammock for Fred.”

  “Who’s Fred?” Derrick asked.

  “My iguana. Who now I’ll never get,” I said with a sigh. I had decided “Fred” was the perfect name: strong, but sensitive.

  My friends glanced at each other. They knew how badly I wanted an iguana, because it’s pretty much all I’d been talking about lately. In fact, they were probably sick of hearing about it. But I didn’t care. At that moment I felt like complaining, so that’s exactly what I did. For the next minute (or approximately 1/30 of lunch period), I went on to grumble that because of this team-leader situation, I now wouldn’t have time to show my parents how responsible I am, and since that was the only way they would ever agree to get me an iguana, I could pretty much assume that I’d never get the pet of my dreams for as long as I live. I followed all of this with a dramatic “woe is me” sigh, just to make sure they understood my despair.

  Elizabeth turned to me, her eyes full of concern. I expected her to say something comforting and optimistic to make me feel better.

  Instead, I got this: “What happened to Annabeth Grace?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Your iguana’s name. I really think it’s better than Fred.”

  Seriously? I’d just poured my heart out in the middle of the lunchroom and this was what she was focusing on?

  Lila and Derrick started oohing and aahing about what a great name Annabeth Grace was, which did not help my mood, and then they all started blathering about Pet Day again, while I tuned them out so I could concentrate on being mise
rable.

  “Hazy Bloom, are you listening?”

  “No thanks.”

  “HAZY BLOOM!” Elizabeth looked at me. “I was saying that if you are in charge of the fundraiser … and if we win the fundraising challenge … then your parents will see that you’re the most responsible person on the planet! And they’ll get you an iguana!”

  And there you have it, folks. My genius best friend.

  A slow smile spread across my face.

  She was one hundred percent right. What would I do without her?

  It turns out I wouldn’t have to find out, because she immediately appointed herself “vice team leader,” which I don’t think is an actual job, but hey, I needed all the help I could get. Especially since I still had no idea what a team leader was supposed to do.

  8

  That night, after I finished my homework, I made a plan. Like it or not (not), I had been chosen as team leader for Pet Day, and like it or not (not), I had an obligation to fulfill my team-leader duties. I would begin by going to the family room and watching television for the rest of the night.

  I realize this may not sound like a team-leader kind of plan, but my thinking went like this: a team leader needs to be relaxed and calm so she can do team-leader-y things, and I was most definitely not relaxed and calm. Watching television, however, would help me become relaxed and calm, especially if the home-shopping channel had a good show on. I hoped they were showing those toaster ovens that can make four pizzas at once.

  I flipped on the TV and settled onto the couch. I was feeling better already.

  Then that feeling was destroyed by the most awful noise I’d ever heard.

  What in the world?

  I leaped off the couch and sped down the hallway, the noise getting louder and more horrible by the second.

  I entered Milo’s room. Milo was steadying a worktable while Dad attempted to saw a piece of wood. They were both wearing giant, goofy protective goggles. On the floor, a bunch of wood pieces were scattered among the tools and other materials.