“Okay. Let’s go.”
“What were you reading?” I ask as we walk.
“Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,” Pablo says.
“Is it good?” Murph asks.
“Really good.”
“What’s it about?” I ask.
“In the beginning, everybody thinks some monster is attacking all these ships at sea, but they’re wrong. You want me to spoil it for you?”
“No,” we both say.
“The writing is sort of old-fashioned. Like Treasure Island. Did you ever read that one? It’s about pirates.”
“I’ve read it,” Murph says. “You know, for a kid who doesn’t like water, you read a lot of books about the sea.”
Pablo shrugs.
“I brought a rowboat,” Murph says. “Do you want to go out in it with us tomorrow? It seats three.”
“No, thanks,” Pablo says. He kicks a rock. “I like reading about boats and stuff, but I’m not so into being … in them.”
“Do you know how to swim?” I ask.
It gets quiet a moment, then Murph says, “Let’s get some s’mores before my sister devours them all. The girl’s a marshmallow fiend.”
Pablo looks back over his shoulder. “So is my sister. Plus, she taps on my aquariums all the time. Which drives me crazy.”
Another quiet moment.
“Aquariums?” I finally ask. “Plural?”
Before Pablo can answer, Murph yells, “S’mores!” and takes off running.
We follow him.
12. Solar energy from the moon.
That’s what Murphy claims scientists are currently working on.
“They want to put up solar panels all over the moon’s surface,” he says. “Just cover the whole moon with them.”
We’re sitting on the beach—Murph, Pablo, Buddy, Fido, and me—looking up at the moon, which is a little less than full. Even so, it’s lighting up the lake like a giant flashlight.
“How will they get the energy to Earth?” Pablo asks.
“That’s the tricky part,” Murph says. “They’re thinking very long extension cords.”
Pablo and I groan.
“What?” Murph says.
“It’s a long way to the moon,” I say. “Really long.”
“Two hundred thirty-eight thousand nine hundred miles,” Pablo says.
Murph and I look at him.
“That’s the average distance, of course,” Pablo says. “It changes during the course of the moon’s orbit. It’s closer at the perigee and farther at the apogee.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask him.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I just do.”
“It wouldn’t work even if the scientists did have extension cords that long, because both the Earth and the moon are spinning,” I say. “The cords would get all tangled up.”
“I’m just telling you what I heard,” Murph says. “Read, actually. In National Geographic.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t believe him, Pablo. He’s always making stuff up. It’s his idea of fun.”
“I only speak the truth,” Murph says as he picks up a stick and hurls it down the beach. Buddy and Fido tear after it.
“I’ve never seen a guinea pig play Fetch,” Pablo says. “Did you train her yourself?”
“No. She came that way. From the pet store.”
“Did she cost extra?”
“My mom bought her, and I don’t think she had any idea Fido acted like a dog.”
“Which store? I wouldn’t mind having one myself.”
Murph laughs. “You and everyone else at our school!”
“So the store doesn’t have any more?” Pablo asks.
“It’s kind of a long story,” I say. “You see, my dad wouldn’t let me have a dog.… It’s hard to believe, but he doesn’t like dogs … so my mom bought me a guinea pig. My dad didn’t like the guinea pig, either.… He doesn’t like a lot of things … so he said we had to bring it back to the store. But the store wasn’t there anymore. It had closed up and moved away.”
“That’s weird,” Pablo says.
“Tell me about it. So then I discover Fido acts like a dog, and pretty soon word gets out, and everyone at school wants one …”
“Including me,” Murph says.
“But especially Dmitri,” I say. “Boy, does he want one!”
Right then Buddy starts growling.
“What is it, girl?” Murph calls out. “What do you see?”
“Isn’t she just growling at Fido?” Pablo asks.
“It’s a different growl,” I say. I like that I can tell Buddy’s growls apart. “It’s an intruder growl. Must be another animal.”
“Probably just a strange dog,” Murph says.
We go over to check and hear a peeping sound, like a bird, then a splash. A sleek, dark animal swims away from the bank, its head above the water. Buddy barks, and it dives under the surface. A long, thick tail is the last thing we see.
“An otter,” Murph says.
There are always otters at the lake.
Fido growls. She has the stick in her mouth. She beat out Buddy for it!
“Good girl!” I say, petting her head. I pry the stick out of her mouth and throw it. She and Buddy run after it.
“So Fido had a baby that acts like a squirrel?” Pablo asks.
“Yeah. She must have been pregnant when Mom bought her. It was weird, because I wanted a dog and got a guinea pig that acted like one, and Lurena wanted a squirrel and she got a guinea pig that acted like one.”
“I like tropical fish,” Pablo says. “I wonder what I’d get.”
“No point in wondering, unless you can find a Petopia,” Murph says.
“What’s a Petopia?”
“Petopia is the name of the store where my mom bought Fido,” I say. “But it disappeared.”
“I think I saw one on the way here,” Pablo says.
Murph and I gasp at the same time, then both say, “Where?”
“Jinx!” Murph says, then starts counting.
“Idaho Jinx,” I say, and he stops. That’s how we work jinxes.
“I’m not exactly sure,” Pablo says. “It was in a mini-mall, I think. I saw a sign—”
“Was it far from here?” I ask. “Which way did you come from?”
“We live in Mechanicsburg. West of here.”
“We came from Rustbury, which is the other way.” I look at Murph.
“So we wouldn’t have passed it,” he says.
“Right. Are you sure it said Petopia? Not something else? There are lots of pet stores with really punny names …”
“Like Pawsitively Pets,” Murphy says. “That’s a pet store in Wheeling …”
“I’m sure,” Pablo says. “In fact, I’m pawsitive.”
Murph laughs.
“I’ll ask my parents to stop there on our way home,” Pablo says. “I’ll tell them I want to see what fish they carry.”
“But the store will be gone by then!” Murph shouts. “We have to go sooner.”
Whoa. I hadn’t realized how much he wants a guinea dog. I don’t know why he does. He has the best actual dog in the whole world.
“Maybe we could go tomorrow,” I say. “We’d just have to talk someone’s parents into taking us.”
“I don’t know if my mom or dad would want to go looking for a pet store,” Murph says. “Maybe if I told them Pablo saw a Petopia …”
“Well, my dad won’t do it,” I say.
“How about your mom?” Murph says. “Wouldn’t she be excited to find another Petopia?”
She might be at that. She’s pretty pleased with herself for bringing home such a special guinea pig. I’m pretty pleased with her, too.
“I’ll ask, but we’d have to sneak away without Dad seeing us.”
“If you found the store, what sort of pet would you look for?” Pablo asks. “Another guinea pig?”
“I’d sure like one,” Murph says.
“So
would Lurena,” I say.
“And Dmitri,” Murph and I say together.
“Jinx,” Murph says. “One, two, three …”
“Idaho Jinx,” I say. “Listen, Pablo, we can’t let Dmitri know you saw a Petopia, okay?”
“Why?” Pablo asks.
Why don’t I want Dmitri to get his own guinea dog? Good question. Is it because his parents give him everything he wants? Because he’s spoiled rotten and a big showoff? Because he bought a guinea pig and when it didn’t act like a dog, he didn’t want it anymore? Because he’s mean and—
“Hey, Murph!” Dmitri calls from behind us. “What are you doing? I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Didn’t you hear me calling? Why are you hanging out with these two losers?”
“That’s why,” I say to Pablo.
13. Adults, rodent cages, and a girl in a long skirt.
That’s what Murph, Dmitri, and I find around the campfire when we return. None of them is my idea of fun.
What I want to do is have a word with my mom. I want to tell her about Petopia, but I don’t want my dad, Lurena, or Dmitri to hear. Unfortunately, all the parents, plus Lurena, are sitting around the campfire. My mom loves parties, which is probably one of the reasons that she invited the other two families. I’m sure to her a campout is just an excuse for a big barbecue. I know she wanted to get to know Lurena’s and Dmitri’s parents better. Murph’s she’s known for years. Why wasn’t she content with that?
When we walk up, she’s in the middle of telling a story.
“So I put the can in the paint shaker …” Mom works in the paint department at a hardware store. “… Did I mention it was pink? That this man wanted pink paint? Did I say that?”
“You did, Raquel,” Dad says without emotion. “You mentioned it thrice.”
Dmitri’s dad, Scott, is leaning back in his chair, smiling, one leg crossed horizontally over the other. He’s shaking his foot like it’s a dog’s happy tail. I don’t know what keeps his flip-flop from flying off. His wife, Carol, is not smiling. Her face is wearing a frown and an awful lot of makeup for a camping trip. She pretends to be listening to Mom’s story, but mostly she keeps stealing looks at her phone. She’s not wearing a watch. I think she’s checking the time.
“Okay, Art,” Mom goes on. “For the fourth time, it was pink … so pink … like a sunburned flamingo.”
Scott laughs.
Carol doesn’t.
“I can’t imagine what they were planning to paint with it! Maybe a … a …”
“A baby’s room?” Billie asks. Billie is Murph’s mom. She’s sitting next to my mom.
Murph’s dad, Sam, is poking at the fire with a stick. I get the feeling he’s the one who keeps it burning. He’s good at useful things like that.
Lurena’s parents are there, too. Her dad, Jimmy, has this habit of running his fingers through his very curly brown hair, which causes it to stand on end and make him look like a clown. Someone should tell him. His wife, Elaine, has straight blond hair that goes down to her waist, like Lurena’s, only whiter. She doesn’t wear old-timey clothes, though. She’s wearing normal clothes, including a white T-shirt with words on it. Her hair hides most of the letters, so I can’t read what it says.
Both of them are pretty normal, unlike their daughter. I wonder where she gets the weirdness from. Then again, my parents are both weird, and I turned out normal. Where did I get my normalness from? Maybe weirdness and normalness aren’t passed down, like eye color is.
Lurena is sitting on the ground between her parents’ chairs, peering in through the bars at her pets and talking to them in a high voice. I can’t make out what she’s saying over my mom’s loud story, which is a relief.
“But this isn’t baby-room, pastel pink,” Mom says. “This is hot pink. Anyway, I put the paint can in the shaker and I …” She laughs into her palm. “I was positive I’d hammered the lid on good and tight. I mean, I shake hundreds of cans of paint a day. I never forget.”
“No!” Scott says.
“I can see where this is going!” Billie says.
“So—splat!” Mom says, spreading her fingers really fast.
Everyone but Dad and Carol laughs. Dad’s heard it before. Carol is doing something on her phone.
“Luckily, the Plexiglas door was shut, but it was instantly painted hot pink, and then paint oozed out from around the edges. It looked like Pepto-Bismol. It took a full hour to clean it all up.”
Jimmy asks, “So you mixed them up another can of pink paint?”
Mom says yes by lifting her eyebrows. “We have two shakers.”
Everybody nods.
Her story is over. I’m hoping someone else will tell the next one, so I can steal her away.
“That’s a sweet canoe you got there, Sammy,” Jimmy says to Murph’s dad, whose name is Sam, not Sammy.
“It’s a skiff,” Sam says. “But thanks.”
Dmitri’s mom sighs aloud, then stands up. “I’m ready to turn in. Good night, all.” She walks away.
“Can I have more s’mores, Mom?” Dmitri calls after her.
“Whatever,” she says, without turning around.
Dmitri starts putting one together.
“How about me, Mom?” Murph asks Billie. “Can I have s’more s’mores?” He beams at her.
“How many have you had?” she asks.
“One?”
More like six.
“Okay, but only one more,” his mom says.
Everyone lets Murph slide. Especially his mom.
I look at my mom. She looks at my dad. I look at my dad. I don’t have to ask. It’s n’more s’mores for me.
“I need to marinate some vegetables for breakfast,” Dad says, and leaves the circle.
Here’s my chance.
I jump into his seat and whisper in Mom’s ear, “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay,” she says. “What is it?”
I look around the circle. Nothing like whispering to get everyone’s attention.
Murph holds up a stick he has stuck about eight marshmallows on.
“One more s’more!” he says with a laugh.
This distracts everyone long enough for me to tell my mom what Pablo saw.
14. The only way to get one off you is to chop off its head.
That’s how the story always goes. The beast sleeps at the bottom of the lake or pond, waiting, then you come by and—chomp!—it bites down on your ankle and refuses to let go, no matter what you do. You can drag it out of the water and beat it with a stick, and it won’t let go. You can’t pry its jaws open with a crowbar. The only thing you can do is cut off its head.
It’s an old story, one I’ve heard all my life: the story of the giant alligator snapping turtle in the lake (or pond). And I’m hearing it again, this time from Dmitri.
“You’re smart to stay out of the water,” Dmitri says to Pablo. “You don’t want one of those things to get you.”
We’ve all come down to the beach to launch the boats. Dmitri’s dad and brother are in the two kayaks, paddling away. Murph and his dad are carrying the skiff into the water. Buddy’s swimming around them. Fido’s chasing Buddy. Dmitri, Pablo, Lurena, and I are sitting together on the bank.
“It happened to a friend of mine back in Irondale,” Dmitri says.
Dmitri moved to Rustbury this year, from Irondale, which, according to him, was better than Rustbury in every way possible. I guess having confirmed alligator-snapping-turtle attacks is another example.
“I think turtle attacks are just urban myths,” Pablo says. “Did you actually see the turtle’s head after they chopped it off?”
“No,” Dmitri says, rolling his eyes. “The doctors didn’t keep it. They destroyed it. That’s what they do. Don’t you know anything?”
“I know some things,” Pablo says. “I know when someone is making stuff up, and when he’s being insulting.”
Lurena and I laugh.
Dmitri’s face turns red.
“Fido, come!” I say.
“You really should keep her on a leash,” Lurena says. “They have signs up about it.”
“They say to keep your dog on a leash,” I say. “Fido’s not a dog.”
“She’s frightening the wildlife.”
Fido pads up to me, her tongue hanging out.
“Should I keep her in a cage?” I ask as I bend down to pet her.
The ducks settle down and float peacefully on the water. Then Mars woofs and plunges in. The ducks squawk again and flap and splash.
“That one should definitely be on a leash,” Lurena says.
“He’s on vacation, too,” Dmitri says. “I’m not going to put him on a leash.” He stands up. “Hey, Murph! You ready for me?”
I don’t know why he thinks Murph is going to let him go instead of me. Murph and I are best friends, and have been since kindergarten. Dmitri can wait for one of the kayaks.
But then I think about Pablo, staying here on the shore with Lurena and the cages. Plus, I want to tell him what my mom said.
“Roof’s going first!” Murph calls back.
Good old Murph.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll wait.”
Dmitri smacks my arm with the back of his hand. “Thanks,” he says, then adds, “sucker!”
He runs into the water toward the skiff, Mars on his heels.
“You didn’t have to stay with me,” Pablo says.
“I know.” I glance at Lurena. I don’t want her to know about Petopia. “So what do you like to do here, since you don’t go into the water?”
“I look for shells and stuff,” he says, “to put in my aquariums.”
“How many aquariums do you have?” Lurena asks.
“Three,” he says.
“Big ones?” I ask.
“Two are just twenty-gallon tanks. One is a thirty-gallon hexagonal.”
“Do you have any sharks?”
“A couple.”
“Cool. Let’s go look for some shells and stuff,” I say, hoping Lurena won’t want to join us.
“I know a good spot,” she says.
Of course she does.
15. Lurena the Pest.
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