Except … I stare at the baby. It’s not a baby.
It’s a pig. An actual pig. A baby pig? A pig in a blanket?
Ha, ha, ha.
It’s a real-life pig in a blanket! And not a teeny, tiny hot dog that my brother would insist should be called a dog in a blanket.
He’s not wrong. It does make more sense.
I miss Jonah.
“Who are you?” the woman snaps, glaring at all four of us.
“I’m, um, Abby,” I say. “And these are my friends Penny, Frankie, and Robin.” Wait. Did I just refer to Penny as my friend?
“And you’re the Duchess,” Frankie says to the woman. “Hi!”
“Of course I’m the Duchess!” the woman mutters. “Who else would I be? Are you coming in or not? You shall tell me why you’re here while I rock the baby to sleep.”
I try to peek into the blanket to get a look at the pig, who’s wide wake. He’s pink with a little brown nose. He is pretty cute.
We walk into a kitchen. A man in a backward apron is cooking something in a big pot on the stove. And another guy is sitting at the table. He’s short and skinny, with a mustache and long hair. He’s wearing flared jeans, a fringy vest, and purple sunglasses. He reminds me of old pictures I’ve seen of my grandpa and great-uncle. Back from the … 1970s?
This guy looks around college age. I wonder if there’s college in Wonderland.
“Hi,” Robin says to the guy. She introduces herself and all of us.
“Hey. I’m Cliff.” The guy lets out a sigh.
“Who’s Cliff?” I whisper to Frankie.
“I don’t remember a Cliff in the book at all,” Frankie says, biting her fingernail. “I’m kind of confused.”
“I don’t remember a Cliff from the parts I skimmed, either,” Penny whispers.
“And there’s no Cliff in the movie,” Robin adds, also in a whisper.
Weird. So where did Cliff come from? And where is Alice?
The Duchess sits down in a rocking chair near the window and rocks the baby. I mean, er, the pig-baby.
Penny steps closer to stand by the Duchess. “Who’s a cute piglet?” Penny says. “Who, who? Aww, look at its tiny piglet ears. Its cute little nose is twitching!” Her face is radiating joy. “I’ve always wanted a pig,” she says. “When I grow up, I’m going to have a farm with pigs. And goats.”
“And don’t forget horses,” Frankie says.
“Obviously horses,” Penny says, and goes back to cooing at the pig-baby.
Penny is acting like it’s totally normal for a lady in a fancy dress to be rocking a piglet. I thought she liked things that made sense?
“Oink, oink,” the pig-baby says.
“You are such a piggy!” the Duchess says a little meanly to the piglet. The piglet oinks again.
“Can I hold him?” Penny asks the Duchess.
“Please.” The Duchess passes the pig to Penny.
“You are so sweet,” Penny coos to the piglet. “Do you guys want to hold him, too?” she asks me, Robin, and Frankie.
“Um, that’s okay,” I say. The pig kind of smells like poop. “I’m not much of a pig person.”
“Where is lunch?” the Duchess calls to the cook. “The baby and I are hungry.”
“The soup is almost ready, Duchess,” the cook says, stirring the large blue pot on the stove.
Yes! The soup Frankie mentioned is about to be served. Which means maybe, hopefully, we will soon be on our way home! Yes, yes, yes!
Penny oohs and ahhs over the piglet and keeps talking about its “adorable, velvety pink ears.” Frankie and Robin finally go over to look at the pig-baby, too.
I walk to the stove to check out the soup. It’s bubbling away, and is a pretty golden color. Whew. Maybe we can finally eat something normal.
“Do you know what this soup needs?” the cook asks.
“What?” I ask.
“Pepper.” He takes out a mill and starts to add pepper to the soup. And more pepper. And even more pepper. The soup is turning black with pepper. Pepper is somehow flying around the room.
“Achoo!” sneeze Robin, Frankie, and Penny.
“Oink-choo!” sneezes the pig-baby.
“Achoo!” sneezes the Duchess. “That’s enough pepper.”
But the cook doesn’t stop grinding.
“I said that’s enough pepper,” the Duchess repeats, her voice rising.
The pepper tickles my nose. “Achoo!” I sneeze. It really is enough pepper.
“Everyone likes pepper,” the cook says, continuing to grind. At this point, the pot looks like it has more pepper in it than soup. “Yum-yum,” he says.
The Duchess jumps over to the cook and pulls on his arm. “Enough!”
The sudden motion makes the cook yank his arm back, and suddenly the entire pot of soup tips over. Black-brown pepper soup floods the floor. The pot is resting upside down in the middle of the mess.
“Nooo!” I yell. “That was our way home!”
The Duchess slips on the soup, flies backward, and lands on her behind. “Ouch!”
This is not good. Not good at all.
“But we have to eat the soup!” I call out.
Frankie and Robin and I look at one another, concern in our eyes. Penny is too busy cooing at the pig-baby.
“What do we do?” Frankie asks.
The three of us look down at the soup-coated floor.
Then we all grimace.
“No,” I say. Is that our only option? Are we going to have to — ugh — lick the floor?
Frankie makes a face.
No. Way. We can’t do it. We cannot lick the floor. I would rather stay in Wonderland than lick the floor.
If only Prince were here. He’d lick the floor.
Hey, so would Jonah.
Suddenly, Frankie’s eyes light up. “The pot! We can lick the pot!”
“Of course,” I say. “The pot! I’ll lick the pot!” I love licking pots. At home, I’m always asking to lick the pot. Usually, there’s mac and cheese in it, but beggars can’t be choosers. I pick the pot up off the floor. “Ouch!”
It’s hot.
Wait a sec. I don’t lick the pot at home. I lick the bowl. Or the spoon. Plus, if I lick the pot now, I will burn my tongue off. “We have to wait until it cools down,” I say.
“Oink-choo!” sneezes the pig.
“Bless you,” says Penny.
“Is someone going to clean that up?” the Duchess asks.
“It was your fault,” huffs the cook.
Frankie sits down at the table right across from Cliff. He’s been quiet this whole time.
“So who are you, again?” she asks him. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t remember you from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.”
“I wasn’t in the original book,” Cliff says. And then he sneezes.
“Gesundheit,” says the Duchess.
“Bless you,” Frankie says, and Cliff nods. “I know,” she tells him. “Then why are you here? How are you here?”
All of a sudden, I hear a noise outside. I glance out the window and see a bunch of card-people in the distance. The Eight, Nine, and Ten of Clubs are approaching the house. Ack!
“Uh, guys, we’re going to have to go really soon,” I say. I quickly stick my index finger inside the pot — luckily it’s not too hot anymore — and then I lick my finger.
That’s a lot of pepper.
I swallow and I wait, closing my eyes. Then I sneeze.
“Gesundheit,” the Duchess says.
“Since I heard that, I guess I am still here,” I say.
“You are,” says Frankie.
There’s banging on the front door.
Crumbs.
“We have to leave,” I tell Penny. “Come on, give the Duchess back the pig-baby. The cards are here!”
“But he likes me,” Penny says and makes a sad face.
“Who is it?” asks the Duchess, heading for the door.
“We’re looking for the thieve
s!” screams Ten. “The tart thieves!”
“Are there any tart thieves here?” the Duchess asks, turning around to face the rest of us.
“No,” Frankie, Robin, and I all say at the same time. Penny keeps cooing at the pig-baby.
“Penny,” I whisper. “We have to go. Now.”
Penny makes another sad face and passes the pig-baby back to the Duchess.
“Oink!” screams the pig.
“I wish I could go, too,” Cliff says sadly. “I was trapped! And now I’m stuck here forever!”
I freeze at the word trapped. “Who trapped you?” I ask him.
“An evil fairy,” he says.
An evil fairy? What? Could Cliff be trapped here the same way Maryose is trapped in the magic mirror in my basement?
But what raisin — reason — did an evil fairy have for trapping him here?
I glance out the window. The cards look like they’re about to push through the front door.
“Cliff!” I say. “We’re trying to escape, too. Come with us!”
“There’s no way out,” he says.
“There is!” I exclaim. “We just have to swallow the right thing. The Cheshire Cat told us so.”
“I’ve tried that,” he says. “I’ve swallowed everything. The Cheshire Cat gave me the same riddle he gave you. And I’ve been stuck here for over forty years.”
My heart sinks. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, man,” he says. “As serious as Watergate.”
Huh?
There’s no time to figure out what he’s talking about. We’ve got to run.
Penny, Robin, Frankie, and I sprint through the forest until we’re wheezing and out of breath. I don’t hear footsteps behind us. I think we lost the cards. That was close. This is getting scary. We have to find our way out before they catch us.
I like my head just where it is. On my neck.
“We need to get to the rabbit’s house,” Frankie says, panting a little. “That may be our last chance to swallow the right thing.”
“Let’s rest for a minute first,” Robin suggests, holding her side.
We find a shady spot to hide. The four of us sit on a bed of fuchsia and electric blue leaves in a shallow ditch, hidden from the path by bushes.
I can’t stop thinking about Cliff. Who trapped him, exactly? Was he really cursed? Did the same fairy who cursed and trapped Maryrose curse and trap Cliff? Could we get cursed and trapped, too? Is there really no way out?
Why are we here anyway? What if it wasn’t Maryrose who brought us to Wonderland?
“Oh, yay!” Robin says.
“What are you yaying about?” I ask. I am not feeling anything to yay about.
“He’s back!” Robin cheers. She’s motioning directly across from us.
I look over. The Cheshire Cat is there, resting on his side, on a thin brown branch.
Frankie jumps up. “It’s the Cheshire Cat! Most of him, anyway. I don’t see his tail.”
“Then you’re not looking hard enough,” the cat responds. His tail — which really wasn’t there a second ago — swishes out from underneath him.
Penny crosses her arms over her chest. She’s about as excited by the riddle-speaking cat as I am. Not very.
“Mr. Cat,” I say. “Do you know Cliff?”
“Sure do,” the cat responds.
“He said he’s been trying to find the right swallow for decades and hasn’t been able to.”
“There’s cliff now,” the cat says and lifts his furry chin.
What? I whirl around. I don’t see Cliff. I only see … an actual cliff behind us. The cat laughs.
Penny groans.
“I didn’t mean a cliff-cliff,” I say. “I mean the guy named Cliff. Do you know him or not? He’s wearing bell-bottom jeans? He has brown hair?”
“The hare is with the Hatter,” says the cat.
“No!” I say. “Hair. Brown hair? Like mine,” I add, grabbing a fistful of my curly tendrils.
The Cheshire Cat shakes his head. “If you think your hair is a rabbit, I can’t help you, child.”
I give up. Seriously, I give up.
“Mr. Cheshire Cat,” Frankie says. “Forget the hare —”
The cat eyes Frankie. “How can I forget the hair? It’s on your head. Did you forget your hair somewhere? Do you need help finding it?”
Penny slaps a hand against her forehead.
“Listen, Mr. Cat,” I say. “You told us a swallow would take us back home. So far, we’ve swallowed tarts, tea, sandwiches, leaves, potions, mushrooms, a cookie, and soup. But we’re still here.”
“Are you?” the cat says. He begins disappearing slowly, his body fading first and then his grin lingering before it vanishes, too.
Penny stomps her foot against the leaves. “Abby, you chased him away!”
“I did not! I needed to get some answers!”
Robin sits down on a log. “Abby, why can’t you and Penny just calm down? This is fun. Let’s hang out!”
“Hang out here?” I say, staring at her. “Robin, the cards are after us! The queen is going to chop off our heads!”
“All the movies have a happy ending,” she says, twirling her ponytail. “I’m sure we will, too.”
“This isn’t a movie, Robin!” Penny cries. “This is real life!”
Yeah. Exactly. I never expected to be on Penny’s side about anything. But she’s right! I’m right!
“Calm down, you guys,” Robin says. “We can’t take this out on each other.”
“This is all Frankie’s fault,” Penny grumbles.
Frankie gasps.
“Hey!” I yell, facing Penny. “She didn’t mean to fall into the hole.”
“Then she should have looked where she was going!” Penny snaps, taking a step toward me.
“You shouldn’t have made us play cards outside when it was so windy!” I retort, jabbing my finger at her. “I told you it was windy. But did you listen? Noooo.”
Frankie and Robin back away, pretending to have great interest in a berry tree.
“You’re such a know-it-all!” Penny cries.
“I’m such a know-it-all? You’re such a know-it-all. And you’re so bossy!”
“You’re the bossiest person who ever lived!” Penny says, her cheeks bright red. “And you scared the Cheshire Cat away before he could tell us how to get home!”
Suddenly, the cat reappears on the tree branch. With his big grin.
“You’re back,” Frankie says, clapping her hands together. “Mr. Cheshire Cat, can you tell us where to find the rabbit’s house?”
“It’s one thousand feet ahead and three hundred feet that aren’t right,” he says.
Huh?
“What does that mean?” Penny demands. “What’s not right?”
The cat disappears again. This time, his grin is the first to go.
“Crumbs,” Penny mutters, kicking a pebble.
Seriously? “Stop stealing my word!”
“You can’t steal a word, Abby,” she says. “But fine. I won’t say ‘crumbs’ if it means that much to you. I won’t use your precious word.”
“Good. Don’t!” If we don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to end up beheading Penny.
The cat appears again. I get excited, but he disappears just as quickly. Then appears. Then disappears.
Ah! “Stop doing that!” I yell.
“Hare today, gone tomorrow,” says the Cheshire Cat, appearing once more. “Am I or am I not?”
“Look, Mr. Cat,” Frankie says. “I’m sorry my friends are arguing. Is there anything else you can tell us about how to get home?”
“The surprise was a disguise you saw with your eyes,” the cat responds.
My head hurts. I can’t tell if he’s giving us more clues or just being annoying.
The surprise was a disguise you saw with your eyes? What does that even mean?
Before I can ask, the cat — of course — disappears.
This time, he do
esn’t come back.
One thousand feet ahead,” Frankie repeats. “How do we figure out how far that is? I’m about four feet.”
“Oh! I bet he means actual feet,” Robin says, pointing downward. “Everything he says is always the other meaning of the word.”
So we walk forward, one foot in front of the other, counting to ourselves. “Nine hundred and ninety-eight. Nine hundred and ninety-nine. One thousand!” I call out. “What’s next?”
“Three hundred feet that aren’t right,” Penny says. “Do we walk back three hundred feet? That sounds like a waste of time.”
“Do you know what’s not right?” Robin exclaims. “Left!”
“Right!” Frankie says. “I mean, smart!”
“Robin, you are really good at riddles,” I say, impressed. I didn’t know that, and I thought I knew everything about her.
She blushes happily. I guess Robin has layers, too.
We turn to the left. Luckily, there’s a path. We take three hundred more steps and then, out of nowhere, we see another house. It must be the rabbit’s house!
“Robin solved the riddle!” Frankie says. “Way to go.”
“Wahoo!” we all cheer.
As we get closer, we see that the house is more a hut than a house. It’s oval and made of stone, packed dirt, twigs, and leaves. There’s a small chimney and several windows without any glass panes. If we weren’t tiny, we would not be able to fit inside the house at all.
“Mr. Rabbit? Are you home?” Frankie asks. She knocks once, and then pushes open the door just enough for all of us to look inside.
I don’t see anyone. Or hear anyone. But the house looks cozy. There’s a yellow sofa with throw pillows and a colorful rug. Two rocking chairs. And a toy area in one corner with building blocks. We all squeeze through the door and walk inside.
I look at the walls, which are covered in framed photographs of the White Rabbit and his family. I look more closely. The rabbit is wearing a coat and eyeglasses.
“I know we came here on purpose,” I say. “But I’m not sure we should trust the rabbit. He is the one who told us to eat the tarts.”
“His house feels friendly, though,” Robin points out.
It’s true. I stop in front of the picture of two white rabbits, one in a tuxedo and the other in a long white dress and veil, about to cut a big carrot. I guess a carrot is like a wedding cake for rabbits. Other pictures show their seven children, all very cute with floppy ears. A sign above the kitchen doorway says: A CARROT A DAY KEEPS THE DOCTOR AWAY.
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