by Jodi Kendall
She reached for her eyeglasses on the nightstand. “Okay, what’s this about?” she whispered. “Is everything all right?”
I fell to my knees, feeling more desperate with every passing minute. “I need to talk with someone at the paper tomorrow,” I whispered, so as not to wake up Sarah and Amelia. My eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and I saw Ellen’s eyebrows pinched together in worry. “It’s urgent,” I continued. “But I need your help, too. I have an idea. Will you help me? Before it’s too late?”
I wasn’t making much sense, but I was so tired and worried that I couldn’t quite form the words the way I was thinking them. Ellen stared into my eyes for a moment, not saying anything. Then, softly, she whispered, “Is this about Hamlet, Josie?”
A knot formed in my throat. I couldn’t speak. The sun would be up soon, and then it’d be my very last day with Hamlet ever, ever, ever, unless I came through and saved Hamlet’s life.
“We’re her family, whether she stays with us or not, and family is family! I want to do something—something big—to save her life. But I can’t pull it off without your help. And Sarah, Amelia, and Tom, too. Please?”
“You’ve never asked me for my help before.”
There was the hint of surprise in Ellen’s voice and maybe a little sadness, too. When was the last time I’d done something alone with Ellen? I couldn’t remember. We barely talked these days. I figured she thought I was this annoying kid sister who she had nothing in common with. . . . But maybe she’d been feeling left out lately, too.
“I’m asking you now,” I said. “Help me distract Mom and Dad in the morning so I can loop the bike chain at the Three Stoops and call a meeting. And I need my siblings there. Please?”
My older sister’s lips curled into a slow smile, like she was proud of me but wasn’t quite sure how to say it. She reached for my hand and I knew she was in.
“Get some sleep, Josie,” she said, giving me a squeeze. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
Chapter 28
TICK TOCK
It was the biggest meeting ever held at the Three Stoops. My three sisters squished together on the redbrick steps, alongside Lucy, the twins, and Sully, while Lou and Tom leaned against the front gate. The sounds of cars cruising down the street and kids gossiping on the stoop filled our ears, until finally I clapped my hands together to bring everyone to attention.
“I know you’re all wondering what’s going on,” I said, standing tall in the sunshine. “But I realized something important last night about Operation Home for Hamlet. All these phone calls and posters? People aren’t connecting because they don’t care. Those animal sanctuaries and horse farms probably talk to a hundred kids a day about a hundred other pigs. They’re tired of the same old requests over and over. Hamlet means nothing to them. But she means the world to me. If people care about Hamlet like I do, they’re more likely to help her. We need to show people how special she is.”
Sully’s face lit up. “You’re right!” he said, raising his pencil to his chin. “Hamlet needs buzz.”
“Totally.” I nodded. “We need to think through all the things we love about Hamlet so we can spread her message far and wide. Sully, write these down!”
“She’s really sweet,” began Lucy. “She’s always licking my hand, even when I don’t have snacks to give her.”
“She’s curious,” said Ellen. “Remember when she opened the fridge by herself? She’s a very intelligent animal.”
“And she’s super nice to Sugar,” Amelia pointed out. “She loves snuggling with her in front of the fire.”
“I think it’s cool that her tail curls and uncurls when you scratch her back,” added Carlos.
“She’s getting better at catching the Frisbee,” chimed in Lou. I noticed he was wearing the upcycled gift of my brother’s old football jersey.
“Hamlet can catch a Frisbee?” said Tom. “Awesome.”
“Yeah!” echoed Amelia. “She got four out of ten tosses yesterday. Hamlet’s super athletic. Maybe you could play Frisbee with us sometime?” she said, looking up at my brother.
“Sure, Millie! After we do sprints,” Tom said, giving her two thumbs-up. “I need to see that speed I’ve been hearing about.”
“I like how Hamlet closes her eyes and just relaxes when you give her a warm bubble bath,” said Sarah, redirecting the conversation.
I turned toward her in surprise. “You’ve given her a bath? I thought you didn’t like Hamlet!”
“So maybe I bathed her a few times when you were at gymnastics practice,” Sarah said, shrugging. “And maybe it was sort of fun. I blame PSAT studying for a brief lapse in sanity.”
Ellen laughed. “Oh, I don’t think you can blame it all on the PSAT,” she said, elbowing Sarah playfully.
I grinned at the sight of my two older sisters getting along. “Okay everyone, this is a good start. So, here’s my idea about what to do next . . .”
Once I ran through the plan, everyone started talking at once.
“We could make a website, too,” suggested Fernanda. “I know all about that from my girls’ technology club. We’ve been learning coding.”
“I’ve got new photos and videos to send you!” said Lucy, pulling out her cell phone and tapping through her albums. “I have the cutest photo of Hamlet sleeping next to Sugar. . . .”
“What if we made, like, a movie trailer to put on the website, too?” Fernanda continued, her voice rising in excitement. “Maybe we could post it on Facebook to help get the word out. Or YouTube?”
“I’m not allowed to have accounts until I’m thirteen,” I told them. “But maybe you guys would share it?” I looked at my older siblings.
“Ah, yes, that’s where I can come in,” Tom said. “Social media is my specialty. Gonna be verified on Twitter reallllll soon.”
“Sure you are,” Sarah said, laughing. “No problem, Josie. We can definitely help spread the word online.”
“Maybe my mom could post something on her clinic’s website, too?” Lou suggested.
“Good idea!” said Amelia.
I turned toward my older sister. “Ellen, can you place an ad in the paper to run in tomorrow’s issue?”
“I think I can pull a few strings.” She winked. “I’ve been with the paper a long time. Maybe they’ll even do it for free.”
Sarah leaned against the brick foundation of the townhouse. “We’re going to need a lot of supplies to make this happen, guys,” she said. “And I know just the place to find them.”
Amelia’s eyes lit up. “Maybe Doug can help out, too! He doesn’t need his lights anymore.”
“He did a good job this Christmas, that Doug,” sighed Tom, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m not ready to say good-bye to him.”
Sully looked up from his notebook. “Who’s Doug?”
“Our Douglas fir,” said Ellen and Sarah at the same time.
“Jinx!” cried Amelia.
“Okay, okay.” I laughed, cracking my knuckles. “Stoops crew, if you all handle the computer stuff today, the Shillings can take it from there.”
“Tonight, after Mom and Dad fall asleep, you can count on us,” Tom said. “I might need someone to wake me up, though.” He grinned sheepishly. “I tend to sleep through alarms.”
“Another one of your specialties?” Sarah elbowed him.
My brother grinned. “Bingo.”
“Yep, don’t worry, Josie! We’ve got the website covered,” said Lucy, wrapping her arm around Fernanda’s shoulders. “Easy peasy.”
I felt my spirits lift. Hamlet still had a chance. Even if it was a small one, it was something. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight, and I had my friends and family to help me.
That night, Ellen set her alarm for 1:00 a.m., so we could get started when our parents were fast asleep. When she tapped my shoulder and said gently, “Josie! Wake up!” I bolted upright in bed and met my siblings for our secret meeting in the living room.
“Who’s brewing
the coffee?” joked Tom, running his hands through wild hair.
“Don’t you dare touch that coffee grinder!” I warned him. “You’ll wake up Mom and Dad and ruin the whole thing!”
He laughed. “Kidding, kidding . . .”
“There’s no time to lose, shortcake,” whispered Sarah, motioning toward Mom’s craft closet. We grabbed old yarn and ribbon before combing through the downstairs bathroom cabinet for cotton balls. Then Sarah retrieved a stuffed plastic bag, hidden behind the fridge.
“What’s that?” Ellen asked.
“Payday supplies,” Sarah said, pulling out the biggest bag of cotton balls I’ve ever seen.
“Sarah! This is amazing!” I cried, giving her a hug.
“Good thinking,” said Ellen, and Sarah grinned.
“This is quite touching, but I’ll get started with unwinding Doug’s lights,” said Tom, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Ellen, I need your help.” The two oldest kids worked on taking down the Christmas tree lights while the rest of us started on Hamlet’s Cave.
Even though she was much too big for it now, Hamlet still ate her food and drank water beneath the stairs, and the overhang of the stairway was the perfect spot for our masterpiece.
My eyes grew heavier with each passing minute, but cutting through scrap paper and stretching out cotton balls and doing it all with my siblings by my side somehow made me feel stronger.
We worked until two in the morning, and Hamlet’s Cave transformation was complete. After we were done and everyone drifted off to their beds, I barely slept a wink, lying on the couch with Hamlet and Sugar resting on the floor, staring into the twinkling Christmas lights now decorated across the stairwell, hoping that some of Tree Day’s magic still lingered in the air.
Chapter 29
HAMLET’S WEB
Before anyone woke up, I cleaned up the mess from last night, started coffee brewing for my parents, and microwaved a frozen pumpkin waffle. And then I waited until floorboards overhead creaked, listening for the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
I led Hamlet back to her Cave, and we sat down.
“Josie?”
Dad stood at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a bathrobe and his favorite blue slippers, and rubbed his eyes. His eyes darted from me, to Hamlet, and then to everything us Shilling kids had made.
I moved toward Dad, handing him a steaming cup of black coffee, and admired our work. It felt like I was seeing it for the first time, even though I was exhausted and worried and still a little bit hungry, too.
Twinkling Christmas lights framed the scene, like a giant painting. Twisted, colored pipe cleaners arched across the hallway. Tissue streamers fluttered down from the ceiling, flanked by two dangling fly swatters that were attached to old plant hooks. Mounds of cotton balls, stretched thin and wide, created a massive web above us. Carefully, in the center of the web, a red velvet ribbon spelled out one single word in delicate cursive.
Heart
“Josie, what is this?” Dad said in awe.
“Hamlet’s Web.”
“You made all this?”
“We all did,” I said, nodding toward the ceiling, where my sisters and brother slept upstairs. “Just like Charlotte.”
Dad’s eyebrows softened, erasing the crease across his forehead. “Josie, I—” Dad started, but then Amelia slid down the banister screaming, “Wheeeeeeee!” before collapsing into a pile at the bottom of the steps.
“Morning!” she said. “Wow! It looks even better in the daytime!”
Dad stared at the web. “How did you girls even reach that high?”
“Stood on a chair. Sometimes being tall has its benefits.” I laughed. “Besides, having Tom around is like having a ladder handy.”
Suddenly the whole house erupted in noise. Sarah was yelling about a missing sweater until finally Ellen admitted to borrowing it, to which Sarah didn’t even get mad or anything, she just said, “That’s fine.” Mom called downstairs asking about the morning newspaper, and Sugar barked at the back door, wanting to be let out.
Dad took another sip of coffee. “Josie, I know today’s going to be a hard day for you. It’s a beautiful thing you all did for Hamlet, honey. I’m so proud of you. Let’s take a photo so you always have it, okay? Why don’t you and Hamlet go stand beneath the web.”
I nodded, leading Hamlet over to her Cave and wrapping my arms around her neck. Dad clicked off a few pictures.
“It’s almost eight,” I said, checking the clock in the kitchen. My nerves were beginning to set in. What if the plan didn’t work? “Will you get everyone together while I take her outside? So they can all say good-bye to Hamlet?”
Dad nodded. “Sure, sweetie.”
“Okay. I’ll be with Hamlet and Sugar out back for a bit,” I said, heading toward the back door and overhearing Mom exclaim from the bottom of the stairs, “Oh my goodness, would you look at this!”
Time seemed to move forward in slow motion. With every passing minute, I felt anxiety brewing in my stomach, and it was so much stronger than I’d experienced from gymnastics.
At eight o’clock on the nose, we heard the sputter of an old engine out front. I raced to the bay window and pulled back the curtains. A man had double-parked an oversized pickup truck on the street. There was a giant metal crate sitting on the bed of the truck.
He flipped on his flashers so that the city traffic would pass him in the other lane. I glanced over at Ellen, who was sitting on the couch with an open book. She met my eyes. “No one else is here,” I said, feeling my words catch in my throat. “It’s too late. It didn’t work!”
I felt my heart rate skyrocket. The doorbell rang. Dad smoothed his palms on the front of his jeans and opened the door wide.
“Hello, you must be Reggie Grimson,” Dad said. “I’m Stephen Shilling and this is my wife and children—”
“Good morning,” I heard him reply. “Is the pig in a crate somewhere?”
Mom cleared her throat. “No, we don’t keep her in a crate. She lives in the house with us. In her cave.”
“Cave?”
I imagined Dad’s face turning red as he explained, “Under the stairs.”
I rounded the corner and finally got a good look at Hamlet’s new owner. In my mind, Reggie Grimson was going to be this big, scruffy guy, wearing denim overalls and chewing on a piece of hay. But he couldn’t have been more different.
Grimson wore a crisp suit, as if he’d just left a breakfast business meeting. Behind him stood a big guy wearing a long T-shirt and jeans, clutching a choke collar and long chain leash in one hand.
My heart began to race. This wasn’t happening how I’d planned! I backed slowly down the hall toward Hamlet’s Cave and carefully linked my thumb between her leather collar and the hairy skin of her throat. There was no way she was going home with this Grimson guy. We’d sneak out the back door and run down the block if we had to!
“Would you like a hot cup of coffee?” Dad asked. “We just brewed a pot. Our family would like the opportunity to get to know you better; as I’m sure you know, we’re quite attached to Hamlet.”
“Double-parked,” said Grimson, motioning out to the truck. “We’ll just take her and go, if you don’t mind. We have other collections on the agenda this morning.”
“Collections?” Mom raised an eyebrow. Dad also looked taken back by his words and tone.
“Josie? What’s going on?” Tom said from behind me. I spun on my socks. He must’ve just finished showering. His longish hair was wet and slicked back, and he was wearing a button-down shirt and khakis, like he was headed to church.
“Mr. Grimson is here.” His name felt like poison on my lips.
Tom grimaced in disapproval. “And where is—”
Dad stood there like a stone statue, blocking Mr. Grimson from entering the house, but also not closing the front door at the same time.
I understood that uncertainty about what to do next. If Hamlet stayed in the house, someone from animal control would
come pick up Hamlet tomorrow anyway, and the government would give my parents a massive fine and a citation breaking the law.
But if Hamlet left with Reggie Grimson . . .
My sisters watched from the living room with wide, worried eyes. Mom moved to stand alongside Dad, widening their human wall. Tom edged closer to me and patted Hamlet’s head reassuringly.
I swear, my heart beat so loudly it echoed throughout the whole house.
And then it happened.
Chapter 30
LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!
A bright light shone into the house, and a solid red light caught my eye. It was a video camera!
“It is here, in a small townhouse in the busy Northeast neighborhood, where a farm pig has stolen the hearts of many,” said a soft but firm voice. A tiny woman with hair combed into a tight bun appeared in our doorway, squeezing between Grimson and his employee. The microphone and light followed her, and a cameraman came into view. “Evette Waters, reporting live from the scene, as this domesticated creature is about to be removed from the city limits and transferred to her new, legal abode . . .”
My heart soared. Was this really happening?!
“The oldest son, Tom, saved a runt piglet from slaughter, and it is here where the pig found refuge . . .”
“What’s going on?” Grimson grumbled, lifting a palm to block the bright, artificial light from his eyes.
“I have no idea—” Dad started, but Tom called out, “Here I am! I’d be happy to answer your questions!” My brother popped the collar of his shirt and strode down the hallway.
Evette leaned the microphone his way. “Tell us, Tom,” she said gravely. “Take us back to that moment on the farm.”
Tom pressed his shoulders back. “She was a small, scrawny piglet, not much more than bones, and her littermates had edged her out of the way. The farmer was going to put an end to her life, so she didn’t suffer from starvation. But that’s where I stepped in. I hid the piglet in my football helmet, took her back to my dorm room, and the rest is history.”