The Incredible Shrinking Girl

by Lou Kuenzler

  Normally, I’d have finished the lot. I lemonade! But now, after just three gulps, my tiny tummy was bulging. I felt bloated and full of enormous bubbles. The lemonade was freezing and my legs began to ache from paddling against the rising fizz.

  I tried to push up and grab the edge of the cup. But the rim was just out of reach. I scrabbled against the steep white sides, like the slippery walls of a giant swimming pool.

  A huge ice cube – it looked about twice as big as my head – bobbed sideways and thumped me in the chest. Down I went, plunging towards the bottom of the cup.

  I remembered a picture I’d seen in a literacy lesson at school … of the Titanic – the big ship – sinking into the ocean after it had hit an iceberg.

  Now I know how it feels, I thought.

  As my foot hit the bottom of the cup, I kicked hard, pushing myself up.

  I could drown, I thought, swimming towards the light. I could drown in Dad’s drink.

  At last I came to the surface, gasping for air. My hair was plastered to my head, sticky with lemonade.

  “DAD!” I called out, desperately trying to keep my head above the bubbles. “DAD! HELP ME, PLEASE!”

  But it was hopeless. My little shout was blotted out by the sounds of screaming and the clattering wheels of the roller coaster above my head.

  I tried to tread water, like I’d learned in swimming lessons. But me and my best friend, Nisha, always muck about during that bit. We think it’s boring. We pretend to drop our goggles so we can dive down to the bottom of the pool. Nisha pretends she’s a mermaid. I pretend I’m a shark!

  But I didn’t want to dive now. I didn’t have the strength. I could barely keep my arms moving. My tiny fingers felt like And I couldn’t even feel my toes.

  High above me I heard the theme park lady’s voice. “Follow me, sir,” she said to Dad. “Let’s go back to the queue and look for your daughter there.”

  “Good idea!” agreed Dad. His cup jerked –

  I spun in circles. A jet of liquid shot out of the cup.

  I was carried with it, flying through the air as if I were shooting off the end of a super-fast water ride. With a big wet , I hit something soft beneath me. The cup bounced away. Lemonade sploshed on to my head.

  Where am I? What just happened?

  Dazed, I looked up and saw iron mesh all around me. I tried to struggle to my feet, but slipped on a giant slice of tomato. The smell of rotten hamburger filled my nose.

  I was in a litter bin!

  Dad had thrown his cup away! … And he’d thrown me away too!

  “Wait!” I clambered on to a half-eaten burger bun. The bread felt and beneath my feet, like a giant trampoline.

  If I lost sight of Dad, I’d never find him again. Without him, I’d never be able to get home. It would take me a week just to reach the exit of the theme park.

  “COME BACK, DAD! DON’T LEAVE ME!” I bounced up and down waving my arms, shouting through the criss-crossed wire sides of the bin.

  But Dad kept on walking. He followed the theme park lady as she led him back towards the queue.

  “Stop!” I cried helplessly as he disappeared into the crowd.

  “Watch out! There’s a child in this bin!” I cried as a woman tossed a half-finished cup of strawberry milkshake away and hurried on past. The thick pink liquid splashed over me like the wave machine ever.

  “Yuck!”

  I dodged sideways but was hit from behind by a shower of popcorn raining down like giant balls in a ball pit.

  “Doesn’t anybody ever finish their food?” I yelped as half a hot dog followed.

  By now I was nearly buried under dark and dingy litter. It was like being lost in a giant haunted house or theme park spooky castle.

  As I poked my head out from behind a chip packet, a fat, shiny fly swooped down and landed on me. Its huge hairy bum covered my face as it slurped pink milk from my hair like a

  “Yuck! Buzz off!”

  The fly flapped away, looking surprised.

  Something big rustled inside a pizza box beside me.

  Was it a rat? Mum says rats are always sniffing in bins looking for scraps.

  “Just stay where you are!” I said to the whatever-it-was. I’d seen the size of flies compared to me… If they were like bats, a rat would be like a horse. Or a dinosaur … a No thank you. I wasn’t hanging around for that.

  The pizza box rustled again.

  I leapt on to the wire mesh round the side of the bin and began to climb towards the top. As I glanced back, I thought I saw a black beady eye looking up at me.

  The sharp wire dug into my hands. I tried to get a foothold in each little triangle of mesh as I scrambled higher and higher.

  Charlie Hudson in my class had a climbing wall party last term. I went right to the very top where only grown-ups are supposed to go. But then, I had a harness on … and an instructor … and the climbing wall wasn’t covered in slimy hamburger grease.

  “Whoops!” My hand slipped. I lost my grip and almost tumbled right back down into the pit of flies (and possibly giant TyRATosaurus) below.

  “I’ve really got to get out of here!” I groaned, swinging helplessly by one arm. “I’ve got to get back to Mum and Dad.”

  I had a good grip again and climbed about halfway up the wire mesh of the litter bin when I spotted Mum running down the path.

  She was sprinting back towards calling my name. “Violet? Violet? Where are you?” Her face wasn’t as green as a cabbage any more – it was as white as a rice cake (another of her favourite healthy foods, as it happens). She was dodging in and out of the crowd, trying to spot me in the throng. Just as she came level with the litter bin, she stopped. For a split second, I thought she’d seen me. My heart was pounding – its small solid thud drumming against my tiny chest.

  “MUM!” I cried.

  But she’d only stopped to shout at Dad down her mobile phone.

  “Stuart? Any luck at the roller coaster? … The Lost Child Tent haven’t seen her either. They’re going to put out an announcement… There it is now. Can you hear it?”

  A high-pitched, tinny voice which almost split my eardrums boomed across the theme park:

  Over the sound of the announcement, I heard another loud voice. Much closer. “Shall I empty this one, Len?”

  “Might as well, Glen.”

  I looked up to see a big black rubber glove looming down towards me.

  Len and Glen were One of them was pushing a cart – the sort of cart they empty litter bins into … right before they take all the litter to be chewed up in a dustbin lorry … or crushed by a giant steam roller … or tossed and sorted by an enormous grabber claw.

  Whatever it is they do with theme park litter, it wasn’t going to be good. Not for a teeny-tiny girl who’d shrunk to the size of a chocolate bar wrapper. I’d just clambered over one of those small fun-size ones. Well there’s nothing fun about being this size – let me tell you that. Not when Glen and Len, the Killer Bin Men, are about to empty you into their

  “Sorry!” said Mum, stepping out of their way. Trust her to be polite even in a moment of total panic. With that she was off. Charging away to look for me by the hot dog stand or something.

  Glen – I think he was the one with the moustache – grabbed hold of the litter bin and heaved it on to his shoulder.

  “Watch out!”

  I felt my fingers slipping…

  “Noooooo!”

  I was plunging downwards…

  I landed flat on my back, amongst the half-chewed burgers once again.

  This time I saw it! The rat – and it was the size of a The huge beast leapt out of its pizza box and up on to the wire, thrashing its scaly tail. One, two, three leaps (I had to admire its speed and jumping skill) and the brute was out of the bin.

  It scurried away i
nto the same block of toilets where I’d seen Tiffany disappear earlier… She couldn’t still be in there, could she?

  “D’you see that?” cried Len.

  “It’s run right into the ladies’ toilets!” gasped Glen.

  A moment later Tiffany came charging out of the door screaming her head off.

  “A rat!” she squealed. “Now I’ve dropped my eyeliner pencil down the drain!”

  I don’t know if it was the shock of the rat, or my helpless laughter as I watched Tiffany run screaming across the grass – but something inside me went

  A second later, there I was. Back to full size. Sitting wedged inside the litter bin.

  Dad started the car.

  “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my whole life!” said Mum. “What on earth made you want to hide in a litter bin, Violet?”

  “I wasn’t hiding!” I said. “I told you. I was—”

  “Three men it took to cut you out of there!” said Dad. He wound down the electric windows and shook the little fir-tree air freshener hanging from the mirror in the car. “That smell of rotten hamburger is disgusting!”

  “Junk food!” sniffed Mum, as if this explained it all.

  “I still don’t see why we have to leave the theme park,” I said as Dad reversed out of the car park. “I never even got to ride on

  “Ha!” snorted Tiffany. “You might have got to ride on it, if you hadn’t run away!”

  “I didn’t run away!”

  “It’s all right that you were frightened,” said Mum.

  “I wasn’t frightened!”

  Mum ignored this. “I was frightened too, darling. Lunger…”

  did look very big! If I were as little as you are…”

  “But I wasn’t as little as I am!” I explained for the hundredth time. “I was much, much, much littler! I was the same size as…”

  “As this?” said Tiffany, taking a lipstick out of her bag and waving it under my nose. “You’ve already told us, Violet! We just don’t believe you, that’s all!”

  She tossed the lipstick back in her handbag and pulled out a bottle of sickly-sweet bubblegum perfume, which she sprayed all over the car. “You were scared. You hid in a bin. Your bum was too big to get out again. And now you stink. End of story!”

  “Tiffany!” said Dad. “You’re not helping.”

  I picked a slice of squashed tomato off my sleeve and thought about dropping it down the back of Tiffany’s neck. But that would only make Mum and Dad even more mad at me. So, I decided to be nice and threw it out of the window for the birds to eat.

  “ can we go back?” I begged. I was scared I might shrink again, but it was worth it if I could try to ride on one more time.

  “I’ll stay right beside you, Mum. I’ll even hold your hand if it’ll make you change your mind!”

  “Afraid not!” said Dad, setting the satnav for home. He knows the way perfectly well, but he loves to fiddle with gadgets. “I’ve had quite enough of theme parks for one day.” he said as drove out through the gates.

  “But can we come back tomorrow?” I said, twisting in my seat to try and catch a last glimpse of “Please? I’m begging you really nicely! Please, please,

  “We won’t be coming back here for a very long time,” said Mum sternly. “This was your treat, Violet. But you ruined it for all of us. I don’t mind that you got lost. I suppose that could have happened to anybody. What I do mind is the lies you told.”

  “I didn’t tell lies!”

  “All this nonsense about shrinking!” said Mum, as Dad pulled on to the main road. “That’s what’s made us really cross, Violet.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t want to hear another word about it! Ever. Do you understand me?”

  “It’s not fair!” I pushed my nose against the car window, hiding the tears welling up in my eyes.

  How could they not believe me?

  But now everything was back to normal, I almost didn’t believe it myself. After all, people don’t just shrink … do they?

  “Anyway,” said Mum cheerily, “now that we’re leaving the theme park early, we’ll have time to visit Grandma.”

  “Typical!” said Tiffany. “I still don’t get to go shopping. But I have to spend the whole afternoon in an old folks’ home.”

  After that, no one spoke very much at all. Tiffany put her headphones in. Mum closed her eyes and listened to the meditation CD she’d put on the stereo.

  “At least clouds don’t have children who get lost in theme parks!” chuckled Dad as we turned on to the motorway.

  He was trying to be funny, but Mum ignored him. I didn’t laugh either. It was no joke that I’d missed my chance to ride on

  I stared out of the window, questions buzzing in my head.

  Why had I shrunk? Why had I unshrunk? Would I ever shrink again?

  And, if I did shrink, when would it happen next?

  Gran lives at the Sunset Retirement Centre. It’s a brilliant place for old people who are still fit and healthy, but there are nurses there to look after them if they need it. I wish she could come and live with us. But we don’t have enough bedrooms and I already have to share with Tiffany. WORST LUCK!

  As soon as we arrived at the centre, Mum and Dad went round the back to see the new garden that’s just been finished. There’s a big flat lawn so the old folks can do special, gentle yoga and t’ai chi to help them stay fit. Mum says it’s really important for old folks to stay active and lively if they can.

  Tiffany went to see the garden too. Only because she fancies one of the gardeners. But I ran on inside to grab a couple of minutes on my own with Gran. Now she really is lively! Although she gets pain in her bones sometimes, she’s always full of energy: learning to ballroom dance, doing archery and playing ping-pong. She says if she lives to be a hundred she’ll celebrate by swimming the English Channel. I bet she would too – wearing her favourite, crazy swimming costume with pink flamingos all over it.

  “Violet!” she grinned as soon as she saw me.

  One of the things I love most about Gran is the lines round her eyes. They look like crisps. She says they make her look old, but they come from laughing so much.

  “How’s my favourite, smallest granddaughter?” she smiled.

  “Not great, actually!” I said as I ran towards her wide-open arms. I almost tripped over Barry Bling. He’s the beautician who works at the retirement centre.

  He was crouched down trying to paint Gran’s toenails bright purple to match the sequin top she was wearing.

  “They call this colour Vibrant Violet!” winked Gran, wriggling her toes. “It’s gorgeous! It makes me think of you.”

  “But your name’s Violet too!” I laughed. Gran is Mum’s mum and I’m named after her – it’s why I have such an old-fashioned name.

  “Careful!” cried Barry as I dodged past him and hugged Gran tight. Her familiar pepperminty smell washed over me.

  Gran must have been sniffing me too because she giggled and said, “You smell very Violet. Like a Norwegian pine forest … or a freshly scrubbed toilet floor!”

  “I had a bit of … trouble at the theme park,” I explained. We’d taken a detour home so that I could shower and get rid of the smell of the bin.

  “Mum made me wash my hair with special pine-scented shampoo,” I said. “It’s supposed to kill all known bugs and germs and—”

  Barry Bling leapt to his feet. “You don’t have head lice, do you? Those shampoos never do any good and I know what you kids are like. Always scratching. Forever infested with something.”

  “I’m sure Violet hasn’t got head lice. Have you, dear?” smiled Gran.

  “No!” I shook my head and Barry leapt even further away. I think he was afraid a shower of nits might fly out of my hair and land in his curly blond locks. (Barry has long golden
hair, all the way down to his shoulders. I’m sure he dyes it – which is odd because it really doesn’t match the colour of the orange fake-tan cream he rubs on his skin. Tiffany has some too, but she hasn’t worn it since Dad said she looked like Mum’s carrot juice smoothie.)

  “You have to get out of here!” cried Barry. “I can’t have head lice hopping around my beauty salon.”

  “She hasn’t got head lice!” said Gran. “And this is not your beauty salon. It’s my bedroom. All you’ve done is drag that thing in here!” She pointed to a gold suitcase on wheels. Barry had written across it in big, shiny letters:

  Barry does beauty treatments for nearly all the old ladies. He comes to the centre most days to curl their hair, do facials or paint their nails. He’s so busy, he often does two jobs at once.

  Like now! Grumpy old Mrs Paterson, who has the room next door to Gran, popped her head round the door. One side of her hair was in tight curlers, the other hanging down in thin grey strands.

  “Aren’t you coming back, Barry?” she grumbled. “My hair’s only half done! I have a very weak heart. I haven’t got forever to wait around, you know.”

  Barry ignored her. He was leaning close to the mirror on Gran’s dressing table. His shiny purple shirt was open at the neck. He was scratching the chest hair under his big gold, diamond-studded necklace.

  “I think I’m already infested!” he shuddered. He leant forward, scratching his chest madly and almost knocking everything off Gran’s dressing table. The lamp tipped over. It clattered against the mug that I’d given her for her birthday.

  “Careful!” I cried.

  “Take him away, Mrs P,” smiled Gran. “My toenails are done. I’ll have a nice cup of tea and a quiet chat with Violet.”

  “Good! I’ll send my grandson Riley in too,” said Mrs Paterson.