Tarantula Shoes

by Tom Birdseye

  “Hey!” I called after him. “You forgot to pay!”

  But he was already up to full speed, heading down the Sycamore Street hill.

  “Aw!” I said, plopping back down in my chair. I threw up my hands in disgust. “I’m never going to get those Slam Dunk Sky Jumpers like this!”

  Gordon didn’t answer. He tucked his feet under his chair—as if that would hide the fact that he had on my shoes—and rubbed his chin like he was thinking.

  Suddenly he blurted out, “We’ve just been going about this all wrong! Why didn’t I think of it before? You’ve got to hook people in if you want to make money. You’ve got to make them think you’re giving them something really special.” He hit himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand. “Sure! We just need to boogey things up a bit! We need better advertising!”

  Gordon jumped from his chair and tore the sign he had made off the card table, flipped it over, and began to write with the marker: ONCE-IN-A-LIFETIME CHANCE! SEE FANG THE TERRIBLE TARANTULA! SPECIAL PRICE! JUST 25 CENTS. He looked down the street and said, “Watch this!”

  Another boy—this time a little younger, maybe a second-grader—was headed our way on a bike.

  Gordon stood on the curb and held the sign up so the kid couldn’t help seeing it. He waved the kid over, saying, “Only a quarter! What a deal! Step right up!”

  Before I knew it, the boy had indeed stepped right up, and I was holding twenty-five cents in my hand.

  “See? I told you so!” Gordon said after the boy rode off. He slapped his thigh. “You’ve got to think business.”

  I put the quarter on the card table and pushed it away. “But Fang isn’t terrible,” I said, and started to explain a spider’s life in the desert.

  Gordon wasn’t interested in desert details, though. “We’re on a roll now, Ryan!” he said. “Haw! I can feel it!” He grabbed the marker again and added to the sign, BIGGEST SPIDER IN CAPTIVITY! DANGER! DANGER! Then he started for the curb again. A car was headed our way.

  “Fang is not the biggest spider in captivity!” I said. “And he’s not dangerous, either!”

  Gordon held the sign up toward the car as if he hadn’t heard.

  “That sign is wrong!” I said, and to prove it, I walked straight over to Fang’s terrarium and took the screen off. “You think he’s so dangerous! Watch this!”

  Gordon turned. His eyes went wide with fear as I stuck my hand into the glass tank. “Don’t!” he yelled.

  Fang moved toward my fingers.

  “Ryan! Get your hand out of there!”

  I turned my palm up and gently moved my hand toward Fang. He walked right up onto my fingers. “See?” I said as I lifted Fang out and held him toward Gordon.

  Gordon backed up a step, a look of shock on his face. He tilted his head and stared at Fang, then at me, then back at Fang. Slowly, his expression changed from shock to wonder. “Yeah, I see,” he said as he burst into a big grin, his eyebrows going all lopsided. “I see that people will sure as shootin’ pay to see you do that.” And he quickly added to the sign, EXTRA ATTRACTION FREE! WATCH RYAN PICK UP THE KILLER SPIDER! “This will really bring them in!”

  “But it’s all a lie,” I said, lowering Fang into his terrarium, as if that were the end of that.

  Gordon walked over to the card table and picked up the quarter I’d pushed away. “No, it’s business,” he said. He slipped the quarter into my shirt pocket. “If you want to make money, you’ve got to think business.”

  As if to prove him right, the second-grade boy was coming back up the street, and he had another kid with him who was about fourth-grade size.

  “See, I told you it was a tarantula,” the younger boy said to the older one.

  The older boy looked at the sign, then at me, and asked, “Is that thing really dangerous?”

  I looked over at Gordon. He mouthed the words Think business.

  I looked back at the two boys and thought about the Slam Dunk Sky Jumpers. I was going to have to make money fast if I was going to get them. Business seemed the only way, and here it was staring me in the face.

  “Can you really pick it up?” the older boy wanted to know.

  I walked over to Fang’s terrarium. Slowly and dramatically, I lifted the screen off and set it on the card table. “He’s dangerous all right,” I said. “A real killer.” I motioned the boys closer. “But for just a quarter—each—I’ll pick him up anyway. Honest, I will.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The Fiercest Spider in the World

  The next day after church, I ate lunch as fast as I could. Dad told me to slow down, to stop taking such big bites. He kept talking about the remodeling job he was starting the next day in a nearby town, “over in Booneburg.” He was going to go look at it again, even though it was Sunday, to double-check his materials list.

  Mom worried that she wasn’t going to get all the unpacking and painting done before she had to start her bank job. “But I’ll get to your room, Ryan. Don’t worry.”

  Justin and Ellie had found out from Mom that they would have to have shots before they could start kindergarten.

  “It’s a law,” Ellie said.

  Justin said, “We go to the doctor’s office tomorrow.”

  They both looked nervous and wanted to know if the shots would hurt less if they shut their eyes and held their breath. “Did that help you, Ryan? Did you cry or run away?”

  “I don’t remember,” I said, even though I really did. I was in a hurry, and despite everything that was going on, managed to get my meal down in record time.

  It took a bit of explaining to Mom and Dad—especially Mom, who kept shaking her head and saying, “I don’t know about this Ryan”—but by 1:30 I had their permission to set up our family camping tent in the front yard. I put Fang’s terrarium inside on the card table, then covered it with a cloth napkin.

  I made two new signs, adding the words DEADLY POISONOUS and a drawing of Fang to what Gordon had already written. (Fang was deadly poisonous … if you were a cricket.) Then I thumbtacked the signs on either side of a telephone pole, so people would be sure to see them no matter which way they came down Sycamore Street.

  Counting the three quarters I’d made the day before, I’d figured on Mom’s calculator that I needed only $25.14 more to get my Slam Dunk Sky Jumpers. With my great spider show, it would be no sweat. I went inside to get into a costume: a T-shirt with Fang drawn on the front and a black bow tie and straw hat from the twins’ dress-up box.

  “Step right up!” I yelled as I ran back out onto the front lawn. I waved my hat over my head. “See Fang the killer tarantula! Fiercest spider in the world! Feeding time in only ten minutes! Witness death for only a quarter! Dangerous spider handling, too! Step right up!”

  It took a few minutes—enough time for me to start getting a little hoarse—but finally a boy walked around the corner onto Sycamore Street, heard me yelling, and came to investigate.

  And just like that I had a customer. “Greatest show anywhere!” I yelled at two girls on bikes as I took the boy’s quarter and showed him where to sit on the tent floor. “Front-row seats still available!”

  The girls rode up, looked at the sign and the tent, then asked if they had time to go get their friends.

  “Hurry! Hurry!” I yelled. “Seats are going fast! Tell everyone you meet.”

  The girls went riding off. Minutes later Telly and Aaron showed up (both wearing their Slam Dunk Sky Jumpers, of course).

  “What’s all this about a big spider?” Telly wanted to know. “Is this for real, or are you just going to blow more Coke bubbles out of your nose?”

  I forced a laugh. “That was my other show,” I said, trying to act more confident than I felt with two big seventh-graders in my front yard. “This is a cool show, and it only costs a quarter.”

  Aaron frowned. “I’m not going to pay a quarter just to see a spider. This looks like a little kids’ thing to me.”

  I acted like I didn’t hear him and took
a quarter from a smaller boy I ushered into the tent.

  “You’re afraid of spiders, that’s all,” I heard Telly tease Aaron.

  “I am not!” Aaron shot back.

  Telly laughed. “Then go in and pick it up.”

  Aaron squirmed around a bit. I knew how he felt—the same way I did when I was teased for being short. “It takes special training and skill to pick up a tarantula,” I said, making my voice as grown-up and official as I could.

  “Hear that?” Aaron said to Telly. “It takes special training.”

  Telly grinned at him. “I still think you’re too scared of the thing to even go in.”

  Aaron scowled. “I’m not scared, and I’ll prove it.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out some change, then counted two quarters into my hand. “Let’s go see the kiddie show,” he said, and he and Telly went in.

  Gordon came across Sycamore Street grinning like he does. “Hey! Now you’re playing it smart!” he said, slapping me on the back. “I’d say you need a business partner.”

  As much as I appreciated Gordon’s good ideas, I did not need a business partner. Partners take half the money. That would mean I’d have to make twice as much to get my Slam Dunk Sky Jumpers.

  “Since I helped get things off the ground, you know,” Gordon said, his grin still cranked up full blast.

  “Uh … I’ll let you in for free,” I offered.

  Gordon’s grin dropped. “Is that all?”

  “It’s the best I can do,” I tried to explain. The two girls that had come by earlier came running back with another girl. All three paid and went inside. “School starts Tuesday,” I said to Gordon. “You’ve got your shoes already.”

  Gordon looked down at his Slam Dunk Sky Jumpers. “Well … I guess so. Still, this was kind of my idea, you know.”

  “And I really appreciate it,” I said, showing him to a seat in the tent. “Really I do.”

  Think business, Gordon had said. That’s what I was doing. Giving up a place in the tent to a nonpaying customer was the same as giving up a quarter.

  The twins had come over to see what was going on. They were standing outside the tent, each holding a pair of toy binoculars.

  “Spaceman binoculars,” Ellie said, holding them up for me to see.

  Justin looked at me through his. “Quando said over the radio that he doesn’t like fried ham, or cheese and bologna.” He turned the binoculars toward the tent. “So we’re on the lookout for other food for him.”

  I tried to ignore them. Think business, I reminded myself.

  Ellie looked into the tent through her binoculars. “Are you going to feed Fang, Ryan?”

  I noticed a kid watching from across the street. He looked curious enough to cough up a quarter. “Yep,” I said to the twins as I waved him over. “Lots of blood and gore.”

  “Can we watch?” Ellie asked.

  The kid started across the street, digging into his pocket as he came. “For a quarter each,” I informed them.

  Ellie put down her binoculars and looked me over. “Isn’t the bow tie and hat you’re wearing from our dress-up box?”

  The kid paid his quarter and went into the tent.

  “It sure is our stuff,” Justin said, “and I want it back right now, or I’m going to go tell Mom.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, deciding it would be worth two more free seats to get the twins off my back. Besides, my customers were beginning to get restless. The noise level was getting pretty high in the tent. I didn’t have time for a family fight. “Go on in, but sit by the door and be quiet. Then no more shows. You understand?”

  Justin and Ellie nodded, then lifted their binoculars to their eyes and walked into the tent.

  I followed them to the doorway and did a quick count. Eight paying customers. That was—I pulled out Mom’s pocket calculator—$2.00. It’s a start, I said to myself, and was just about to walk up front and begin the show when I turned and saw Bobbie Jo with what looked like a four-year-old girl by her side.

  “This is my cousin Amy from Charleston, South Carolina,” Bobbie Jo said, putting her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “We’ve come to see the show.”

  I grabbed her two quarters and pocketed them. Bobbie Jo rolled her eyes, but I ignored her. Ten paying customers at a quarter each. That was … ten times twenty-five … $2.50! So now I only needed—Mom’s calculator again—$22.64 more. Things were looking good!

  And stayed looking that way all through my very first tarantula show. Sure, I was pretty nervous at the beginning. My voice caught: “And n-now!” Then came out too loud: “WHAT YOU ALL HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR!”

  Justin and Ellie clapped their hands and yelled, “Yay, Ryan! Yay!”

  I started to shush them—noisy brats!—but then lots of kids started clapping, too. I grinned and relaxed, even with Telly and Aaron right up front and Bobbie Jo watching closely from the side. If anyone went into the tent thinking I was just a short little sixth-grader acting like a kid, or some kind of a fool, they were in for a surprise. I put on a show. I picked Fang up, making a big deal out of how dangerous this was. “Don’t try it at home,” I said, acting like an expert.

  Aaron jumped back when Fang started crawling up my arm. Telly laughed and poked him in the ribs, then winked at me.

  Next, I fed Fang a cricket. He went for it just as fast as he had that time in front of Gordon. There was a big gasp from the audience.

  “Yay! Yay!” Justin and Ellie yelled from the back. “Yay, Ryan!” The crowd started yelling it, too—except, I noticed, for Bobbie Jo.

  But that didn’t matter. I took off my hat and bowed as everyone hollered and clapped, then bowed some more when they wouldn’t stop. I was making money. I was a star. Just the kind of star that would be cool on the first day of junior high.

  Cool. Cool. Totally cool.

  CHAPTER 12

  We Want Our Money Back!

  I decided to celebrate the first show’s success with a little snack—my favorite, a peanut butter and banana sandwich. I was standing at the kitchen counter, right in the middle of a big bite, when Mom walked in and said, “Have you thought about those signs you put up?”

  “Jigra mngfnog,” I said.

  Mom frowned. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Ryan.”

  I swallowed my bite in a big gulp. “But you asked me a question.”

  She nodded. “Aren’t you exaggerating a bit with your advertising? Granted, it’s working. There are lots of kids out on the front lawn, but—”

  “There are?” I said, and ran to the front window. At least a dozen kids were by the tent. “All right!” I yelled. “Customers!”

  Actually it was more like “Awgrifgt! Cusmrrs!”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full!” Mom said from the kitchen.

  But I was already halfway out the front door.

  To my surprise, a lot of the kids that had come to the first show were back for a rerun. Telly showed up alone, though. “Aaron has to practice his tuba,” he said, then laughed. “No way. His mom makes him practice every day at five o’clock, not now. He’s just afraid of that spider. Not me, though. I think it’s cool.”

  I grinned from ear to ear. Telly—a seventh-grader who was a great basketball player—thought Fang was cool.

  Several other of the kids were also return customers, but not all of them were returning paying customers.

  Gordon came back. “I’ve got an idea,” he said, “you’re going to love.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that.

  “Put up fliers on telephone poles and on the bulletin board at the Stop and Go Mini-Mart. You can reel in huge crowds that way, and really cash in. I could be your marketing director!”

  “Uh … I’ll think about it,” I said, pretty sure that I wouldn’t. I didn’t know what a marketing director was, but I was almost positive I didn’t need one. Couldn’t Gordon see all the business I had here? Things were booming without his help. He had his Slam Dunk Sky Jumpers. Now I needed to concentrate
on getting mine.

  Still, I let Gordon into the second show for free. Even if he kept grumbling, he deserved that much, I guessed.

  The twins didn’t, though. “No way, you guys,” I said when they showed up again.

  “But we just thought—”

  “No quarter, no show,” I said, and they could see that I really meant it. They started to turn away when another voice came from down the sidewalk.

  “I’ll pay for them to get in.”

  It was Bobbie Jo, walking toward me with her cousin Amy from Charleston. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a dollar bill. “This is for four people.”

  I took the dollar. Eleven paying customers this time. I whipped out Mom’s calculator again. Eleven times twenty-five cents … $2.75! Now I needed only … $19.89 more for my Slam Dunk Sky Jumpers!

  The second performance went even better than the first, until feeding time. “And now!” I said. “Witness death right before your very eyes!”

  I reached into the cricket jar and nabbed a victim. Slowly, I held it up for the crowd to see, then pulled back the cover of Fang’s terrarium. “Watch closely. Tarantulas are very quick. They can pounce on their prey with the speed of light.”

  Everyone in the tent held their breath for one long moment as I dangled the cricket over Fang. Someone in the back whimpered, and I couldn’t help smiling. “You are about to witness death!” I said. “Lights! Camera!” I dropped the cricket. “Action!”

  Nope. As we all watched, holding our breaths, waiting like spectators at a car wreck, absolutely nothing happened. Fang just sat there, big and hairy. No pounce. No screams of horrified delight from the audience. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  “Uh … he’s just eyeballing his prey,” I offered, willing Fang with all my might to get on with the show.

  But he didn’t. I reached in and gave the cricket a little nudge with my finger. Maybe if it moved a little closer, Fang would reach out and grab it.

  But Fang didn’t so much as move even one of his eight hairy legs.

  “Come on,” I heard someone say.