Teddy Mars Book #3

by Molly B. Burnham

  I hand her the toast and she hands me the list.

  The first thing on it is clean the basement. There are two reasons why this is not happening.

  1. Lonnie and Viva are coming over soon and we need to focus on breaking a record.

  2. She hasn’t been down in the zombie basement or she would know that there’s as much chance of me cleaning it as there is of me breaking the record for longest motorcycle ride through a tunnel of fire (395 feet 0.15 inches). I’m never doing that.

  I keep these reasons to myself because if I told them to her, she’d probably have some rule about why they’re ridiculous.

  PIGEON POWER

  I’m waiting for Lonnie and Viva to show up when I notice Caitlin and Casey. They are at the dining room table surrounded by piles of fabric.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Aunt Ursula thought we should make uniforms for our business,” Caitlin says, looking through the fabric. Most of it has flowers and is bright colored. I don’t imagine their uniforms looking like that.

  They must agree with me because Casey adds, “She thought we should start with making new curtains for the living room.”

  “It’s easier,” they say at the same time, and turn back to their new job.

  “Weird,” I say, but everyone is too busy to hear me.

  When Lonnie and Viva arrive, we sneak out to the aviary. I pull the list out of my pocket, where I pushed it down, hoping maybe it would be forgotten, or get put through the wash. I hand it to them to read.

  1. Clean the basement. (Never.)

  2. Mow the lawn. (Again?)

  3. Feed Smarty Pants. (I’ll do it, but the smell kills me.)

  4. Walk Peanut. (Really?)

  5. Vacuum the house. (Could be fun.)

  6. Fold laundry. (What’s folding?)

  Viva shakes her head. “That is a list of jobs parents are supposed to do.”

  “What are we going to do?” Lonnie asks.

  “If she thinks I’m cleaning the basement,” I say, “she really is an optimist.”

  Lonnie frowns. “I mean about breaking a record. How do we break a record when you have all this to do, and the mural project starts on Monday?”

  Viva says, “Grumpy Pigeon Man thinks we can do it.”

  “Grumpy Pigeon Man doesn’t live with Aunt Ursula.”

  I stare at the pigeons, who do exactly what they always do: sit, coo, and bob their heads. You can always count on pigeons to stay the same.

  And that’s when I get it. “Pigeon power,” I say.

  “Pigeon power?” Lonnie asks.

  “Pigeons get the job done. They eat, they drink, they bathe, and then they go on with their lives.”

  “Pigeon power,” Viva says. “I like it.”

  Obi-Wan Kenobi flies over and lands on my shoulder. And for no reason at all, he poos on me.

  Getting pooed on at this exact moment proves that I’m absolutely right about pigeon power. We take care of what Aunt Ursula wants us to do, and then we do what we want to do.

  It’s all about pigeon power.

  But first I need to change my clothes.

  THE DESTRUCTOR VERSUS JAKE

  On my way to put on a clean shirt, I run past The Destructor, who is sitting at the kitchen table, weaving away.

  He pulls the stick in and out. He looks so happy, and he’s not destroying anything. I should be really happy. Instead, a different kind of thought comes into my head, which is that the new and improved Destructor is actually a little boring.

  As soon as I think it, I push it away.

  That’s the kind of thought that’s sillier than the record for eating the most jelly with a chopstick in one minute (1 pound 6 ounces).

  I mean, I’ve dreamed of this day. “Hey, Jake,” I say. “Your weaving looks really good.”

  He smiles a huge smile. It’s the first time I’ve called him Jake for a long time, but it’s clear he deserves it.

  LONNIE, VIVA, AND ME VERSUS THE LIST

  Lonnie, Viva, and I spend the rest of the day going through Aunt Ursula’s list.

  1. Clean the basement. (Still never.)

  2. Mow the lawn. (Lonnie and Viva will not tell their parents.)

  3. Feed Smarty Pants. (We plug our noses for this one.)

  4. Walk Peanut. (We only walk down the block and back because he barks at us all the way.)

  5. Vacuum the house. (It turns out vacuuming up dirt is fun but vacuuming our hair is hilarious.)

  6. Fold laundry. (Boring! No wonder Mom and Dad just toss our clothes into our drawers.)

  And while we do all those things we think about records we could break.

  “Most yardsticks broken over the head in one minute,” I suggest.

  “Sounds dangerous,” Viva says. Viva is probably the bravest person I know, but even she knows when to draw the line.

  “Most cartwheels in one minute?” she asks.

  “Sounds sickening,” I say.

  Lonnie offers, “Holding our breath the longest? It’s only twenty-two minutes.”

  We all nod. We stop what we’re doing, find a clock, and go! I’m gasping for breath at eighteen seconds, Viva makes it to twenty-three seconds, and Lonnie collapses at thirty-one.

  “Not even close,” Viva pants as we go back to finding pairs of socks.

  The one item from the list that we don’t do is clean the basement, but by that time Aunt Ursula is already lying down for her nap, so we figure we can have a little free time.

  Sadly, we’re all so worn out from chores and imagining records we could break that Lonnie and Viva go home.

  Tomorrow is bound to be better.

  HOW WRONG CAN I BE?

  Since I don’t have anything else to do, I decide to head out to the aviary. On my way, I pass Maggie, who I thought was out for a run. She’s actually digging up a part of the backyard that just a few hours ago I mowed. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m planting a garden.” She pushes the shovel in, digs up some grass, and tosses it to the side. “It was Aunt Ursula’s idea. She says it will teach me a lot of skills I need for running, like balance, upper-arm strength, and perseverance, but without any injuries, and I’ll grow food for the family.”

  “Weird,” I say.

  At least there’s still Grace. Nothing will change her. Not even Aunt Ursula.

  WE DO NOT

  The next few days go along the same. Aunt Ursula gives me chores. Things like: water the yard, mop the floors, wash dishes. Clean the basement is still there, and will always be there, as far as I’m concerned. Sharon cooks most of the day. Caitlin and Casey hang up the curtain they made, which came out a little crooked, but it was their first try. Now they’re working on something else. Maggie digs and waters and weeds her garden. Jake sits there weaving.

  Grace still has her camera and doesn’t look like she’s giving it up for anything. I knew she was strong.

  Lonnie, Viva, and I do the chores, and then once Aunt Ursula goes to her room for her nap, we attempt a few world records. Sadly we never get far.

  We do not break the record for tallest house of cards (25 feet 97∕16 inches). We don’t come close, not only because it keeps falling down, but also because clearly we need a lot more cards.

  We do not break the record for most soap bubbles blown inside one large bubble (152) even though we use up all the dish soap and all of The Destructor’s bubble bath trying. Aunt Ursula wakes up during this attempt because we’re laughing so hard, but we pretend to be washing the windows.

  We also do not break the record for the fastest mile on a pogo stick (12 minutes 16 seconds) because even though we each have a pogo stick, we’re all really bad at it and fall over after three hops.

  But none of it matters because Viva grabs the hose and sprays Lonnie and me with water, which leads us to the best water fight ever. And we wouldn’t have done that if we’d broken a record.

  MOM, HER JOB, AND EMUS

  Tonight, Mom and I are sitting together
, just the two of us, in the living room. Mom is telling me about capturing an escaped emu.

  “An emu?” I ask.

  “It’s like an ostrich.”

  “Ostriches hold the world record for fastest birds on land.”

  Mom smiles. “I did not know that.”

  I nod. “So the emu escaped from its home?” I ask.

  “Yes, someone in the next town over keeps them as pets.”

  “Do a lot of people keep emus as pets?”

  “Not in our town. There are a lot of rules about what kinds of birds you can keep and how many. For instance, you’re allowed three chickens, but no more, and no roosters at all.”

  “Going back to the emu, how did you catch it?”

  “Very, very carefully. They are fast, so I couldn’t outrun it. I had to use my brains.” She taps the side of her head with her finger. “I know that emus like berries, so I went to the store and bought bags and bags of berries, and the emu couldn’t resist me.”

  I smile and think about how amazing Mom is to have this job, and to help people and animals, and to be so good at it.

  If Lonnie were here, he would probably know some great Star Wars quote to sum up this situation, but he’s not, and the only quote I can think of is C-3PO saying “We’re doomed” and doesn’t apply to my family right now.

  No, right now everything is going great.

  LARGEST METAL COIL

  Lonnie and Viva have been dragged off for the weekend with their families. They’ll be back for the mural project on Monday.

  Today, I cleaned the upstairs bathroom, and since Sharon isn’t hogging it anymore, I had all the time I needed to clean it properly.

  “It’s wonderful,” Aunt Ursula gushed. “It’s perfect for my spa treatment.” And then she went in with Peanut and locked the door.

  Now, I’m having quiet time on the sofa and looking through the world record book that Ms. Raffeli gave me. It’s got a lot more words and a lot less pictures, so you really have to concentrate.

  Grace plops down next to me. I protect my face before she can shove her camera into it and protect my feet before she slams down on them. But she doesn’t do either. Instead, she pulls out a pad of paper and starts writing on it.

  “What are you doing?” Grace has never been one to keep her thoughts to herself.

  “What does it look like? I’m writing.”

  “You hate to write. That’s why you take photographs.”

  “Aunt Ursula has a rule about photographs.”

  “What rule?” I ask.

  “That it’s rude to hold up a camera and click it in someone’s face.”

  I suddenly realize Aunt Ursula is even stronger than Grace.

  Strange but true, the record for longest metal coil passed through the nose and out the mouth is 11 feet 10.91 inches. It doesn’t seem possible, but it is and no brain is injured. Except mine, which hurts just thinking about it. This is the same as how I feel about Grace giving up photography. It hurts my brain.

  “Don’t you miss photography?” I ask.

  “It’s only been an hour. Anyway, Aunt Ursula says it would help Mom.” Grace looks around, checking to see if anyone is close to us. She whispers, “The truth is, I’d do a lot more than this if it helped Mom.”

  And I’m left wondering what our family will be like now that my siblings have all changed. I know I should be happy, because it’s what I’ve always said I wanted. But it turns out getting what you’ve always wanted isn’t quite as satisfying as I thought.

  CHORES. LOTS OF CHORES.

  I finished my chores for today, which included dusting the bookshelves, so I am now hanging out with the pigeons, watching them fluff themselves, and missing Lonnie and Viva, when Grumpy Pigeon Man comes out.

  “You’re looking nice today,” I say, which is true. He’s wearing what Dad calls trousers, instead of his normal blue jeans, and spiffy red suspenders hold them up. His shirt looks like it’s been ironed, and if I didn’t know better I’d say his boots have been polished.

  “These old things.” He frowns. He sits down next to me. “Your house seems pretty quiet these days. What’s going on?”

  I shrug.

  “If there’s one thing I don’t trust it’s a quiet kid. It always means they’re up to no good.”

  I shake my head. “Aunt Ursula has everyone busy. Sharon’s cooking, the twins are sewing, Maggie’s growing a vegetable patch, Grace is writing, and The Destructor is weaving.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Chores,” I say. “Lots of chores.”

  THE NEAREST STAR TO THE SUN

  At that moment, the back door opens and Peanut charges. He runs straight to the fence, barking madly.

  Aunt Ursula follows. Her hair is done up fancy, and I can see she’s wearing lipstick. She calls and calls for Peanut to come. He doesn’t, but when the pigeons flock to the side closest to Peanut and coo at him he stops barking.

  “Get that dog away,” growls Grumpy Pigeon Man. “He’s scaring my pigeons!” It seems pretty clear that they have decided not to be scared of this dog anymore. I do not point this out. I don’t think he would appreciate it.

  “If you didn’t keep those pigeons Peanut wouldn’t have to protect me.”

  “My pigeons are not a problem.”

  “Your pigeons have always been a problem. Maybe no one said it, but it’s true.”

  “I choose to disagree, Ursula.”

  “Those pigeons should not be here, and you know it,” Aunt Ursula says.

  I’m sure she doesn’t mean that, but it’s very upsetting to hear. It’s one thing to change everyone in my family. It’s another to change the pigeons.

  But Grumpy Pigeon Man and Aunt Ursula keep yelling at each other.

  I trudge home because listening to them fight is like traveling 18,000 years to reach the nearest star to the sun. I don’t care if I’d get to ride in a rocket ship. Traveling for that long would not be fun.

  SOMETHING’S WRONG

  Mom has been on the phone for a while. I’m pretty sure she’s talking to her boss, but it’s weird because it’s a Sunday, and why would they talk on the weekend? But Mom steers clear of us until she hangs up and collapses on the sofa.

  Sharon offers her a snack, something called a macaron, which is like an Oreo but fancier. I stole one when she wasn’t looking, and I wasn’t that impressed. I’d take a good old Oreo any day.

  She notices right away how much I dusted today. “This room has never been cleaner.”

  Caitlin and Casey walk in. They are wearing matching shirts that they sewed with huge embroidered cursive Cs on the back.

  Aunt Ursula looks at Caitlin. “Well done, Casey! Those buttons were hard.” Then she looks at Casey and says, “Caitlin, I didn’t think you’d get the collar right, but you did.”

  Mom doesn’t correct her. And neither do the rest of us.

  Maggie shows Mom the carrot seeds she’s about to plant.

  “They’re so tiny,” Mom says.

  Grace hands Mom a pile of papers and smiles. “They’re the first pages of the novel I’m writing.”

  “You’ve gotten so far,” Mom says.

  Jake bustles in and presses something into her hand. “This is for you.”

  “Oh.” Mom holds it up. “What is it?”

  “Woven underpants.”

  Mom’s eyes get big. “Just what I’ve always wanted.”

  And the great thing about Mom is when she says this, she really means it. The other great thing about Mom is that she can make the weirdest thing in the world, like woven underwear, feel so normal.

  For all Mom’s sweetness and smiles she’s totally reminding me of the cusk eel. The cusk eel is the record holder for the fish that lives the deepest under water (27,460 feet below the surface). That’s deep. There’s something about the way Mom is acting that makes me feel like she’s hiding something from us about as deep down as the cusk eel.

  WEIRDER

  At dinner whe
n I ask what’s wrong, she says, “My job is not always easy.”

  “I knew something was wrong,” I say.

  “I can’t talk about it. But I’m working very hard to solve it.” And then she bursts into tears and hugs me.

  This is definitely weirder than the time Mom decided we needed to play more family games, like Monopoly. That lasted a day and ended in a fight so huge that she put all the games in the basement until “we were old enough to handle them.”

  The games have never been brought back out.

  I wonder if Mom can handle her problem the same way.

  For some reason, I doubt it.

  JULY

  MURAL PROJECT BEGINS

  The mural project is right next door to where Mom works, so she brings Jake and me. It’s really odd being out in public with Jake because he’s so different than he ever was before.

  First off, he’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts and not cans or pigeon feathers as he has been doing for months. He’s also not telling everyone to call him Can Boy or Pigeon Boy. Besides that, he’s careful with how he uses his body—he doesn’t crash into anyone. He’s not digging through trash, scraping up pigeon poo, or causing random destruction.

  I mean, really, he’s a different kid.

  “This is where everyone is meeting,” Mom says as she parks the car. “There’s Viva’s mom. You go on over; Ms. Cecile will be there.”

  I don’t see Ms. Cecile, but I do see Lonnie and Viva, and a few other kids I know, like Lewis, Ny, Angus, and the two Jasmines. There’s also a bunch of other kids I don’t know of all ages, from the kindergarten buddies to some kids who look like teenagers.