The Thing at the Edge of Blundertown

by Jane M. Bloom

  “But, Dad, you do know. You’re a county legislator.”

  “Well, but this isn’t a county issue, really. It’s HR. PD.”

  “English, please, Dad?” She and her mother exchanged smirks with matching dimples.

  “Human Resources. Parks Department. Sorry.”

  Her mother slapped the table, a light-green flicker in her eyes. “So that’s why our taxes have doubled practically overnight?”

  “Partly, yes,” he answered. “It’s more complicated than that, of course.” As all politics were.

  “Well, in that case, the closings couldn’t come soon enough,” her mother announced, back in the business of her dinner salad.

  “No way,” Raelyn interjected. “Everyone picks up. Our park is totally clean. No dogs! That’s so unfair.” She wiggled a few secret fingers under the table. Penny picked up the cue and edged toward her for a little petting (and perhaps a nibble of something). “Poor Penelope! Now where can she go?”

  Her mother gave a short laugh. “Anywhere but the park, sweetheart.”

  “Our Gloomy Rae of Sunshine,” her father teased, then quickly changed topics. “Not at the table, Raelyn.” He’d caught the whole underhanded exchange. Penelope retreated slightly but remained on task.

  “Speaking of Penny,” her mother smiled, a sing-song in her voice, “guess what I found in the living room? Yesterday’s newspaper scattered all over the floor.” She looked at Penny with playful disapproval. Penny’s tail wagged guardedly. “Oh, and she ate the mail. A flyer.” The Devine family’s mail came through the bronze postal slot in the front door. Each day a wrapped bundle awaited them inside, but that day a separate leaflet had arrived as well. “It was under the desk in the kitchen, of all places.”

  “She got into the waste basket in the bathroom, too,” her father said, amused. “I can’t recall the last time she did that.”

  “I can.” Rae reminded them, “It was when Jackson left.” Her mother read the mangled bright-orange paper that Raelyn had seen earlier but hadn’t read. “Says, ‘Official Notice, Daffy County: Come join. Ollie’s Neighborhood Watch Group.’ First meeting Saturday, blah, blah, blah. ‘Dog issues discussed, refreshments served.’ But the time and place are all chewed off.” She tossed it aside. “No matter. I’m not interested in any of that politics anyway.”

  “Maybe she knows,” Rae chimed.

  “Knows what? Who?”

  “Penny. About the park. Maybe she already knew. Maybe she had a feeling.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Her mother laughed up at the ceiling.

  “Only our Raelyn would think of that.” Her father beamed.

  “But I’m serious.” It was dawning on Raelyn just how much they still treated her like a little girl when she wasn’t one anymore. Her chest grew tight with simmering anger, like water before coming to a boil. “Well, it’s just a stupid sign. I’m taking her anyway. No one’s standing there watching.”

  “No, you will not,” her mother chided. “That’s breaking the law. You don’t have to like it, but, unfortunately, it is the law.”

  “Yeah, tell me about that,” Raelyn muttered. The silverware on either side stopped clicking.

  “Now, now,” her father mumbled.

  “Exactly.” Her mother was turning pink. “Look where he is. You want that, too?”

  “No.”

  “Then stop talking nonsense.” Nonsense was the term her mother used for anything that someone else didn’t agree with her about. Raelyn brought her plate to the kitchen. As she passed him, her father was back to reading the paper. “Not at the dinner table, Dad.” He folded it and slid it aside. She was faced with that familiar, stern look from them both.

  There I go again, she thought, that razor-thin line between safety and trouble. Fortunately, her survival instincts kicked in. She chuckled, “Just kidding, Dad, geez.” She glided out of the dining room. The air was suddenly much lighter, and lighter still as she hopped the staircase to her bedroom. Jackson would be proud of her developing skills.

  That night, Jackson’s letters floated before her in the dark: G,G,G. . .E,E. . .E,G,E,G. What would it be? E,G,G? G,E,E? Other letters joined the mix, an alphabet party with newly arriving guests. G,E,E,S,E? G,R,E,E,D? E,D,G,E? G,R,E,E,N? This was silly. With only two of the six clues so far, it was impossible to guess the final answer. More random characters danced before her now: another D, a couple Os, an S, an N. They suddenly rearranged before her eyes: N,O,D,O,G,S.

  It was inconceivable. Going to the park with Penelope was like breathing. She had never known a time that they hadn’t. She’d been two when Penny joined the family, a tiny abandoned puppy with a gash above her eye and an intense fear of mops. For years, Raelyn had begged her parents to let Penelope sleep in her bedroom at night. Upstairs was off limits, her fluffy bed at the foot of the stairs as keeper of the household. Of course, her parents won, and Penny never had set foot in the bedroom.

  Except once (until the Canine Problem took a turn for the worse; but as to those occasions, the parents never knew). She recalled that eventful summer day. For some unknown reason, Penelope had growled at one of her friends. The girls had only been seven at the time, and Chrissy’s screams had startled the neighborhood. Raelyn’s mother had rushed out to the porch to see the girl petrified—with Penelope five feet away, a tuft of raised fur forming a threatening line down her spine. Raelyn, too, had been completely still, like a cardboard cut-out in short, woolly pigtails.

  “Penelope!” Her mother had swept up Chrissy, who immediately began heaving out of control, shut Penny inside, and returned bright pink, her sandy hair limp and disheveled. When the girl’s parents arrived, she’d questioned whether they should find Penelope a new home without children. Raelyn, hysterical, had begged her not to. Her father remained silent, the dark gentle giant of the house. Thankfully, Chrissy’s parents had reminded them that they’d known Penelope for years and she was a wonderful dog. But more importantly, she was family. You couldn’t just send a family member away like that.

  Still, once an idea came to her mother, it stuck like super-glue. Part Two of the discussion had hit a crescendo over dinner. Her heels were dug in: Penelope must go. Mr. Devine had remained on the fence. Raelyn knew what that meant, because her mother always won. She had sobbed at full volume, “No! Penelope!” hysterics pouring into the living room, and flung her body over Penny’s, crying out her name over and over until bedtime, while Jackson stared into the blank TV screen.

  Raelyn had awakened well after midnight. The street light had cast a faded glow into her room. And there was Penelope, lying on the floor at the side of her bed, tail wagging: Penelope! Never in her life had she woken to such a miracle! In the morning, Raelyn had raced downstairs and found her curled-up at the bottom of the steps.

  Her parents had been awed when she told them. There was something special there, they agreed. There was intuition, wisdom, a cherished love between their daughter and her dog. It was all too much to lose. Penelope had remained with them to this day. She never growled at anyone again, although mother kept a vigilant eye when company came. Such was the unique bond Raelyn and Penny shared.

  RAELYN GAVE UP ON JACKSON’S CLUES and concentrated on settling into her magical Glitter world. First, the familiar, creamy darkness oozed into her mind’s eye, like warm chocolate pudding swirling around among the shadows. Flecks of color began flickering about, and the first exciting bursts appeared. A smile blossomed as she squeezed Iggy. The show went into spectacular high gear, with explosions of every color imaginable.

  But suddenly, the black-and-white sign at the park interrupted it. She flipped onto her opposite side and rearranged the sheets. Then she switched onto her belly, ruffling up the pillow. But the three ominous words continued blurring in and out of focus. Just as she was finally drifting toward sleep, they morphed into the chewed-up orange flyer.

  Then it turned green.

  She sat upright in bed. She’d forgotten the note from Angelica! How could she
have forgotten such an unforgettable thing as that?

  She turned on the light. It was after ten o’clock. She grabbed her backpack and pulled out the wrinkled envelope. It was from a boy, that was all she knew. Who brought envelopes to school? Whoever he was must have planned ahead. She ripped it open and pulled out a piece of note paper. The penmanship was atrocious, definitely a boy’s writing. It was short, just three lines, and ran uphill. The note began, Dear Ray, misspelling her name. Clearly, this person didn’t know much about her. It continued, Are you taking Pinelloppy to the park tomorrow? From Gil.

  Gil Richmond, of all the boys! A green envelope. . .are you kidding me?

  On the other hand, it was her first love letter ever. It counted for something. She pictured him, of medium height with brown hair and dark squinty eyes. His face didn’t look much different from when he was five, except his cheeks had been chubbier then and he had acne now. She re-read the letter and began formulating how she should respond. She imagined meeting him with Prince tomorrow afternoon. The dogs would sniff each other as they always did, while she and Gil R. would think of how to look and what to say. She’d heard a first date could be a disaster. Or maybe there would be a connection that would cancel out their humiliating secret. Break that ancient curse. How did any of that happen? she wondered.

  Instantly, she realized she couldn’t respond to his love letter: There was no park to take their dogs to. No Dogs Allowed. How could they meet at the park when Penny and Prince were not even allowed to be there?

  So much for the shortest relationship in human history.

  CHAPTER 3

  BFFs And What They Wore

  WHEN I WAS EIGHT, I DREAMED that Angelica and I were performing a show for Nobody in her backyard, something we occasionally did in real life. We wore her mother’s opera make-up and wacky ponytails all over. But her tap shoes were real, and mine were patent leathers with quarters glued to the bottoms. We danced and sang a song written and choreographed entirely by her. As in real life, I just followed her instructions.

  After our curtsies and standing ovations, we found ourselves by a large boulder near the woods. Angelica had become a princess with a fancy dress and a crown of gold. Her hair was glistening red like her mother’s. She scooped up a small decorative box from behind the rock. “What’s this?” Her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires.

  I grabbed it out of her hands. “That’s mine! Don’t open it.”

  She was bewildered. “Why can’t I see what’s inside?”

  “Because they’re secrets.” I hovered over my box and refused to let her touch it.

  “Best Friends never keep secrets.”

  “I know,” I tried to explain, “but you can’t see them. Please don’t be mad.”

  But she was, and she stormed away without looking back.

  “SO?” ANGELICA WHISPERED during study hall the next day.

  “Promise not to tell?”

  “Promise!” The girls were wearing matching French berets and dangling earrings. Their phase Francaise would last another week. Cowboy boots were next. Angelica’s fashion choices always worked better on herself. Her bangs framed her beret perfectly, whereas Raelyn’s black cap didn’t do much for her caramel skin, frizzy head, and glasses that morning.

  She leaned in slightly. “It’s from Gil Richmond.”

  “Ugh!” Angelica made a face, one eyebrow up, the other down. Her shoulder created a barrier between them, as if Raelyn had contracted germs. “That ego head?”

  “So what? He’s just a boy.”

  “Yeah, but Gil Richmond?” Angelica teased.

  Okay, did you miss it? For once in her life, Raelyn was first at something. She knew for a fact that Angelica had never received a love letter. This was the support she got from her best friend. “Whatever,” she confided, a giggle under her breath. They assembled notebooks on the table.

  They had become friends as kindergarten bus buddies. They lived two miles apart but in different worlds. Angelica’s family was exotic. Her father was in law enforcement and always looked regal in his pressed dark blue suits and shaped hat with the gold insignia. Her mother was an opera singer with voluptuous red hair, porcelain skin, and large blue eyes. She traveled often, and Angelica went with her to places like Kansas City, Toronto, Miami, and Colorado Springs. Portraits hung throughout their house of her mother in elegant costumes posing, presumably, on stages all over the world. She’d always promised that one day they’d take Raelyn to the opera and she could experience the magic herself. Between that and going to church every Sunday, Angelica had a closet full of lovely dresses.

  Raelyn’s parents were mortifying. Her mother wore a shower cap on her head at work—no lie—and rubber gloves, booties over her sneakers and cotton scrubs. She was an emergency room nurse with blood-and-guts stories. Her father wore the daily, boring basics: slacks, collared shirt, and embarrassing loafers. Whether at the community college where he worked, or at weekly legislature meetings, he always looked exactly the same.

  In the Quinn family, Angelica was everything. If she wanted art lessons, she got art lessons. Music, dance, pottery, sailing lessons—you name it, she got it. High marks, excellent reviews, praise, praise, praise, and admittedly all well deserved. Raelyn, on the other hand, lived in the shadows of her troublesome big brother, who in the past year had zapped the energy right out of the house. When Angelica was three, her father had built her the most awesome playhouse. It was sculpted from clay and straw, with two round windows as eyes on either side of an arched door, and hair atop the roof growing grass and flowers. The inside was a cheery cave with built-in, curvy seats and a polka-dot ceiling. Happy Hollow made everything that happened there enchanting.

  Once, when they were new friends and playing inside Happy Hollow, Raelyn had confided in her about the Glitter. Angie had looked at her oddly. “Glitter? What glitter?”

  “You know, the Glitter. At bedtime. Before you fall asleep.”

  But Angelica had remained blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You mean, you don’t see the Glitter?” Raelyn had assumed everybody saw it.

  When she hopped on the bus the next morning, she’d been met by Angelica’s loud greeting for all to hear: “Hi, Glitter Girl!” leaving Raelyn speechless. After several days of this, she’d finally blurted, “Can you not?” She followed with a weak laugh. “That was a secret just between us.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know!” Angelica had winced as if she’d just sipped lemonade without sugar. “I’m sorry.” Then an ingenious idea had crossed her mind. “I’ll call you G-G for short. No one will ever know. How’s that?” Angelica was a natural problem solver.

  And that is how the nickname Gigi came to be.

  Raelyn was now on the fifth math problem. “Anj,” she whispered, “did you hear about Blundertown Park?”

  “. . . No. What about it?”

  “Dogs aren’t allowed there anymore. Or in any park. I know because I took Penny yesterday, and there’s a sign.”

  “Really? Oh, that’s too bad,” Angie whispered back. She switched notebooks. “Want to compare answers?” She would catch right up to Raelyn in no time. She was a straight-A student and just plain smart at everything. Even in science, where Raelyn excelled, Angelica excelled just a little bit more. They compared answers to the first several problems, and Rae fixed a careless arithmetic error.

  When they got to number seven, Raelyn whispered, “This is a weird one.”

  “How?”

  She read the problem in a low voice: “Facts: price of gasoline: $3.47 per gallon; vans travel at 28 miles per gallon; county dog population: 476. Question: If 24 county vans travel a combined 2,750 miles to transport all of the dogs across the border, how much would it cost the county to become completely dog-free?”

  Angelica punched numbers on her calculator. “The answer is $340.80.”

  “But don’t you think it’s weird?” The girls looked at each other.

  Angie ex
plained, “They try to trick you to think it’s harder than it is. You don’t need the dog population at all to figure out the answer. You just calculate the gallons and then multiply by the cost: $340.80.”

  “But why would they be putting all those dogs in vans? Where would they be taking them?”

  “Gigi,” Angie laughed, still whispering, “it’s just a math problem.”

  “I know, but it’s, it’s. . . .” she was staring at the open page in front of her. She wondered what Gil Richmond would think; he had a dog. But she’d never get the chance to ask.

  “You’re over thinking, Silly. You just apply the same formula as all the other problems, basically,” she reasoned, but Rae had a glossed-over look in her eyes. “Hey. Earth to Gigi. It’s just math!” She glanced over at Raelyn’s notebook, where a string of letters—GEGE, GEGE—was penciled along the top of the page. “By the way,” Angie pointed out, “Gigi is spelled ‘Gigi,’ not ‘Ge’”.

  They continued working in silence. As study hall was about to end, Angelica asked about getting together over the weekend.

  “I can’t. We’re going away.”

  “Oh. Where?”

  “To my grandparents,” Raelyn lied. The truth was they were going to visit her brother. It was no one else’s business, and Jack’s troubles sometimes created friction. Angelica’s father was a cop, after all.

  “Oh, darn.” Angie crinkled her nose. “There’s this new group tomorrow—a neighborhood ‘Ollie’ thing. I thought maybe we could go together.” She pivoted on her chair and smiled. “But have fun!”

  The bell sounded, and a flurry of movement instantly followed. It was called a “bell” for lack of another term. In fact, the piercing bzzz was anything but a pleasant jingle. It buzzed thirteen times a day, and everyone—students, teachers, administrators—responded like robots.