Trouble with a Tiny t

by Merriam Sarcia Saunders

  “Hopper.” Mr. Widelot glares at me.

  “I didn’t—”

  “This was sent from your account,” he says. “Close your laptop.”

  “I swear—”

  “Come to the front of the room. You can stand by my desk for the rest of class while I get to the bottom of this.” Mr. Widelot walks to his desk and sits down. “I expect everyone to delete that photo from their inbox. And I will check.”

  I slam my laptop closed. I’m so mad that I shove it off my desk. I watch as it tumbles over the edge, realizing too late, as usual, what I’ve done. I scrunch my eyes closed, hearing the crashing sound of metal and plastic against the floor.

  Oh, shoot. Oh, shoot. Oh, shoot. Brain!

  I crack a lid. Mr. Widelot’s eyes are the size of grapefruits. “You did not just do that. Pick up that laptop and march up here now, Hopper.”

  My heart is practically beating itself out of my body. Why’d I have to do that?

  I grab the laptop and walk to the front of the class with my head hung. There aren’t even any “ooooohs” this time.

  I stand by Mr. Widelot’s desk in my colorful outfit and look out at the faces of my classmates. Some are trying not to laugh, a few look impressed, and the girls look mostly disgusted. Snake and Josh won’t even look at me. Frankie’s sinking way low in his chair, shoulders shaking with laughter. Alex too.

  I guess if it wasn’t me, I’d think it was funny too.

  But it is me.

  And I’m not laughing.

  “You have lost all class privileges,” Mr. Widelot says. “Every tech class, you will work by me at my desk for the entire period.” He opens my laptop and hits some keys. “You’re lucky it isn’t broken.”

  “But—”

  “In total and complete silence. Do you understand?”

  I nod, then glance over at Snake. He raises his gaze, just barely, and the corner of his top lip curls up.

  And suddenly I get it. Josh didn’t do it.

  Snake did.

  WEDNESDAY—AFTER SCHOOL

  I open my fist, and eleven dollars and twenty-seven cents falls onto Gram’s yellow kitchen table. The quarter rolls over to the edge, and Lenora catches it as it falls off.

  “What’s that for, sweetie?” Gram asks. She sets a plate of sugar cookies down in front of us. They’re shaped like snowmen, even though it’s only October. Lenora grabs one and practically shoves it into her mouth whole.

  “For the sheets. Dad said to pay you. It’s all I have.”

  Gram clasps a hand to her chest. “Westin Scott Hopper. You are the sweetest, kindest boy. Even if you have peculiar taste in shoes.” She points at my boots, and Lenora laughs.

  Hardly anyone calls me sweet and kind. It makes me feel all warm inside, like sitting next to a campfire with a full bag of marshmallows and a long stick.

  Gram takes the cash, grasps my hand, and places the money back in my palm. “As far as your dad needs to know, that debt’s been paid. Put the money back in your piggy bank.” She takes a teacup from the counter and sets it down on the table, easing herself into the vinyl chair next to Lenora. “So nice to have a visit during the week. You kids are always so busy with soccer and baseball.”

  She must be thinking of my cousins. Since I was kicked off the baseball team, the only things I’m busy with are video games and an aggressive, prehistoric reptile.

  I take a cookie and glance at Lenora. “Gram… can I ask you some questions about Uncle Marty? If it’s not too sad for you.”

  At the mention of his name, Gram’s eyes water. Lenora was right. And I feel about three inches high for bringing it up.

  But instead of shutting me down, Gram says, “Sure. I miss him terribly, but I love to talk about your uncle.”

  Lenora’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

  Gram softly pinches my chin. “What do you want to know, sweetie?”

  “Where do you think he went?” I ask.

  Gram puckers her lips. “Oh, that Marty couldn’t sit still. He probably visited every country known to man. But he didn’t say where he was going this time. When I asked, he said, ‘Somewhere special. Somewhere I haven’t been before.’ And that’s it. It worries me not to hear from him. He always calls, no matter if he’s on a camel in the Sahara or a riverboat in Borneo.”

  “Didn’t he have a job?” Lenora asks.

  Gram pushes the plate of cookies to Lenora. “Have another one, dear. Don’t be shy. Marty was a curator at the Museum of Antiquities. Then one day, a few years ago, he up and quit. Flew to France and started traveling all over, doing the most adventurous things.” She smiles. “He must have saved all his salary, I guess. Started his own collection, instead of curating for the museum, and gathered things from all over the world. What’s downstairs isn’t even a fraction of it. We had to put the rest in storage.”

  “Do you think he’s okay, Gram?” I ask.

  She dabs the corner of her eye with her knuckle. “I know Pops and your dad think something bad’s happened.” She covers my hand with her own and squeezes. “But I know Marty is on an adventure. A mother knows.”

  “It’s hard when you miss someone.” Lenora looks down. “My mom died when I was little. So I know what that’s like.”

  “Oh, dear.” Gram pats Lenora’s hand now. “I’m so sorry.”

  They both look like waterworks are just around the corner, so I shovel another cookie into my mouth and wait it out. As I chew, it dawns on me how awful Lenora must feel. When I think about how much I miss Uncle Marty, it’s like a giant boulder is trying to lodge itself into the hole he left in my heart. And he’s just my uncle. I can’t imagine if my mom died when I was little, and I never got to know her. Lenora must feel like she has a meteor-sized hole in her heart.

  The oven dings, and Gram sits up. “More cookies.” She pushes herself off her chair and shuffles to the oven.

  “Did Uncle Marty ever talk about any of his finds?” I ask. “Like the thing I took Sunday? The magic pouch.”

  Gram laughs as she places the cookies onto a rack. “Oh, your imagination. Just like Marty’s. A magic pouch would explain his lifestyle—and how he could afford to be so generous with us. Always trying to pay for things.” She sighs.

  I can tell she doesn’t really believe me. “Gram, I’m serious. He really did have magic.”

  “I suppose to me, everything he collected was a little strange and magical.” Gram sits back down and takes a sip of her tea. “It’s a shame he and your father were never close, even as boys.” She lowers her chin and sighs again. “Too different.”

  “There’s a manual that supposedly explains the magic.” I press on. “Did you guys find anything like that when you were packing up?”

  Gram shakes her head, smiling softly. “Can’t say that we did. Why don’t you go downstairs and take a look around? Maybe you’ll find your magic manual.”

  I raise my eyebrows and instinctively look around for Pops.

  Gram leans in and whispers, “It’s okay. Pops is out.”

  “I won’t break anything,” I say.

  She chuckles. “I know you’ll be careful. Go on.” She waves toward the basement.

  I get up and lead Lenora to the basement door. She whispers behind me, “She’s really nice.” Then she mumbles, “Bet she’d never kill your chicken.”

  I open the door, then stop. “Don’t be scared. It’s dark. And there are spiders.”

  Lenora narrows her eyes. “I live on a farm—not afraid of spiders. Go.”

  I grope my way down the familiar stairs to the lightbulb string. Lenora is so close her breath steams my neck. Not afraid of spiders, right. I pull the switch on.

  “Whoa, cool.” Lenora walks to an open cardboard box. “There’s so much down here.” She holds up an empty soda bottle. “There’s one of these in every language. Loo
k, this one’s in Chinese.”

  I immediately go for the taiko drum. It’s almost as big as I am and sits on its side on a wooden frame. I pick up the thick drumstick and haul off. Bang. Boom. Bang bang boom.

  Lenora covers her ears. “West. Cut it out. We need to get serious.”

  I give the drum a few more whacks, then put the drumstick down. “You look through stuff on this side. Careful of the grenade box.” I point to the boxes on our right. “I’ll go over here.”

  “What exactly are we looking for?”

  I scratch my cheek. “Something that looks like a manual, I guess. So, look for books or papers?”

  Lenora nods and starts unfolding the top of a large box, digging through its contents.

  “Oh, and keep your eyes open for an alien hand,” I say, opening a dresser drawer.

  “A what?” Lenora pulls her hands back quickly.

  “Uncle Marty said he had one.” I slam the drawer shut. Empty.

  “Ew.” Lenora picks through his things with her fingertips. “This one’s got magician stuff: top hat, wand, cape, and… gross.” She holds up a taxidermy of a white rabbit.

  “That is cool.” I dig back into a box. “What the heck? This is nasty.” I lift some kind of rubbery fish thing with two heads, a horn, bug eyes, and an open jaw filled with red gums and white fangs. “Check it out!”

  “Whoa.” Lenora’s eyes are large. “That’s your alien, dude. It’s a mummified alien shark.”

  “It is?” My shoulders fall. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

  “Hopefully, that never comes out of your magic pouch.” Lenora laughs.

  We flip through every book, dig in every container, open every suitcase for what seems like forever. But we find nothing remotely like a manual for a magic pouch.

  I slam down the folds of the box I’m searching. “I don’t even know what we’re looking for.” I exhale and sit cross-legged on the cold floor.

  Lenora holds up a small wooden box the size of a bread loaf and shakes it. “I wonder what’s in here. It won’t open.”

  I sit up. “That’s where I found the key to the suitcase.”

  “What suitcase?”

  I jump up and grab the box from her hands. “It had those clothes in it”—I nod to the pile on the floor—“and the magic pouch.” I try to pry open the lid, but the box won’t budge. I look up, eyes wide as I remember. “There were papers inside!”

  Lenora’s eyes match mine. “Maybe it’s the manual?”

  Just then the basement door opens. “Who’s down there?” Pops’ booming voice barrels down the stairs. “Is that you, Westin?”

  I gasp. “Hide the box in your shirt.” I thrust it toward Lenora.

  She puts her hands up. “Me?”

  I push it into her hands. “He won’t suspect you.”

  Lenora groans but tucks the box inside her sweater.

  “It’s me, Pops. But Gram said I could,” I yell up.

  “Get up here this minute.”

  Here we go.

  Lenora and I walk up the stairs to find Pops standing with his arms folded in front of his barrel chest. “What have I told you about going down there? Were you in Marty’s things? You never listen.”

  “Pops, I swear, Gram—”

  “He’s right, he’s right.” Gram shuffles down the hall from her room. “Leave him alone, Pops. I said he could.”

  The scowl on Pops’s face only grows. “I don’t want him in Marty’s things. I don’t want anyone in Marty’s things.”

  Gram waves her hand in the air as she passes by Pops and goes to the kitchen. “I know, I know. But Marty wouldn’t mind. He loves sharing his things with West, dear.”

  “That’s not the point.…” Pops follows her, complaining as they continue arguing in the kitchen.

  That’s our opening.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” I pull Lenora toward the front door. “Bye, Gram and Pops. Love you!” I shout over my shoulder.

  Without looking back, I bolt out the door, again taking something from the basement without Pops knowing. I just hope what I’m taking this time will help solve all the trouble I’ve made—instead of making more of it.

  WEDNESDAY—LATER

  On the bus ride home from Gram’s, Lenora and I try to pry open the box, but it’s sealed like Fort Knox. I curse myself for bumping the combination the other day and cross my fingers that the papers inside are actually the manual. I start my week at Dad’s house on Sunday, and I clearly can’t take my new zoo with me.

  Once home, I immediately kick off my boots, then discover Fiddles slurping from a puddle of milk on the kitchen floor. The fridge door is propped open with a chair, a carton of crushed eggs and crumpled deli meat wrappers sprawled underneath. Bits of leftover spaghetti and meatballs trail down the hall.

  “Whoa!” Lenora exclaims.

  I run to my room. Plastic army men are in formation at the base of my desk. Thor stands on top, chest puffed out, telling a battle story about some serpent—Jormungander or something—that’s going to poison the sky or whatever.

  Tiny T bangs against the closet door—still. I don’t want to know what the inside of my closet looks like. My clothes are probably shredded. I just hope he hasn’t touched my Gators jersey. I’ve been waiting forever to fit into it, and I think this year is the year.

  “What happened out there?” I interrupt Thor’s story and point toward the kitchen, like Dad does when he’s accusing me of something I probably did.

  “My lady. Your presence today has brought sunshine into my battle-weary days.” Thor bows deeply, and Lenora blushes.

  “You could’ve at least cleaned up after yourself,” I continue. “Did you have to leave such a mess?” Wow, those words out of my mouth!

  Thor scales the desk like it’s a cliff and the knobs are his footholds. Then he swaggers over to the closet, a tiny sparkle shining off his toothy grin at Lenora, and nudges open the door. Lenora and I immediately jump up onto the bed.

  “What are you doing?” I cry.

  Tiny T barrels out of the closet, straight into the center of the room. He’s at least a head taller and is close to mid-thigh now—much, much bigger than Fiddles.

  “I fed your hungry dragon. You see that he grows,” Thor says.

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious!”

  T scrambles over to the bed. His little T. rex head is now able to peek above the edge. He grabs at the bedcovers with his short arms, but they’re not strong enough to lift him onto the bed—yet.

  “You have to get rid of him, West. Fast. He’s going to keep growing,” says Lenora.

  “You think?!”

  Thor wallops Tiny T on the noggin again and drags him back to the closet by his tail. With the coast clear, Lenora and I climb down from the bed and sit cross-legged on the floor. I keep trying combinations on the box, but nothing works.

  “Where’s the magic pouch?” Lenora suddenly asks.

  I point to my sock drawer. “Why?”

  Lenora grabs the pouch and the card that came with it. “I have an idea.” She sets them on the ground before me. “Hold the pouch and imagine the box open. But you can’t think of anything else. No race cars or video games.”

  I bang a fist against my forehead. “I wasn’t thinking of those things. Now that’s all I can think of. I shouldn’t go anywhere near that pouch!”

  Her lip curls down. “Sorry. Want me to try?”

  I shrug.

  Lenora lifts the pouch and closes her eyes, palms extended out in front of her. I hold my breath. After a moment, she opens her eyes. I try the lid. Still locked.

  “Darn,” she says.

  I reach for the Madame Zaqar card on the floor. There must be some clue here. “Wait. The card says, The purchased customized enchantment herein, conjured by the eye, is to be
activated by one conjurer and passed down by blood. Purchaser hereby agrees to all terms… blah blah blah.”

  I look up.

  “One conjurer?” Lenora repeats.

  “Passed down by blood,” I say. “I’m Uncle Marty’s blood. I’m the one conjurer now.” I slump. “This is terrible.”

  Thor shrugs. “I must concur.”

  “Why is that so bad? Who wouldn’t want magic that only works for them?” Lenora asks.

  “Because if it works for only me, maybe Uncle Marty really is dead,” I say.

  Lenora’s eyebrows inch together. “Oh.” She places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  I inhale as that sinks in, wondering if there could be some flaw in the logic, some way it doesn’t mean Uncle Marty is really gone forever.

  Lenora turns to Thor. “This magic must come from the same place you do. Are you sure you don’t know anything?”

  Thor waves his arm dramatically. “My lady, the place I come from is the Other Realm. It is where the stars meet the imagination, where time drifts on a river of tears and joy and thoughts and dreams. It is everything, and it is nothing. It is now, and it is never.” He lifts his mallet high. “There is magic, aye, both good and bad. What I know is that one must be wary of dark magic and the temptation it summons. It is best avoided.”

  “Generally vague and mostly unhelpful,” I mutter under my breath.

  “What about what it says on the card? Customized enchantment. Any idea what that means?” Lenora asks.

  “I am sorry, no. Brute strength is all I require to make wishes come true. If it were me, I would single-handedly subdue your dragon and escort him back to the Other Realm.” Thor slashes his mallet through the air and stops. “Alas, ogre, you lack the necessary musculature for such strength, and I cannot do it for you.”

  “Super helpful observation.” I sigh.

  “You conjured forth,” Thor continues. “You alone must conjure the return.”

  “I wish I’d conjured forth a Thor that talked normally,” I say.

  Lenora thrusts the pouch toward me. “You just have to focus.”