Trouble with a Tiny t

by Merriam Sarcia Saunders

  I wave the pouch away. “Maybe we haven’t met. My name’s Westin Hopper, otherwise known as Hyper Hopper. Thoughts faster than a speeding rubber band, able to conjure a T. rex in a single bound… Anyway, I don’t know the spells or whatever.”

  “You have to try. Hold the pouch and think of the box opening,” Lenora insists. “I’ll hold onto it until you’re focused. My mom was a yoga teacher, so I can help you be mindful.” She adjusts herself to face me.

  “I thought your mom was a dancer who did MMA,” I say.

  “Don’t change the subject.” Her kneecaps touch mine, just the tiniest bit, and mine bounce, as usual. She taps one to make me stop. “Close your eyes and take in a deep breath.”

  I breathe all the way to the bottom of my lungs… and bounce my knee.

  “Count to four and let it out. One, two, three, four.” She exhales. “And quit bouncing your knee.”

  I crinkle my nose and force myself to stop bouncing. It’s super hard. I start tapping my fingers on my thighs instead.

  Lenora reaches over and puts her hand on mine. “Shh. Breathe in… and out. Relax.”

  I’m supposed to relax with a girl’s hand on mine?

  “Now focus on the box. The lid is open.”

  Box. Lid. Open. Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t bounce. I chew my bottom lip.

  “Do you see the open box in your mind?”

  I nod.

  “Good. Now just keep picturing that.” Lenora’s knees press harder into mine, and I feel her setting the scratchy velvet pouch on my leg. She places my hand on top of the pouch.

  I imagine the open box. I’m a conjurer now. I can do magic—maybe all sorts of magic. Like flying and becoming invisible. I could seriously mess with Mr. Widelot if I were invisible. Maybe I’ll become a famous wizard, and they’ll make a bunch of movies about me, and I’ll go to wizard school instead of nature school or whatever, and I’ll get a wand and ooh, cool, my own owl and a flying broo—

  My eyes fly open, and I throw the pouch off me.

  “What?” Lenora looks at it.

  “I was doing great. But then…”

  “Uh-oh.”

  And there it is. Another lump. It thrashes inside the pouch.

  “My mind wandered! To wizards and owls and flying brooms and…”

  “You didn’t.” Lenora reaches for the pouch and slowly unties it. A bird flies out, white and round with large dark eyes. “It’s an owl!” she exclaims.

  The owl is tiny, about the size of a hummingbird, but definitely an owl. It flies in circles before landing on the bookshelf, where it tucks its wide wings to its sides and blinks its heavy eyelids twice.

  I check the box. Still locked. “Darn it.” So not only did I not conjure the box open, but also, of all the cool things I pictured, I got the owl.

  Lenora stands to inspect our winged guest. She turns to Thor. “Can we keep it?”

  Thor swings his mallet once, then poses with a knee bent, warrior-style. “That is betwixt the conjurer, the will of the raptor, and the Other Realm.”

  Lenora strokes the tiny owl’s feathers. “I guess it’s harder for you to focus than I realized.” She holds her finger out like a perch and smiles when the tiny owl mounts it. “And you’re right, you shouldn’t be anywhere near this pouch with your mind.” She reaches down and picks up the pouch. “What do we do now?”

  As soon as Lenora sets the pouch on my desk, the owl takes flight off her finger and swoops right into the opening. In an instant, it disappears.

  “Darn.” Lenora frowns.

  “Really? The owl flies back in?” I exclaim. “Just like that?”

  Thor strikes a new pose, mallet overhead, other hand out straight. “This raptor was likely displeased with the foul odor of your chamber.”

  I stand up and start toward the door. “I have an idea. I’ll be right back.” I run to the garage and return with a large screwdriver and heavy hammer. “Hold the box on its side,” I tell Lenora.

  She puts the box between her knees. I kneel and position the screwdriver against the crack between the lid and base. With all my brute force, I slam the hammer down. The lock snaps more easily than I expected, and I fall forward. The screwdriver slips off the box and jabs down hard.

  Lenora gasps, and her eyes go wide. The screwdriver is sticking into my carpet, an inch from her leg.

  Thor leaps off the desk and runs over, mallet circling. “My lady! Has the ogre injured you?”

  Lenora raises her hands. “All good.” She glances at me. “But maybe we let Thor do the hammering from now on?” She looks at the now-open box. Inside are the rolled papers I saw when I first found the key. “Well, you did it.”

  I dive in and unroll the papers.

  “Is it the manual?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Looks like drawings.” I hold them up. “This one’s a car… this one looks like weird money. A drawing of an airplane ticket from San Francisco to Paris for a Martin Q. Hopper.”

  “Let me see.” She lifts a few drawings to inspect them.

  “I think Uncle Marty drew these,” I say. “I remember when he got this Mustang. Dad was so jealous. And I think this is supposed to be the money they use in Europe—Euros. Uncle Marty gave me some once.”

  “Hmm. He’s a good artist.” Lenora says. “But why would he bother saving all these drawings? I mean, they’re not that good.”

  I don’t have an answer for that. We look through the rest of the papers. All drawings, no instructions, no manual. Not one thing that explains the magic.

  “Well, this was a giant waste of time.” I slam the box cover down.

  Lenora puts her hand on her hip. “Not entirely, grumpy. We now know the magic only works for you. And that we should keep you away from it or we could wind up with tiny King Kong or Dracula by mistake.”

  I rub my face in my hands. “Why won’t the T. rex just go back, like the owl and the crocodile?”

  “We may never know why your dragon remains,” Thor says. “Perhaps he has an affection for this world. Perhaps the Other Realm sent him to tutor such an inept ogre-turned-conjurer.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t even understand you half the time.”

  “I think he means Tiny T could be here to teach you something,” Lenora says.

  “Ha!” I burst out. “Here’s what I’ve learned so far: I have to get rid of him or he’s going to eat me.”

  “Fear not, ogre. I shall not let harm befall a servant of my lady.” Thor raises his mallet.

  I give him a weak smile. “Thanks.” He’s strong for a tiny dude, but my growing prehistoric problem will gobble him up before long. Followed by me for dessert.

  Just then a horn beeps in the driveway.

  “Must be my dad,” Lenora says. “I should go before he tries to break down the door again.”

  I nod. “Mom will be home any minute. She’ll freak if she sees the mess by the fridge. I’d better go clean it.”

  Using a drumstick from a toy drum I broke eons ago, I lift the magic pouch off the floor. Then I open the wooden box with the drawings and slip the pouch inside. I tuck the box in my sock drawer for safekeeping.

  Lenora stands. “Now what?”

  “No idea,” I say. The closet door shakes as my dinosaur thumps it from inside. “Tiny T is growing fast. This is getting scary.”

  “Maybe it’s time to tell your mom?” Lenora suggests. “If my mom were alive, that’s what I’d do. She’d know how to fix it.”

  Maybe her mom would. But I don’t think even my super-duper helicopter Mom would know how to repair this magic gone wrong. I’m going to have to fix this trouble myself.

  WEDNESDAY NIGHT

  I’m in the middle of researching magic on the internet when there’s a knock on my door. “West? Time for bed,” Mom says from the hall.

 
; “Don’t come in!” I bolt to my door, open it a crack, and slip out to her in the hallway.

  “I thought you’d be done organizing by now,” Mom says, trying to peer around me. “Can I peek in?”

  I block her path. “Nope. No way. You promised, remember?” Even in the dim light of the hall, I can see that Mom’s eyes are sort of red and puffy, like she’s been crying. This can’t be good. When Mom cries, it’s usually because of one of the “D” words.

  Detention.

  Dad.

  Divorce.

  And disorder. When the doctor told Mom I had ADHD, she cried. She tried to hide it from me, but I totally knew. Can’t say I blame her. My life would be completely different—and way easier—if I could focus, sit still, and remember stuff.

  My insides tense. “Am I in trouble?” Mr. Widelot. It was just a matter of time. He probably ratted on me for not showing up to detention three days in a row. He still hasn’t said anything in class. He’s deliberately messing with me.

  Mom makes a funny face. “Did you do something to get in trouble? If so, best to come clean now.”

  I look down and kick the floor with my heel. “You might be getting a call from Mr. Widelot.” I look up. “But I don’t think sticking a tongue out at Nicole should have gotten me in trouble. I mean, geez, big deal. Plus, I have ADHD—it makes me do stuff!”

  Mom shakes her head. “Sometimes I think we never should’ve told you that you have ADHD. You can’t use it to excuse your behavior.” She raises a finger. “It’s an explanation, not an excuse. And it doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you, got it? You’re perfect the way you are.”

  “Uh-huh.” Like I buy that.

  “I’ll deal with your teacher if he calls.” She pulls me in for a hug. “Sometimes people only see the negative stuff. But your mind operates in amazing ways. Like your terrific imagination and your drawings.”

  Okay, now she’s hallucinating. Next she’ll tell me I can leap tall buildings and catch speeding bullets. If my mind is so “amazing,” why do my grades reek? Oh, and then there’s that bit about the creatures in my room that I conjured while Brain was dancing the hula. Amazing, my butt.

  “So why were you crying then? Is it Dad?”

  Mom inhales, kind of ragged-like, and I think she might start tearing up. “It’s grown-up stuff. You let me worry about it.” She chews her lip.

  Guess that settles it. Dad’s the D word.

  Suddenly Mom’s rotor blades fire up again. “Maybe tomorrow we can work on your charter school application. We need to start on that essay. Oh, and how was your playdate at that girl’s house?” She squeezes my shoulder. “Is she nice? Does she want to come over for dinner? You thanked her folks, right?”

  I can practically feel the downdraft as the helicopter whirs.

  “It wasn’t a playdate, Mom. It was fine. She’s okay.”

  Minimal info is the key.

  “That’s all I get, huh? ‘Fine’ and ‘okay’?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, sweet dreams, then. Don’t forget to call your dad to say good night.” Mom kisses my forehead. “We’re going to be okay, you and me. We are. I love you so much.” When she pulls away, her eyes are shiny with tears again.

  I think about what Lenora said—that maybe Mom could fix the prehistoric trouble in my closet. But as she drags a fingertip under one eye, I decide the last thing Mom needs is another D word on her list—dinosaur would be a big one.

  Back in my room, I phone Dad to say good night.

  “Hey, squirt, did your mom get my email about the private school?” Dad asks as soon as he picks up. “I need you to start filling out the application, and we’ll need a letter of recommendation from a teacher. Who would be good to ask?”

  Er… no one? Sometimes Dad is a little out of touch with my academic reality.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say instead.

  “Just calling to say good night?” he asks. “I’m in the middle of a brief I need to file.” That’s lawyer-speak for “I can’t talk to you right now.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that’s all,” I reply. “Sorry.”

  “No, that’s okay, buddy. I have a minute,” he says. “How was your day?”

  “Been better.” Like the days I didn’t have to wear cowboy boots and basketball shorts to school and keep a man-eating prehistoric lizard from devouring my face. For starters.

  “Pops called me,” Dad says. “You went into the basement with some girl?”

  “Gram said I could!” My voice gets high.

  “West, you know Pops doesn’t want you in Marty’s things. You didn’t take anything, did you?”

  “No.” The lie just jumps right out of my mouth before I can stop it. “I mean, sort of. But Gram said I could take it.”

  “Westin.”

  “The thing I took is magic, Dad. Real magic.” Again, blurting without thinking. Vacation Brain is on a roll tonight. But maybe it’s okay. Maybe Dad could help. “And these things appeared, dangerous things, and I can’t get rid of them.”

  Dad exhales, and I can practically feel his breath through the phone. “Buddy, I know you have a great imagination, but now’s not the time. I’m in the middle of this major case. Let’s talk about this on Sunday. And about taking things that don’t belong to you.”

  “But, Dad—”

  “Sunday, Westin. Okay?”

  “Please, Dad? Please?”

  “I’m not going to say it again. Final.”

  I pout silently.

  “Stop pouting. I’ll see you this weekend. Good night.”

  Without another word, Dad hangs up. Dang it. Just like I thought, I’ll have to tackle this trouble alone—and fast—before my life blows up completely.

  THURSDAY MORNING

  “Are you going through some kind of growth spurt, sweetie?” Mom is fixing me another PB&J sandwich because there’s basically no other food left in the house. Tiny T has eaten it all. “I bought two pounds of deli meat on Monday and had to get more yesterday.”

  “Guess so.” I’m too busy shoveling scrambled eggs onto toast for the dinosaur in my closet to say more. I take a few bites for myself. I’d rather have frosted cereal, but Mom says she read somewhere that protein is good for my wandering brain. I wish she’d stop reading.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  “There’s that noise again.” Mom puts down the knife and heads toward the hall to investigate.

  “No, I’ll go!” I jump up. “I have to get my shoes on anyway.”

  “Did you put your homework in your backpack? Don’t forget to brush your teeth!” she calls after me.

  “Okay!” I remember to shut my bedroom door behind me this time. Then I carefully crack the closet door a few inches. Thor squeezes through the opening, and I quickly close it behind him. He’s taller now, almost a foot high. Apparently the only things not growing are the plastic army men and me.

  “Good morning, fine ogre. Tell me, what news of the kingdom today?”

  “For the millionth time, I’m not an ogre.” I kneel down and offer my palm. “Eggs, toast, and bacon. Take some, and give the rest to T. How’s it going in there?”

  “Your dragon continues to increase in size, but we control him well. He is weak and hungry and bruised from my prowess with the hammer. He has, however, clawed through most of the fine drapery in this dark hall in his search for sustenance.”

  “Fine drapery?”

  “The large swaths of material hanging from up above.”

  “Oh. My clothes. Great.”

  “Have you found the way to send him home, ogre?” Thor takes a tiny mouthful of eggs, followed by a small bite of bacon.

  “Not yet. I have to get to school, so there’s not much I can do about it right now.” I peer into my backpack to double-check that my phone is inside. “Today I ne
ed to prove to my friends that I’m telling the truth about the T. rex.”

  I reach into my drawer for the wooden box, push aside Uncle Marty’s drawings, and slip the box into my backpack. “And just in case they don’t believe me, I’m bringing the pouch. That will prove I have magic.”

  “Ogre, it is not for me to judge in matters of giants. But might I suggest this is not a good plan?”

  I shake my head. “You don’t get it. They don’t want to hang out with me because of one silly, tiny mistake I made. All that will change when they realize I really do have magic.”

  “If one mistake loses a friend, and a treasure gains him back, a true friend he never was indeed.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Yoda. Try speaking English next time.” I stand.

  “I am merely attempting to assist my lady’s pig-headed ogre.”

  I sigh. “You’re right, I’m sorry. You are helping. And I know you probably want to get back to… Other wherever. Are you cool to hang for a while, at least until I figure out how to get rid of Tiny T?”

  Thor cocks his little head to the side. “‘Cool to hang’?”

  “Yeah, I mean, will you stay a little longer?”

  “The headless green warriors and I can contain the giant dragon in your chamber until my lady gives command that I am no longer needed. Until then, I am at your service, ogre.”

  I have to laugh. Do I really look like an ogre to him? “Thanks. I mean it.”

  “Westin, are you ready?” Mom calls from the kitchen. “Did you figure out what that noise was?”

  “Nothing!” I holler back and reopen the closet door a crack. “I gotta go.”

  “Thank you for the sustenance. Go forth, and may the strength of Odin be with you.” Thor hefts the piece of toast with the remaining eggs and bacon over his head and sneaks back into the closet.

  I’ll take all the help I can get from Odin if it means figuring out how to send these creatures back to wherever they came from and out of my life.

  THURSDAY—AT SCHOOL

  Mom drops me curbside at school—late as usual—so I get a late slip from the office. Everyone is already lining up by the buses for our field trip to the museum. The entire fifth grade is going because we’re studying Egypt, and we all have to write some long, boring report on an Egyptian topic.