Flight of the Pummeled Parakeet

by Sam Hay

  “Joe! What’s this?” Mom stood in the doorway holding the plastic bag stuffed with Joe’s wet clothes. “I found it in your book bag!”

  Joe’s face reddened. “It’s my pants. I had a bit of an accident.”

  Mom gasped.

  “No!” he said quickly. “I didn’t wet myself! I sort of fell into a bucket of soapy water . . .”

  “Oh, right,” said Mom. “And how do you explain the lumps of kiwi?”

  “Well, um, it was soapy water mixed with fruit smoothie—a kiwi and lime smoothie.”

  Mom smiled. “Of course it was! Why didn’t I think of that?” She rolled her eyes.

  Nothing Joe did seemed to surprise his mom anymore. He’d been in so much trouble lately that this sort of thing counted as normal behavior. And there was no way he could tell her that it was all thanks to the undead pets!

  “When you’re ready,” Mom said, “would you come downstairs and help me sort out the flyers? I’ve had another idea for a promotion, too!”

  “Oh yeah? What is it?” Joe asked.

  “I’m going to knock on a few doors when we’re delivering the flyers tomorrow and offer half-price, on-the-spot haircuts.”

  “What, on their front steps?”

  Mom nodded. “Well, not actually on the steps! Inside would be fine. What do you think?”

  “Um . . .”

  “Everyone loves a bargain, Joe!” said Mom.

  “Everyone loves a bargain, Joe!” repeated Petey. “B.O.G.O.F., Petey! B.O.G.O.F.—buy one, get one free! Take care of the pennies, and the dollars will take care of themselves! Everyone loves a bargain, Joe.”

  Joe stared at Petey. Of course! Maggie was a total penny-pincher! She’d love a half-price haircut. All they had to do was knock on her door and offer it to her . . . then Joe would be able to get into her house and look for the raffle ticket!

  The only trouble was, he had no idea where she lived.

  Joe scrolled down the page of addresses and phone numbers he’d found online.

  A. PRINGLE

  A.A.R. PRINGLE

  A.M. PRINGLE

  C. PRINGLE

  Rev. D. PRINGLE

  D.W.J. PRINGLE

  Dr. G. PRINGLE

  “Oh no!” he groaned. “There are seven M. Pringles listed! How am I supposed to knock on seven doors?” He glanced at the addresses. He’d never even heard of half the streets. “They’re probably spread out all over town.”

  Petey fluttered around Joe’s head, then landed clumsily on his shoulder. The bird cocked his head and looked curiously at the computer.

  “Do you recognize any of the addresses?” Joe nodded to the screen. But Petey just shrugged. Then Joe remembered Petey probably couldn’t read. “What about this,” Joe said, reading the first. “Number 11 Dover Sole Street?”

  Petey began whistling tunelessly to himself.

  “47 Hartley Road?”

  Still nothing.

  “Hang on,” said Joe. “Pauline Pringle must be listed here as well. So if I can find a P. Pringle with the same address as an M. Pringle, then that’s the one!”

  He glanced up and down the list. “There!” he said. “29 Argyll Avenue?”

  Suddenly, Petey squawked, “Petey Pringle, 29 Argyll Avenue, telephone number 555-6283!”

  “What?” Joe glanced up.

  Petey had hopped onto the shelf above the computer. “Petey Pringle, 29 Argyll Avenue, telephone number 555-6283.”

  “Is that where you live?”

  “Petey Pringle, 29 Argyll Avenue, telephone number 555-6283.”

  “Petey!” said Joe. “Snap out of it!” He clapped his hands.

  Petey jerked back to normal again.

  “Did you live on Argyll Avenue?” asked Joe.

  Petey nodded. “Maggie taught me to say my address in case I got lost.”

  Joe rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you say so? Birdbrain!” He grinned. “Argyll Avenue’s not that far from here.”

  Petey began bobbing his head up and down, flapping his wings, and chirping. “Can we go? Can we go now?”

  Joe shut down the computer. “Tomorrow, Petey. We’ll go tomorrow.”

  “Not fish sticks again!” wailed Sarah.

  It was dinnertime. Joe was sitting at the table with Toby and his big sister, Sarah.

  “Sorry,” said Mom, who was peering at a street map she’d printed off the computer. “I’ve been too busy to go food shopping this week. So we’re eating up what’s in the freezer.”

  “I don’t mind,” mumbled Toby, his cheeks stuffed with fries. “I love fish sticks and french fries!”

  Sarah scowled at him.

  Mom picked up a yellow highlighter and drew a large circle around their neighborhood; then she drew a line down the middle.

  “Is that where we’re delivering the flyers?” asked Joe.

  Mom nodded.

  Joe pointed his fork at the section with Argyll Avenue in it. “Maybe you and me could do that part, Mom. And Matt said he’d help, too.”

  “No way!” snapped Sarah. “I’m doing Argyll Avenue—that’s where Gabriella lives.”

  Joe groaned. That’s why he knew that street. Gabriella was Sarah’s best friend. He’d been in the car when they’d dropped Sarah off for sleepovers at Gabriella’s house.

  “I’m sure Joe won’t mind if you do Argyll Avenue,” said Mom. “Will you, Joe?”

  “Um, well . . .” Joe tried to think of a good reason to say no.

  Petey, who had been sitting on the lampshade above their heads, shrieked suddenly. He dive-bombed down toward the table, knocking a layer of dust off the lamp and landing with a thud in front of Joe’s plate. “Argyll Avenue? Argyll Avenue! That’s Maggie’s street. Tell her you’re doing that one, Joe!”

  Joe took a deep breath. “Mom, I have to do that street because I promised someone that I’d deliver a flyer to their house.”

  “Who?” demanded Sarah. “Who do you know on Argyll Avenue?”

  Joe racked his brain. Apart from Maggie and Pauline Pringle, there was no one!

  “Well,” said Joe, playing for time. He was trying to think of someone in his class that Sarah wouldn’t know . . .

  “No one!” declared Sarah. “He’s just saying he wants to do Gabriella’s street to annoy me.” She shot him an evil look.

  “Ms. Pringle from our school!” burst out Joe.

  “Who?” asked Mom.

  All eyes were on him now. Even Toby had stopped chewing and was peering at him.

  “One of the lunch ladies from school,” he mumbled. “I sort of told Ms. Pringle about your new business”—he tried to ignore Sarah’s scowl—“and I said I’d be putting a flyer through her door. She was really excited to book an appointment.”

  “So what?” snapped Sarah. “I’ll do it. There’s no reason why you have to do it!”

  “B-b-but . . .” Joe stuttered. “But—”

  “Come on!” Sarah whined. “Why does it have to be you?”

  Petey made a strange hissing noise. He was staring at Sarah. “She’s mean!” he said. Then he flew at her and pecked her nose.

  “Ow!” Sarah squealed.

  “What is it?” Mom looked at Joe. “Did you throw something at Sarah?”

  “No!”

  “Maybe it was the same as what bit you, Joe!” Toby said.

  “What?” Mom looked worried. “When did you get bitten, Joe?”

  “Just on the way home from school. It might have been a flea . . .”

  “A flea?” Mom looked appalled.

  Joe gulped. “Yeah. Maybe the clothes I borrowed from school had fleas?”

  Mom gasped.

  “Or maybe not,” said Joe quickly.

  “Mom! My nose!” wailed Sarah.

>   “Let me look.” Mom leaned over the table. “Oh, it does look a bit red.” She gave Joe a searching look. “Are you sure you didn’t throw something at your sister?”

  “Yes!”

  Petey was back on the lampshade again, swinging back and forth, knocking off more dust.

  Achoo! sneezed Mom as a little cloud of dust cascaded down. Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!

  “Mom!” snapped Sarah. “What about my nose!”

  Mom rubbed her eyes. “It looks okay now, Sarah.” Achoo! Mom sneezed again. Achoo! Achoo!

  “Tell Joe that I’m doing Argyll Avenue,” said a frustrated Sarah.

  Mom sighed. “How about we all do it,” she said. Then she sneezed again!

  “You’ve got to stop pecking people!” said Joe as he got ready for bed.

  Petey, who was sitting on a model airplane that hung from Joe’s ceiling, shrugged. “That’s what parakeets do!”

  “Not all of them!”

  “She deserved it.”

  Joe couldn’t argue with that.

  “Night, Petey,” he said, climbing into bed. “And don’t let the bedbugs bite.” He grinned. As soon as dinner was over, Mom had taken away the “lost and found” sweatpants and put them straight in the washing machine—just in case they really did have fleas.

  Joe closed his eyes.

  “Twinkle, twinkle, little star . . .”

  Joe groaned.

  “How I wonder what you are . . .”

  “Petey!”

  “Up above the world so high . . .”

  “Stop it! I can’t sleep with you babbling on.”

  “Baa, baa, black sheep—”

  “PETEY!” Joe flicked on the light.

  “Sorry, Joe, but Maggie and I always sang songs together before she put the cover over my cage.” He looked around anxiously. “I don’t think I can sleep with so much space around me.”

  “But I don’t have a birdcage,” Joe said. At this rate he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. “Wait a minute.” Joe climbed out of bed and walked over to the closet. He rifled through piles of puzzles and games. “There!” He pulled out a large junk model made of old shoe boxes, yogurt containers and scraps of paper.

  “What is it?” asked Petey uncertainly.

  “It’s a model T. rex. I made it when I was six. I got a prize for it at school!”

  Petey looked at the creature curiously.

  “There you go,” Joe said, putting it on top of his dresser. “It’s a bit like a birdcage.”

  Petey flew into the dinosaur’s mouth and peeped out. “I can still see the room!”

  Joe sighed. Then he grabbed his T-shirt and draped it over the model. “Good night, Petey.”

  There was no reply.

  “Are you really going to knock on their door?” Matt still couldn’t believe they were at the Pringle sisters’ house.

  It was Saturday morning, and they’d been delivering flyers since eight o’clock. Argyll Avenue was their last street before they took a break.

  Sarah, who was doing Gabriella’s side of the street with Toby and Dad, stuck her tongue out at Joe. “I bet I get a customer before you!”

  Joe made a face back at her. “Come on,” he said to Matt. Mom, who was handing over a flyer to the lady who lived in the house next door to the Pringles, gave Joe a hopeful thumbs-up. Lots of people were interested in booking appointments, but no one had wanted an instant haircut yet!

  Joe rang the bell, his heart racing. Somehow he had to convince Maggie to get a haircut. And—most important—let him inside!

  Petey was sitting on Joe’s shoulder twittering nervously. “Who’s a pretty boy? Petey boy! Petey boy! Kissy, kissy!”

  Just then, the door opened. It was Maggie Pringle.

  “Yes? What is it?” She frowned at Joe and Matt.

  “MAGGIE!” squawked Petey with delight, fluttering over to perch near Maggie, even though she had no idea he was there.

  Joe smiled politely. Maggie was wearing a bright orange cardigan, purple pants, and strange, fluffy bottle-green slippers. Her wispy hair was blowing around in the breeze. She stared at Joe for a moment, trying to place him.

  “Hello, Ms. Pringle. It’s Joe Edmunds, from school . . .”

  “Yes? What do you want?”

  Joe suddenly felt a bit tongue-tied.

  “Would you like a half-price haircut?” blurted out Matt. “Right now!”

  “What?” Maggie looked at him as though he were crazy. “You want to cut my hair?”

  Joe tried not to laugh. “No! Not us—my mom.” He handed her a flyer. “She’s a hairdresser, and she’s offering a special deal today—a front-door discount.”

  “A discount, you say?” Maggie peered at the flyer.

  “Yeah, it’s a special deal. Half-price haircuts if you get it done now!”

  Maggie looked a bit shocked. “What? Right now?”

  Joe nodded. “That’s my mom over there.” He waved over to her and she came to join them.

  “Good morning!” She smiled. “I’m Helen Edmunds. I run a hairdressing business—I used to be the senior stylist at Cut Above.”

  Maggie nodded. “Oh yes, my sister goes there. It’s expensive, though, isn’t it?”

  Joe glanced at Maggie’s wild hair. It looked like she cut it herself—with garden shears!

  “We’re just handing out a few flyers,” said Joe’s mom. “It’s half price if you have your hair cut now. It’s a special introductory offer.”

  “I see,” said Maggie. “Well, it sounds like a good deal.” Maggie inspected the price list printed on the flyer and then smiled at Joe’s mom. “Count me in!”

  Mom beamed. “Great! I’ll get my things from the car.” She headed off before Maggie could change her mind, leaving Joe and Matt on the doorstep.

  “I suppose you two will want to come in for some juice while your mom’s cutting my hair?”

  “No!” squeaked Matt. “We’ve got more flyers—”

  Joe cut him off. “Thanks, Ms. Pringle. That would be great!”

  Matt frowned at Joe, but didn’t say anything.

  “What’s going on?” Pauline Pringle had appeared in the hall.

  “I’m getting my hair cut!” said Maggie. “I’ll just grab a towel. I said I’d give the boys some juice. Would you mind, Pauline?”

  Pauline pursed her lips and peered at Joe. “You again!”

  “Hello, Ms. Pringle,” said Joe nervously.

  “His mom’s going to give me a haircut,” called Maggie as she headed upstairs.

  Pauline looked puzzled. “Now?”

  “You could get one, too,” Matt suggested, handing her a flyer.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” she muttered. “Go ahead.” She nodded toward the living room.

  Petey was already waiting for them. He had flown straight through the wall and was now flapping around the room in big loops. “Look for the raffle ticket, Joe! It must be here somewhere!”

  But Joe wasn’t sure where to start. The room was full of stuff! There were two flowery sofas, an old armchair, and lots of shelves and cabinets with ornaments inside.

  Matt made a face. “Yuck!” he whispered. “Look at all this stuff—it’s gross!”

  “Maggie is very proud of her china,” squawked Petey, agitatedly fluttering around Matt’s head. “What does he know?”

  An old-fashioned clock in the center of the mantelpiece chimed on the half hour. Joe jumped.

  “Don’t touch anything!” said Pauline, coming in carrying a tray with two small glasses of juice on it. “Sit down, and sit still!”

  Joe’s mom appeared with her bag of equipment. “Where shall I set up? Most people find that the kitchen’s best.”

  Pauline nodded. “Follow me!”

  “Find th
e raffle ticket!” squawked Petey.

  “Do you think you should be touching that?” asked Matt as Joe started picking up the ornaments and looking at them.

  Joe reached for a small ballerina figurine.

  “Stop!” hissed Matt. “Ms. Pringle will go crazy if she sees you!”

  Joe shrugged. “I was just wondering if they were . . . antiques.”

  “Since when did you become an expert?”

  “Dad likes watching antique shows,” said Joe, picking up another ornament and pretending to look at the markings on the bottom of it.

  “Over here, Joe!” squawked Petey.

  He was fluttering around a bookcase in the corner of the room. On the top was a large vase with flowers painted on it.

  “I can see something inside!” cried Petey.

  Joe grabbed a chair and pushed it over to the bookcase.

  “What are you doing?” gasped Matt.

  “Just checking . . . I think that’s a very rare vase.”

  Joe was standing on the chair now, his hands on the vase, when suddenly Pauline appeared in the doorway. “HEY!” she yelled.

  Joe jumped in fright and lost his balance. He grabbed the bookcase to steady himself, and it wobbled violently. Joe managed to stop himself from falling, but the vase shook, then fell forward. He tried to catch it, but it slipped through his fingers and crashed to the ground.

  Pauline’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Joe looked at the vase in horror. It lay on the floor in pieces.

  “What was that noise?” called Maggie from the kitchen.

  “The boy broke one of your vases!” Pauline yelled back.

  “Joe!” said Mom, appearing behind Pauline, her scissors still in her hand.

  “I can explain,” said Joe in a small voice.

  “He thought the vase was an antique,” said Matt, trying to help.

  Joe looked at his shoes. “I’m really sorry . . .”

  “I’ll expect my haircut for free now!” yelled Maggie from the kitchen.

  “It was there, I saw it!” shrieked Petey. He was sitting on Joe’s shoulder as they walked back to the car. “The raffle ticket was lying in the broken bits of vase!”