by Paul Tobin
“I have no idea what this dog is talking about,” Liz said, talking to Kip and Nate, not me. Kip had moved to our green couch, sitting all the way to one side, because it put him against the wall, where it was harder for the zebras to nibble on his hair, which it seemed they were fond of doing.
“I have no idea how this dog can talk!” Liz added. Kip gave her a sympathetic smile. Only a couple of minutes after I’d let Liz and Nate and all the zebras in through the door, Kip had come wandering out of my room, rubbing the bump on his head where some unnamed person had landed on him in a completely understandable accident. While introductions were being made, and while Kip was admitting to Nate that he was a spy, and while the two boys were explaining everything to Liz, I’d put a bunch of cookies in a bowl, and then absentmindedly poured potato chips on top of them. I was as terrible as Nate at providing snacks, although at least he’s never had to serve snacks to five zebras.
I take that back. He probably has.
“So, what’s up with these extra zebras?” I asked Nate.
“Oh. Well, once Luria knew about Steve, I was worried she’d try to kidnap him. I needed to disguise him in some way, so I used a spray can of ‘Make Any Animal a Zebra’ on the nearby crowd, making more zebras so that Steve could blend in.”
“Brilliant,” Kip said, because it was becoming clear that Kip idolized Nate.
“Weird,” I said, because “making more zebras” and “making more chaos” were not . . . I’ll just go ahead and admit . . . the ways I would’ve thought to solve the problems of too much chaos and too many zebras.
“Super-weird!” Liz said, because of absolutely everything she was hearing.
Liz has short brown hair, the color of driftwood when it’s wet. Her ears stick out from her hair and also from beneath any hats she’s ever worn. She jokes that they make it hard for her to walk through doorways. I think her ears are adorable. Her eyes are a strange near-purple and she’s five feet three inches, an inch taller than me. She was wearing a light blue dress with stick-figure drawings of wolves. Her fingers were twitching. She grabbed her phone from her purse and tapped on the keys.
My phone beeped.
There was a text. From Liz.
It said, I’m too mad to talk to you, but we can still text, right?
I looked up to Liz and nodded. Her eyes narrowed.
“Oh,” I said. Then I texted, Yes.
Liz’s phone beeped.
She read it. Then typed for a moment.
My phone beeped.
The text read, Am I dreaming all this?
I typed back, No. Would you like some pie?
“Yes!” Liz said, speaking to me again. The smile on her face looked like sunshine and flowers and bunnies.
“Nate,” I said. “Order some pie. Several different kinds.”
“Okay,” he said, grabbing his phone. One of the many things I like about Nate is that he doesn’t question oddities. If you tell him to order some pie, he will order some pie. If you tell him that you’re considering how to plant flowers on the moon, he will devise a way to plant flowers on the moon. It’s just who he is.
“And get some bales of hay,” I said. “The zebras look hungry.” They were again nibbling on Kip’s hair. Nate tapped on his phone for a bit, and then nodded, putting it back in his pocket. Liz came over and sat next to me on the blue couch, the one where Dad likes to stretch out and watch soccer.
“Sorry about getting mad,” she said.
“Sorry about giving you a reason to get mad.”
“It must have been tough, all these secrets?” She gestured to Nate, who was talking to Kip about the Red Death Tea Society, asking him to spill the beans about some of the inner workings, meaning that Kip wouldn’t only be a spy, but a double agent. Liz’s gesture also included the zebras, which were milling around, looking confused, for which I could not blame them. And of course Liz’s gesture also included Melville (who was busily stinging any zebra that came too close to any particularly breakable objects, herding them toward the center of the room) and Bosper, who was repeatedly telling Liz that he knew how to dig holes and if she wanted to come outside he would show her.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve been wanting to tell you, but it’s all so . . . so crazy.”
“Is this ‘tea’ thing, the Red Death Tea Society, is that why you’ve been telling me not to drink tea?”
“Yes. I’m worried they might try to poison my friends. Or mind-control them. Or turn them into zebras.” I gestured to the zebras, in case Liz didn’t know what I was talking about.
“Oh. I’d just been thinking you came across some article about how tea might be bad for you, the way the Internet makes everything sound bad for you.”
“Nope,” I told Liz. “It’s because of a murderous league of assassins.”
“Hmm,” she said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Hmm.”
I heard a car pull up outside.
“That’ll be our pie!” I said, jumping up. “What kinds of pie did you order, Nate?”
“Pumpkin and cherry and apple and strawberry and rhubarb for us,” he said.
“Wow,” Liz gasped.
“And a peanut butter pie for Bosper,” Nate added.
“The dog is making drools,” Bosper said. He was, indeed, making drools.
“And then grass pies for the zebras,” Nate added. The zebras all looked up at this, bewildered, as if they’d never before heard of grass pies. I haven’t, either, but I still wasn’t too surprised, because when you’re friends with Nate you learn to adjust.
“Sounds like a lot of pies,” I said. “Anybody want to help me carry them inside?”
“Me!” Liz yelled, doing a somersault off the couch.
“The dog can also be carrying pies!” Bosper said. “Good boy, Bosper!” The terrier was quite pleased with himself, jumping off the back of the couch to launch himself into space, tumbling to a momentary stop, then scrabbling on the wooden floor and scurrying for the front door. Liz wasn’t too far behind him, because of the great love she has for pies. She was so quick that I’d barely made it to the hallway before Liz flung the door open and then froze in place, staring outside.
“Oh,” she said.
And then she said, “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Cooper.”
My parents were at the door.
“Oh,” I said.
From behind me in the living room, I could hear my brother Steve snorting, along with all the other zebras.
There are various ways to avoid getting into trouble with your parents. If, for instance, you’ve done poorly on a test, merely promise that you’ll study harder and improve your grades. It’s important that you then actually do this, because if you don’t, they will catch you in the lie, and lying is another way of getting into trouble with your parents. If you have lied to your parents, I’d advise volunteering your own punishment, such as mowing the lawn, doing the dishes, or even going so far as to ground yourself for a day. The point is, the most important thing to remember about getting into trouble with your parents is not to panic, and to remember that they love you, and that you are not doomed.
“I’m so doomed,” I whispered.
I forgot to mention another important thing about getting into trouble with your parents. Similar to dogs, parents can smell fear, so do not panic.
“Ahhh!” I said, entirely panicked. “You were supposed to be at a soccer game! Why are you here? What are you doing home? Ahhhh!”
“The soccer game was canceled,” Mom said. “Haven’t you noticed all the horrible weather we’re having? And, why are you so panicked? What’s going on here?”
“Nothing about zebras,” I said. Liz glared at me.
“What have you been up to, Delphine?” Dad said, all but floating in a sea of suspicion, stalking past us into the living room. I felt like I was shrinking. I closed my eyes and waited for the terrible tolling of my Bell of Doom. How many dishes would I have to wash for having zebras in the house? Infinite dishes? How
many times would I have to take out the garbage when Dad found out that I’ve been fighting a secret society of assassins? Also . . . infinite? Did I have time for two different infinite chores?
“Nothing wrong in there,” Dad said, coming out of the living room. “She’s just having some friends over.” Two zebras came ambling out behind him. Mom didn’t react. It was like she didn’t even see them. Melville quickly stung the zebras, herding them back with the others.
“Oh? We have guests?” Mom asked. “Who?” She walked right past the zebras. I followed her into the living room.
“Oh, it’s Nate,” Mom said. “Good to see you.” Nate looked up from his phone and nodded, furiously tapping on the keys, typing so fast that it almost looked like there was smoke coming from his phone.
“This is Kip,” Nate said, gesturing to Kip, who was sitting sedately on the couch, with half of his hair in a zebra’s mouth.
“Oh,” Mom said. “I remember you. Weren’t you the lead in some of Delphine’s plays? Like, the alien wizard in A Midsummer Night’s Spaceship?”
“Yeah!” Kip said, with the joy of a semi-celebrity finally being recognized. “That was me!” A zebra ambled across the living room and began to nibble on Mom’s hair, but Melville stung it away from her. The zebra neighed in displeasure, but clip-clop-clomped back to the rest of the herd.
Bosper told Mom, “The dog will not be talking, because it is a secret.” I felt like my heart was going to collapse into a black hole.
“Is this Nate’s dog?” Mom asked, kneeling down to scratch Bosper behind his ears. “Who’s a cutie?” she asked him. “Who’s a good boy?”
“Bosper is the good boy!” the terrier said, bouncing all over, with the joy of a good boy finally being recognized.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s . . . Nate’s dog.” It was like Mom didn’t even notice Bosper was talking, despite how he was currently explaining how butterflies are liars because they are not made of butter, and that 88,813 is his favorite prime number. Mom just scratched behind his ears, and Dad watched her as if nothing was wrong, as if neither of them could hear the dog talking, or see the zebras, or—
Hmm.
There really was smoke coming from Nate’s phone.
“Nate,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“Releasing a series of mind-altering nano-bots so that your parents won’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Incidentally, pie at the door.”
“What?” I said.
“Pie at the door!” Bosper said. Just then, there was a knocking at the door.
“I’ll get it!” Liz said.
“Uh, okay,” I said, watching her run for the door, and watching as my parents left the living room while talking about the day’s strange weather patterns, and Mom was talking about maybe getting a little work done (one of her clients was having a gallery show in less than a week, and most of the paintings still needed to be framed, and there was lighting to be strung), and Dad said he was going to grab some lemonade and watch some television. I remembered how Algie and Maryrose, Nate’s parents, had acted when we were fighting the Red Death Tea Society in their house, how they’d been completely unaware of anything that was going on. I felt a little guilty about my own parents acting so oblivious, but there was only a little bit of guilt, and a towering amount of relief.
“Anyone need lemonade?” Dad said, poking his head back in through the doorway.
“I could use one,” Nate said.
Kip said, “That would be great.”
“Me too,” I said. “And one for Liz.” Liz was struggling back into the living room, carrying pies stacked up past her ears in a delicious and somewhat unstable tower. I nabbed three pies from the top before any pie-related tragedies could occur. Bosper, meanwhile, was tugging several more pies along with him, pie plates with little bales of grass on them, complete with chocolate filling.
“Here,” Dad said, stepping over Bosper and the pies. “I just brought the whole lemonade pitcher and some glasses. You kids can help yourselves.” He put the lemonade on the coffee table, not taking any notice of how two zebras, one of which was possibly his son, were nibbling on a stack of video game magazines.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said. He ruffled my hair and left. It embarrassed me for some reason.
“Bzzz,” Melville said. She’d landed on an apple pie.
“That one’s hers,” I told the others.
“The whole pie?” Kip said, grabbing one of the plates.
“Bzzz,” Melville said.
“Unless you want to get stung,” I translated. Melville was all but dancing in the middle of the apple pie. I reached out and poked a hole down through the crust, giving my bee better access to the riches.
“Bzzz,” she said.
Kip stepped back.
Quickly.
The first order of business was the pie.
While it is true that I’m well known for my feelings on cake (it is simply the greatest thing ever), I do enjoy pie, and so I’m not afraid to admit that I had three slices. I am afraid to admit, however, how many slices of pie I ate after I’d had those three slices. Let’s just say I ate less pie than Liz, and that she stopped before she exploded. Nate and Kip both ate three slices apiece, and Mom and Dad snuck away two slices for each of them, which they richly deserved, owing to how half of their children were currently zebras.
Speaking of the zebras, they seemed to enjoy their grass pies, eating them with a gusto unmatched by anything past that of a terrier eating a peanut butter pie, because Bosper was devouring his pie in great gulping heaves, chomping, smacking, and growling in pleasure.
“Bosper is being a good eater!” he yelled at one point, referring . . . I can only assume . . . to how he was managing to eat a huge amount of pie, and not at all referring to how tidy he was being, because he was spraying peanut butter and pie crust in all directions.
Melville, meanwhile, had eaten a thumbnail-size portion of her apple pie, which is a fair amount of apple pie for a thumbnail-size insect.
“Bzzz,” she said.
Or maybe it was a burp.
The second order of business was asking Nate what the Red Death Tea Society was doing in town.
“Maculte can’t just have come to Polt for revenge, can he?”
“He definitely could have,” Nate said. “He really hates us since we stopped his bumblebee invasion plan.”
“That was the Red Death Tea Society?” Liz said. “Those bees were everywhere! They were so mean!” Melville zoomed over and tried to hide in my hair, buzzing in apology. I’ve long since forgiven her, but she still feels bad.
“That was them,” Nate said. He was working out an equation on his pants, writing with an ink pen the way he does. Liz was staring at him, and I could almost see her changing the way she thought about Nate. Before, with all the inked equations on his pants, all the numbers and the weird little drawings he does, Liz had considered Nate to be weird. Now, she was considering him to be a weird genius. Totally different.
“Uh-oh,” he said.
“Something up?” Liz asked, pouring lemonade.
“What is it?” Kip said, with a mouthful of pie.
“I believe I know what the Red Death Tea Society is doing in Polt,” Nate said.
“Of course,” I said. “They’re trying to steal the inventions you idiotically hid all over town. That’s obvious.”
“Too obvious,” Nate said, raising an eyebrow in a manner I will graciously call dramatic, because he is a friend and I want to support him. “Maculte works on too many levels for that to be the entirety of it. But, look at this.” He handed me his phone. I looked at it. There was a picture of Susan Heller.
“Why’s there a picture of Susan Heller?” I asked. I looked to the zebras, which were all warily watching as Melville circled above them, giving them the evil eye. I wasn’t sure which of the zebras was Susan Heller, but I was certain that the stinkiest one had to be Steve.
“Oog,” Nate said. His face went r
ed. “That was a mistake. I meant to show you a calculation, not the picture of Susan I have on my phone so that I can look at her whenever I want, because her smile makes me feel funny, and right now I wish I hadn’t programmed myself for honesty because this is very embarrassing please give back my phone and I will show you the calculations and maybe I should have my nano-bots wipe away everyone’s memories of the last few minutes because that way Delphine wouldn’t give me too much grief about oh no . . . oh no . . . I’m talking out loud, aren’t I?”
“You’re talking out loud,” I said.
“Wait,” Liz said. “I thought you two were together?” Her finger waggled between Nate and me, back and forth, while her eyes narrowed in “best friend defense” mode.
“No!” I said. The puff of my breath sent Melville spinning through the air.
“No!” Nate said. “Although to be honest I do have a picture of Delphine on my phone as well, because she’s much more intelligent and adventurous than Susan, who frankly is a bit rude and pretentious and I very much enjoy looking at the image of Delphine from time to time and oh no I hate this honesty thing.”
“Whoa,” Liz said, sitting back on the couch.
“Gosh,” Kip said.
“Piffle,” I whispered, because I was blushing much harder than Nate had blushed. I was blushing as hard as if I’d had a seven-hour training session on my adventure course, including the part where I have to hang upside down for as long as possible, in case the Red Death Tea Society attacks us with bats next time, and I have to infiltrate them in disguise. I like to be prepared for all eventualities.
“So, maybe we should see that thing you were supposed to show us on your phone?” Liz told Nate, meanwhile handing Kip several paper towels, because an unnamed someone had accidentally done a lemonade spit-take all over him right before she started blushing.
“Yes!” Nate said. “Move on from the embarrassing parts! Good call!” Nate handed me his phone, this time showing me rows and rows of . . . numbers. Lots of numbers. They meant nothing to me. I looked around for Bosper, because he’s good with math and I was hoping he’d translate what Nate was trying to tell us, but the terrier had vanished.