“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” Marvin said.
Fatima scowled. “Will you two be quiet? I’m trying to listen to this.” She shook her head and turned back to the live stream.
“Bob, that man hard at work on this day of celebration is internationally renowned meat artist Byron Potluck.”
“With a name like that, I bet he’s a hit at church picnics! Ha, ha, ha!”
“I’m sure he is! And he’s ready to hit the record books today, because his artistic medium is the single largest Pork Loaf Big ’Un ever produced. By the time the parade reaches the fairgrounds, he will have completed his life-size tribute to Butcherville’s dearly departed elephant, Big ’Un.”
“Just breathtaking, Kelly, truly. And look—riding on the float with him are none other than the Little Ladies of Pork.”
As the float passed by, Marvin saw small girls perched on its edges, smiling and waving to the crowd. They wore pink jumpers and hats, with merit-badge-covered sashes draped across their chests. The roar of the chainsaw temporarily drowned out the music of the marching bands, and Marvin stepped back to avoid a foot-wide slab of Pork Loaf that fell to the street as the sculptor worked. Hunks of meat littered the parade route behind the float, and juices sprayed out onto the crowd as the chainsaw shaped Big ’Un’s legs and trunk.
“Here!” Mr. Curie said, pulling out more promotional items from his stock. “They said on the news this morning that the first three rows might get a bit wet!”
He tied hair salon smocks, printed with the words “To Hair Is Human, to Cut Divine,” around Marvin’s and Fatima’s necks. As meat juices from the chainsaw sprayed across them, Saïd slapped shower caps on their heads.
“Dad!” Fatima said. “Quit helping!”
“Saïd,” Mrs. Curie said. “Really, now. You’re making her look like a sack of potatoes.”
“Yes, but the cutest little sack of potatoes!” Mr. Curie said. “Isn’t that right, my little potato?”
“I am NOT a potato,” Fatima grumbled.
“Look!” Marvin’s dad shouted, pointing. “The Eleven Benevolent Elephants!”
Down the street rolled an arrow formation of ten loudly roaring minimotorcycles, piloted by elderly men wearing dress suits and white ceramic elephant masks. They gunned their engines and popped wheelies in unison, to the delight of the crowd.
“Here come the members of the Eleven Benevolent Elephants Society, whose fund-raising efforts have benefited Butcherville’s schools, hospitals, and veterans associations,” said a TV announcer.
“That’s right, Bob. The oldest philanthropic group in Butcherville, the Elephants were formed by returning World War II veterans from the 111th Airborne Division—the Fighting Elephants.”
“I sure hope they can see through those eye holes!”
“Members of the society wear those elephant masks to keep their identities secret. They believe that charitable acts should be anonymous, and not undertaken for personal gain or glory.”
The motorcycles broke formation and began weaving in and out among one another in complex patterns, sending the crowd into greater jubilation.
“Normally there would be eleven members of the group present, Bob, but as you can see, the last motorcycle has an empty sidecar, draped in black, in honor of our departed Big ’Un.”
“That’s right, Kelly. Even among the joyous festivities of the Harvest Day Parade, we must take time to remember the big heart of that giant pachyderm.”
“Oh no,” Fatima said, glancing back and forth between her screen and the real parade. Marvin craned his neck to see what she was looking at.
Following the Eleven Benevolent Elephants in the parade was a gleaming red convertible. Perched high on the backseat, waving to the crowd, sat Little Stevie Upton and Amber Bluestone. An enormous billboard truck following behind their car proclaimed, YOUR FUTURE HARVEST KING AND QUEEN.
“Why those presumptuous little—” Fatima said angrily.
Stevie spotted Marvin and Fatima in the crowd, and called out to his driver. “Slow down! I want to say hello to my friends.”
The driver slammed on the brakes, causing an immediate pileup in the parade behind them. Marvin could hear the sounds of screeching tires and crunching wood as floats and cars stopped and careened into one another.
“Look, Amber,” Stevie said, “it’s Marvin and Fatima. You remember them, don’t you?”
“Oh, I try to forget,” Amber said. She and Stevie smiled as though they hadn’t spent the last two and a half weeks in isolation because of their unbearable odor. Marvin sniffed the air, but all he caught emanating from Stevie’s direction was the strong scent of cologne. It seemed he had been able to shed Lee’s otherworldly stench at last.
“I see you two picked out matching trash bags for the dance,” Amber said.
“It’s a beauty parlor smock, if you must know,” Fatima said.
“A beauty smock?” Amber said, still smiling her gleaming smile. “It doesn’t seem to be working.”
“Driver, any chance you could run these two down?” Stevie said, leaning forward.
“Yes, please do,” Marvin muttered, thoroughly mortified.
“Sorry, sir,” the driver replied.
Marvin’s mom looked up from her conversation with Fatima’s parents and spotted Stevie and Amber. “Oh, hello, Stevie!” she said. “Don’t you two look nice.”
“Hello, Aunt Mary,” Stevie said with a smile. “Sharp visor! The color really complements your eyes.”
“Why, thank you, Stevie!” Marvin’s mom said.
“Well, we have to get going,” Stevie said. He turned back and eyeballed Marvin, whose smock and shower cap were soaked in a meaty brine.
“Watson,” Stevie said, shaking his head, “there’s nothing I can do to you that you haven’t already done to yourself.” He leaned in close so only Marvin could hear. “But trust me, I will. And more.” Stevie’s perpetual smile went away as he continued, deadly serious. “I’m not stupid, Watson. I didn’t win top honors at Swineheart Academy just because of my wealth and popularity. Although I am wealthy. And popular. You’re messing with the total package here.” He shoved a finger in Marvin’s face. “I know that you and brace-face here had something to do with what happened in science class, and I’m going to find out what and how. And when that happens, my weeks of stinky exile will look like a vacation compared to your fate.”
Stevie settled back into the car and tapped the driver’s shoulder, and the car sped off to catch up with the rest of the parade.
“What was that all about?” Mrs. Curie asked, puzzled.
“That,” said Marvin, “was my life in a nutshell.” He watched as the giant billboard truck rolled by, and when it passed, he was surprised to see, on the other side of the street, Lee Skluzacek staring back at him. Marvin gave a tentative wave, and for a moment, Lee looked as though he was going to wave back. But then his face darkened, and he grabbed his grandmother by the hand and walked off into the crowd.
Saïd Curie stared up at the blue sky and around at the joyful crowd and sighed in satisfaction. “What a beautiful day,” he said. “I’m so glad that Elephant Vampire is finally gone. Bad for business.”
“There’s no proof that they actually got the Elephant Vampire, Dad,” Fatima said. “All they did was bomb a cemetery. It’s not like they found his body.”
“Well, to be fair, they found lots of bodies,” Mr. Curie replied.
“He could still be out there,” Fatima said. She glanced sideways at Marvin. “Maybe living in someone’s attic, for all we know. Waiting to kill them in their sleep.”
“Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad,” Marvin said.
“Don’t dwell on the negative, Foofie,” Mrs. Curie said, putting her arm around Fatima’s shoulders. “It’ll give you wrinkles.” She glanced at her slim designer watch. “We should get going. You kids need time to get ready. This is the biggest night of your young lives!”
Marvin and his family began
to make their way out of the crowd. “I wish I had been in that cemetery last night,” he said, glumly removing his shower cap and smock. As soon as Marvin had taken off the smock, Baby Harry turned his head and spit up on his big brother’s shirt. In sympathy, no doubt.
When they arrived home, Marvin’s mom said to him, “Marvin, honey, you should have told me you were going to the dance. We could have gone shopping and picked you out a new suit.”
Marvin was startled. “I have to wear a suit? This just keeps getting better.”
“Wow, your first dance, huh?” Marvin’s dad said. “Well, you kids have been pretty cooped up lately with all of this Elephant Vampire nonsense. I guess we can extend your curfew a bit to, oh, say, eleven o’clock?” He slapped Marvin on the back.
“Ten o’clock’s fine, really,” Marvin said, dreading the prospect of extending the uncomfortable evening by another hour. “Nine, even.”
“Do you have flowers?” Marvin’s mom asked.
“No?” Marvin said questioningly. “Do I need flowers?”
“You do if you want the girl to have a nice time.”
“What if I don’t care whether or not she has a good time?” Marvin asked.
“Oh, Marvin,” his mom said, shaking her head and smiling. “You don’t have to try to hide your first crush from your old mom. You two make such a cute little couple.”
“What?” Marvin said. “We’re not a couple. She’s just my lab partner. This is all part of some experiment.”
“Oh, I remember the first dance your father took me to,” Marvin’s mom said dreamily. “Wasn’t that great, Harry?”
“Yes, great,” Marvin’s dad said absently. “Do you need money for tickets?”
“No, I got them already,” Marvin said. “They’re up in my dresser.”
“Oh, look at the time!” Marvin’s mom said. “Harry, he still needs flowers. Run to the store and get a bouquet; I’ll use it to whip up a corsage.” She turned to Marvin. “Go get your suit so we can steam out any wrinkles.”
Marvin dutifully trudged up the stairs to the attic. As he approached, he heard the distinct sounds of hammering and grunting.
“Hold still!” a voice shouted from beyond the door. Marvin entered to see Ahab holding a makeshift, half-assembled, three-tiered bunk bed straight above his head as Aristotle hammered together pieces of wood to brace it all. Abraham lounged on the top bunk, his feet dangling off the edge, while the other two struggled to build the bed beneath him.
“It’s not level yet!” Abraham shouted. “This end has to go higher.”
“You know, it would be easier if you weren’t sitting on top of it!” Aristotle said.
“This is the best vantage point,” Abraham replied. “Do I tell you how to do your job?”
“Yes!” Aristotle shouted back. “You just did!”
“What are you doing?” Marvin said.
“Haven’t you ever seen construction before?” Abraham said.
“Yes, but why are you doing construction in my bedroom?” Marvin said. “In fact, why are you even still here? They bombed the cemetery last night. That should be the end of the Elephant Vampire, if there ever was such a thing.”
“Maybe it is,” Abraham said. “But I haven’t seen his body yet. Until we do, we’re staying put.”
“How could there possibly be a body left after that explosion?” Marvin said. Then he shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t have time for this right now. I just need to get my suit.” He stepped gingerly over piles of lumber and rusty nails, and opened the wardrobe.
It was empty.
“Where is it?” he asked. “Where are all of my clothes?”
“Full of questions today, aren’t you?” Abraham said.
Marvin glanced around the room and, to his horror, spotted one sleeve of his light-gray suit sticking out of the hole in the wall. The suit had been crammed into the hole, along with most of his other belongings, as part of the moths’ barricade. He pulled it out, then numbly laid it flat on his desk, which was still covered with the moths’ anti–Elephant Vampire battle plans. Saying nothing, he tried in vain to smooth the creases and crinkles with the palms of his hands.
Abraham scooted over to the other end of the bunk so he could see what Marvin was doing. “What are we looking at here?”
“This is my suit,” Marvin said quietly.
“Boy, that’s one wrinkled piece of junk,” Abraham said. “You’re not gonna wear that, are you?”
“I was going to wear it,” Marvin said, slowly turning to face the moth. “I have to wear it. Tonight. But it’s all wrinkled because you shoved it into a hole in the wall!”
“Hole, shmole,” Abraham said, becoming indignant. He stood up on top of the bunk and pointed angrily at Marvin. “Don’t bite off my head just because you can’t take care of your things!”
Ahab grunted uncomfortably, flexing his four arms. “Stop … shifting … around up there,” Ahab said. “I can … only hold this steady … if you don’t move.”
Aristotle said, “I think—” Then, when the bunk bed creaked ominously above him, he stopped midsentence and backed off to the far side of the room.
“I’ve had it with the three of you,” Marvin said. “You take my stuff, you break my stuff, and worst of all, you wrinkle my stuff!”
Abraham puffed himself up in anger. “It’s all about you, isn’t it, Pops?” he said, glaring down from the bed. “Well, I’ve had just about enough of your selfishness! It’s time for some changes around here.” He began stomping his foot in time with his words. “I’m—putting—my—foot—DOWN!”
The final stomp was too much. Ahab lost his grip, and the bunk beds crashed loudly to the floor in a twisted heap of lumber and insect appendages. As Ahab and Abraham groaned amid the wreckage, Marvin’s mom called up the stairs. “What’s going on up there?”
“Nothing,” Marvin shouted back out of reflex. Barely able to contain his anger, Marvin clenched and unclenched his fists. “Maybe I should look into getting a bug zapper,” he muttered to himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Listen,” he said to the moths through gritted teeth. “All I need … are my tickets … for the dance. Then you three can go back to your faulty construction projects.” He moved to get the tickets from his dresser, but stopped short. “Where are my tickets?” Marvin asked. “Where is my dresser?”
“I’m under it,” Abraham grunted. Marvin now recognized his dresser drawer among the components of their makeshift bunk beds.
“You made my dresser into bunk beds,” Marvin said flatly. “You are stupid moths.”
“How dare you!” said Aristotle, coming out of the corner. “We are superintelligent moths.”
“Oh yeah?” Marvin replied. He grabbed a flashlight from the moths’ emergency kit on the floor and clicked it on.
“Ooh,” the moths said in unison, following the light with their eyes as he waved it back and forth.
“Pretty light,” the moths said.
Marvin turned the dancing beam on Aristotle. “Aristotle,” he said slowly, in rhythm with the hypnotic swaying of the flashlight. “Where are my tickets?”
“I … do not … know,” Aristotle answered, his head bobbing up and down and back and forth.
“Ahab,” Marvin said, swinging the beam back to the largest of the moths, who had pulled himself free of the bunk beds’ wreckage. “Where did you last see my tickets?”
“When … Abraham … was shoving them … through the barricade …” Ahab said.
“Hey!” Abraham said, protesting. “You can’t do this! You can’t interrogate us without a lawyer present. We’ve got—ooh … pretty light …” He trailed off as Marvin swung the beam at him.
Marvin clicked off the flashlight and slapped it down hard in anger on his open palm. “You invade my space. You dismantle my furniture. You eat my sweaters. You snore. You douse me in salad dressing. You act like paranoid babies with all of this Elephant Vampire insanity. And your arm
s are too short for your bodies.”
“I do not snore!” Abraham said. “That’s a bald-faced lie!”
“I’ve had it,” Marvin said. “I’m done.”
“Now, wait just a minute—” Abraham said.
“No!” Marvin interrupted, swinging the flashlight up and shining it into the moth’s multifaceted eyes. “I don’t want to hear it.” He grabbed his rumpled suit, walked past the frozen moth, and then clicked the flashlight off again.
“You have your eviction notice,” Marvin said, his back to the moths. “I want you out of here by the time I get home tonight.”
“But you’re our father,” Abraham said. “That’s abandonment!”
Marvin rolled his eyes. As he headed toward the door, he kicked Aristotle’s homemade catapult. “Anti–Elephant Vampire catapults,” he said with a huff. “Fatima was probably right—it’s probably one of YOU THREE that’s the Elephant Vampire. Everything bad started when you showed up.”
He took another look at the ridiculous contraption, with its battered metal colander barely secured to the swing arm with some twisted wire. “On second thought, none of you could be the Elephant Vampire,” Marvin said. “You’re all too incompetent.” He slammed the door behind him.
Marvin walked up to Fatima’s house, flowers in hand, his suit thoroughly soaked from his mom’s attempt to steam out the wrinkles. She had sprayed the problem areas with water, hoping it would help relax the fibers, but all it did was make the suit look blotchy. So she sprayed the entire suit down before she ironed it. And yet, somehow, the suit remained wrinkled. Now it was also warm and damp, and the wool exuded a faint smell of musty attic.
A heavy sensation of dread sat in Marvin’s stomach like a Triple-Decker-Pork-Loaf-Patty-Melt from Sal’s Diner over on Hackett Boulevard. He had tried everything he could think of to get out of this dance, but in the end, not even a citywide panic caused by a supernatural killer could stop it. He clomped up the two steps to Fatima’s porch like a condemned man who had exhausted all his appeals. He heaved a great sigh, releasing the last of his hope with it, and rang the doorbell. Fatima’s stepmother, Stacy Curie, opened the door, smiling as usual.
Marvin and the Moths Page 13