Martin Bridge: Sound the Alarm!

by Jessica Scott Kerrin

  With only seconds to spare, Martin jumped into his pajamas and slid between his sheets with their pattern of orbiting satellites.

  After clickety-clacking up the stairs, his mom peeked in to check on him. Martin breathed deeply as if he was sleeping, until she gently closed the door behind her.

  “Good night, Admiral,” he whispered. Then he rolled over and fell asleep, dance music still playing in his head.

  “So, how was Darla?” asked Martin’s dad merrily at breakfast as he cracked some eggs.

  “She’s all right,” said Martin, pouring his Zip Rideout Space Flakes.

  “What did you two do?”

  “Watched television,” said Martin, “and stuff.”

  Best not to mention the dancing, he thought as he added the milk. His dad seemed too playful this morning, and Martin wasn’t up for any teasing.

  Martin reached for his spoon as his mom twirled into the kitchen. Her housecoat billowed around her.

  “Good morning, lamb chop,” his dad said as he placed breakfast in front of her.

  They exchanged moon eyes.

  Martin dug noisily into his cereal to break the mood. “How was your evening?” he asked between mouthfuls.

  “We had a lovely time,” said his mom happily. “Your dad is quite the dancer. He remembers all the moves.”

  “Darla is going to a dance,” Martin remarked.

  “Well, yes. She is in junior high, after all,” said his mom.

  “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “Oh, it is a big deal. You’ll see. Someday.” She leaned over to kiss him on the forehead.

  “I like rockets,” said Martin firmly. And then he remembered that he and his dad were going to see Zip’s new film. “What time is the movie?” Martin asked.

  “Two o’clock,” said his dad. And they both started to hum Zip’s theme song.

  Zip Rideout: All Systems Ready turned out to be the best movie Martin had ever seen. Intergalactic aliens. H2O Faster Blasters. Earth-shattering explosions.

  Best of all, no kissing.

  “How about some ice cream?” asked his dad as they were leaving the theater.

  “Roger!” said Martin, like his superhero. And Martin was in such a good mood, he said “Roger” as much as he could for the rest of the weekend.

  On Monday morning, as Martin finished his usual breakfast, he looked up at the wall clock.

  “I’d better get moving,” he announced.

  “Well! That’s a first!” exclaimed his dad.

  “What do you mean?” asked Martin, bringing his dishes to the sink.

  “I didn’t have to remind you about the bus,” said his dad, ruffling Martin’s hair.

  Martin shrugged modestly. It was true. For once, he wouldn’t be late.

  “You’re on time,” observed Mrs. Phips as Martin climbed aboard. “Fancy that!”

  “Roger,” replied Martin, giving her a wink. But his face fell when he spotted Thomas ready to pounce with his tired one-liner.

  “All systems ready, Captain?” Thomas taunted in that annoying tone of his.

  “Settle down back there!” was Mrs. Phips’s immediate response.

  Martin shifted his knapsack higher on his shoulder and kept walking. A piece of paper fluttered from his jacket pocket.

  “What’s this?” Thomas called as he plucked the paper from the floor.

  Martin turned to see what Thomas had.

  It was Darla’s name and telephone number, written in her girly writing.

  Thomas looked up, eyes wide. “You have Darla McGonagle’s number?” he asked in amazement. “The Darla McGonagle?”

  Martin shrugged.

  “What are you doing with her number?”

  The others stared at Martin, jaws agape.

  “She gave it to me,” said Martin matter-of-factly. “On Friday night,” he added.

  Jaws dropped even farther.

  “Friday night?” repeated Thomas in amazement.

  “Sure,” said Martin. “Right after we danced.” He snatched the note back.

  There was total silence on the bus. A sea of passengers stared at Martin in awe. Even Mrs. Phips turned around.

  At first he couldn’t figure out why. And then he understood.

  Oh, thought Martin.

  A slow smile spread across his face.

  Martin stood tall. “Darla says girls like guys who can dance,” he boasted. And right there in the aisle he performed the dance move he had learned.

  Flawlessly.

  Front. Side. Cross, cross, tap. Front. Side. Cross, cross, tap.

  With that, he sauntered to the back and sat beside Stuart. The bus pulled out.

  “By the way,” Martin called to Thomas. “Do you know who else Darla likes?”

  Thomas gave the tiniest shake of his head.

  “Zip Rideout,” declared Martin, pointing to his jacket with both thumbs.

  Silence returned as Thomas slunk down even farther into his seat. Then murmurs began to fill the bus.

  Stuart chuckled and placed his Zip Rideout lunchbox proudly on his lap.

  “Well,” said Martin. “I guess he won’t be making fun of Zip anymore.” He tucked Darla’s telephone number back into his pocket and gave it a pat.

  “Sure,” said Stuart. “But now you’ve got a whole new problem.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Martin. He looked up in alarm.

  Every single girl had turned around to stare at him. And each one wore the same soft expression.

  Moon eyes.

  Props

  Martin waited for his eyes to get used to the gloom before moving further inside the props shed that stood in Stuart’s backyard.

  Usually it was locked. But today, Stuart had the key.

  The props shed was packed to the rafters with all kinds of stuff. Colossal dragonfly wings, marching penguins, a suit of armor, a giant beanstalk, a red go-cart, a disco ball.

  “Watch out for spiders,” said Stuart, imitating his mom’s voice. He chuckled. “Mom always says that. Spiders give her the creeps.”

  “Your mom has the best job in the world,” Martin marveled, ignoring the spider warning and taking a small step forward. He reached up and gently touched the pink flamingo hanging above him. It started to twirl in slow motion.

  Stuart’s mom made stage sets for the Velvet Curtain Theater. In between plays, she often decorated display windows for department stores. She was so good, crowds would stop on the sidewalk to watch her as she worked on her creations behind the glass.

  “Mom said to look near the plastic campfire,” said Stuart matter-of-factly. For Stuart, there was nothing unusual about having a mother who made magic or a props shed in his backyard filled with theatrical leftovers.

  At first, Martin had been annoyed when Stuart’s mom called, interrupting their water-sprinkler game. She was working on a window for a store called The Toy Box, and she had forgotten to bring the remote control for her robotic dolphin.

  But now Martin nodded to Stuart, eager for the chance to rummage through the shed. Shoving aside a bicycle built for two, he wormed his way past a pile of overstuffed sheep, then squeezed around a roly-poly punching-bag clown.

  Good thing Stuart’s on the other side of the shed, thought Martin. Stuart hated clowns.

  Martin was thoroughly enjoying his romp through wonderland and hoped they wouldn’t find the remote control any time soon.

  Then he gasped.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Stuart, his voice muffled by a rack of fairy tutus.

  “Nothing!” choked Martin. He struggled to push back his mounting panic, but he was unable to look away from the thing he feared the most.

  Not a spider. He like
d things with eight legs.

  Not the clown. He liked happy-go-lucky characters.

  No, it was a mannequin. Lurking in the nearby corner. Staring straight at him with those cold, unfeeling eyes. Reaching out to touch him with those stiff, plastic fingers. Screaming silent words at him with that half-open mouth.

  Martin couldn’t breathe. His palms started to sweat. He swallowed hard, then frantically shoved his way back out, all the while fighting the prickly feeling that the mannequin was in hot pursuit.

  To Martin, mannequins were the most loathsome things on earth. He had nightmares about them. And even though he knew they couldn’t possibly move in real life, Martin was absolutely convinced they did.

  But only when he wasn’t looking.

  “Found it!” called Stuart happily from somewhere deep inside the shed.

  By now, Martin was safely outside, taking slow, deep breaths. Stuart emerged, remote control in hand.

  “You okay?” he asked, a puzzled frown on his face.

  “Yes,” said Martin shakily, hands on knees. But he stood up to stop Stuart from asking any more embarrassing questions. “Let’s go.”

  Stuart gave him a funny look, then locked the shed. Martin double-checked it to make sure the mannequin couldn’t escape. He felt better after that.

  The boys jumped on their bikes and headed to The Toy Box, six blocks away. Only it was getting close to dinner. Martin could tell because his stomach was growling. He decided he would run the errand with Stuart, then head straight home.

  They wheeled into the parking lot. It was full of cars and scattered shopping carts. As they pedaled by the onlookers, the boys waved to Stuart’s mom in the second-floor window. Martin got a quick glimpse of the underwater scene she was building to go with the water toys displayed in the first-floor window.

  “The bike rack is at the side,” Stuart called over his shoulder.

  They locked their bikes together, then headed through the front doors of the store.

  The Toy Box was so big, it had two floors. Little kid stuff on the main floor. Big kid stuff upstairs, along with the magnificent display window Martin had seen from outside.

  “This way,” said Stuart.

  They climbed the stairs and then marched to the window, which was blocked off from the rest of the store by panels.

  “Abracadabra,” said Stuart as he knocked on one of the panels.

  A hidden door opened, and his mom climbed out.

  “One remote,” reported Stuart, handing it to her.

  “Thank you, honey.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, no! I’m really behind, and I have to get this window done before the store closes. As soon as you get home, will you please remind your dad to start dinner?”

  “Sure,” said Stuart.

  Suddenly, she screeched and dropped the remote. “Is that what I think it is?!”

  The boys took a step closer and inspected the remote. A small spider crept across the control buttons.

  Stuart flicked the spider off and stepped on it while rolling his eyes at Martin.

  Stuart’s mom gave him a quick kiss. Then she grabbed the remote, climbed back into the window display and shut the door.

  “You weren’t kidding. She really does hate spiders,” said Martin.

  “I know,” said Stuart. “It’s silly. It’s not like they’re clowns or anything.”

  Martin was about to tell him that being scared of clowns was even sillier. But then he remembered his own peculiar fear of mannequins, so he said nothing.

  Stuart turned and surveyed the second floor. “Want to look around for a minute while we’re here?”

  Martin’s stomach rumbled again. But still, they were standing inside a toy store, the biggest in the city. He couldn’t resist.

  “Let’s check out the Zip Rideout aisle,” Martin suggested.

  Zip Rideout: Space Cadet was their favorite cartoon show. Zip had become so popular, he now had an entire aisle of merchandise all to himself. Rocket kits, space goggles, H2O Faster Blasters, Solar System Explorer Sets, movie posters, lunchboxes, jackets, watches. Even pajamas, sheets and toothbrushes!

  The boys bounded across the store, dodging noisy swarms of kids. They cut through the puzzles and games aisle, which was empty except for a few grandparents, then past the bicycles and the all-pink girly aisle.

  The next aisle was for action figures.

  “Getting close,” said Stuart with authority.

  They turned the corner, and there it was. The Zip Rideout aisle.

  “Ready and steady,” said Martin, giving Stuart the official Zip Rideout salute.

  The boys zigzagged their way down the aisle, trying space toy after space toy. They were having a blast, but stopped in their tracks when they came to the end of the row.

  There, looming in front of them, stood an enormous model of Zip Rideout’s rocket. It had Zip’s signature flames painted in blazing reds and oranges with the name of Zip’s rocket in bold letters: “The Zipper.”

  “Look! There’s even a hatch door,” said Martin, fully impressed. “Let’s climb on board.”

  “I don’t know,” said Stuart hesitantly. “Maybe we’re not allowed.”

  “But that’s what a hatch door is for!” insisted Martin. “And we could act out episode twenty-four: ‘Zip Rideout and the Wormhole.’”

  Martin knew episode twenty-four was Stuart’s all-time favorite.

  A wave of excited anticipation crossed Stuart’s face. “You first,” he ordered.

  Martin pried open the hatch as fast as the speed of light. Stuart clambered in right behind him.

  “Wow!” exclaimed Martin, looking around. There were flashing control panels and maps of galaxies and everything.

  He closed the hatch door and all was silent. Just like being in a real spaceship. The two acted out the entire wormhole episode, with the crash landing from episode sixteen thrown in for good measure.

  When they were done, Martin sat at the helm, enjoying the starry view on the screen above.

  “I’d give anything to have The Zipper in my backyard,” he said wistfully. The thought of home made his stomach start up again. It must be getting late.

  “We’d better get going,” agreed Stuart, rubbing his own stomach.

  And that’s when the lights inside the rocket went out, plunging the boys into total darkness.

  “Quit fooling around,” said Stuart.

  “It wasn’t me,” insisted Martin. “Someone must have pulled the plug.”

  He began to grope the walls in search of the hatch door. The blackness pressed against him, and the boys kept bumping into each other as they fumbled about.

  “Here’s the hatch,” said Martin at last, feeling something familiar. He twisted the handle and pushed the door wide open.

  They poked their heads out.

  “What’s going on?” whispered Martin.

  The store lights were also off. And everything was as silent as it had been inside the rocket.

  “I think the store is closed,” Stuart whispered back. “H-h … hello?” he called tentatively.

  No answer.

  They scrambled away from the rocket and stood uncertainly in the dim, vacant aisle.

  “Let’s get out of here!” urged Martin, and they wove their way back to the stairs.

  It was Martin who first noticed that an accordion-type gate had been pulled across the top of the stairwell. It reached from floor to ceiling. Stuart tried to slide it open, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “It’s locked,” said Stuart in a shocked tone.

  “Let me try,” said Martin. He rattled the gate several times.

  Nothing.

  He looked at Stuart, and Stuart looked at him.

  Cripes!

&nb
sp; “Now what?!” said Stuart, his voice several notches higher than usual.

  “A telephone!” said Martin. “Let’s call for help!”

  “The telephones are downstairs by the front doors!” Stuart wailed. Like Martin, he pressed his face to the gate, clinging to it with both hands.

  “Okay, okay,” said Martin. Stuart’s rising alarm was beginning to get to him. “We’ll have to think of something else. Go to Plan B.”

  “Which is?” demanded Stuart, keeping his grip on the gate.

  “Which is for you to be quiet so I can think,” said Martin irritably.

  He glanced over at Stuart, who now looked so distraught that Martin immediately felt bad.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Let’s go sit down and figure this out.”

  Stuart followed Martin to the car aisle. Martin sat in a push-pedal convertible. Stuart chose a station wagon with fake wood-paneled doors.

  They parked in silence.

  “Wait a minute!” Martin shouted. “Our bikes! Someone will spot them and realize that we’re trapped in here!”

  “Our bikes are locked up around the side,” said Stuart glumly, forehead on steering wheel. “Remember?”

  “Oh,” said Martin. “Right.” His voice trailed off.

  Suddenly, Stuart sat up tall, eyes wide open.

  “The clowns!” he squeezed out. “The clowns!”

  “What?” asked Martin, confused at the outburst.

  “Which aisle are the clowns in?” Stuart dropped his voice to a whisper, as if he feared being overheard by them.

  “Ah!” Now Martin understood. “Clowns are downstairs, next to the birthday party aisle. Not up here,” he said reassuringly.

  Stuart sagged with relief.

  The mention of clowns reminded Martin about his own fear. But since this wasn’t a clothing store, he was happily sure that there weren’t any mannequins lurking around. Good thing, since he had had a nightmare about them only a few sleeps ago.