Missy Piggle-Wiggle and the Whatever Cure

  “He listens at doors, he eavesdrops on my phone conversations, and he spies. He’s always spying! He’s good at it, too. He has a periscope, like a movie spy. Once I was in the bathroom writing a private note, and I noticed the top of the periscope outside the window. He was down below, balanced on the porch roof. I opened the window and yelled at him, but he just slid off the roof and ran away.”

  “Why do you think he wants to know everyone’s secrets?” asked Melody.

  Tulip rolled her eyes. “For his career. But it’s not right! He’s found out all sorts of things. He saw me borrowing Mom’s diamond earrings. Well, not borrowing, I guess, since she had told me I wasn’t allowed to wear them. And he saw me sneak a sip of my father’s coffee. And he overheard me on the phone telling Honoriah that Mrs. Potter is cheating on her diet. That wasn’t so bad, but I had told Honoriah in private. If I’d wanted Rusty to know, I would have told him myself.”

  “You don’t keep a diary, do you?” asked Melody.

  “Oh no,” said Tulip, and she put her head in her hands.

  * * *

  One Saturday, just after school ended for the summer, Mrs. Goodenough returned from the supermarket with a carload of groceries. She pulled into the driveway and approached the garage, her mind on the dinner party she and her husband were giving that night. She wasn’t sure she’d bought enough lettuce for the salad. “Maybe I should turn around and go back right now for another head,” she said aloud. But in almost the same instant, she remembered that Harriet Potter detested vegetables, which was probably why she needed to be on a diet in the first place, so she decided she had enough lettuce after all.

  “That’s settled!” she exclaimed, but in her distraction her hands slipped from the steering wheel, and she ran into the side of the garage.

  Mrs. Goodenough screeched the car to a halt. She closed her eyes. Then she opened them, got out of the car, and inspected the damage. A long scrape ran from the back door to the rear bumper. Slowly, she carried the grocery bags into the kitchen. As she unpacked the food, she began to weave a tale. She would tell her family that she had been in town buying the party supplies, just minding her own business, when out of nowhere a garbage truck had come barreling down Juniper Street and sideswiped her car. She had tried to read the license plate on the truck but couldn’t because it was covered with garbage, and before she knew it, the truck was out of sight.

  At that moment her husband entered the kitchen. “Dear,” Mrs. Goodenough began.

  “Hey, Dad!” cried Rusty, rushing through the doorway. “Did you see what Mom did to the car?”

  “What?” said Mr. Goodenough.

  “What?” said Mrs. Goodenough.

  “You’re going to have to have it repainted!” exclaimed Rusty.

  “Have what repainted?” asked his father.

  His mother sank into a chair. “The side of the car,” she admitted.

  “And the side of the garage,” said Rusty. “There’s white garage paint on the car, and green car paint on the garage.”

  Mr. Goodenough looked from his wife to his son. “What?” he said again.

  “I had a little mishap with the car,” replied Mrs. Goodenough. She turned her gaze on Rusty. “How do you know what happened?” she asked.

  “I was in the bushes by the driveway,” he began.

  “Why were you in the bushes?” asked his father.

  Rusty hesitated. “Well … I was hoping to follow Mr. Potter when he left his house. I think he’s—”

  Mr. Goodenough held up his hands. “Rusty, stop. You can’t spy on people and pry into their personal business.”

  “But their personal business is very interesting to me. Anyway, don’t you want to know what happened to the car?”

  “Rusty, I was going to tell your father what happened,” said Mrs. Goodenough. She didn’t feel she needed to add that she’d been planning to tell a big fat lie.

  Mr. Goodenough suddenly noticed that Rusty was standing in the kitchen with his hands behind his back. “Are you hiding something?” he asked.

  Rusty held out one hand, put it behind his back, and then held out the other hand. Each was empty. “Nope,” he said.

  “Please show me both of your hands at the same time,” said his father.

  Rusty did so. The periscope clunked to the floor. His father grabbed it. “Go to your room,” he said.

  “Can I have my periscope?”

  “No.”

  “Mom?”

  “No.”

  “This is so unfair!” Rusty exploded. “This is the most unfair thing you’ve ever done to me. In my whole life. Why do you want me to be miserable? I’ll probably grow up to be a criminal now.”

  “We don’t want you to be miserable. And we’re trying to prevent you from becoming a criminal,” said Mrs. Goodenough.

  “You need to respect people’s privacy,” added Mr. Goodenough. “Your family and your neighbors are not the bad guys.”

  “Well, you need to respect my property!” exclaimed Rusty. “You’re periscope stealers.” He stomped upstairs to his room. With every step, the staircase shook. He slammed his door. Then he opened it again. “Tulip borrowed Mom’s diamond earrings!” he yelled. His door slammed a second time.

  The Goodenoughs sat across from each other at the kitchen table. “My,” said Rusty’s mother. “He doesn’t usually get upset. What’s happened to our nice, polite child?”

  “I don’t know, but the spying has got to stop.”

  “It’s out of control,” agreed Mrs. Goodenough.

  “I’ll bet the LaCartes never have to deal with this sort of thing.”

  Throughout Little Spring Valley, the LaCarte children were held up as examples of sterling behavior.

  “I wonder if the Potter kids played spy games when they were young. Maybe I could ask Harriet for advice,” said Mrs. Goodenough.

  “Perhaps over dinner tonight,” said her husband.

  Mrs. Goodenough frowned. “I don’t think so. The LaCartes will be here. I’d rather not discuss Rusty in front of them.”

  Her husband drummed his fingers on the table. “There’s always Missy Piggle-Wiggle.”

  “That’s true.” His wife brightened. “I’ll call her right now. This is practically an emergency.”

  When the phone rang in the upside-down house, Penelope screeched, “Telephone! Telephone!” and Lester picked up the receiver and handed it to Missy.

  “Thank you,” said Missy, who was being given a makeover by Petulance and Heavenly. Heavenly was braiding Missy’s long red hair, and Petulance was painting her nails. Missy took the phone gingerly. “Hello?” she said, and blew on her nails.

  “Oh, Missy!” cried the voice on the other end. “We have a terrible problem.” There was a gulp and a sort of a hiccup, and then the voice said, “This is Mrs. Goodenough.”

  “Ah,” said Missy. “I expect you’re calling about the spying.”

  “Yes. It’s—it’s—”

  “Out of control, no doubt.”

  Another hiccup. “Yes.”

  “Could you come over in an hour?”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  Mrs. Goodenough didn’t want to wait an hour, but she had no choice. She washed lettuce for the salad and checked her watch again and again until it was time to leave. She hadn’t been to the Piggle-Wiggle house before: An upside-down house with a magical little woman in it who could cure children of all their annoying habits and problems. She found that she felt rather nervous.

  Rusty’s mother stood uncertainly on the front porch of the funny brown house with its roof in the ground and rang the bell. She jumped when Penelope hollered, “Missy, Helene Goodenough is here!”

  The door was answered by Missy herself, wearing a straw hat, a long braid draped over her shoulder. Her nails had been painted a bright, bright sparkling green. She held a small tin box toward Mrs. Goodenough. “I’m sorry you’re having problems with Rusty,” she said. “Spying can get to be quite troubles
ome, and it’s hard on the entire family.”

  “Everyone in town knows about it,” said Mrs. Goodenough.

  “Well, these should do the trick.”

  Rusty’s mother looked at the box. “Licorice drops?” she said. She had heard that Missy’s cures were unusual, but … candy?

  “Not just any licorice drops,” Missy replied. “Trust me. All you have to do is give Rusty two today and two tomorrow morning. You should see results almost immediately.”

  Despite everything that had happened that day, Mrs. Goodenough felt apprehensive. “Dear,” she said to her husband when she returned with the tin box, “we don’t even know what these are.”

  Her husband opened the box. He sniffed the contents. He touched his finger to one of the candies and tasted it. “Licorice.”

  “I don’t think it’s just any old licorice.”

  Mr. Goodenough glanced at the periscope, which was lying on the kitchen counter. “I think we should give it a try. Rusty!” he called.

  Rusty came running down the stairs. “Did you decide to give me my periscope back?”

  “No, but I have something special for you from Missy Piggle-Wiggle.” He held out two of the licorice drops.

  Rusty swallowed them and asked once again for the periscope.

  “Nope,” said his parents.

  “Why do you hate me?” shouted Rusty, and clomped up the stairs. On the way to his room, he passed Tulip’s door. He could see her seated at her desk, writing something that she was covering with her hand. Rusty continued to his room, whistling, and said loudly, “I think I’ll just take a nap now.” He closed his door. Then he opened it silently, tiptoed back to Tulip’s room, and peeked around the doorway. His sister was still seated at her desk. Rusty leaned in farther and tried to read what she was writing.

  That was when Tulip disappeared.

  One moment she was seated at her desk, and the next moment she had vanished. Rusty could see her pencil moving across her notebook. He could see her impression on the pillow of her chair. But he couldn’t see his sister.

  He ducked back into the hall and shook his head. Then he peered into his sister’s room again. The pencil was still scratching across the paper. He thought for a moment. “Tulip?” he called.

  “Yeah? I thought you were taking a nap.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In my room. And I’m busy. Don’t come in here.” Her door closed then, apparently by itself.

  Rusty retreated to his own room. He spent the rest of the afternoon nervously looking for his sister. He watched Tulip’s bicycle wheel itself out of the garage and pedal down the street. He saw the bicycle return shortly before dinner. Over supper, which Rusty and Tulip ate quickly in the kitchen before the party guests arrived, Rusty watched Tulip’s fork and spoon move themselves around over her plate. He watched her food disappear. But he didn’t see his sister.

  “Mom? Dad?” said Rusty. “Do you notice anything, um, unusual about Tulip?”

  His parents frowned at each other. “Her clothes are a bit muddy,” said his mother after a moment. “Tulip, how did you get so dirty?”

  “Playing in the brook with Melody,” Tulip’s voice replied.

  “Okay. Well, change your clothes before the company arrives.”

  That night, each time the doorbell rang, the guests greeted Rusty and his sister. Rusty watched wide-eyed as the guests shook hands with the air before turning to shake his hand. At last his father said, “Okay, you two. Off to bed.”

  “Dad, it’s summer vacation,” said Tulip’s voice from somewhere across the living room. “Can’t we stay up for another hour?”

  “One hour. Now scoot.”

  Rusty started up the staircase. He didn’t know where Tulip was, and he didn’t want to go smashing into her in full view of the guests. Then he heard her rude voice behind him say, “Move it!” and he felt a shove in his back. He ran for his room, where he sat nervously on his bed. Now where was his sister? She could be standing right in his doorway, spying on him.

  Rusty got up and hastily closed his door.

  He sat on his bed again but then realized that Tulip might be peeking at him through the keyhole. He stuck a piece of tape over the hole. Then he stuffed a blanket into the crack below his door. Then he realized that Tulip might be in his room. How would he know? She could just be standing somewhere, watching him.

  Rusty climbed uncomfortably into bed with a book. He read one page. He had the distinct feeling that a pair of eyes was on him. “Tulip?” he called.

  No answer.

  “Tulip?”

  “What?”

  “Where are you?”

  “In my room. Stop bothering me.”

  Had Tulip’s voice really come from the direction of her room? Rusty glanced toward his window. She could be out on the roof. He pulled the blind down. Then he drew the curtains shut. There. That should do it. No one could see into his room at all.

  * * *

  Now, you would think that after such an unsettling evening, a smart boy like Rusty would know better than to fall into the habit of spying again, even if it meant getting one step closer to an exciting career. But the very next morning, not long after his mother had given him two more licorice drops, Rusty spotted his father carrying a cardboard carton out of the basement, and he decided he just had to know what was in the box. Especially since his father appeared somewhat furtive, glancing from right to left and behind him as he hurried the box through the yard and out to the recycling bins.

  Rusty eased the back door open. He tiptoed after his father.

  And his father disappeared from sight, vanished into thin air.

  Rusty let out a scream, which he tried to stifle.

  “Son?” called his father’s voice. “Everything okay?”

  “Um, yes,” croaked Rusty, despite the fact that he had recently discovered that Tulip was still invisible to him. He had crashed into her in the bathroom where, it turned out, she was standing at the sink brushing her teeth. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed the floating toothbrush.

  “What is wrong with you?” she’d exclaimed, toothpaste spraying across Rusty’s face.

  Rusty had turned and run.

  The rest of the day was just as uncomfortable for Rusty as you might imagine. In desperation, he spent the afternoon across town at Georgie Pepperpot’s, where he hoped that neither Tulip nor his father was spying on him.

  The next morning Rusty ate breakfast with his mother, his sister’s voice, and his father’s voice, watching forks and knives raise and lower themselves over plates, chairs shove themselves under the table, and flying toast disappear bite by bite. As soon as the meal was over, he hurled himself into the garage, climbed on his bicycle, and rode around and around town, occasionally calling out, “Tulip?” She never answered, and Rusty saw no riderless bicycles, but he wondered if she was still running after him, spying on him, hoping to learn a secret or two, although as far as Rusty knew, she didn’t plan on a career in espionage.

  “I’ll show her,” Rusty finally said. He threw down his bicycle and sat on a bench on Juniper Street. “I’ll be the most boring person ever. No one will want to spy on me.”

  At that moment he heard the door of A to Z Books sneeze, and who should come out of the store but Missy and Harold.

  “Huh,” thought Rusty. “I wonder where they’re going.”

  He stood up to follow them but realized just in time what would happen if he did, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Rusty?” said a voice. He thought it belonged to Missy.

  Heart pounding, Rusty opened his eyes. He let out a sigh of relief. Missy and Harold were standing in front of him.

  “Are you all right?” asked Missy.

  Rusty thought about the question. “Not really. Could I talk to you?” Then he added, “In private?”

  Harold smiled at him. “I have things to do in town,” he said, and walked away.

  That afternoon Rusty and Missy had a long talk at
the upside-down house. They sat on the porch, and Lester served them lemonade.

  “I have to tell you something,” Rusty began. He knew he could tell Missy Piggle-Wiggle anything in the world, and she would understand. But suddenly he couldn’t find the words he wanted.

  “Is it about spying?” asked Missy.

  Rusty nodded. “Yes.” And then he told her about Tulip and his father and the past couple of days. “I never knew if Tulip was watching me. It’s been horrible.”

  “It’s uncomfortable to imagine that someone is spying on you,” agreed Missy. “Watching you when you think you’re alone. Learning your secrets.”

  “It wasn’t really about secrets,” Rusty replied. “I don’t have any. But it was—”

  “An invasion of your privacy?”

  Rusty nodded again.

  “I think,” said Missy after a moment, “that you’ll be able to keep your eyes and ears to yourself from now on. What do you think?”

  “I can do that. But it won’t be easy. I like to know things. Uncovering mysteries is how I practice for my spy career.”

  “Maybe sometimes a little bit of mystery is good.”

  “That’s true,” said Rusty, who very much enjoyed all the mysteries at the upside-down house and realized that he would rather not know if there was truly any pirate treasure buried in the yard. It was much more fun to dig and hope.

  He said so to Missy.

  Missy smiled and thought about the licorice drops.

  9

  The Gum-Smacking Cure

  HANNAFORD AND MARIELLE Pettigrew took parenting very seriously. They had one child—Linden—and they bought book after book about raising a healthy child in the twenty-first century. For the first few years of his life, they managed to keep Linden away from junk food, television, action figures, and other bad influences. They gave him organic sugar-free low-fat yogurt and called it ice cream. Whenever they passed the toy store at the end of Juniper Street, they told him it was actually a toy museum and that anyway it was closed.

  Television presented a slightly larger problem. Hannaford and Marielle liked television quite a bit, and when Linden was born, they had three flat-screen TVs in their home.

  “We’ll have to get rid of them,” Hannaford said sadly to Marielle on the day they brought Linden home from the hospital.