Double Fudge

  The stars belong to everyone

  They’re all so bright and funny.

  Money money money

  Funny funny funny

  Bunny bunny bunny

  Honey honey honey . . .

  A minute later Turtle was howling. He loves to sing along with Fudge. I was glad Uncle Feather was still on strike. A trio would have been more than I could take tonight.

  If I’d gone to bed then, I’d probably have been okay—annoyed, but okay. I mean, suppose The Simpsons were on tonight and I wanted to watch? Our only TV is in the living room. Then I started thinking, Wait a minute . . . suppose my science teacher told us to watch a show on the Discovery Channel and we were going to discuss it in class tomorrow? She did that once. But this time I wouldn’t be able to answer her questions. My teacher would say, “You should have told me you don’t have a TV, Peter.” Then Sheila Tubman’s hand would shoot up. “I happen to know the Hatchers have a TV, Ms. DeFeo,” she’d blab. “It’s in their living room.” Then I’d have to explain that I couldn’t watch because our living room had been turned into a sleep-away camp. “What camp is that?” Ms. DeFeo would ask. And I’d have to think fast to come up with some name. “Camp Howie-Wowie,” I’d tell her. Then everyone would laugh.

  The longer I thought about it, the more worked up I got. My heart started beating faster, my mouth felt dried out, and the palms of my hands were getting clammy. Still, I couldn’t tear myself away from the sleeping Howies. It was like one of those bad dreams where you want to run but you can’t. It was like my feet were glued to the floor. I could feel the anger boiling up inside me. Any second I would burst and it would come pouring out like lava from a volcano. Just go to bed, I kept telling myself. But my feet refused to listen to my brain.

  Finally, I forced myself to break away. I tore down the hall to the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and leaned against it. But when I saw the five toothbrushes lined up in a row, the five towels hanging from the towel bar, and the five hairbrushes—not to mention the giant, economy-size bottle of vitamins—I just lost it. I mean, totally! I grabbed the towels and threw them to the floor, one after the other. Then I trampled them, like I was trying to kill some gigantic roach. Aaaggghhhh . . . This strangled sound came from deep inside me as I swept their hairbrushes off the counter. I kicked at them as if they were poisonous snakes. Aaaggghhhh . . . I’d turned into a raving lunatic. No, even worse—I’d turned into my brother at the shoe store! Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My face was red, my eyes wild. I looked like some demented guy in a scary movie. In the back of my mind I heard Cousin Howie asking, What do we do when we get carried away?

  And the Natural Beauties answering, We stop and count to ten.

  And if that doesn’t work?

  We count to ten again.

  So I started to count. When I got to ten I took a deep breath, then started all over again. In the mirror I saw my facial expression return to normal. I couldn’t believe I’d used Cousin Howie’s method to control my anger. Or that it actually worked. But it did. I shook out the five towels and hung them up again. Probably no one would notice since they were dark gray. There are other ways to handle this situation, I told myself, as I lined up their hairbrushes.

  I marched down the hall to Mom and Dad’s room and pushed open the door without knocking. “How do we know these people are who they say they are?” I said.

  Mom was stretched out on her bed, her hands over her eyes. “What?”

  “The Howies. They could be anybody. A week ago we didn’t even know they existed and now they’re sleeping on our living-room floor.”

  “But they have the Hatcher jaw, don’t they?” Mom said.

  “I don’t see any Hatcher jaw,” I said. “Do you?”

  “Well, I thought I did.” Mom looked worried for a second. Then she shook her head and waved her hand. “Oh, this is silly. Of course they’re Dad’s cousins.”

  “Hey, it’s okay with me if you want five strangers sleeping on our living-room floor.”

  “They’re not strangers, honey,” Mom said. “They’re family. No one but Cousin Howie ever called Dad Tubby.” She put an arm around my shoulder. “You should get to sleep.”

  “I’d like to know just one thing, Mom.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why you and Dad had to invite them to stay here. We don’t have room for two extra people, let alone five.”

  “They more or less invited themselves.” We were quiet for a minute, then Mom said, “This is really important to Dad, so let’s make the best of it, okay?”

  “Important how?”

  Mom said, “When Dad was a boy his mother got very sick.”

  “She did?”

  Mom nodded. “Cousin Howie’s parents were wonderful. Dad spent the whole summer with them. And for a while he and Cousin Howie were as close as . . . well, you and Jimmy.”

  “How come I never heard this story before?”

  “I guess Dad doesn’t like to talk about that time in his life. It was hard on him.”

  “Did his mother get better?”

  “She did . . . for a while.”

  “I wish Dad would tell me these things.”

  “He doesn’t like to upset you.”

  “Yeah, but how am I supposed to understand anything if he won’t talk about it?”

  “Maybe someday he will,” Mom said.

  “By then it’ll be too late.”

  “I hope not.” She reached out and ruffled my hair. “I understand that having five almost strangers sleeping on the living-room floor doesn’t give you, or any of us, much privacy. But it’s just for a night. Two nights at the most. We’ll get through it.” Then she leaned over and kissed me. Sometimes I don’t let her but this time I did.

  * * *

  I kept hearing Mom’s voice saying, It’s just for a night. Two nights at the most. When I woke up the next morning, the Howies were already in the kitchen, making themselves right at home—Eudora at the stove, scrambling eggs, Howie tending the toaster. Mini was seated on the counter next to the sink, breaking eggshells and sticking them to his nose and forehead. This kid is as weird as Fudge, I thought. The Natural Beauties were at the table, gobbling Dad’s cereal. Fudge sat at his usual place, counting out his Cheerios.

  Mom stood by, dressed in her whites, ready to go to work. She didn’t look happy. I happen to know Mom doesn’t like other people taking over her kitchen. She’s okay with Grandma cooking here, but that’s her limit. Our kitchen isn’t exactly roomy. We have a small table shoved up against the wall. You can reach the stove right from the table, which is sometimes convenient. But we eat most of our meals in the dining alcove.

  I poured myself a glass of orange juice and took the last chair at the table.

  “Good morning, Peter,” Eudora said. “We’ve been talking about you.”

  Me? What were they saying about me?

  “We were just saying that maybe you could take Flora and Fauna to school with you today.”

  What? I can’t have heard right. I must have water in my ears from my shower.

  “They’d like to see a New York City school,” Eudora continued.

  This required quick thinking. “My school doesn’t allow visitors,” I said, hoping Mom would help me out of this one.

  “That’s right,” Mom told Eudora. “They won’t allow anyone in who hasn’t previously registered. Schools have very strict policies in New York.”

  “And tight security.” I threw that in just to make sure they got it. “Besides,” I said to the Natural Beauties, who were filling their bowls with a second helping of Dad’s cereal, “I thought you’re home-schooled.”

  “We are,” Flora began. “But that doesn’t mean . . .”

  “We don’t visit schools,” Fauna
said. “Besides, we’ve been studying . . .”

  “Foreign cultures,” Flora said.

  “This is New York,” I told them. “It’s not a foreign culture.”

  “It is to us.” Fauna hiccuped. “Sorry, it’s the orange juice.”

  “She’s used to fresh-squeezed,” Flora said.

  Mom rolled her eyes and poured herself a second cup of coffee.

  I was trying to figure out if there’s a pattern to the way the Natural Beauties speak. Does Flora start every time or only sometimes? Is Fauna the one who always finishes? So far I haven’t been able to come up with anything clear. And trying to figure out who was saying what was making me tired even though my day had hardly begun.

  Cousin Howie set plates of eggs and toast in front of each of the Natural Beauties. That’s when he noticed Dad’s cereal box and Flora’s and Fauna’s empty bowls. “What have you girls been eating?” he asked, grabbing the box from the table. It was one of those cereals that promises to keep adults young and fit and regular. Cousin Howie began to read aloud from the list of ingredients on the side of the box. “Artificial sweeteners? Artificial flavors?” He looked at the girls. “Repeat after me, I know better than to poison my body with unnatural ingredients.”

  They repeated it.

  “One more time,” Cousin Howie said.

  “We know better than to poison our bodies with unnatural ingredients.”

  “That’s better,” he told them. “Now eat your eggs.”

  “But Daddy,” Flora began, “we’re not . . .”

  “Hungry anymore,” Fauna said.

  “Not hungry?” Cousin Howie asked. “Not hungry!”

  “That’s what they said,” Fudge told Cousin Howie. “Didn’t you hear them?”

  Cousin Howie’s face turned red, then purple.

  “Fudgie, let’s remember our manners,” Mom said.

  “I am remembering my manners. If Cousin Howie can’t hear I’ll help him, just like I help Mrs. Osterman.”

  “I can hear just fine,” Howie shouted.

  Eudora said, “Let it go, Howie. The girls will have a healthy breakfast tomorrow. Why don’t you eat their eggs and toast instead.”

  “You can sit here.” I jumped up to give him my place at the table.

  “Thank you,” Cousin Howie said.

  Turtle, who’d been under the table, looked up at Cousin Howie and whimpered, letting him know he’d be happy to share the eggs.

  That’s when Dad came into the kitchen carrying Tootsie. He set her in her baby seat. “O’s” she said, pointing to Fudge’s cereal box.

  Dad sprinkled Cheerios on her tray.

  Flora said, “Oooooh, she’s . . .”

  “Soooo cute!” Fauna hiccuped loudly, making Tootsie laugh.

  “Her name is Tamara Roxanne,” Fudge announced, “and I’m not telling what we call her.”

  “I’ll bet I can guess,” Fauna said. “Tammy?”

  “Wrong,” Fudge sang.

  “Roxy?” Flora guessed.

  “Wrong again!”

  “Mara?” Fauna tried.

  “Nope!” Fudge laughed.

  I was thinking they were all better names than Tootsie, but I didn’t say so.

  “Here’s a hint,” Fudge said. “It’s the name of a candy.”

  “We don’t eat candy,” Flora said.

  “Not even on Halloween?” Fudge asked.

  “Not even then,” Fauna said. “That’s why our teeth are . . .”

  “Perfect.” Flora opened her mouth really wide so we could admire her teeth. “We’ve never had a cavity.”

  “But you eat ice cream,” Fudge said. “I saw you.”

  “And hot fudge,” I added, thinking we’d caught them.

  “Daddy says ice cream is one of life’s necessities,” Flora said.

  “And hot fudge is a family tradition,” Fauna said.

  “Daddy’s very big on family traditions,” Flora said.

  “Big!” Tootsie said, spreading her arms.

  “So what do you call this precious girl?” Fauna asked.

  “We call her . . . Tootsie!” Fudge announced.

  “Too-zee,” Tootsie said.

  “What an adorable . . .” Fauna began.

  “Name,” Flora said. “If we have a baby sister . . .”

  “Maybe we can call her Tootsie,” Fauna said.

  “Suppose you have a baby brother,” Fudge asked.

  “Another brother?” Flora said.

  We all looked over at Mini, just as he grabbed the sponge from the kitchen sink and stuffed it in his mouth.

  “Farley . . .” Mom said, pulling it out, “that’s soapy.”

  Mini looked right at Mom and growled.

  * * *

  The second I finished breakfast I was out of there. For once, I couldn’t wait to get to school, where I wouldn’t have to think about the Howies for the rest of the day. With any luck, they’d be gone by the time I got home.

  Instead, halfway through homeroom period, as Mr. Shane was making morning announcements, the door to our classroom opened, and the principal, Ms. Rybeck, came in with two girls wearing dorky purple dresses.

  This can’t be happening, I told myself. It’s a bad dream. Any minute I’ll wake up and start my day again. I know the Natural Beauties can’t be at my school, standing in front of my homeroom class. I know it because we have tight security. Strangers aren’t allowed. I squeezed my eyes shut. Okay, I told myself, when I open my eyes they’ll be gone. The only person standing in front of the class will be Mr. Shane. I’ll count to three. I’ll count really slowly. One . . . two . . . three.

  I opened my eyes but Ms. Rybeck was still there, and she was introducing the Natural Beauties. “Please welcome our distinguished visitors from Hawaii . . .”

  Distinguished? I thought. Now I know this must be a dream.

  “They are known throughout the Hawaiian Islands as the Heavenly Hatchers,” Ms. Rybeck continued, “and they have agreed to perform at a special school assembly later this afternoon.”

  No . . . no . . . no! I could feel Jimmy and Sheila staring. So, their last name is Hatcher. So what? There must be plenty of other Hatchers. I’ll act as if this is just a coincidence. Please, Ms. Rybeck, don’t say they’re related to me. Please . . . please . . . please . . .

  But did Ms. Rybeck get my silent message? No, she did not. “After an unexpected family reunion in Washington, D.C.,” she said, “your classmate, Peter Hatcher, met his long-lost cousins, Flora and Fauna Hatcher, for the very first time.”

  Why would the principal do this to me? What’d I ever do to her? If they start to sing “The Best Things in Life Are Free,” I’ll puke. I’ll barf my guts out. Or maybe I’ll get really lucky and just drop dead on the spot.

  “Peter Hatcher?” Ms. Rybeck said.

  Since she doesn’t know me personally, Ms. Rybeck waited for me to raise my hand. But I didn’t.

  “Peter Hatcher?” Ms. Rybeck said again.

  Jimmy turned in his seat and gave me a quizzical look.

  Finally Ms. Rybeck asked, “Is Peter Hatcher here this morning?”

  Sheila’s hand shot up. “He’s right over there, Ms. Rybeck.” She pointed at me. Now all the kids turned and stared.

  “Oh, good,” Ms. Rybeck said.

  I sank lower and lower in my seat, hoping if I slid down far enough I’d become invisible. Instead, I fell over and hit the floor.

  Everyone laughed, including the Natural Beauties.

  “I know it’s exciting to have famous relatives, Peter,” Ms. Rybeck said, “but please try to control yourself. You’ll be glad to hear that your cousins may accompany you to all your classes during their visit.”

 
On the way to first-period class, Jimmy Fargo called me Moonbeam. “Hey, if you’re related to the Heavenly Hatchers . . .”

  “Cut that out!” I told him.

  “Gotcha!” Jimmy said, laughing.

  * * *

  Just before assembly I excused myself to go to the nurse’s room.

  “What seems to be the problem?” she asked. She was a big woman, tall and heavy.

  “Flu,” I said.

  “What kind of flu?” she asked.

  “Uh . . . temperature and headache.”

  She popped a thermometer in my mouth and took my pulse. Then she took the thermometer out and read it. “Normal,” she said. I could tell she wasn’t impressed by my symptoms.

  “And I feel really tired.” I yawned to show her how tired. “So can I just stay here until assembly’s over?”

  “On another day I might go along with that,” the nurse said, “but I really don’t want to miss the Heavenly Hatchers. Come to think of it, didn’t you sign in as Peter Hatcher?”

  “Yes, but we’re not related.”

  “Really.”

  “I mean, some people think we are but it’s not true. It’s a coincidence that we have the same last names.”

  “Is that right? I could swear Ms. Rybeck told me . . .”

  “Oh . . . that’s the other Peter Hatcher, the one in seventh grade.”

  “And what grade are you in?”

  “Uh . . . I’m in seventh, too.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay . . . so we’re kind of distant relations, like eighteenth cousins seventeen times removed, something like that.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Please,” I begged. “Please don’t make me go. I don’t think I can live through it. You don’t want to be responsible for my sudden death, do you?”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Could be,” I said.

  “Okay,” she said. “But I don’t want you moving off this cot. You understand?”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t move.”

  “I’ll be back in ten minutes. I just want to hear their opening number.” She closed the door behind her and I let out a sigh of relief. I knew what was coming. I knew the Natural Beauties would be laughed off stage before they finished their first song. No middle schooler in New York City would be able to take the Heavenly Hatchers with a straight face. Kids in the first few rows would throw stuff at them. Leftover lunch—orange peels or cold and soggy french fries. This would go down in the history of our school as the day those weird sisters gave their final performance.