Ty had a phobia about taking a bath alone. Why? Because of the Bathroom Lady. And who was the Bathroom Lady? No one. The Bathroom Lady didn’t exist.
So why was Ty afraid of her? Because I was good at inventing stories, and long long long ago I’d told Ty that a witch named the Bathroom Lady lived in the sewer system and slurped up tasty children through the pipes. I made the story good, too, giving the Bathroom Lady rubbery lips and grasping claws as blue and cold as ice.
Whoops.
I rapped on the door of the bathroom, then twisted the knob and barged in. Ty was squatting fully dressed by the tub. Not in the tub, but by the tub, just staring at the drain. He whipped his head around at the sound of my arrival.
“Ty,” I scolded. “You’re seven years old. You’re too old to be afraid of taking a bath.”
Ty’s eyes widened, and he propped his elbows on the edge of the tub and tried to form a wall with his scrawny upper body. “I’m sorry, Ty is unavailable,” he said. “Beep. Please leave a message.”
What was he hiding? I attempted to peek past him. He moved his body in tandem with mine.
“Ty, what’s going on?”
“Nothing! Beep! Leave a message!”
I spotted his backpack on the bathroom floor. His open, empty backpack. He scrambled to his feet and drove his hands into my hip bones, attempting to push me backward.
“Not gonna work, bud,” I said, lifting him from under his armpits and moving him out of the way. “Whatever you’ve got in there, I’m sure it’s not—”
My throat closed, because there was a penguin in the bathtub. A penguin, and it was alive, and its chest puffed in and out as it breathed. It pitter-pattered from side to side when it saw me, and its penguin feet made slippery sounds on the porcelain.
“Heheheh,” Ty said. It was his robot laugh, which he pushed from his lungs in an anxious monotone.
“Ty?” I finally managed. “There is a penguin in our bathtub! ”
He made his “adorable me” smile, but like his heheheh, it was stretched too tight.
A vague memory floated into my mind. Ty went on a field trip today—the details were coming back to me. To the Georgia Aquarium. And apparently he’d acquired a penguin while he was there, a penguin which was now in our bathtub.
“His name is Pingy,” Ty whispered. “He’s a baby.”
Omigod. I knelt by the tub and gulped. I gingerly touched the penguin’s feathers. I thought a penguin’s skin would be more slippery, like a seal’s, but maybe that happened when they got older?
“Holy pickles,” I muttered.
Ty dropped to his knees and scooched in beside me. “Isn’t he cute?”
“What did you do, Ty? Did you steal him and stuff him in your backpack?”
“No!”
“Then what? Buy him at the gift shop? I’m pretty sure—make that entirely sure—that baby penguins aren’t for sale at the aquarium gift shop.”
“Heheheh,” Ty said. “Did I tell you his name is Pingy?”
I looked at Ty, then back at the penguin, whose eyes were dark and as bright as buttons. It—he?—did his funny side step pitter-patter and flapped his wings.
Mom clearly didn’t know about Pingy, or there would have been yelling going on. Lots. And rightfully so, because Pingy was probably hungry and scared, and anyway, Ty couldn’t go around stealing penguins from the Georgia Aquarium. It just wasn’t done!
“Holy pickle crap, Ty,” I said. I went into lecture mode, informing him he wasn’t allowed to steal penguins from the Georgia Aquarium. That he wasn’t allowed to steal, period.
He told me he knew, he knew, he knew. He told me other stuff, too, like how he’d seen Pingy at the aquarium and worried he was lonely, and, oh, that Pingy loved peanut butter, and wasn’t that funny? But the stealing part wasn’t funny, and now he felt really scared.
He shifted from foot to foot and said, “What are we going to do?”
“We?” I said incredulously.
His face fell, and I felt terrible. Because who was going to help him if I didn’t?
I sighed. “Oh, Ty,” I said. “We’ll figure something out. I promise.”
I thought hard. At last I told Ty to get Pingy out of the tub, and to get himself into the tub, because if Mom didn’t hear bath-taking sounds soon, the game would be up. Then I went and found Sandra in her room.
“I’m busy,” she said. “Go away.”
“I need you to come with me to the bathroom,” I said. “Oh, and bring your secret stash of peanut butter.”
“I don’t have a secret stash of peanut butter,” she lied. She glanced at me from under a swoop of blond hair, which she was braiding as she watched an episode of Chuck on her laptop. “And Winnie, you are way too old to need company while you do your private lady business.”
“For real, Sandra. Your presence—and your peanut butter—are needed in the bathroom, pronto. Get in there and I’ll tell you my plan.”
“Hey, Mom, Sandra’s taking me to Barnes and Noble,” I said ten minutes later as Sandra and I made a beeline through the kitchen. “‘Kay? ’Kay.”
“Is Ty in the tub?” Mom said. She had Maggie strapped to her chest, and she was swaying and stirring spaghetti sauce. She didn’t notice that I was holding Ty’s backpack in front of me like a sack of groceries, or that every so often, it wiggled.
“Yep. Shampoo in his hair and everything.”
“Really?”
“What can I say?” I tossed off. “I’m just that good.” And I had excellent blackmail material. It wasn’t often a girl could hold penguin-napping over her little brother’s dirty head.
Sandra opened the back door. “Bye!” she called. “We’ll be back in an hour!”
But at the Georgia Aquarium, things got complicated. The heavy doors of the main entrance were locked, and there was a freaky red light blinking from a nearby keypad. It was a keypad like the keypad on Cinnamon’s home alarm system, only more heavy-duty looking.
“Do you think they have spy cameras?” I whispered, holding Ty’s backpack in front of me. “Do you think we’re getting our pictures taken?”
“Oh, great, that’s just what I need,” Sandra whispered back, jerking me into the shadows. “‘Westminster Senior Expelled for Busting into Aquarium. Hopes for Future Thoroughly Dashed.”’
“Well, we’ve got to get in somehow,” I said. “We can’t leave Pingy out here—he’d waddle into the street and get hit by a car.”
“This is insane,” Sandra said.
I cradled Ty’s backpack with one arm. With my other hand, I unzipped the top and felt inside for Pingy. “Don’t worry, little fella,” I said, patting him. “I’m not going to let you get run over.”
To Sandra, I said, “Let’s check the side of the building. Maybe there’s another entrance.”
“And maybe there’s a security guard on a Segway, ready to pop out and arrest us,” Sandra groused.
But she followed me as I ducked under the steel railing that lined the sidewalk. The grass was damp with dew. A low humming came from the aquarium, and the temperature of the air dropped as we sidled up close to the building.
“It’s dark,” I whispered.
“You don’t say,” Sandra replied.
“Really dark. Axe-murderer dark.”
“No, shark-attack dark. In the night, they probably let the sharks roam free.”
I giggled nervously. While Ty had a phobia about baths, I kinda, well, had a phobia about sharks, and Sandra knew it.
A side entrance failed to present itself, and Pingy was growing agitated. I kept my hand in Ty’s backpack and stroked him as best I could, but it was awkward, and my forearm jarred the zipper open like a silver-toothed mouth. Only I did not want to think about teeth or mouths, so I shoved that image away and tried to think about ... about peanut butter instead. Yes, lovely peanut butter, which had kept Pingy occupied and quiet while we snuck him out of the house.
If I’d thought about it in time, I would have grabbed one of teens
y baby Maggie’s pacifiers and swabbed up a big glob of peanut butter with it. How cute would that be, Pingy sucking on one of baby Maggie’s pacifiers?
“I wonder if the security guards actually are sharks,” Sandra mused. “They breathe air, you know.”
“Sharks?”
“Yummy, yummy oxygen. They like people better, though—especially yummy yummy girl flesh.”
“Shut up, they do not.”
“It’d be a lot less expensive than hiring real security guards. And they’d do a better job, don’t you think?”
“Sandra! Shut up!”
“You think a shark could ride a Segway?”
Sharks on Segways were ridiculous, I knew that. And yet my pulse accelerated. It was extremely creepy tromping through the dark with the huge aquarium looming over us, and just say a shark on a Segway did appear ...
Sandra snapped her jaws, and I screamed. It was LOUD, my scream, and I clapped both hands over my mouth and dropped Ty’s backpack.
“Smooth,” Sandra said.
Pingy piued and poked his head out.
“Hey, get back in there,” I said. I squatted beside him and pushed on his head.
“Piu, piu!” Pingy said. He flapped his wings, and the zipper opened farther. What used to be a small opening was now a medium-sized opening.
“Sandra! Help!”
Sandra tried to grab Pingy, but he was like one of those liquid-filled tube toys that slipped and slid through your fingers.
“Crap!” Sandra said. “Get him!”
“I’m trying!”
“Piu! Piu!”
Pingy was a ball of muscle waddling rapidly away. But I could capture him, I knew I could, if I could just—
I scrambled on my hands and knees through the grass.
If I could just—ouch! A prickly thing, once on the ground, was now embedded in my knee. Owwie owwie owwie!
But there was no time for pain. I tensed and sprang and ... yes!
“Aha!” I exclaimed from flat on my belly. “Gotcha now, sucka! ”
“Piu?” Pingy said from behind me.
Huh? How was Pingy behind me, if ... ?
“Winnie,” Sandra said tightly.
“Piu? Piu, piu?”
I looked over my shoulder, then I wished I hadn’t. Because if Sandra had Pingy—and sure enough, she did; she had him firmly in her grasp like a flapping baby—then what had I caught? What was I gripping in this dark and tangled grass ... and why was it so hard?
Pingy wasn’t hard. Pingy was plump and pliable, like a warm Beanie Baby.
I let go and scrambled backward. What was that thing in the shadows before me? Was it ... a shoe?
It was. A large suede loafer, to be exact. Or possibly faux suede. Hard to tell. But definitely large, and definitely—gulp—attached to an even larger leg.
My gaze traveled upward: legs, torso, shoulders, head. On top of the head, an army green ball cap emblazoned with the word SECURITY.
Uh-oh.
In my penguin rescue efforts, I’d managed to get dirt in my mouth. I used my tongue to work it out, and then I went pluh, much as teensy baby Maggie did when she was spitting up splurts of milk. Then, in a faint-ish voice, I said, “Hi?”
The security guard put his hands on his hips.
I glanced behind him. “Wow. You, um, have a Segway. I thought that was just in the movies.”
“I also have a gun,” he growled, tapping it for proof.
“Lucky,” I said, even more faintly.
“You girls want to tell me what’s going on?” he demanded.
Was “not really” an acceptable response? Somehow I doubted it.
I got to my feet, brushed myself off, and turned to Sandra. She was codfish pale, and I could practically see the thoughts racing through her brain: Omigod, so busted. I’m going to have to go to community college. Omigod, I’m going to end up at a community college!
It was clear it was up to me to get us out of this, so I straightened my shoulders, tilted my head, and smiled.
“I’m Marla,” I said. I picked “Marla” because it sounded sweet and old-fashioned.
“I’m Max,” the guard said. “Keep talking.”
“Well, um ... nice to meet you, Max.” I gestured at Sandra. “And this is my sister, Fanny.”
Sandra’s mouth dropped open.
“Fanny, say ‘hi,’” I prodded. To Max, I said, “She’s a little shy.”
“She’s also holding a penguin,” Max pointed out.
Pingy seemed to know he was being discussed. “Piu?” he said.
“Hmmm,” I said. “Why, yes, she is.”
“Are you going to tell me why?” Max asked.
God, so nosy, I thought. I almost giggled ... but Marla was not a giggler, and this was not a giggling situation!
I took a breath. I gave Max another winning smile. “Well, you see, Fanny has ... a special connection to animals ... and, um ...”
I glanced again at Sandra, needing her to pull it together and offer some assistance here. But no, she continued to stand there like a log. A mute log.
My eyebrows flew up. A mute log! Yes!
“She’s a mute,” I said rapidly. “She was born that way, it’s not her fault, and she’s ... yeah. Always collecting pets. We have a Chihuahua at home, and also a Seeing Eye dog, not that Fanny’s blind. She’s not blind, heheheh.”
Oh, great, I’m channeling Ty’s robot laugh, I thought. And then, firmly: Do not think about Ty’s robot laugh! Focus!
“But, like, if Fanny wants to go for a walk?” I said with wide eyes. “My mom can pin a note to Sarge’s collar—Sarge is the Seeing Eye dog, he’s a German shepherd—that says, ‘If my owner and I seem lost, please call 555-3754.’”
Max’s expression showed nothing. Nada, zero, impassive-city.
“That’s our number,” I clarified. “It’s clever, don’t you think? So that Fanny can always find her way home?”
Max reached to his waist of his uniform pants and unclipped a black cell phone. Hovering his thumb over the buttons, he said, “You want to give that one more time?”
“Ooo, but nobody’s home!” I told him. “I mean—heheheh—duh, because Fanny and I are here”—I gestured at the weeds around us—“and my parents are ... at a charity ball! ”
“For the mute?” Max said drily.
For the mute? What was he ... ? Oh!
“Yes! How’d you know?!”
Sandra—or rather, Fanny—let out a moan. I shot her a glare that said, You are a mute. BE QUIET.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on,” Max suggested.
My shoulders slumped. I shut one eye and squinted up at him from the other. “Do I have to?”
“Hmmm. I’m going to say ... yeah.”
I sighed, like, Fine, you got me. Yet some small awareness hinted to me that if I played my cards right, things were going to be okay. I don’t know how I knew this, but I did.
“My little brother took the penguin,” I confessed. “His second-grade class came here on a field trip.”
Max scratched his neck.
“But he knows it was totally wrong, and he’s really, really sorry. We just wanted to get Pingy back to his mom.”
“Pingy,” Max stated.
I scooped Pingy from Sandra’s arms. “He’s not hurt or anything. And like I said, my little brother is so super sorry.”
“Is he a mute, too?”
“Um, ha ha. Good one.” From deep in my mind came the thought, Let him have his fun, that’s all right. Work with it. I gazed sheepishly at Max from under my eyelashes.
Max turned to Sandra. “And you? Are you mute?”
“No,” Sandra said. She plucked at her T-shirt, disgusted. “I’m pretty much covered with penguin poop, though.”
Max gave up trying to be stern and belly-laughed. I grinned, because laughing at us was so much better than putting us in jail. Or shooting us.
He took Pingy and held him under his arm like a football.
“Get out of here, girls. I’ll take care of this big boy.”
“You’re not going to report us?” I asked.
“Marla,” he said, “I’ve worked the night shift here for two years, and not once have I been this entertained.”
“Awww,” I said. On the inside, I was soaring.
“Go home,” he said. “Tell your little brother I’m onto him, and that if he ever steals a penguin again, I’ll prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law.”
“Scare him a little,” I said. “Yes, sir.”
He turned to Sandra. “And Fanny? Tell him he owes you a new shirt.”
Sandra gave him the sourest smile possible. He guffawed.
Since things were going so well, I said, “Hey, can I ride your Segway?”
“No,” he and Sandra said as one.
“Okay, okay,” I said, holding my hands up. “Sheesh.”
“Good night, Marla and Fanny.”
“Good night, Max.” I elbowed Sandra. “Fanny, say good night.”
“Good night,” Sandra said in the lockjaw manner of Cinnamon’s very old, very Southern grandmother.
Max strode to his Segway and climbed on.
“Good night, Pingy!” I said. Pingy squirmed, but no way was he escaping this dude.
Steering with one hand, Max spun the Segway in a semicircle and leaned back. The Segway wobbled. Pingy’s bottom was the last thing we saw, his tail feathers fluttering in the breeze.
In the car, Sandra asked me who I was and what I’d done with her sister.
“Hardy-har-har,” I said.
“You were fearless back there,” she said. “I totally froze, but you were fearless. How?!”
“I don’t know. I got lucky, I guess.”
“No, it wasn’t luck. I don’t know what it was, but ...” Her sentence trickled off.
“He was nice,” I protested. “We amused him.”
“You amused him.” She shook her head. “You should be an actress when you grow up, I am so not kidding.”
“Or a sociopath.”
She snorted. “Or a sociopath.”
Smiling, I watched the passing scenery. After a moment, my smile faded.
“I honestly don’t know how I got brave like that,” I admitted. “I’m usually so unbrave.”