“There’ll probably be a Fudge separating us.”
“So why don’t you just tell me where our house is and that’ll be the end of it.”
“This is your house,” Sheila said.
“I thought this was your house.”
“It’s two houses, but they’re connected.”
“What do you mean connected?” I asked.
“Didn’t you learn anything in sixth grade, Peter? Connected means attached . . . joined together . . .”
“I know what the word means,” I told her.
“Don’t worry,” Sheila said, “there’s an inside door that separates your house from ours.”
An inside door? I thought. How am I going to explain this to Jimmy Fargo? I promised him a forest between our houses . . . not an inside door!
“The story is filled with humor, and the upbeat mood is sustained at a hectic pace from first page to last . . . just the right doses of surprise and laughter to keep turning the pages.”
—SLJ
“As always with Blume, the dialogue is bright and snappy.”
—Booklist
BOOKS BY JUDY BLUME
The Pain and the Great One
Soupy Saturdays with the Pain and the Great One
Cool Zone with the Pain and the Great One
Going, Going, Gone! with the Pain and the Great One
Friend or Fiend? with the Pain and the Great One
The One in the Middle Is the Green Kangaroo
Freckle Juice
THE FUDGE BOOKS
Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing
Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great
Superfudge
Fudge-a-Mania
Double Fudge
Blubber
Iggie’s House
Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself
Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret
It’s Not the End of the World
Then Again, Maybe I Won’t
Deenie
Just as Long as We’re Together
Here’s to You, Rachel Robinson
Tiger Eyes
Forever
Letters to Judy
Places I Never Meant to Be: Original Stories by Censored Writers (edited by Judy Blume)
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)
Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India
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Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published in the United States of America by Dutton Children’s Books, 1990
Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2003
Reissued by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2007
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Copyright © Judy Blume, 1990
Illustration copyright © Jules Feiffer, 2007
All rights reserved
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE DUTTON CHILDREN’S BOOK EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Blume, Judy.
Fudge-a-mania / by Judy Blume.
p. cm.
Summary: Pete describes the family vacation in Maine with the Tubmans, highlighted by the antics of his younger brother, Fudge.
ISBN: 0-525-44672-9 (hc)
[1. Vacations—Fiction. 2. Brothers—Fiction. 3. Family life—Fiction. 4. Humorous stories.]
I. Title.
PZ7.B6265 Fu 1990 [Fic]—dc20 90-039627 CIP
This Puffin edition ISBN 9781101564103
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
To George—who took me to Maine, and was there to encourage me every day
and
to Larry—the original Fudge, currently a member of the I.S.A.F. Club
Acknowledgments
The author and publisher gratefully acknowledge permission to reprint the quoted passages on:
“Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho” from Walt Disney’s Snow White. © Copyright 1938 by Bourne Co. (Renewed). Used by Permission of the Copyright Owner.
“Some Enchanted Evening” by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II. Copyright © 1949 by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, copyright renewed. Williamson Music Co., owner of publication and allied rights. Used by permission. All rights reserved
Contents
Who’s the Lucky Bride?
Pete and Farley
The Most Disgusting of Them All
The Worst News of the Century
Uncle Feather’s Adventure
The Perfect Baby-Sitter
The Best News of the Century
Fudge-a-mania
Dizzy from Izzy
Green Gurgling Gas
The I.S.A.F. Club
Baby Feet
Captain Fudge
The Ring Bear
The Miser
Who’s the Lucky Bride?
“Guess what, Pete?” my brother, Fudge, said. “I’m getting married tomorrow.”
I looked up from my baseball cards. “Isn’t this kind of sudden?” I asked, since Fudge is only five.
“No,” he said.
“Well . . . who’s the lucky bride?”
“Sheila Tubman,” Fudge said.
I hit the floor, pretending to have fainted dead away. I did a good job of it because Fudge started shaking me and shouting, “Get up, Pete!”
What’s with this Pete business? I thought. Ever since he could talk, he’s called me Pee-tah.
Then Tootsie, my sister, who’s just a year and a half, danced around me singing, “Up, Pee . . . up.”
Next, Mom was beside me saying, “Peter . . . what happened? Are you all right?”
“I told him I was getting married,” Fudge said. “And he just fell over.”
“I fell over when you told me who you were marrying,” I said.
“Who are you marrying, Fudge?” Mom asked, as if we were seriously discussing his wedding.
“Sheila Tubman,” Fudge said.
“Don’t say that name around me,” I told him, “or I’ll faint again.”
“Speaking of Sheila Tubman . . .” Mom began.
But I didn’t w
ait for her to finish. “You’re making me feel very sick . . .” I warned.
“Really, Peter . . .” Mom said. “Aren’t you overdoing it?”
I clutched my stomach and moaned but Mom went right on talking. “Buzz Tubman is the one who told us about the house in Maine.”
“M-a-i-n-e spells Maine,” Fudge sang.
Mom looked at him but didn’t even pause. “And this house is right next to the place they’ve rented for their vacation,” she told me.
“I’m missing something here,” I said. “What house? What vacation?”
“Remember we decided to go away for a few weeks in August?”
“Yeah . . . so?”
“So we got a great deal on a house in Maine.”
“And the Tubmans are going to be next door?” I couldn’t believe this. “Sheila Tubman . . . next door . . . for two whole weeks?”
“Three,” Mom said.
I fell back flat on the floor.
“He did it again, Mom!” Fudge said.
“He’s just pretending,” Mom told Fudge. “He’s just being very silly.”
“So I don’t have to marry Sheila tomorrow,” Fudge said. “I’ll marry her in Maine.”
“That makes more sense,” Mom said. “In Maine you can have a nice wedding under the trees.”
“Under the trees,” Fudge said.
“Tees . . .” Tootsie said, throwing a handful of Gummi Bears in my face.
And that’s how it all began.
Pete and Farley
That night we went to Tico-Taco for supper. I wasn’t very hungry. The idea of spending three weeks next door to Sheila Tubman was enough to take away my appetite. I wish the Tubmans would move to another planet! But until that happens there’s no way to avoid Sheila. She lives in our apartment building. We go to the same school.
I kind of groaned and Dad looked at me. “What is it, Peter?”
“Sheila Tubman,” I said.
“What about her?” Dad asked.
“We’re getting married,” Fudge said, his mouth full of chicken and taco shell.
“I’m not talking about your wedding,” I said. “I’m talking about spending three weeks in Maine next door to the Tubmans.”
“It won’t be as bad as you think,” Mom said.
“You don’t know how bad I think it will be!”
“Sheila’s older now. She’s finished sixth grade, same as you.”
“What’s age got to do with it?” I said. “She’ll still be the Queen of Cooties.”
“What’s cooties?” Fudge asked.
When I didn’t answer he tugged on my sleeve. “What’s cooties, Pete?”
“Since when am I Pete?” I asked, shaking him off.
“Since today,” he said.
“Well, I prefer Peter, if you don’t mind.”
“Pete is a better name for a big brother.”
“And Farley is a better name for a little brother!” I figured that would shut him up since his real name is Farley Drexel Hatcher and he’s ready to kill anybody who calls him that.
“Don’t call me Farley!” he said. Then he really let go and yelled, “I’m Fudge!”
The waiter, who heard him from across the room, came over to our table and said, “Sorry . . . we don’t have any tonight. But we do have mud pie, which is almost the same thing.”
Dad had to explain that we weren’t talking about dessert. And Mom added, “We never eat dessert until we’ve finished our main course.”
“Oh,” the waiter said.
But before he had a chance to get away, Fudge looked up at him and said, “Do you have cooties?”
“Cooties?” the waiter asked. “For dessert?” He looked confused. Especially when Tootsie banged her spoon against the tray of her baby seat and sang, “Coo-tee . . . coo-tee . . .”
I could tell Fudge was about to ask the same question again, but before he had the chance I clamped my hand over his mouth. Then Dad told the waiter we didn’t need anything else right now.
The waiter walked away shaking his head and I took my hand away from Fudge’s mouth. As soon as I did, he was back in business. “What’s cooties?” This time the people at the next table looked over at us.
“They’re like nits,” Mom told him, quietly.
“What’s nits?” Fudge asked.
“Head lice,” Dad said, almost in a whisper.
“Head mice?” Fudge asked.
“Not mice, Turkey Brain,” I told him. “Lice. Little creepy, crawly bugs that live in hair.” I snapped my fingernails at his head the way Sheila Tubman used to do to me.
Fudge yelled, “I don’t want creepy, crawly bugs in my hair!”
Now everyone in the restaurant looked over at us.
“That’s enough, Peter,” Dad said.
“Well, he’s the one who wanted to know.”
“That’s enough,” Mom said. It came out sounding like eee-nuff, which got Tootsie going.
“Eee-eee-eee-eee . . .” Tootsie shrieked, banging her spoon.
This is the way it’s going to be all summer, I thought, only worse. So I put down my taco and said, “Maybe I should go to camp in August.”
Dad got this really serious look on his face. “We don’t have the money this year, Peter. We wouldn’t be going away at all if it weren’t for Grandma, who’s paying more than her share.”
“But if you want, you can bring a friend,” Mom said.
“A friend?” I asked. “You mean like Jimmy Fargo?” They both nodded.
Jimmy is my best friend in New York. We’ve always wanted to spend the summer together.
“What about me?” Fudge asked. “Can I bring a friend, too?”
I held my breath.
“You’ll find a friend in Maine,” Mom told him.
“Suppose I don’t?” Fudge asked.
“You’re getting married,” I reminded him.
“Does that mean I don’t get a friend?” Fudge asked.
“Of course not,” Mom told him. “I’m married and I have friends. Daddy’s married and he has friends.”
“What about Uncle Feather?” I said. Uncle Feather is Fudge’s myna bird. “He’s your friend, isn’t he?”
“I can’t play with Uncle Feather,” Fudge said. “He’s not that kind of friend. And I can’t marry him either. If he was a girl bird it would be different.”
“People don’t marry birds,” I told him.
“Some people do.”
“Name one,” I said.
“The guy who’s married to Big Bird on Sesame Street.”
“Big Bird’s not married,” I said.
“That’s how much you know!” Fudge shouted.
He’s learned to say that every time someone disagrees with him. It’s a real conversation stopper. “I give up!” I said, going back to my taco, which was getting soggy.
“Up,” Tootsie repeated, holding out her arms. “Up . . . up . . . up.”
Dad lifted her out of the baby seat and she squirmed until he put her down. Then she took off, toddling through the restaurant, stopping at every table. Fudge scrambled off his chair and ran after her. Eating out with my family is not exactly relaxing.
“Here, girl . . .” Fudge said, as if he were calling a dog. “Here’s something just for you.” He lured her back to our table and dropped some of his taco on her tray. “Yum . . .” he said to her. “Yum . . . yum . . . yum . . .”
Dad put Tootsie back into her seat. She stuffed the chicken pieces into her mouth.
“I always know what Tootsie wants,” Fudge said. “That’s why I’m her favorite brother.”
“Tootsie doesn’t have favorites,” Mom told him. “She loves both her brot
hers.”
“But she loves me best!” Fudge said. Then he looked at me and laughed. When he did, half the food in his mouth wound up on my shirt.
* * *
I called Jimmy Fargo as soon as we got home. I asked him to come to Maine with us.
“Three weeks next door to Sheila Tubman?”
“The houses are really far apart,” I said. Nobody told me this but I was hoping it was true. “You won’t even be able to see her house. There’ll probably be a forest separating us.”
When he didn’t say anything I added, “And don’t forget . . . Sheila’s scared of dogs so we can get Turtle after her anytime she tries to give us trouble.” Turtle is my dog. He’s big enough to look scary but he’d never hurt anybody. Lucky for us, Sheila doesn’t know that.
Jimmy laughed. “Maybe I can come for a week.”
“A week isn’t long enough!”
“Hey, Peter . . . no offense . . . but a week with your family can feel like a long time.”
That’s because Jimmy’s the only kid in his family. His parents are divorced. He lives with his father, Frank Fargo, who’s a painter.
“How about two weeks?” I said.
“Is your brother bringing his bird?”
“Yeah . . . Uncle Feather’s part of the family,” I told him. “Same as Turtle.”
“So it will be your mother, your father, Fudge, Tootsie, Turtle, Uncle Feather and you?”
“Right,” I said. “And my grandmother’s coming too.”
“The one who taught you to stand on your head?”
“Yeah.” Grandma Muriel is Mom’s mother. She ran a gymnastics camp before she retired.
“You think she could teach me?” Jimmy asked.
“Maybe,” I said.
“I’ll talk to my father,” Jimmy said. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
He called back the next morning. Mr. Fargo liked the idea of Maine. He liked it so much he said he’d drive Jimmy up and camp out in the area himself.