Ten Rules for Living With My Sister

  Twenty minutes later it was all arranged. Daddy Bo would help Mom and Dad hand out the candy, and Lexie, dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, would take Justine and me trick-or-treating.

  12

  Early on Halloween morning our doorbell rang. I answered it, eating a piece of toast, and there stood a fairy princess.

  “Happy Halloween! May all your dreams come true,” said the princess, waving her wand around in the air and throwing something sparkly and pink onto the rug in our front hallway.

  It was Justine, and she was very excited. She bounced up and down 4x.

  My mother came into the hall and saw the sparkly stuff. She eyed the closet where we keep our vacuum cleaner, but she didn’t say anything except, “Good morning, Justine.”

  “Good morning! Good morning! We’re having a party in our classroom this afternoon!” Justine was bouncing again. “Pearl, why aren’t you wearing your costume?”

  I remembered that the first graders get to wear their costumes all day long. Fourth graders don’t, though. I pointed to a shopping bag. “It’s in there,” I told her. “We’re supposed to put our costumes on after lunch. Mom, you’re going to come to the parade, aren’t you? And our party? Daddy Bo too?” (I already knew that Dad wouldn’t be able to come, but he had come the year before when I was a skunk, so that was all right.)

  “We’ll be there,” said Mom, and she sounded excited. Halloween does that to you.

  The day was a great big whirl of costumes and excitement and treats, plus the costume parade in the gym. Daddy Bo was the only grandparent who came to my class party, and everyone was glad to see him. Halfway through our parade he quietly attached a fake squirrel tail to the back of his pants. One by one my classmates noticed it and started laughing. Even Rachel and Katie and Jill laughed. Even Jill’s mother laughed. (I was steering clear of Jill’s mother due to the incident with the police, but Mrs. DiNunzio didn’t seem to have a problem with me, and she even smiled at me once, and later talked to my mother and Daddy Bo.) The point is that everyone thought the squirrel tail was funny and wanted to say so to Daddy Bo. From inside his molar costume, James Brubaker the Third said, “That is hilarious, Mr … .” He turned to me and whispered, “What’s his name?”

  “Daddy Bo,” I whispered back.

  “That is hilarious, Mr. Bo.” He stuck his arm out of the tooth and shook Daddy Bo’s hand.

  On the way home from school, walking in a group with Mom, Daddy Bo, Mr. and Mrs. Lebarro, and Justine (who had used up all her fairy dust), I glanced up and down Sixth Avenue and said, “It’s almost time.”

  “Almost time for what?” asked Daddy Bo.

  Justine looked at Daddy Bo like he was a sadly uninformed kindergartener. “Time for the parade!” she exclaimed.

  “Another parade?”

  “The big parade through the Village, Dad,” said my mother. (She calls him Dad even though he’s my father’s father. She calls her own father Dad too, which is probably confusing for both grandfathers.)

  “Even grown-ups walk in this parade,” said Justine.

  “The costumes are elaborate,” spoke up Mr. Lebarro.

  “My, what a day,” said Daddy Bo.

  It certainly was. Daddy Bo and Lexie and I watched a teensy bit of the parade from the end of our street later, but then we hurried home for trick-or-treating.

  Daddy Bo helped me assemble my costume: the scarves, the stockings, the eye patch, the flag, my beard, a bag for which I had made a tag that read PIECES OF ATE, and of course the hook hand. Daddy Bo speared the treasure map with the hook so that the map would dangle from it as I walked along.

  “Wow, Pearl!” cried Lexie when she entered the family room as Dorothy Gale. “You look great!”

  I was a little surprised at how detailed Lexie’s costume was. I had thought that maybe she would just find a blue-and-white-checked dress and a pair of red shoes. And she had, but she was also wearing thin blue socks and had tied a blue ribbon in her hair and was carrying a basket with a little stuffed Toto dog peeking out of it. Way more surprising was that her other hand was carrying a plastic pumpkin. As in for collecting candy. So I was right. Lexie wanted to go trick-or-treating after all. I was about to point this out, but then I reminded myself about the list of rules, which I felt had prevented four to six fights already, so all I said was, “You look great too.”

  When Lexie smiled hugely at me I thought that maybe I should add an eleventh rule to my list. It would be: Compliment her once in a while.

  It was time to go. Lexie and I posed in the family room while Mom took pictures of us in our costumes, and then we headed for Justine’s apartment. We left Daddy Bo behind, still wearing the squirrel tail and happily handing out candy every time our doorbell rang.

  “Hi! Hi!” shrieked Justine when she saw us. “I’m all ready!”

  “Honey, you need to calm down just a little bit,” her mother said to her.

  Why? I wondered. It was Halloween, for heaven’s sake.

  “Let’s start on the top floor and work our way down to the lobby,” suggested Lexie. “We’ll take the stairs so we don’t have to wait for the elevator.”

  So we trudged up to the twelfth floor, meeting a few other trick-or-treaters (a mouse, a cactus, Miss Piggy) on the way.

  “I call ringing the doorbells!” shouted Justine as she burst through the SERVICE door and into the twelfth-floor hallway. “All the doorbells!” She ran to the nearest one, punched the bell 3x, and yelled, “Trick or treat! Trick or treat!”

  Maybe she did need to calm down.

  The door opened, apparently by itself, and when we peered inside we saw a big dark space lit by orange candles. Suddenly a skeleton’s hand holding three candy bars reached out from behind the door. Justine shrieked, only this time she was scared, not excited. She tried to hide behind Lexie. The hand, which was attached to someone very tall wearing a Grim Reaper costume, dropped a Butterfinger bar into each of our pumpkins. Then we heard creepy laughter and the door closed slowly.

  Justine was quieter after that. But by the time we reached the tenth floor and no other scary things had happened she started smiling again. She was about to ring Mrs. Mott’s bell when suddenly I began barking. Lexie turned to me in horror.

  “Pearl! What are you—”

  “I don’t want any treats from Mrs. Mott,” I whispered loudly. “I want to trick her!”

  “Well, come on then,” said Lexie. She pulled Justine and me into the stairwell and closed the door behind us just as Mrs. Mott’s door banged open and we heard her call, “There’s that dog again, Hal!”

  Lexie laughed so hard that she dropped her pumpkin and all her candy scattered out. I couldn’t help noticing that she had just as much candy as Justine and I did. (But I didn’t say anything. )

  We continued on our way toward the lobby, one floor at a time, our buckets—all three of them—growing heavier, and when we stepped into the fourth-floor hallway, I heard Lexie draw in her breath. “Uh-oh,” she said softly.

  “What—,” I started to say, but I stopped talking when I saw a girl Lexie’s age at the other end of the hall. I recognized Mandy Stanworth, one of Lexie’s classmates, not to mention a person who doesn’t live in our apartment building. What I am trying to say is that Lexie didn’t expect to run into Mandy or anyone else she knows.

  Mandy was walking with two little kids, holding tight to their hands. The kids were dressed as a cat and a dog, and they were carrying orange treat bags that said BOO on each side. Mandy, I hate to point out, was not wearing a costume—or carrying a bag.

  “Lexie!” exclaimed Mandy, and she began to laugh. “What are you doing?”

  Well, by now it was plain to just about everyone in the world, probably even babies, that my sister was trick-or-treating. It was also plain that Mandy Stanworth was not trick-or-treating.

  “She’s—,” said Justine, but I clapped my hand over her mouth.

  Lexie’s face had turned as red as the skull eyes on my fl
ag. She took a step backward. I let go of Justine’s mouth. “My sister’s taking my friend Justine and me trick-or-treating,” I spoke up. “That’s Justine,” I added, pointing to her. “And I’m Pearl Littlefield, Lexie’s sister. By the way, in case you couldn’t tell, I’m a pirate and Justine’s a fairy godmother.”

  “Fairy princess!” said Justine fiercely.

  “Lexie didn’t want to wear a costume,” I went on, “but I had a tantrum and I yelled, ‘I can’t go trick-or-treating unless my sister goes with me! And she has to wear a costume!’ I screamed and cried until my parents made her dress up like Dorothy.”

  Here, Mandy shot Lexie a look of sympathy mixed with exasperation about little sisters. She even clucked her tongue like an old person.

  “Hey, Lexie,” I continued, inspired. “Make sure you don’t lose that bucket of candy for Sally.”

  “Who’s Sally?” asked Justine, but luckily her mouth was full of M&M’s and I was the only one who understood what she had said.

  Lexie laughed shakily. “Yeah. For Sally.” She hesitated, glancing at me.

  I glared at my sister. Did I have to do all the work? “Sally is our cousin,” I informed Mandy. (We actually have zero cousins.) “She came down with the flu today so Lexie said, ‘Well, as long as I have to take Pearl and Justine trick-or-treating I might as well collect candy for Sally. That way her Halloween won’t be a total loss.’”

  Mandy nodded wisely, as if on some other Halloween she had had to collect candy for a cousin with the flu.

  “Can we go?” asked Justine, stuffing her hand into her bucket again and pulling out a chocolate pumpkin. She began to unpeel the wrapper.

  Lexie placed her own hand gently over Justine’s. “Justine, honey, you’re going to make yourself sick. You know your mother told you not to eat any candy before you get home.”

  Mrs. Lebarro had said no such thing, but I saw that Lexie had a good idea. I reached into my bucket. “Lexie? Can I eat a Hershey bar? Please?”

  “Oh, Pearl, honey, no, no, no!”

  “Let’s go!” squawked Justine. “I want to go!”

  It certainly looked like Lexie had her hands full with us. She shook her head ruefully at Mandy, and Mandy rolled her eyes and whispered, “Good luck,” before stepping onto the elevator.

  Justine and Lexie and I stood in a row in the hallway until the doors had closed. As soon as we could see that the elevator had reached the third floor, Lexie squeezed my hand. “Thanks,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I hope I don’t sound conceited when I say that I was very proud of myself.

  13

  We didn’t run into Mandy again, but I knew Lexie was worried that we would because she kept peering around corners and through doorways like she was in a spy movie.

  “What are you doing?” Justine asked her.

  And Lexie was all, “Oh, nothing, nothing.” But she definitely didn’t want to get caught again.

  Luckily, the third floor was empty, and on the second floor we ran into a dad with three very tiny trick-or-treaters, but that was it. No Mandy. No one else Lexie knew. At least no one her age. When we rang the bell of #2A, which was the last apartment in the entire building, the door was opened by Mr. Berman, who plays the saxophone in big orchestras and who Lexie thinks is handsome, even though he’s thirty-one and has a mole on his eyelid.

  “Hello, girls,” said Mr. Berman, dropping Chunky bars into our buckets. “Happy Halloween!”

  “Thank you,” said Lexie. “I’m just taking Pearl and Justine around. You know. Babysitting and whatever. Have you played in any Broadway shows recently?”

  Mr. Berman and Lexie stood there chatting for so long that Justine plopped onto the hallway floor. She looked like she was ready to dump her bucket out and start sorting candy, so I said, “Lexie, is it all right if Justine and I go down to the lobby to show John our costumes? We’ll wait for you there.”

  “Okay,” replied Lexie, and then immediately forgot about us. I know this because right away she said, “Mr. Berman, how often do Broadway orchestras need new violin players?”

  “Come on,” I said to Justine and led her into the stairwell again. We marched down the stairs. At the bottom were two doors. I pushed the nearest one open and we ran through it and the door slammed shut behind us and suddenly we were standing all in shadows, like if we were in the woods at nighttime, which I have never been, but I can imagine it.

  “Hey, why is it dark?” yelped Justine. I could barely see her.

  “I think we went through the wrong door,” I said.

  I took off my hook hand, felt behind me for the handle, and turned it.

  Nothing happened.

  I rattled it.

  “Open the door!” wailed Justine

  “I’m trying to!” I twisted the handle again and rattled it some more and then I banged it with my fist.

  Nothing.

  “It’s locked,” I told her, rubbing my hand. “Ow.”

  “But where’s John?”

  “Through the other door. In the lobby. I think this is the door to the basement.”

  “The basement? I hate the basement! Get us out of here, Pearl!”

  I felt around for a light switch, hoping I wouldn’t find a spider instead. I didn’t. But I didn’t find a switch either.

  “Pearl!” yowled Justine, starting to cry.

  I pounded on the door. “Help!” I shouted. Bam, bam, bam. “Help!”

  Justine dropped her bucket (I could hear candy scatter), and she banged and yelled too.

  “Help! Somebody help us!” I shrieked.

  “We’re trapped in the dungeon!” shouted Justine. “Help! Help! I don’t want to die here!”

  I felt around for a light switch again, and this time I found one. I flicked it up and in the dim glow I saw that we were at the top of a flight of stairs, the creepy stairs down to the basement. There was a window in the door, but not the kind you can really see through. It was thick, and sandwiched in the middle of it was chicken wire. I stood on my tiptoes and tried to see through the window anyway.

  “Hello?” I called. “Hello?”

  “HEEEEEEELP!” yelled Justine.

  “Justine, be quiet for a minute.” I slid down until I was sitting on the floor, my back to the door.

  “What are you doing?” (Justine was saying everything at top volume, and like it was followed by a whole lot of !!!!!!s.)

  “I’m thinking. Just let me think.”

  Justine was quiet for about one and a half seconds. Then she whammed the door with her foot.

  “Stop it,” I said. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” I stood up. “Okay. I will rescue us.”

  “How?” asked Justine suspiciously.

  I had no idea. But I crept down the stairs to see what I could find.

  Justine stood silently above, watching.

  At the bottom I turned a corner. All around me were dim shapes that I couldn’t quite make out. Boxes, I thought, and maybe old furniture covered with sheets. And some cans of paint. I stared at the cans, and then suddenly I grabbed one.

  From the top of the steps I heard a faint scratching noise, which turned out to be Justine gathering her candy back into her bucket. She glanced at me as I hurried up the stairs again.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “Watch.” I aimed the bucket at the window, but before I could heave it I said, “Wait. Go sit down there.”

  “Into the basement?”

  “Just go down about five steps, out of the way.”

  “No.”

  “If you don’t move I can’t break the window and we’ll be stuck here forever in the dungeon.”

  Justine clattered down the stairs.

  And I bashed the can of paint into the glass. Some of it cracked and chipped away, but most of it was held in place by the chicken wire. I swung the can again. Crash.

  “Pearl? Justine?”

  At the sound of the voice I lost my balance, dr
opped the can, and fell on the floor.

  “Pearl?” called the voice again. It belonged to a man and it was coming from the other side of the door.

  “Yes! Yes! It’s me!”

  “And me, Justine Lebarro!” shouted Justine, scrambling back up the stairs.

  “I’m going to open the door now.” I recognized John’s voice. “But put down whatever you were using to break the window.”

  “I already did,” I replied. I stepped aside and the door swung open.

  “Are you okay?” Lexie was hovering behind John.

  “We’re okay,” I said.

  “No, we’re not. We were trapped in the dungeon!” exclaimed Justine.

  Lexie sounded a little bit like maybe she wanted to laugh, but then she got a good look at the shattered window. “Pearl, what were you doing?”

  “Getting us out of here, duh.”

  “But what were you going to do after you broke the window?”

  “Yell through it,” I said.

  “Okay. Because I certainly hope you weren’t going to try to crawl through it. See how sharp the glass is?”

  “I know how sharp glass is,” I said crossly. “And anyway, a person can’t crawl through chicken wire.”

  John was twisting the knob thoughtfully. “We need to put a sign on this door,” he announced.

  Justine looked interested. “One that says THIS WAY TO THE DUNGEON?”

  “I was thinking of DO NOT ENTER.”

  “You need to be more specific,” I told him. “The sign should say CAUTION: DOOR LOCKS BEHIND YOU.”

  John looked impressed. “That’s a good idea, Pearl.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Then I added, “I’m sorry I broke the window.”

  “Don’t worry, John,” spoke up Lexie, using her most annoying adult voice. “My parents will talk to the building manager about the incident. We’ll pay to have the window fixed.”

  By the time John had accompanied Lexie and Justine and me to the seventh floor and explained to our parents what had happened, and all the adults had looked us over and seen for themselves that we weren’t injured, I was starting to feel better.