I have no choice. I have to stop her.
“STOP!” I shout.
Okay. That didn’t work. I forgot that mouse voices are ultrasonic, at a superhigh frequency that humans can’t hear.
Her crystal-blue eyes have just about popped out of her skull, and now she’s screaming even louder. The pitch of her shriek is three octaves higher, too, almost reaching mouse levels. In fact, it’s so high, I have to cover my ears and duck down in the cake box. Maybe if I bury my head in the crumbs on top…
“That’s my breakfast!” the girl screeches. “You’ve contaminated my crumb cake. Crumb cake is my favorite! Agghhhhh!”
O-kay. This white-haired banshee is definitely freaking me out. While she’s busy screaming at me, I move to the hole I made in the plastic.
She lifts that rolled-up newspaper and rears it back like it’s a hatchet.
That gives me a fraction of a second to do something that I know is absolutely, strictly forbidden. I’ve never done it in front of a human because it would’ve made life inside the Horrible Place even more horrible. It’s definitely dangerous and probably dumb.
But the girl is lining up her shot. I need to do it now.
I explode out of the box. Sprint across the counter. Jump down to the desk.
And I dance.
On the computer keyboard.
This makes the girl even more furious.
She lowers her weapon, but she’s still yelling at me. “Get off the keyboard, mouse! If you break it, I’ll break you!”
As I dance across the clacking keys, I’m doing everything I can to get the girl to look up at the computer screen. Waving my arms. Cocking my head. Pointing with my tail.
She must think it’s all part of the choreography.
“LOOK!” I squeak desperately.
She just narrows her eyes and raises that rolled-up newspaper again. “I warned you, mouse.”
“PLEASE!” I cry, but of course, the girl can’t hear me.
I need her to look at the computer screen before she clubs me across the kitchen like I’m a fuzzy blue golf ball.
I dance faster. I furiously flap my arms, my head, and my tail toward the screen.
She’s coming at me. Fast.
She raises the newspaper high above her head.
I close my eyes. I know what’s coming. I brace for it.
And then—
CHAPTER 25
“Sometimes, words are worth a thousand words.”
—Isaiah
I peel open one eye.
Terrified, but squinting, I can see that the girl is still holding the rolled-up newspaper over her right shoulder.
But her eyes are fixed on the computer screen.
“What the…” she mumbles.
She leans in to read what is written in strings of glowing letters.
She finally lowers her weapon.
“‘Chill please?’” she reads aloud.
Now she’s staring at me. Quizzically. I believe the young girl has just realized that I am not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill house mouse. She knows that I am definitely different. Well, I am blue. She’s probably noticed that by now, too.
She leans in to study me more closely. I don’t mind. I like her curious look much more than the murderous glare she had a few seconds ago. This is progress. I let out a sigh of relief. Fluff up my fur. Pat it down. When I panic, it gets a little cowlicky.
“Did you type those words?” she asks me.
I’ve never had a human wait for an answer from me before. I nod.
“Are chill and please the only two words you know how to type? Did somebody teach you to do that at, like, a mouse circus or something?”
That makes me grin.
I tap-dance across the keyboard in a quick six-step skip and hop: “h-a-r-d-l-y.”
“Hardly what? Which question are you answering? The one about the mouse circus or how many words you know?”
Ah-ha. She makes a good point.
And so, in reply, I traipse across the keys like the Mouse King in the Nutcracker ballet, which I saw once on TV at the Horrible Place.
Here is what I type:
“forgive me. i did not mean to confuse you with my seemingly vague response to your query. no, i have never been in a mouse circus. and yes, i do have a very large, dare i say voluminous, vocabulary. at the time, however, i sensed that brevity and clarity were of paramount importance. ‘chill’ and ‘please’ communicated, in my humble opinion, my immediate desire with a great deal of efficiency and urgency, wouldn’t you agree?”
The girl shakes her head and laughs. “Totally,” she says.
I’m laughing now, too, in sheer relief.
I type out my own quick idea: “how about an icebreaker?”
“Definitely, icebreaker. I’m Hailey. Who are you?”
I type it out for her.
CHAPTER 26
“Be friends with good people and you will increase their number.”
—Isaiah
H ailey is actually very nice—especially when she’s not about to swat me with a rolled-up newspaper-weapon.
“How’d you do that?” she asks. “How’d you type all those words?”
I type my answer: “rather well, wouldn’t you agree?”
She laughs. “Yep. You’re pretty amazing. Especially for a mouse.”
“thank you, hailey. actually, many mice are amazing, but we are seldom given the chance to demonstrate our unique talents in front of humans. also, i apologize for not capitalizing letters that should be capitalized, like that ‘i’ back there and for not always using proper punctuation. it is hard for me to put one foot on the shift key and another on the letter i wish to type. especially when i am typing a y or h or something in the middle of the keyboard. i would need to do a split and rip my pants if i wore pants which i don’t because, as you have already noticed, i am a mouse.”
“You’re also blue,” says Hailey. “And what’s up with that tag on your ear?”
I really don’t want to get into my past and the things that were done to me and my family back at the Horrible Place, so I just shrug and type-dance: “i don’t know. i have just always been blue, and i got this tag when i was born. by the way, in regards to capitalization, i know i could stomp on the caps lock key but THEN IT WOULD LOOK LIKE I WAS SHOUTING AT YOU.”
Another laugh. “I’m glad I didn’t go to school today. You’re way more interesting than social studies or even math.”
“do you like math?” I type.
It’s Hailey’s turn to shrug. “I don’t like much of anything at school this year. We just moved to this ’burb. I’m the new kid in town so, you know, I don’t have all that many friends. In fact, I have zip. Zero. Nada. The kids at school think I’m weird.”
“why?” I ask.
She points at her white hair and her icy-blue eyes. “The way I look, I guess.”
I type, “how old are you?”
“Twelve.”
“well, no wonder your hair is so white. you are ancient. most mice only live one or two years. i, myself, hope to someday be twelve like you. then my fur might turn white like yours and i won’t be so different from all the other mice. there are many white mice in the world, just not in my family.”
“Hey, it’s never easy being different.”
“true. unless everybody around you is also different. for instance, my brother abe is red and very funny. my sister delphinia is purple and extremely strong. zoraster, he’s pink, can always find the shortest route to the cheese no matter how deeply it’s hidden in the maze.”
While we’re merrily chatting away, the little yappy dog I met behind the pet door proudly prances into the kitchen on clicking claws. And of course it yaps.
“No bark, Dolce,” says Hailey. “No bark.”
Dolce, of course, barks.
“She’s actually very friendly,” Hailey says to me. Dolce sits down and wags her tail. When she pants, her little pink tongue makes her look like a stuffed
doggy toy.
“we’ve met,” I reply. “and i would concur with your assessment. dolce is very sweet.”
That makes Hailey smile because she knows that dolce means sweet in Italian.
Then she drops the bombshell that almost makes me wish I’d never stepped foot in this house. “We have a cat, too.”
CHAPTER 27
“The cure for fifty enemies is one friend.”
—Isaiah
My legs start trembling so much, this is what I type: “xcxcxcxcxcxc.”
Hailey knows what I’m trying to say. “You don’t need to worry, Isaiah. Red Boy is sweet, too.”
A cat with fur nearly as red as Abe’s slinks into the kitchen. He finds a spot of sunshine, stretches out his long body like he’s made out of taffy, and slumps to the floor to nap in the warm pool of light.
Meanwhile, I remain frozen in fear.
“Um, would you like some double chocolate chip ice cream?” asks Hailey.
I’m able to budge my shoulders into a small shrug. I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Wait right there.”
Don’t worry, I want to type, as I keep one eye fixed on Red Boy, I’m not moving a muscle! But to type that message, I’d have to move lots of muscles. And as I mentioned earlier, cats love moving objects, especially mice. So I just stand perched on that key of C.
Hailey goes over to the refrigerator and returns with a scooper loaded with a melting mound of chocolate-chunk-studded creaminess. I lap it up the second she lowers it close enough to my snout. It’s very cold but spectacular!
Red Boy sleeps through the whole thing. Even after Dolce started yapping again. I think the dog wanted some of the ice cream, too.
“Chocolate’s not good for dogs,” Hailey tells me. “I’m not sure about mice.”
I shoot her a thumbs-up as I lick the bottom of the scoop bowl. I’m fine. All the mice at the Horrible Place can eat just about anything, even though all they ever fed us was kibble and sugar water.
Hailey finds a dog biscuit for Dolce, and I take that as my cue to leave.
“i must head home,” I tap out as quietly as I can, hoping to let sleeping cats lie, as they say.
“I hope you’ll visit again,” says Hailey. She offers me her hand. “Friends?”
I nod and shake her pinky finger. We can be friends. For now, anyway.
You see, I have trouble completely trusting humans, even ones that seem as nice as Hailey.
Believe me, I have my reasons. Lots and lots of them.
CHAPTER 28
“A bird in the hand is better than a mouse in the mouth.”
—Isaiah
I don’t mean to whine, but life in Suburbia is fast becoming downright irritating.
I’m attempting to scamper home to the Brophys’ ramshackle abode from my new friend Hailey’s house when I see something on the lawn in front of me that makes me tremble in fear.
The shadow of a wingspan.
Another bird is directly overhead, sizing me up for dinner. It’s a red-tailed hawk, to be precise. I recognize it from the fringe of fingertip-like feathers at the edges of its silhouette. We mice are big on memorizing the telltale shape of bird shadows.
And a red-tailed hawk is one we fear more than any other. They eat rats. Squirrels. Rabbits. They even eat other birds. We mice are mere appetizers.
I run faster.
The hawk’s shadow looms larger. Only now, it’s tucked its wings closer to its body because, oh no, it’s dive-bombing me!
It’s zooming straight at me!
I believe I would be out-of-my-mind petrified right now, but unfortunately, I don’t have the time. Dear Mouse God, please help!
It’s close, and coming closer.
With a painful clamp, the hawk snags me in its beak.
I close my eyes.
Goodbye, beautiful world.
I really would’ve liked to see my family just one more time. Perhaps, if I am very lucky, the angels in mouse heaven will sing as sweetly as Mikayla and there won’t be any killer cats or yappy dogs or red-tailed hawks, either.
As I’m waiting for the snap of the beak—the chomp and the crunch that will signify the end of my life—I feel a weird, weightless sensation.
I also feel the grass disappear from under my feet. The hawk isn’t gobbling me down in two swift gulps because…
Surprise! It’s carrying me skyward!
I pry open one terrified eye.
I’m flying!
Flying is magnificent, something I’ve only ever done in my dreams. But since they were my dreams, there wasn’t a mouse-munching bird of prey along for the ride, as there is in this nightmare.
Suddenly, we are climbing higher and higher, faster and faster. Oh, no. My whiskers are flapping in the breeze. My blue fur is ruffling furiously. For once, I’m glad I probably taste so good that the hawk won’t drop me, because it’s a long way down to the ground.
Then the hawk angles its wings. Now we’re plummeting even faster than we climbed.
Down, down, down… we’re swooping into the branches of a leafy oak tree. The leaves slap and flap at us as we plunge through their green darkness.
And then the hawk opens its jaws.
I drop like a rock without a parachute.
For a second, I wonder if the hawk is playing with me like that evil cat Lucifer did, dropping then catching me like a toy. But no, the hawk is sailing away, leaving me to plummet all by myself. My descent becomes extremely rapid. I’m the one dive-bombing now—straight for a bumpy crook of a tree branch.
And knowing what I do about physics, hitting that hard branch will shatter every single bone in my tiny mouse body!
CHAPTER 29
“If it’s not one thing, it’s somebody’s mother.”
—Isaiah
It’s a miracle.
I don’t die. My body doesn’t slam into the rock-hard branch.
I make a soft landing.
Instead of hitting the gnarly tree limbs, I land in a nicely woven basket of twigs and straw and fluffy stuff.
Well played, I want to say to the hawk, feeling giddy with relief and happiness. A perfect shot! Goooooaaaal!
But then I hear a frenzied chorus of chirping.
Uh-oh.
I turn around. I’m surrounded by fuzzy chicks with their mouths wide open. This close up, they look like hungry dinosaurs made out of snow. I realize far too late why the marauding hawk just dropped me here.
I’m in its nest, and I am to be supper for its fuzzy-headed, big-eyed babies.
How very maternal of the hawk, to go out and fetch supper for its chicks. Her instinct to nurture newborn life is very touching.
Unless, of course, you happen to be the supper!
One of the cute little hawk chicks actually lunges at me. His instincts are kicking in, too: baby see mouse, baby eat mouse.
I dodge his beak. He snaps nothing but air as I scoot to the edge of the nest. Now two of the other chicks shuffle forward and bob their pointy beaks at me.
I shout one of the first human words I ever mastered. “STOP!”
Oops, I think I scared them. All of the chicks start chirping and crying. I have to cover my ears; their screeches and squawks are more piercing than anything I’ve ever heard inside a mouse nursery, even right before naptime.
While the baby birds are busy shrieking about the mean, yelling mouse their mommy dropped into their playpen, I seize my moment. I hop out of the nest and sink my claws into the bark of a nearby branch.
Oak bark is good for scampering. Lots of traction.
I scoot along that branch, jump to another, and continue laddering my way down from the tree. Moving quickly (I always seem to run faster when I know I’m running for my life), I reach the ground in twenty very rapid heartbeats.
I can see the Brophy house—it’s such a mess, it’s hard to miss. There’s a pickup truck parked in the driveway. It has some kind of low roof on its back like a turtle shell.
> I suppose this means Mr. Brophy is home and that the family will soon be dropping mass quantities of incredible edibles under the dining room table again. I scurry across the street.
Did I mention how downright irritating life in Suburbia is quickly becoming?
Because guess what’s racing across the roadway with me? That’s right. The same winged shadow. Mommy hawk is after me again.
No do-overs! I want to scream. But I don’t. I’m too busy hightailing it to safety.
Fortunately, the Brophys aren’t big on mowing their lawn. The swaying grass has grown nearly as high as their porch. It’s like their own private wheat field.
The circling red-tailed hawk, even with its excellent vision, loses sight of me as I slowly crawl along on my belly. There is also a nice breeze blowing that makes the whole field of weeds sway like waves on the ocean. My movements aren’t giving away my position. Mommy hawk abandons her quest. I see her soar off, searching for fresh prey.
Maybe I will live to see another day.
Then again, maybe not.
When you’re a mouse, your chances for survival on any given day are always a little iffy.
CHAPTER 30
“Fools rush in where mice fear to tread.”
—Isaiah
I crawl into the burrow, just in time for the nightly food run.
Am I ready to face danger once again?
Absolutely not.
Am I ready to face Lucifer again?
Definitely no.
But when Gabriel asks, “Who’s ready for a food run?” I raise my hand and volunteer. Perhaps because I spy someone new in tonight’s scavenging party.