by Lin Oliver
GROSSET & DUNLAP
Penguin Young Readers Group
An Imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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Text copyright © 2016 by Lin Oliver. Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Samantha Kallis. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC. Manufactured in China.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
eBook ISBN 9780515156454
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CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
COPYRIGHT
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
ABOUT THE PAINTING
ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND ILLUSTRATOR
PROLOGUE
Hello there. It’s Tiger Brooks. That’s right, I’m the guy who travels into the fantastic frame. I bet you remember me. I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging. It’s not like I think I’m all that great or anything. I just know that it’s hard to forget a person who gets sucked into a painting and only has an hour to get out.
You don’t meet someone like that every day.
This little habit I have of time traveling into paintings began when my friend Luna Lopez and I discovered the fantastic frame. It hangs on the living room wall in the old run-down house, of our neighbor Viola Dots. At first, Luna and I thought it was nothing but a golden frame with carved animals and a clock on the front. We didn’t know about the hour of power. That’s when the clock on the frame strikes four and the painting inside opens up and sucks you in.
But we sure found out about that hour of power in a hurry!
If you ask me, I think Chives should have warned us. He’s Viola’s butler who happens to be an orange pig. But being a pig is no excuse, because he can talk.
Chives knew that Viola’s son, David, disappeared into the frame fifty years ago and never returned. The only thing she got back was pudgy Chives, who came flying straight out of some old pig painting wearing a top hat and a bowtie and has been living with her ever since.
Mrs. Dots is a real grump, but Luna and I feel sorry for her, anyway. She misses her son, David, a lot, which is why we decided to help her. Every time Viola finishes a new painting for the frame, she asks us to go inside and look for David. She’s never been able to go inside a painting herself. She always gets spit out. Maybe adults aren’t allowed in. Or maybe it’s just the grumpy adults who aren’t allowed in.
Once we’re inside the painting, Luna and I have to watch the time carefully, because if we’re not back at exactly the same spot in the painting at five o’clock, then we could be stuck there forever.
Now David, he really doesn’t seem to mind being stuck inside paintings. I have to admit, sometimes it doesn’t seem so bad to me, either. I wouldn’t have to watch my annoying little sister, Maggie, chew with her mouth open. I wouldn’t have to roll my socks into pairs and put them away in my sock drawer. And I wouldn’t have to learn how to do subtraction word problems.
On the other hand, I’d miss my comfy bed and my dad’s spaghetti sauce. Although those hot dogs and giant pretzels off the street cart in New York sure were delicious. But wait. I’m getting ahead of myself. You don’t even know about New York yet and the weird thing that happened there. I’m talking weird with a capital W.
If you’re interested, keep reading. You’ll find out all about it.
CHAPTER 1
Luna and I stood on our driveway after school, staring at my new invention.
“What do you think I should call it?” I asked her.
Luna walked around in a circle. She still had on the cool superhero cape she had worn to school that day. She looked at the contraption in front of her and scratched her head.
“You could call it a thingamajig,” she suggested. “That’s got a nice ring to it.”
“But thingamajig doesn’t tell you what it does,” I said.
“Good point, Tiger. By the way, what does it do?”
It was Transportation Week at school. Everyone in our class had to do an oral report about a means of transportation. Luna chose to do hers on flying through the sky like Moon Girl. That’s the superhero name she’s given herself. She picked it because “Luna” means moon in Spanish. Too bad her parents didn’t name her something cool like Shark or Crusher. Personally, I’d take Shark Girl or the Crusher over Moon Girl any day.
Even though Luna had gone to all the trouble of making herself a Moon Girl cape, our teacher, Ms. Warner, wasn’t impressed. She said flying around on air currents was only a means of transportation for comic book characters. And everyone knows they don’t actually exist.
The report Ms. Warner loved was Andrew Hogan’s on electric cars. She said it was outstanding, the best in the class. But then, she hadn’t seen mine yet. Mine was going to knock her shoes and socks off. That’s because I decided that instead of doing a report, I’d invent my own means of transportation. And I did.
“I got the idea for my invention yesterday,” I explained to Luna, “when I was riding my bike. I got really hungry and I thought—wouldn’t it be great to have a snack any time you want one? Even on a bike. So I invented this . . . uh . . . thingamajig!”
“Tiger, can I just point out one thing?” Luna said. “The thingamajig isn’t a bike.”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” I answered. “But I wasn’t about to experiment with my brand-new bike. So I used my little sister’s pink princess scooter instead.”
“Uh-oh. Something tells me Maggie’s not going to like that.”
“She won’t care. She’s totally over the princess thing.”
“Right. That’s why she wore a diamond crown to preschool this morning. And carried a light-up wand.”
“I couldn’t help it,” I explained. “I had to borrow her scooter. Don’t tell, but I kind of borrowed my dad’s cooler, too. See, I attached it to the scooter. The cooler gives you a nice place to sit while you’re scooting and keeps your butt cool at the same time.”
“That’s important,” Luna said. “You don’t want to get your butt all overheated.”
We both cracked up at that. It’s nice to have a friend who makes you laugh.
“Here’s the great part about my invention,” I went on. “If you get hungry when you’re scooting around, all you have to do is flip open the cooler and get yourself a snack. Snack and scoot, it’s the perfect combo.”
“That’s it!” Luna said. “You just gave your invention a name. The Snack ’N’ Scoot.”
“Hmmmmm . . . The Snack ’N’ Scoot.” I rolled the words around in my mouth. They sounded pretty good.
“Let’s try it out,” I said.
“We promised Viola we’d be at her house befor
e four o’clock,” Luna reminded me. “We can’t be late for the hour of power.”
“We have a few minutes until then,” I told her. “Let’s just take one quick spin.”
I got on first and took off down the sidewalk. When I got to Viola’s house, I slowed down and looked up the overgrown path to her crumbling blue house. It’s so old and run-down, people on our block think it’s haunted. Luna and I are the only people in the neighborhood who have ever been inside.
I noticed Chives peeking out from behind the ragged red velvet curtain. He always keeps himself hidden. Viola doesn’t want anyone to know that she has a talking orange pig for a butler. I waved to him. He took a gold watch out of his vest pocket and pointed to it with his hoof.
I gave him a thumbs-up, to let him know we’d be there on time, and rode back to Luna.
As she was getting on the Snack ’N’ Scoot to take her turn, my dad’s car pulled into the driveway. He was bringing my sister home from preschool. Maggie stuck her head out the car window.
“Hey, Tiger, that’s my princess scooter,” she yelled. “Who said you could take it?”
“Told you,” Luna whispered.
“Listen, Maggie.” I went to the car and lifted her out of her car seat. “Did I ever tell you what a great little sister you are?”
I plastered a giant smile on my face.
“Put me down, Tiger. I want my scooter back.”
“But it’s not a scooter anymore,” I told her. “Let me introduce you to the Snack ’N’ Scoot.”
Maggie marched up to the scooter and looked it right in the handlebars.
“I’m not happy to meet you,” she said.
“Well, now, Tiger, it seems that you also took my cooler,” my dad said. “That’s the one we take to the beach. I don’t remember you asking permission to use it.”
“Sorry, Dad,” I said, “but it’s for my school project.”
“I don’t care what it’s for,” he said. “You can’t just take things without asking. I want you to return the cooler to the garage and the scooter to Maggie.”
“But, Dad!” I cried. “I have to do my transportation oral report tomorrow. And the Snack ’N’ Scoot is my report.”
“Not anymore it isn’t,” he said. “Luna, I’m afraid Tiger can’t play now. He’s got to come inside and write his report. A real report this time.”
He took Maggie’s hand and they walked up the driveway to the house.
“And you better not forget to put my purple basket back on,” Maggie called over her shoulder. “It has magical princess powers.”
I was so mad, I wanted to scream.
“My dad doesn’t understand anything about my inventions,” I told Luna. “He wants me to do a plain old regular report. Now I’ll have to write a whole bunch of paragraphs and look up words and stuff.”
“The worst part is that we’re not going to be able to go to Viola’s,” Luna said. “We’re going to miss the hour of power.”
I was so angry, I had forgotten about the painting in the fantastic frame. It opened up at exactly four o’clock, which was only a few minutes away. There was no way I could finish my report before then.
“I don’t want to disappoint Viola,” I said to Luna. “Maybe we should just go, anyway.”
“That would make your dad really mad,” Luna said.
I stood there trying to decide what to do, but only for a second. My thoughts were interrupted by Luna’s mom, screaming out the top-floor window.
“Luna! Luna!” she called. “Come quickly! You’re not going to believe what’s happened!”
CHAPTER 2
When she heard her mother’s voice, Luna looked so scared. Her dad is a helicopter pilot in the army. I could tell she was worried that something bad had happened to him.
“Mama!” she yelled, running to the window. “What is it? Is it Papa?”
“Si, mija!” her mother said. “It’s Papa!”
Her mother was crying. I took Luna’s hand, to help her prepare for anything.
“He’s coming home tonight,” her mother shouted. Then she went from crying to laughing. “Papa just called and he’s coming home on leave. He can stay with us the whole weekend!”
Luna burst into tears also. I’ve heard that people cry when they’re happy, but personally, it’s never happened to me. I cry when I’m sad or mad or when my mom peels onions. Other than that, my eyes stay pretty dry.
Luna hugged me so hard, I thought I was going to pop.
“I haven’t seen my papa in six months,” she said. “I am so happy I could dance.”
Then she did. She twirled around and around so fast that her cape flared straight out. It looked like Moon Girl was about to take off and fly through the air. Boy, I wished Ms. Warner could have seen that!
“Come upstairs, mi amor,” Luna’s mother called down to her. “We have so much to do to get ready. We’re going to make your papa a wonderful fiesta.”
“I’ll be right there, Mama,” Luna called back. She turned to me. “Now neither of us can go to Viola’s,” she said.
“Mrs. Dots is going to be so sad. We should at least tell her we can’t go.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Luna said.
We both knew that wasn’t true. Viola Dots liked to have things her way. She was very good at painting. And very good at bossing Chives around. But understanding someone else’s problems—well, that wasn’t high on the list of things she was good at. In fact, I had a feeling it might be at the bottom of the list.
“Okay, let’s tell her and get it over with,” I said. “We’ll take the Snack ’N’ Scoot for one last ride.”
I sat down on the cooler, and Luna got on behind me. We scooted along the sidewalk.
“This is just like riding a motorcycle,” Luna said. “Let’s see how fast this thing can go. Come on, Tiger. Fly like the wind!”
Luna let out a whoop and we both pushed off as hard as we could. As we sped up to Viola’s gate, I turned the handlebars hard to the right. We screeched around the corner and up the path to Viola’s house.
The front door opened, and Viola Dots stuck her head out. Her hair looked especially messed up today. I could see why people in the neighborhood thought she was a witch.
“It’s about time!” she shouted, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Where have you been?”
Before we could answer, Chives appeared at the door.
“I’ll handle this, Madame,” he said, putting a gentle hoof on her shoulder. “After all, I am the doorman. Or should I say—door pig?”
“If you insist, Chives.” Viola sighed. “Get them inside quickly. And bring that crazy contraption in, too. Hurry. I don’t want to miss the hour of power.”
“Mrs. Dots,” I began. “About the hour of power. That’s why we came to talk to you.”
“We’re certainly not going to have this conversation here on the porch. Chives, I thought you were bringing that odd vehicle in.” She pointed a crooked finger at Luna and me. “You two, follow me. And make it snappy.”
She headed into the living room as Chives pulled the Snack ’N’ Scoot inside.
“This looks like quite an amusing ride,” he said. “Might I try it out? I never get to do anything even the least bit amusing.”
“Sure,” I said. “Just be careful. It was built for small people, not for big pigs. No offense, Chives.”
“None taken, young sir,” he said.
“Children!” Viola shouted from the living room. “Have you turned into statues? I thought I told you to follow me. You’re wasting time.”
“Madame is particularly excited about this week’s painting,” Chives said as he threw one of his stubby legs over the cooler. “She says she can feel her son, David, inside it. She is hoping that today will be the day he comes home.”
“Today
?” Luna asked. She shot me a worried look.
“Yes. She has her poor old heart set on it.”
“But, Chives,” I said. “We can’t go today. That’s what we came to tell her.”
“Oh my,” he said. “Oh my, my, my. I certainly don’t want to be there when you tell her that.”
Neither did we.
CHAPTER 3
When we walked into the living room, Viola Dots was pacing back and forth. A new painting hung in the fantastic frame.
The painting showed three people sitting in a small restaurant. A blond guy in a white cap was working behind the counter. The lights in the restaurant were bright yellow, but outside, the empty street was dark and full of shadows. Something about the painting made me feel sad and lonely.
“This painting is called Nighthawks,” Viola said. “The original was painted by Edward Hopper, one of the most famous American artists who ever lived.”
“Mrs. Dots,” I interrupted. “We’d love to learn all about Edward Hopper another time. Today isn’t a good day.”
“Nonsense, there is no time like the present,” she said, barely stopping to take a breath. “As you can see from the clock, we have three minutes before four o’clock. Plenty of time to learn a few things.”
“Actually, we don’t have plenty of time,” Luna said.
Viola waved her wrinkled hand and went on talking.
“This painting,” she said, “is of a diner in New York City. A diner is a small restaurant. No one knows exactly where it is, but I believe it was somewhere near where I was born. Perhaps that’s why I have such a special feeling about it. It brings back so many long-ago memories.”
She took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. I didn’t have the heart to interrupt her now.
“The painting was completed in 1942,” she went on, “just after the United States entered World War II, a terrible time in our history. I was a small child then. I remember how much I missed my father, who was fighting in the war, far away.”
