Penguin Problems

by Lauren Myracle

  Even so, I try to win her back.

  “Hammerdorfer,” I whisper in her ear as Mrs. Webber has us line up by the door of our classroom. “Hammerdorfer.”

  She pretends not to hear.

  “Someone should only have that name if they smash things with hammers,” I whisper.

  “Ty, hush,” she says, without whispering. “It’s not nice to make fun of people’s names.”

  Mrs. Hammerdorfer pinches up her lips at me.

  “‘Hammerdorfer’ is an old German name,” Breezie says prissily. “The Hammerdorfers come from great wealth. Do you come from great wealth, Ty?”

  I stomp on her toe, only not really. I do pretend she’s a bug, and not the cute kind.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she says, like she knew it all along.

  The third bad thing is that the sand shark exhibit isn’t open, so we can’t pet the sharks, and the fourth bad thing is that the beluga whales stay in their special private area and don’t come out. I really wanted to see their giant, marshmallow bodies. I didn’t know how much until now.

  “Can we stop and eat lunch?” Lexie asks after she, Breezie, Breezie’s mom, and I have walked around the aquarium for five thousand hours.

  “I think that’s a fine idea,” Mrs. Hammerdorfer says.

  There’s an eating area in the middle of the aquarium, with puffy green sofas and chairs, and we plop down and pull out our lunches. Lexie has a Mini Hot Dogs Lunchable, and each mini hot dog has its own mini bun. Breezie has a Grilled Chicken Wrap Lunchable with a special Lunchables Brigade trading card. She gets Abel the Super Inventor, the rarest trading card there is.

  I eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and don’t even care.

  Lexie whispers something to Breezie.

  “Hey, Mom?” Breezie says. “Can we go to the gift store?”

  My eyes fly to her, then to Lexie. Then to the gift store, which is across the way.

  Breezie’s mom glances at the other kids scattered around the food court area. Most of them are still eating. She glances at her watch and says, “I suppose.”

  I yelp.

  “What’s wrong, Ty?” Lexie says. Her eyebrows go up innocently, but there is a glint in her eyeballs that says, You keep your mouth shut about Mrs. Webber and her stupid rules, mister.

  I breathe through my nose, loudly and quickly.

  “You sound like a bull,” Lexie says.

  “Do not.”

  “A bull shark,” Breezie says. “Also known as the Zambezi shark.”

  Her mother looks at her like she’s a miracle. I look at her like she’s a Zambezi bug, and not the cute kind.

  “Anyway, are you coming?” Lexie asks.

  “I haven’t finished my chips.”

  She gets up. So does Breezie. “Okay, bye,” they say, and they flounce off.

  Mrs. Hammerdorfer pats her mouth with her napkin and folds her napkin into a small square. “I’m going to chat with Jordan’s mom for a bit,” she says, and she gets up and goes to another sofa with another mom on it.

  So now it’s just me and my Fritos and the crusts of my sandwich. And a juice box. I’m not angry at the juice box, but I’m not happy at it, either.

  I put a Frito in my mouth and chew chew chew while I watch Lexie and Breezie through the gift shop’s glass window. There are breakable things in there like glass whales, which I would like to hold and which they are holding. If they break one, they could get in big trouble. Our whole class could get in big trouble!

  Nobody likes a tattletale, but Mrs. Webber needs to know what Lexie and Breezie are doing. I’ll just mention it, that’s all. I shove my lunch trash into my backpack. I peek at Lexie and Breezie—yep, still in the gift shop—then go to Mrs. Webber’s group.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Webber?”

  “Hi, Ty,” Mrs. Webber says. “Are you having fun?”

  “Uh-huh. But I need to tell you something.”

  Hannah, Chase, and Taylor gaze at me. Taylor is always in Mrs. Webber’s group because none of the parent chaperones want him.

  “Yes?” Mrs. Webber says.

  “Well,” I start, “it’s just that Lexie and Breezie went to the gift store, and you said not to, and . . . well . . . yeah.”

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Webber says. She sounds annoyed, but not terribly annoyed. She glances toward the gift store. So do Hannah, Chase, and Taylor. So do I.

  “Lexie’s about to do the claw game!” Taylor announces.

  He’s right. Lexie and Breezie are over by the game where zillions of stuffed sea creatures live in a big glass case. To play it, you put in two quarters and use a joystick to move a steel claw around. You have twenty seconds, and then bam, the claw drops down and closes. If it grabs on to something and carries it all the way to the chute, then the stuffed animal drops through the chute and you get to keep it.

  “My dad never lets me do that game,” Hannah says. “He says, ‘You’re just throwing your money away.’”

  “I’m not allowed, either,” Chase says. “Even with my own allowance.”

  “Because the claw never holds on to anything, even it if grabs it,” I say. “Nobody ever wins. Right, Mrs. Webber?”

  “Should I go stop her?” Hannah says. Hannah likes stopping people.

  In the gift shop, Lexie digs around in her pocket. I want Mrs. Webber to hurry and tell Hannah, “Yes, go stop her and tell her she’s in big trouble.”

  But Mrs. Webber smiles a funny smile. “You know what? Let’s let the situation play out on its own.”

  “Huh?” Hannah says.

  “You kids are right,” she say. “Lexie and Breezie aren’t supposed to be over there. When they lose their money, maybe they’ll learn a lesson.”

  Will they lose their money AND get in trouble? I want to ask. I want Mrs. Webber to give them a lecture and make them take a time-out.

  Lexie slides her quarters into the machine. The claw starts moving. Lexie leans forward, working the joystick.

  “She has one! She has one!” Hannah squeals when the claw closes around a black-and-white dolphin. I see Breezie bring her fists to her mouth. I bet she’s saying, “Eeeee!”

  “She has two,” Chase says in awe.

  I squint. The claw, when it goes up, is clutching the black-and-white dolphin and a fuzzy blue dolphin. Two dolphins. Two dolphins in one claw.

  “She still has to get them to the drop-off spot,” I say. “She’ll never get them to the drop-off spot.”

  She gets them to the drop-off spot. The claw sways, but holds tight.

  “Oh, no,” Mrs. Webber murmurs.

  “Come on,” Hannah says. She’s up and dashing toward Lexie. Chase and Taylor follow. The claw opens its metal fingers and both dolphins drop straight into the chute.

  “Yes!” Lexie cries. I can hear her from the eating area. She tugs the dolphins out of the bin and does a victory dance. “Oh, yea-ah! Oh, yea-ah!”

  My mouth hangs open. Something twists in my gut, like a snake. An ugly snake. A jealous snake.

  “Oh, that’s just fantastic,” Mrs. Webber says, I think just to herself. “Nobody ever gets the toy. Nobody.”

  The other kids in our class are hurrying over to Lexie.

  “So much for natural consequences,” Mrs. Webber says. She glances at me. “I suppose it’s time to do some damage control, huh, Ty?”

  I shrug. I don’t know what she means, and the snake inside of me is a mean snake, and anyway, Lexie won two dolphins. That’s not damage. Plus, it’s too late to control, because it already happened.

  “You coming?” Mrs. Webber asks.

  It’s the same question Lexie asked.

  “No thanks,” I say. I sound like a robot. I feel like a robot. I feel like I’m not me.

  When Mrs. Webber heads to the gift shop, I turn and walk the opposite way.

/>   CHAPTER EIGHT

  With my backpack over my shoulder, I walk past the beluga whale tank. I know I’m not supposed to go off on my own, but Lexie wasn’t supposed to go to the gift shop, either. But she did, and she won two dolphins. Even so, I’ll get back before anyone notices.

  If anyone even does notice.

  A sign by one exhibit says that there are over eight million gallons of water within the aquarium. That’s a lot of water. The sign also says that if I look for a really long time into this particular tank, I might see a manta ray named Nandi. NANDI IS THE ONLY MANTA RAY IN A U.S. AQUARIUM, the sign says.

  I search for Nandi. Lexie didn’t see Nandi, because Mrs. Hammerdorfer didn’t take us this way. Maybe none of the other groups came here, either. Maybe I’ll be the only kid in the class to see Nandi. Seeing Nandi would be better than winning two dumb dolphins.

  Except Nandi doesn’t show up. I peer into the tank until my head hurts, and then I decide I don’t even like Nandi.

  I leave and look at some eels. They have no eyeballs. The jellyfish don’t, either. But they’re pretty, how they blob about.

  I should go back to my group. Only the mean snake that was twisting in my stomach has turned into a gray day snake. Gray day snakes don’t like happy kids who brag about winning dolphins. Gray day snakes like to be alone.

  Or maybe they like . . . to be with penguins? Because when I see a sign that says PENGUINS, the snake in my stomach starts to feel less snaky.

  I’ll visit the penguins, and then I’ll go back to the group.

  I follow the arrow that means “This way for the penguins!” It takes me to a tank, but the tank is empty, and in front of it is another sign. This one says, PENGUINS ARE CURRENTLY NOT IN THE EXHIBITION TANK DUE TO CONSTRUCTION. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. HOWEVER, YOU CAN SEE THE PENGUINS UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL ON ONE OF OUR “BEHIND THE SCENES” TOURS. TICKETS ON SALE NOW!

  The penguins aren’t in the tank? People have to buy tickets to see them? What a rip-off! Plus it says “tickets on sale now,” but where are they on sale?

  I glance around. I don’t see anyone, but I do see poles with velvety ropes between them, the kind for when people line up for things. Where the front of the line would be, there’s a door. I go over to it.

  “Hello?” I say.

  No one answers.

  I put my hand on the door handle. I just put it there, that’s all. Except my hand decides to turn the handle . . . and the door opens.

  So I go in. If they didn’t want me to, they should have locked it.

  At first it’s just another exhibit hall, just darker and with no windows showing the outside world. Also, with no other people walking through it. Just me. On both sides of the hall there’s stuff to look at, like coral reefs and shark jaws.

  I reach a metal staircase. I go up it. When I get to the top, I stop breathing.

  I’m above the beluga whale tank. I can look down into it, and I can see the beluga whales! They’re in the bottomest corner of the tank. That’s why we couldn’t see them before. But I can see them now, and they glow, they’re so white. And lumpy! And really weird-looking and not at all what you think of when you think of the word “whale.”

  “Hi, beluga whales!” I say quietly, waving at them. My heart is happier now.

  Then I spot something that makes my heart super happy. The penguins!

  I cross the whale-viewing platform and go down a second set of stairs. And right in front of me is a pen full of penguins! They’re so cute! There are four of them. A mommy and three babies, I think. They have water to play in, and a squeaky toy shaped like a dog bone.

  I lean over the wall of the pen, and it’s not very high, this wall. I mean, it’s too high for a penguin to climb over, but not for a person. Probably the aquarium workers go in and do stuff, like clean up the penguin poop and give them fresh water. Probably they play with them, too. If I was inside a pen of penguins, I’d play with them.

  I look from side to side. I’m the only human in here.

  One of the babies waddles over to me. His head is black, and so are the tips of his wings. His tummy is white. He is not like an eel or a jellyfish, because he does have eyeballs, and they’re dark and shiny and gazing right at me.

  “Piu!” he says.

  I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s saying hi, so I say hi back.

  He cocks his head and says, “Piu piu?”

  This time he’s asking if I have any fish. I just know it, maybe because I’m secretly part penguin.

  I don’t have any fish, since Mom didn’t pack me any. Is there something else I could give him?

  “Hold on,” I say. I wiggle my backpack off my shoulder and get out what’s left of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I wish it was a peanut butter and jellyfish sandwich, but oh well. I rip off a piece, then stop. Is peanut butter poisonous to penguins? I don’t think so. Jelly? How could jelly be poisonous? Bread? Nothing wrong with bread.

  So, okay. I toss the bite of sandwich to my friend Pingy, which is what I’ve named this shiny-eyed penguin baby. He scoops it up with his orange beak and jerks his head as he swallows. He flaps his wings. “Piu? Piu?”

  “Hold your horses, Pingy,” I say as I tear off another bite. “It’s coming.” I toss it into the pen, and Pingy gobbles it up. He’s so cute, and his brother and sister aren’t playing with him, and his mom is doing something boring to her feathers. None of them is paying attention to Pingy AT ALL.

  I think Pingy must have gotten some peanut butter stuck to the roof of his beak, because he goes mlump-mlump and stretches his face out, kind of. That happens to me, too! I get peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth and make mlump sounds, too! But I think this is Pingy’s first time, because his eyes get big and he waddles from side to side.

  “Piumplf?” he says.

  Wow, I think. Wow and wow and wow, because the part of me that understands penguin language knows exactly what Pingy is saying: He wants me to take him home. He also wants to get the peanut butter unstuck, but mainly he wants me to take him home. The other penguins don’t care about him, and the aquarium people don’t either, probably. Who cares about one little penguin when there are eight million gallons of water full of eels and jellies and beluga whales?

  And if the beluga whales can hide, then Pingy can hide, too. He doesn’t have to be out in the open all the time—especially since the exhibit’s closed off, anyway. He could hide in my backpack, which is the exact right size for him. It would be cozy.

  I know. I’ll lean over the railing and dangle my hand out. If Pingy comes over, that means he’s saying, Yes, please. If he doesn’t, then he doesn’t.

  There might be a voice in my head saying things I don’t like. A voice like Mom’s, kind of, saying, “Don’t you do it, Ty-bug.” But I pretend not to hear it.

  I lean over the railing and reach out my hand. I’m breathing faster than normal.

  “Piu?” Pingy says.

  I hold still, even though the railing is digging into my ribs.

  Pingy waddles toward me. “Piu?”

  Maybe my fingers smell like peanut butter, because Pingy juts out his beak and nibbles them. Wham wham wham goes my heart, because he’s saying, Yes, please! He is!

  I scoop Pingy up, and he doesn’t squirm. He snuggles up close and tries to wedge his beak up under my armpit.

  “No, silly,” I say, because I need to get him into my backpack.

  “Piu?” he says as I push him in.

  “You have to be quiet, ’kay?” I zip up the backpack, but leave a crack for air. Also so that he can see me and not be scared.

  I’m scared, but I try not to be. And plus my whole body is tingling with excitement. I go through the door that says exit, and I’m back in the bright and crowded aquarium. I fast-walk toward the food court, careful not to jostle Pingy.

 
“Ty Perry?” a deep voice says.

  I jump. In front of me stands a guard. He’s tall and has huge shoulders, and he’s wearing a uniform. And he’s got a walkie-talkie.

  “Are you Tyler Perry?”

  I start to nod, then stop. Because he’s freaky.

  “Oh, thank God,” Mrs. Webber says, rushing over. “Ty, where have you been?!”

  The guard raises his walkie-talkie. “Found the kid,” he says into it. “Over.”

  From the mike comes a crackly response: “Safe and sound? Over.”

  The guard looks down at me.

  I really hope Pingy keeps quiet.

  “Yeah, he’s fine,” the guard says into the walkie-talkie. To me, he says, “Kid, listen. You can’t go off like that.”

  I nod. I nod a lot.

  “Omigosh, thank you. I’m so sorry for the trouble,” Mrs. Webber tells the guard.

  “Gotta teach kids to follow the rules,” the guard says.

  “Thank you, sir,” Mrs. Webber says again. In a different voice altogether, she says, “Come on, Ty. Field trip’s over.”

  She’s mad. I’ve never seen her this mad before. Well, except at Taylor sometimes.

  But she’s never been mad at me.

  I try to explain. “I . . . I just . . .”

  She grabs my arm and pulls me toward the rest of the class. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m extremely disappointed in you.”

  I dig my fingernail into my thumb and press hard. This is the worst field trip ever.

  Well, except for Pingy.

  But Mrs. Webber would be even madder if she knew Pingy was in my backpack.

  So do I tell her?

  I don’t want to. But if I don’t, won’t she be even madder-er when she finds out? If she finds out?

  Except Mrs. Webber is pretty good at finding things out. When someone does something bad, Mrs. Webber pretty much always finds out.

  When we reach the rest of my class, everyone stares at me, like, Ooo, you’re in trouble.