Turtle in Paradise

by Jennifer L. Holm

I don’t even have to think it over.

  “New shoes,” I say.

  “Shoes?” Ira laughs. “Nobody wears shoes around here.”

  “Who said I was planning to stick around?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. I dream I’m walking into the Bellewood in pretty new shoes—through the front door, under the arch, and into the living room, where Mama and Smokey are waiting for me. It’s so real I can smell Mama’s perfume.

  “I told you we’d have a happy ending,” she says with a smile.

  Then a mosquito bites me and I wake up in the pitch-dark shack with Ira’s stinky feet in my face and Kermit drooling on my neck. Talk about a good dream turning into a nightmare.

  16

  The Rescue Party

  If this was a Hollywood picture, the rescuers would show up at dawn with the sun, the audience would clap, and that would be The End.

  When I walk out of the shack in the morning, the only thing that’s shown up is muddy-looking clouds that hang low in the sky. It’s drizzling and we’re all scratching at our mosquito bites. My face feels hot and tight. I wonder what Shirley Temple would do in this situation. Probably sing a song about how fun it is to be stuck on an island.

  “Say, you got any of that diaper-rash formula on you?” I ask Ira.

  “Why didn’t I think of that in the first place?” he says, and digs in his pocket. He takes some and then tosses the bag to me.

  I smear the powder on the bites and on my sunburned face, too. It helps a little.

  My stomach rumbles. “I’m hungry.”

  “What if we don’t find anything to eat?” Kermit asks.

  “Then we’ll starve to death,” Pork Chop snaps.

  The two boys returned to the shack some time during the night. They’re both acting like cranky babies now. Even Pudding is easier to take than these two.

  We spread out, foraging. When we meet back up, we toss what we’ve found into a pile: two empty cans, a rotting coconut, and a crab that’s been dead awhile, judging from the smell.

  “Can’t even make a cut-up out of this,” Ira says in disgust.

  “Maybe we could build a raft?” Pork Chop suggests.

  “With what?” Beans asks.

  “Wood from the shack,” Pork Chop says.

  “Then we won’t have anywhere to sleep!” Kermit protests.

  “Who cares about sleeping? Let’s just try and get out of here!”

  “We wouldn’t even be here in the first place if you weren’t such a dummy,” Beans says under his breath.

  “I got more sense in my bungy than you’ve got in your whole body!” Pork Chop shouts back.

  “Sense? Even Buddy knows how to set a hook,” Beans says.

  “I’ll show you a hook!” Pork Chop growls, and clocks Beans on the side of the head with a huge roundhouse swing. I practically see stars myself as Beans goes down.

  But he doesn’t stay down long. He comes up roaring and rushes Pork Chop, landing on top of him as Pork Chop’s head barely misses a rock.

  “Come on, fellas,” Ira says. “Knock it off!”

  The boys roll back and forth on the ground, kicking and grunting and throwing wild punches at each other.

  What is it with boys and fighting? I’m amazed any of them get to be grown-ups the way they’re always going at it.

  I turn to Ira. “If they kill each other, I get their share of the treasure.”

  Pork Chop has Beans half-pinned against the ground, with one arm wrapped around Beans’s neck. Beans’s face is turning bright red when Kermit dives into the mess.

  “Get off my brother!” he shouts, and leaps on Pork Chop, and then the three of them are rolling around.

  Of course, Ira has to get in on the action, too, although I’m not sure whose side he’s on. I just sit there and watch them. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

  “Hey, look!” I call out. “A boat!”

  The boys stop fighting instantly.

  “Where?” Pork Chop asks. It looks like someone got in a good punch to his right eye. “Where?”

  “It was there just a minute ago,” I say.

  Beans wipes a trickle of blood from his nose and gives me a dark look. “There’s no boat! You lied to make us stop fighting.”

  “You got me,” I say, looking skyward. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Pork Chop and Beans aren’t speaking to each other. They sit on opposite sides of the shore, brooding. They’re acting like sweethearts who had a falling-out.

  “They should just kiss and make up already.” I look at Kermit. “They ever scrap this bad before?”

  He shakes his head. “They’ve been best pals since they were in diapers.”

  It rains on and off as we watch for passing ships. The waves are kicking up, foam frothing. Ira, Kermit, and I take turns playing checkers using gold coins and shells.

  “I’m starving,” Kermit says.

  I know how he feels. I’ve never been this hungry before. Now I know why people go crazy, because all I can think about is food. I picture the fancy ladies’ lunches Mama would make: cheese soufflé, potato salad, buttered nut bread, and her famous caramel custard.

  “When we get back, the first thing I’m gonna eat is ice cream,” Kermit says.

  “What flavor?” I ask.

  He doesn’t hesitate. “Sugar apple.”

  “Me too,” I say, and I can practically taste it. “You think anyone’s looking for us?”

  “Probably the whole town by now,” Ira says.

  Kermit frowns. “I’m not sure I want to be found. Ma’s gonna tan our bungys good. We’re not going to be able to sit for a week.”

  “Hey, Ira. Anyone ever tell you that you look like Little Orphan Annie?” I ask him.

  “I got eyes in my head. She’s just got circles,” he says, looking past me at the horizon.

  “You see a boat?”

  “Those low clouds. And the sea foam.”

  “What about them?”

  “Any Conch kid knows what they mean.”

  “Haven’t you figured out I’m not from around here?”

  “A storm,” Ira says. “A big one.”

  The sky grows dark, and the wind picks up. The rain begins to fall harder, so we take shelter in the shack. Well, those of us who have sense, anyway. Pork Chop and Beans won’t come into the shack because they don’t want to be near each other.

  Raindrops pelt the flimsy shack like spitballs. The storm is scarier than anything I’ve ever been in before. I keep waiting for the shack to blow away—and us with it.

  “I guess Nana Philly wasn’t as dumb as everyone thought, keeping those shutters up in case of a storm,” Kermit says.

  “She’s got more sense than Pork Chop and Beans,” I say.

  “They’re just stubborn,” Ira says.

  “They’re just dumb,” I say.

  I can’t stop thinking about Ira’s brother, Eggy. Dumb kids get hurt. And these are two of the dumbest boys I’ve ever met in my entire life.

  “I don’t want to spend all this pirate gold buying a headstone,” I say.

  “I’m not going out there!” Kermit says. “I got a weak heart.”

  “I’ll go,” Ira offers.

  Before Ira can even stand up, the door slams open and Beans is standing there, sopping wet.

  “Beans!” Kermit says.

  Beans doesn’t say anything; he just pulls the door shut behind him and sits down on the ground.

  Water sprays through cracks in the walls and drips in from gaps in the roof. Nearby, a tree snaps.

  “Your hand sure is gonna be sore,” I tell Beans.

  “From what?”

  “From writing My best friend died in a storm because I was so stubborn two hundred times.”

  “Shut up,” Beans growls.

  “Pork Chop’s still out in that,” I say.

  “Serves him right,” Beans says.

  “He could be dying.”

  “He ain’t.”

 
“How do you know?”

  Beans sighs loudly. “Because I passed him on the way in. He’s standing right outside the shack.”

  I open the door and look out into the darkness. Sure enough, Pork Chop is huddled next to the shack.

  “You coming in or what?” I ask.

  He pushes past me into the shack without a word.

  Inside, Pork Chop and Beans sit as far away from each other as they can. But this doesn’t last very long because a big wave rushes in and we’re forced to stand up and scoot back until we’re pressed tight against the wobbly wall. I guess it’s a good thing I’m not wearing shoes, because they’d be soaking wet.

  “You think the water’s gonna come up any farther?” Ira asks, his voice shaking.

  I feel something long and slimy slide over my ankle and go still. I look down to see what seems like a worm disappearing into the shadows. Only I know it isn’t a worm—because worms don’t have whiskers or little feet.

  “There’s a rat in here,” I hiss.

  “Rat?” Kermit bleats. “Rat?”

  “It’s looking to stay high and dry, pal,” Beans says.

  “They’re gonna eat us alive!” Kermit whimpers, and then he shrieks. “One just ran over my foot!”

  There’s a horrible cracking sound as a piece of the roof is torn away.

  “We’re all gonna die,” Pork Chop says in a dull voice.

  “Aw, come on, pal,” Beans says awkwardly, but Pork Chop’s too far gone.

  “We are! And it’s all my fault because I didn’t throw in the hook!” And then he starts to cry softly.

  Pork Chop’s tears break the boys faster than any fistfight. They all start bawling.

  Something washes over me and this time it’s not water: it’s fear. What good is all this gold if we’re dead? What if I never see Mama again? She doesn’t even know I’m stranded on a key with a bunch of dumb boys. I would give a million bucks just to see her blue eyes and hear her voice one last time. To hug her tight and tell her how much I love her.

  The boys are crying, and I feel the fear rising in my throat like a dark tide. I try to push it down, but it bubbles up, it’s swamping me, and I do the only thing I can think of. I start singing that stupid Shirley Temple song.

  On the good ship lollipop,

  It’s a sweet trip to a candy shop

  Where bonbons play

  On the sunny beach of Peppermint Bay.

  After a few moments, Beans’s high, squeaky voice joins mine, and then Ira starts singing, Kermit too, and finally Pork Chop. We sing our hearts out. We’re so good we should be in pictures; we should get a screen test with Warner Brothers. I can see our names in lights already.

  The wind howls, but the Diaper Gang of Key West belts out a song as the angry storm washes everything away.

  17

  A Hollywood Ending

  Little Orphan Annie and Terry Lee get into scrapes, but they always get rescued. Everything ends up okay in the end. But it turns out that real life’s not like the funny pages.

  When morning comes, no one’s knocking down the door looking for us. It’s still raining on and off, and windy.

  Trees have been blown over and the ocean water is cloudy, the bottom churned up from the storm. There’s debris everywhere and the key looks smaller, as if it’s been swallowed up by the ocean.

  We sit in the shack, our stomachs growling. We’re past talking; there’s nothing to say. We all know it: nobody’s going to find us. We’re done for.

  The brash, cocky members of the Diaper Gang are gone, and in their place are scared kids who dream of being in their mothers’ arms. Kermit’s the worst, though. The boy who hates naps just sleeps and sleeps.

  Night falls again and this time it’s almost a relief. I think it’s easier for the boys to cry in the dark. But I’m dry-eyed; crying wouldn’t even touch the feeling inside me. We press into each other for comfort, no complaining now. Sometime during those long hours, Beans reaches for my hand without a word, and I fall asleep with his fingers curled in mine.

  I dream that I’m sitting next to Shirley Temple. She isn’t as cute in person as she is on the screen. And she’s definitely wearing too much lipstick.

  A hush falls over the room as the man onstage announces the next category.

  “And for being the only girl stranded on an island with a bunch of boys with no chance of rescue, this year’s award goes to …”

  He opens the envelope and smiles.

  “Turtle!” he says.

  The audience explodes into applause.

  I turn to Shirley Temple. “Sorry, Shirley. Maybe next year.”

  As I make my way to the podium, flashbulbs go off, blinding me. I blink awake.

  Light’s streaming in through the holes on the roof and I’m lying on top of the Diaper Gang, like they’re a pile of puppies, an elbow digging in my belly.

  A voice hollers, “Turtle! Kids!”

  The door crashes open and Ollie’s standing there, breathing hard.

  “Cap!” he shouts. “I found ’em!”

  Slow Poke shoulders past Ollie, relief spreading across his face, his eyes fixing on me.

  “Honey!” he says, swooping me up in his arms. I bury my face in his warm, solid chest and I know everything’s going to be okay.

  The boys leap up around me.

  Slow Poke holds me out so he can look at me. “Oh, honey. Your poor face.”

  “What took you so long, Pat?” I ask.

  He makes a strangled noise. “We been looking for you kids since your aunt raised the alarm. But we had to put in once the hurricane started blowing.”

  “That was a hurricane?” I ask.

  “It sure was, Miss Turtle,” Ollie says.

  “What about home?” Pork Chop asks.

  “Key West came through it all right,” Ollie says, and hesitates. “But word is, the Upper Keys got hit hard.”

  Kermit blanches. “Poppy!”

  Slow Poke pats him on the head. “He’s fine, Kermit. He wasn’t even there when it hit. He came back when he heard you kids went missing. You probably saved his life.”

  We walk out of the shack and see a motorboat in the water. A man is standing on shore, chewing on a cigar.

  “I seem to be missing a boat,” Johnny Cakes says.

  “We’re in for it now, fellas,” Ira says under his breath.

  The rumrunner walks over to us, slips off his fine white linen jacket, and wraps it around my shoulders. He tips my chin up. “You look like you could use a leche, sweet cheeks.”

  “It wasn’t us, Johnny Cakes!” Beans says.

  “That’s interesting,” Johnny Cakes says. “Because Killie saw you taking it.”

  “You’d believe a horse killer over us?” Beans blusters.

  “I’d believe an honest man over you,” Johnny Cakes says.

  Beans bites his lip.

  I look over at Slow Poke. “How’d you figure out we came here?”

  “That kid who’s always tagging around after you,” he says.

  “You mean Too Bad?” Pork Chop asks.

  Ollie nods. “He heard you talking about digging up treasure on this key.”

  “We were saved by Killie and Too Bad?” Pork Chop smacks his head. “Aw, we’re never gonna live this down, fellas.”

  Slow Poke scolds us. “Your mothers have all been worried sick. What were you kids thinking?”

  “We were thinking about this,” Beans says, and thrusts out the sack. The gold coins spill out.

  Slow Poke’s jaw drops so far, I’m surprised it doesn’t hit the ground.

  “I don’t believe it, Cap!” Ollie says.

  “And we’re not sharing one thin dime with you,” Pork Chop says with a trace of his old self.

  Johnny Cakes puts a hand on Pork Chop’s shoulder and squeezes. “We’ll see about that.”

  It seems like everybody and their cousin is waiting for us at the docks. Even Nana Philly is there, sitting in the back of a wagon. She smiles when
she sees me, although Beans swears I imagined it.

  “Smiled at a kid?” he says.

  The best sight turns out to be Uncle Vernon, wearing a scruffy beard. The news coming in from up north is terrible: they’re saying lots of folks are dead from the hurricane, many of them the men who’d been working on the overseas highway. But not Uncle Vernon. It’s probably the only time in history a bunch of lying, stealing, no-good kids actually saved someone’s life.

  The hurricane makes headlines, but so do we.

  We’re eating ice cream on the front porch. We’re Jimmy’s best customers now.

  Kermit is running down Curry Lane, waving a newspaper.

  “We made the front page!” he shouts.

  GANG OF CHARMING KIDS FINDS PIRATE TREASURE LOOT WORTH $20,000!

  “Charming?” I say to Beans. “Guess they never met you.”

  “Why’d they say ‘Gang’?” Ira asks. “It’s Diaper Gang. Two words.”

  “My eyes are closed! Why’d they print that photo?” Kermit asks.

  “Better than with your eyes open,” Beans says.

  Not everyone’s happy about our good fortune, though.

  “It ain’t fair! I would’ve gotten all your marbles if you’d died,” Buddy complains.

  “Sorry about that, Buddy,” Kermit says.

  Jelly walks out his front door.

  “Well, if it ain’t the Diaper Gang,” he says. “That a new wagon?”

  “It sure is, Jelly!” Ira says, stepping back to reveal a brand-new wagon. The boys don’t have to work for candy now that they’re rich, but they do anyway. Beans claims the babies need them.

  We’d been back in Key West for a few days when an antiques-dealer fella appeared and paid twenty thousand dollars cash on the spot for the treasure. After Johnny Cakes was paid back for his lost boat, the rest of the money was split up six ways between me, Kermit, Beans, Pork Chop, Ira, and Nana Philly. After all, it was her map, even if she didn’t know about it in the first place. She’s already bought a new hat, and Miss Bea says she wants to get the piano fixed.

  My money’s waiting for me in the bank. Well, except what I used to buy a new pair of shoes. Strange as it sounds, I’m having a hard time getting used to wearing them. They’re pretty as a postcard, but they pinch my toes and my feet are hot and sweaty.