Missy Piggle-Wiggle and the Sticky-Fingers Cure

by Ann M. Martin

  “But you don’t need a dress. You need pants,” Mrs. Cupcake had reminded her.

  “NO! A DRESS!”

  “The dresses are awfully expensive,” said Mr. Cupcake.

  “I WANT THE BLUE ONE!”

  “You need pants.”

  “THE BLUE DRESS!”

  Veronica’s parents had looked at each other. In the end, Mr. Cupcake had said tiredly, “We’ll get both,” and the salesperson had packaged up the pants. Veronica had worn the new dress home over her old dress.

  * * *

  One day when Veronica was four, her mother had said tiredly to her father at the end of a very long day, “You don’t suppose Veronica’s behavior could be our fault, do you?”

  “Yes!” Isobel had shouted from the top of the stairs, where she’d been eavesdropping. She joined her parents in the living room. “My fault, too. We’ve spoiled her; all of us have.”

  “Oh no. She isn’t spoiled,” said Mr. Cupcake. “Is she?”

  “How could such a beautiful little creature be spoiled?” added Mrs. Cupcake.

  “Although we do give her everything she wants. Sometimes even before she asks for it,” her father said, bunching up his eyebrows.

  “I’ve been reading about child psychology,” said Isobel, who had just entered high school, “and I believe that we have to start saying no to her.”

  “Oh, goodness,” said both of the Cupcake parents.

  “That won’t go over well,” added Mr. Cupcake.

  “We have to say it at least once in a while,” said Isobel.

  “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Mrs. Cupcake spoke nervously, thinking of the scenes that were certain to follow.

  The very next morning, when Isobel was getting ready for high school and Veronica was getting ready for preschool, Veronica opened her sister’s door without knocking and said, “I want to take Mrs. Kitten to school with me today.”

  Mrs. Kitten was a stuffed orange cat that Isobel had been given on her first birthday. She was soft and worn, and both her tail and one button eye were hanging from her body by a single thread. Stuffing was leaking out around the base of her tail. “Oh no,” said Isobel. “Mrs. Kitten is too delicate. She’s very old. She might not survive the trip.”

  “BUT I WANT HER!”

  “Nope. Sorry. She can’t go to school with you.” Isobel moved Mrs. Kitten from the bed to a bookshelf, out of Veronica’s reach.

  “I SAID I WANT HER!”

  “I heard you, but the answer is no.”

  By this time Mr. and Mrs. Cupcake were standing in the doorway of Isobel’s room, watching and listening. Privately, Mr. Cupcake was proud of the way his older daughter was standing her ground.

  “I WANT TO SHOW MRS. KITTEN TO MY FRIENDS!” Veronica began jumping up and down, trying to reach the cat. She stepped onto one of the lower shelves. “GIVE HER TO ME!”

  “Here. Take this instead.” Isobel handed her sister a photo of Mrs. Kitten and moved Mrs. Kitten to the very top of the bookshelf.

  Veronica looked from the photo to the actual Mrs. Kitten, now high above her head. She plopped down on the bed and twirled a strand of her hair. She crossed her ankles and smiled prettily. “Isobel,” she said, “you are the nicest sister in the world. The very nicest. Nobody else at my school has a sister as nice as you.”

  “Well, thank you,” said Isobel in surprise. Then she glanced at her parents, pointed to her psychology book, and mouthed, “It works!”

  “And since you are the nicest sister in the world,” Veronica went on, “I really don’t understand why you won’t let me borrow Mrs. Kitten. Just for one morning. One little morning. I always tell my friends how nice and good you are. And how, um … What’s that word that means you give people lots of things?”

  “Generous?” suggested Isobel in a small voice.

  “Yes! How generous you are. I always say that. I mean, when I can remember the word, I say it.”

  Isobel glanced at the aging and falling-apart Mrs. Kitten on top of the bookshelf. Then she looked again at her parents, who shrugged their shoulders.

  “So please, generous sister, won’t you let me borrow Mrs. Kitten just this one time? Please?”

  Isobel reached for Mrs. Kitten. “Well, since you asked so nicely … I suppose.…”

  Veronica snatched the cat from her sister so fast that the tail came close to falling off, and she ran downstairs.

  “How do you think that went?” Isobel asked her parents.

  “She did ask nicely,” replied Mrs. Cupcake.

  “She stopped shouting,” Mr. Cupcake agreed.

  * * *

  Sure enough, people soon began commenting on what a lovely, polite, and extraordinarily complimentary child Veronica had become.

  “She told me I make the best cookies in Little Spring Valley,” said their neighbor Mr. Thorn one day, and he sent Veronica home with a dozen cookies in a polka-dot party bag.

  “She told me my Bingo is the smartest dog she’s ever met,” said Mrs. Tremper, who lived next door to the Cupcakes and who let Veronica take Bingo home for a sleepover.

  Mr. and Mrs. Cupcake had not forgotten what Isobel had said about the word no, however.

  “We must remember to use it with Veronica,” said her mother one rainy Saturday morning.

  “And mean it,” added her father.

  Veronica wandered into the kitchen at that moment and said, “I want to go outside and play.”

  Mrs. Cupcake squared her shoulders. “No, darling. It’s raining. Look out the window.”

  “But please, lovely mother, I want to go outdoors. I want to take a puddle walk.”

  Veronica turned smilingly to her father, but he said, “You heard your mother. What did she just say?”

  “She said, ‘Darling, it’s raining.’”

  “First she said no.”

  Veronica suddenly sat down on the floor. She stuck out her lower lip.

  Her parents looked at each other in alarm. They put their hands over their ears and got ready for shouting.

  Instead their daughter opened her eyes wide and said, “You don’t want your Veronica to be sad, do you? Please let her go outside. Please? She’s just a little girl.”

  Two minutes later, Veronica was taking her puddle walk.

  * * *

  Compliments and smiling prettily and delighting people with her lovely manners worked very well for Veronica when she was four, and pretty well when she was five, and sort of okay when she was six. By the time she was seven and growing tall and had learned to ride a two-wheeler and to read, she discovered that something had changed.

  “Isobel, will you take me to the mall? I want to go to the toy store,” she said one day.

  Isobel was seventeen by then and could drive. She looked up from her computer and said, “Sorry, I can’t. Mom and Dad have the cars.”

  “Then walk with me to Juniper Street. We’ll go to the other toy store instead.”

  “What for?”

  “A bubble machine.”

  “How are you going to pay for it?”

  Veronica cocked her head to one side and smiled. “You’ll buy it for me, won’t you? Please? Pretty, pretty please?”

  “Nope. I’m saving for a new phone.”

  “Then Mom will pay for it.”

  “She isn’t here.”

  “You pay for it, and she can pay you back.”

  “I have a better idea,” said Isobel. “I’ll lend you the money, and you can pay me back.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “Earn it.”

  “How am I supposed to earn money?”

  “I don’t know. Do jobs for Mom and Dad. Walk Bingo for Mrs. Tremper. You’re a big girl. You’ll think of something.”

  Veronica stood very still. “I want you to buy me a bubble machine.”

  “I know you do, but it isn’t happening. I’ll take a walk to Juniper Street with you, though.”

  Veronica glared at her sister. “You really wo
n’t buy me anything?”

  “No!” Isobel laughed. “I told you. I’m saving my money.”

  * * *

  It was exactly one week later that Veronica Cupcake had her first full-blown tantrum. It took place in A to Z Books.

  “I just love walking into the bookstore,” Veronica had announced gaily as she opened the door. She waited for the sneeze, and then she exclaimed, “Gesundheit!” She smiled up at her mother. “Isn’t that funny? I said ‘Gesundheit’ to the sneezing door!”

  “Yes, very funny,” said her mother, even though Veronica said “Gesundheit” to the sneezing door every single time she opened it.

  “Hi, Harold!” called Veronica. “I’m here for a visit. And to buy books. How are you today? I love your red hat. What are you doing?”

  “Hello, Veronica. Hi, Mrs. Cupcake. I’m putting together a package of books for Missy. A few things to take her mind off the flu.”

  “Would you like us to drop them off at her house?” asked Veronica’s mother. “We’d be happy to.”

  Harold sighed dramatically. “That would be wonderful. The store is so busy today. Lots of Christmas shoppers.”

  Veronica smiled up at her mother again. “May I get five books?” she asked.

  “You may get three. You’ll be getting lots of Christmas presents very soon.”

  Veronica said nothing, and her mother suddenly felt anxious. She watched as her daughter walked slowly between the shelves of children’s books. Veronica selected a copy of How the Grinch Stole Christmas! and tucked it under her arm.

  “That’s one book,” said her mother.

  Veronica stuck A Tree Grows in Brooklyn under her arm.

  “Two,” said her mother, “and I think that one’s a bit old for you.”

  “I don’t care. I like trees.” Veronica pulled Ramona the Pest from a shelf.

  “Three,” said Mrs. Cupcake.

  Veronica marched down another aisle and in the blink of an eye added The Witches and The BFG to her stack.

  “Put two back,” said her mother. “You have five books now. You choose which three to keep.”

  Veronica set all five books on the counter and looked at Harold. Harold looked at Mrs. Cupcake. His hands strayed toward his ears.

  “I said three,” Veronica’s mother repeated.

  “But I want these! I WANT THEM! I WANT THEM!” And in the blink of an eye, Veronica fell to the floor, rolled onto her back, and kicked her heels into the carpet. After that it was hard to understand what Veronica said. She shrieked so loudly that her voice grew hoarse. She flailed. When her mother tried to pick her up, Veronica kicked her in the ankle.

  “Daddy, what’s wrong with that girl?” a small boy asked.

  Mrs. Cupcake looked helplessly at her daughter. Finally she said, “Darling, let’s see if you get any of these books for Christmas. If you don’t, we can come back and get them another time.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” said Harold nervously.

  “NO!” (That was Veronica, of course.)

  “Then how about a compromise?” suggested her mother. “We’ll get four instead of three or five.”

  “NO!”

  Veronica’s shrieks grew even louder, and the small boy pulled his hat down over his ears. Veronica kicked at a shelf and two books fell off.

  “Okay,” said Mrs. Cupcake in a hurry. She straightened up and said to Harold, “We’ll take all of them.”

  Harold packaged up the books and handed them and the bag for Missy to Veronica’s mother. Mrs. Cupcake grabbed Veronica by the wrist and hustled her outside.

  Veronica sniffled all the way down Juniper Street. “Do you see how upset I am?” she asked. “I couldn’t even say ‘Gesundheit’ to the door when we left.”

  Mrs. Cupcake didn’t reply. When they reached Missy’s house, she rang the bell and waited.

  “We can’t go in,” Veronica reminded her. “It’s quarmantined because of the effervescence.”

  But Mrs. Cupcake waited until Missy appeared in the window. Then she shouted, “We brought you some books from Harold!”

  A smile came to Missy’s face. “Lovely! Please leave them on the porch. I’m sorry I can’t invite you in.”

  “I understand,” said Mrs. Cupcake.

  Missy thought Veronica’s mother looked as though she wanted to say something more, but after a moment she turned slowly away and walked down the steps, Veronica skipping ahead of her.

  Now, I wonder what that was about, Missy thought, and noticed a faint tingling at the tips of her fingers and toes. She watched as the Cupcakes made their way down the street. As soon as they were out of sight, Missy opened the door and reached for her present from Harold. She was smiling again.

  * * *

  Mrs. Cupcake told her husband about the tantrum as soon as Veronica had gone to sleep that night.

  “Perhaps it was an anomaly,” replied Mr. Cupcake. “Perhaps she’ll never have another one.”

  “Ha!” said Isobel from her room.

  The next night the Cupcakes decided to go out for dinner. “We’d better go to Cocobelle’s,” said Isobel, “so Veronica can order from the children’s menu.”

  At Cocobelle’s, Veronica slid into a booth and announced, “I’m starving! I want mac and cheese.”

  Her father looked at the children’s menu. He frowned. Then he looked at the rest of the menu. “Cocobelle’s doesn’t have mac and cheese. How about chicken fingers?”

  “I said mac and cheese, not chicken fingers. I WANT MAC AND CHEESE!”

  “Uh-oh,” said Isobel.

  “Please, oh please, dear mother and father, may I have mac and cheese?”

  “It isn’t on the menu,” her father repeated in a careful low voice.

  And with that, Veronica slid underneath the table and beat her feet on the floor.

  “Veronica, get up! It’s filthy down there!”

  Veronica pounded her fists against the underside of the table. “I want mac and cheese! I WANT MAC AND CHEESE! I WANT MAC AND CHEESE!”

  “That’s it,” said Isobel. “As soon as we get in the car, somebody had better phone Missy Piggle-Wiggle.”

  The Cupcakes left Cocobelle’s in a big hurry, without even ordering. Isobel, her face flaming and her stomach growling, was aware of many pairs of eyes staring at them, and she heard one man say something about parents who couldn’t control their children. As soon as they were in their car, Isobel sputtered, “Please, please call Missy now!”

  Mrs. Cupcake drove the car while Veronica screeched in the back seat and Mr. Cupcake shouted into his phone, “Is this Missy? This is Veronica’s father! We have a little prob—”

  “Ask Isobel to stop by my house tomorrow on her way home from school,” said Missy briskly. “I’ll leave a parcel on the porch for you.”

  “But I haven’t even told you—”

  “I SAID I WANTED MAC AND CHEESE!” shrieked Veronica, and kicked the back of her mother’s seat.

  “No need,” said Missy. Then she added kindly, “Don’t worry. I see this sort of thing all the time.”

  * * *

  The next afternoon Isobel ran all the way from her bus stop to the right-side-up upside-down house, even though it was snowing and very slippery. She grabbed the paper bag with her name on it from the steps; waved to Missy, who was watching from the front window; and slipped and slid down the street to her own house. She waited impatiently for her parents to come home from work. When they did, she thrust the bag at them and said, “Here. Quick! Give this to Veronica.”

  “But we don’t even know what the cure is.”

  “I don’t care. Whatever it is, just give it to her.”

  Mrs. Cupcake reached into the bag and pulled out a small box of candy. “Huh. Chocolates. And here are the directions. ‘Give Veronica one chocolate after each meal.’”

  “Now she gets chocolates?” said Isobel. “They’d better work.”

  “I wonder what they do,” said Mrs. Cupcake.

  “
I don’t care!” squawked Isobel.

  The Cupcakes didn’t have to wait long before trying Missy’s cure. The next morning, which was Saturday, Mr. Cupcake said, “We need another string of lights for the Christmas tree. I’m going to run to Aunt Martha’s General Store.”

  “Can I come with you?” asked Veronica.

  “Have you had your candy?” Isobel asked.

  Her sister looked surprised, but she said, “Yes, it was delicious. Thank you, dear sister.” Then she put on her hat and coat.

  At the store Mr. Cupcake wandered up and down the aisles.

  “I’m bored,” Veronica announced after a minute and a half.

  “I’m sorry, but I haven’t found what I need.”

  “Can I have new snow boots?”

  “Nope. Sorry. We’re here for tree lights.”

  And that was all it took. Veronica made her hands into fists, stretched her neck out like a goose, and emitted a screech. “I WANT—” she started to say.

  Mr. Cupcake braced himself for a tantrum. Then he remembered Missy’s chocolate, relaxed, and stood with his head cocked to one side, waiting to see what would happen.

  What happened was that before his eyes, Veronica turned into a baby. Not a tiny baby, but a fifty-pound baby. A baby the exact size of Veronica Cupcake with her seven-year-old face, squalling on the floor, wearing an enormous yellow onesie and a lacy bonnet, and holding a rattle in one chubby fist.

  “Wah-wah-wah!” wailed Veronica.

  “Oh, my,” a startled customer said to Mr. Cupcake. “What’s wrong with your … baby?”

  “Poor thing,” added Aunt Martha, who had rushed to see what the commotion was about. “Maybe her diaper is wet.”

  Veronica wanted to say, “I’m too old to wear a diaper! I’m not a baby!” but all that came out of her mouth was, “Wah-wah-wah! Gooby-gobby-da-da-boo-boo.”