Missy Piggle-Wiggle and the Sticky-Fingers Cure

by Ann M. Martin

  “Rosie’s coach just called. She isn’t at practice.”

  Mrs. Spoonbill tried to stay calm. “She probably forgot and went home.”

  “I just called there. No one answered. But Poppy’s at practice, and she said Rosie was in school all day. I guess I’d better run home and see what’s going on.”

  Later, after all the excitement had died down, Montrose said that what happened that afternoon had felt like a TV show. “Rosie wasn’t at practice, and she wasn’t at home,” he told Linden Pettigrew that night. “Mom and Dad called all her friends—the ones who aren’t on the soccer team—and no one had seen her after school. That’s when they called the police.”

  “Wow,” Linden had replied, impressed. “The police!”

  Nice Officer Belknap, one of only two officers in Little Spring Valley, had arrived at the Spoonbills’ house in a hurry as soon as she got the call about a missing child. She sat in the living room across from Rosie’s parents, who were side by side on the couch, wringing their hands. Montrose was sitting on the floor, Honey in his lap.

  “We haven’t seen her since she left for school this morning!” wailed Selena.

  “But we know she was in school today,” added Vern. “We just don’t know where she went after school.”

  “We’ve called all her friends, and no one has seen her.”

  “Is she apt to wander off?” asked Officer Belknap. She was taking notes on her computer and looked up when the Spoonbills didn’t answer right away.

  “She’s a bit forgetful,” Selena said finally.

  “A bit forgetful?!” exclaimed Montrose.

  “Aren’t you going to start doing something?” Vern asked the officer. “She’s been missing for two hours.”

  “Who’s been missing for two hours?” asked a voice from the doorway.

  Mr. and Mrs. Spoonbill leaped to their feet.

  “Rosie!” cried her mother.

  “Where have you been?” asked her father.

  Selena and Vern pulled their daughter to them in a tight hug.

  “I was at school. In the library. I guess I lost track of the time. All of a sudden the custodian was turning out the lights, and I realized I should leave. How come Officer Belknap is here?”

  “Because you didn’t go to soccer practice and nobody knew where you were! We didn’t know what had happened,” exclaimed Mrs. Spoonbill. “We were so worried!”

  “Oh, yeah. Soccer practice,” said Roseate, and slapped herself on the head. “I guess I forgot. I found this great book about penguins.”

  “But we gave you reminders,” said her mother, just as her father said, “This has got to stop. We called the police, Rosie. What happened today is serious. Do you understand that?”

  “Am I in trouble?” asked Roseate in a small voice.

  “Well, we certainly have to figure out what to do about this.”

  Officer Belknap got to her feet. “If everything is okay here, I’ll be going.”

  “Thank you so much for your help,” said Rosie’s mother.

  * * *

  That night at dinner Rosie looked around at her family and said, “You know what you should do? You should call Missy Piggle-Wiggle about me.”

  “Who’s Missy Piggle-Wiggle?” asked Selena.

  “She’s the lady who lives in that upside-down house that’s right side up,” replied Montrose. “With the pig and the parrot.”

  “She cures children,” added Rosie. “Whenever any of my friends are having trouble, their parents phone Missy.”

  “I don’t know,” said Vern, looking across the table at his wife and wrinkling his nose. “An upside-down house? A pig and a parrot?”

  “Poppy was suffering from Candyitis,” said Rosie, “and Missy cured her.”

  “But just so you know, Missy’s house is under quarantine,” added Montrose. He lowered his voice and whispered, “The Effluvia.”

  Selena was about to say that there must be a better way to cure Rosie when she remembered the sight of Officer Belknap’s patrol car in the driveway that afternoon. “Why don’t we give Missy a try?” she said to her husband.

  * * *

  The Spoonbills called Missy later that night when Rosie and Montrose were busy with their homework. Selena expected a dry, creaky old voice to answer the phone, but the voice on the other end of the line sounded light and bubbly.

  “Is this Missy Piggle-Wiggle?” asked Vern.

  “It is. And you’re Rosie’s parents? She’s a lovely girl.”

  “You know Rosie?” asked Selena.

  “Of course. She’s been here many times. I expect she forgot to tell you.”

  “Well, yes,” agreed the Spoonbills.

  “That’s why we’re calling,” added Vern.

  In the kitchen of the right-side-up upside-down house, Missy nodded her head, her springy hair bouncing around her face. “I’ll package up the Forgetfulness Cure tonight, and you can pick it up tomorrow.”

  “I heard that your house is under quarantine,” said Selena.

  “Yes, but probably not for too much longer,” Missy replied as Lightfoot floated into the room. She was several feet lower than usual and came to a neat stop on the kitchen table. “I’ll leave the bag on the front porch. You won’t catch anything. Now, just follow the instructions. I’ll call you at the end of the week to find out how things are going.”

  Missy clicked off the phone and watched as Penelope swooped through the doorway and landed on the counter. “How about a snack?” she squawked, and flapped her wings. “How about a snack?’

  Missy smiled and opened the container of parrot food. She let out a small sigh of relief. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said.

  * * *

  At six o’clock the next evening, Roseate’s parents sat in their living room, huddled over the bag Vern had picked up at Missy’s house. Selena began to open it gingerly.

  “I don’t think anything is going to spring out,” said her husband.

  “Really? From a bag picked up at a formerly upside-down house where a magical woman named Piggle-Wiggle lives with a parrot and a pig?”

  “Hmm,” said Vern. He set the bag on the coffee table and found a yardstick. Then he and Selena backed away as he carefully opened the bag with the end of the stick.

  Nothing happened.

  The Spoonbills crept closer. At last Selena worked up the courage to peer inside the bag. “The only thing in there is a peppermint candy,” she reported.

  “Seriously? A piece of candy?”

  “Well, and a note that says to give this to Rosie after dinner tonight.”

  “Does the note say what the candy will do?”

  “Nope.”

  “What do you think?”

  At that moment Rosie ambled into the living room and said, “I forgot to bring my books home from school. Can somebody drive me over there? I can’t do my homework without my books.”

  “I think,” Mrs. Spoonbill said to her husband, “that Rosie is going to have a peppermint for dessert tonight.”

  * * *

  That evening Rosie sat in the kitchen with her parents and licked the last of the peppermint off her fingers. “How come you’re staring at me?” she said. “You’ve been staring at me for forty-six seconds.”

  “Have we?” said her father.

  Rosie nodded. “Why?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Spoonbill glanced at each other. “That’s funny,” said Vern. “I forget.”

  “You forget why you’ve been staring at me?”

  “Yes,” said her father.

  “We were staring?” said her mother.

  Rosie shrugged and went upstairs to her room. She lay on her bed and opened her science book. The first thing she saw was a picture of a penguin, so she closed the book, opened her laptop, and searched for information on Antarctica.

  Two hours passed. Rosie sat up suddenly. The clock on her computer read 10:09. Rosie had a feeling that by 10:09, her parents had usually told her to go to
bed. She stuck her head into the hallway. Montrose’s light was on in his room. She could hear the TV downstairs.

  “Montrose?” she said. “Are you still up?”

  “I’m reading.”

  “Aren’t we supposed to be in bed?”

  “Gosh, I guess so.”

  Rosie ran downstairs. “Mom? Dad? How come you didn’t tell me to go to bed?”

  “To go to bed?” said her father.

  “What time is it?” asked her mother.

  “It’s after ten.”

  “I guess we forgot,” said Mr. Spoonbill.

  Her parents stood up and wandered out of the room.

  “You didn’t turn off the TV,” Rosie called after them.

  “Oh dear. We forgot,” said Mrs. Spoonbill.

  Frowning, Rosie turned off the TV and then all the lights before following her parents upstairs. She put herself to bed that night feeling very puzzled.

  * * *

  The next morning when Rosie awoke, she lay in her deliciously warm bed and thought how pleasant it was not to be disturbed by anyone knocking at her door and telling her to get up. After a while she noticed bright sun shining around the edges of her blinds. She peeked outside and saw a school bus disappearing down the street. Rosie’s eyes widened. She looked at her computer. Eight o’clock.

  “Hey! Hey, everybody! It’s eight o’clock!” Rosie squawked, sounding quite a bit like Penelope. She heaved herself out of bed and threw open her door. The house was silent. Her parents were asleep in their room. Montrose was asleep in his room. “Get up! Get up! We’re going to be late! The school bus has already left.”

  “What?” murmured her parents.

  “Didn’t you set your alarm?” asked Rosie.

  “Huh. I guess we forgot,” her father mumbled.

  “Well, come on! We’re going to be late for school!” squealed Rosie. “And I don’t want to be late. I haven’t been marked late once, and I want a perfect record.”

  There was a lot of scurrying around then. Closets were flung open and toilets were flushed. When the Spoonbills finally ran into the kitchen, Rosie cried, “Mom, you’re still in your pajamas!”

  “Oops. I forgot to get dressed!”

  “And, uh-oh, I forgot to make your lunches,” said her father.

  “Mom, you get dressed. I’ll make some sandwiches,” said Rosie. “Goodness, I have to do everything around here.” She slapped together two bologna sandwiches, fed Honey, and handed her father the car keys. “If you drive us, we won’t be late,” she told him. “Mom, remember to put on all your clothes! Shoes, too.” She clapped her hands. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

  Ten minutes later Rosie slid into her seat in Mr. Garber’s room. She was just in time to shout “Here!” when he called her name.

  * * *

  That evening the Spoonbills gathered around their dining room table. Rosie sniffed the air. “What’s for dinner?” she asked.

  “Hamburgers?” suggested Montrose hopefully.

  “Did you pick up something at the Snack Shoppe?” asked Rosie.

  “Uh-oh. We forgot,” said Mr. Spoonbill.

  “Forgot about dinner?” said Rosie.

  “Well, yes.”

  Rosie sniffed the air again. “Did you forget anything else?” she asked.

  “Such as?” said her mother.

  “Well,” said Rosie, “I took a bath this afternoon, but when was the last time any of you took a shower?”

  “Hmm,” said Montrose.

  “Um,” said her mother.

  “There wasn’t enough time this morning,” said her father. “We overslept.”

  “That’s because you forgot to set your alarm!” exclaimed Rosie, exasperated. “Now listen to me. Enough is enough. The three of you march upstairs and take showers. I’ll make something for dinner. Go!”

  Rosie opened cupboard doors. She pawed through the refrigerator. Finally she yelled upstairs, “Did anyone remember to go to the grocery store today?”

  “I guess I forgot,” her mother called back.

  “I don’t hear the water running,” Rosie continued. “Are you guys taking your showers?”

  “Showers?” replied Mr. Spoonbill, Mrs. Spoonbill, and Montrose.

  Rosie abandoned the kitchen and stomped up the stairs. She turned on the shower in her parents’ bathroom. “One of you go in there right now. And use soap!” Then she turned on the shower in the bathroom she and Montrose shared. She handed her brother a washcloth. “I expect you to be clean when you come downstairs.”

  Rosie returned to the kitchen and decided that the only thing she could make for dinner was leftovers. I’ll call it potluck, she thought. That sounds better. She was setting out the last of the mysterious little containers she had found in the refrigerator when she realized she could still hear the water running upstairs.

  “Is someone still showering?” she called.

  “What?” said her brother.

  “Showering?” said her father.

  “Oh dear,” said her mother.

  Rosie plunked down on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. She felt like crying. But a thought was buzzing around in her brain like a fly, so instead she stood up and shouted, “Could you all come down here, please? We need to have a talk.”

  “Right now?” asked her father.

  “Yes. Right. Now. Oh, but turn off the water first.”

  When the four Spoonbills were seated in the living room, Rosie said, “Something has to change around here. I cannot be responsible for all of you. Do you understand? We have to share responsibilities. That’s how families work. So starting right now we will follow the to-do lists I’m about to make, and we will check off our chores on the chart I’m about to make. Is that understood?”

  “I suppose,” said Mr. Spoonbill.

  “But why is it so important?” asked Mrs. Spoonbill.

  “Because otherwise things kind of fall apart,” said Rosie. Suddenly she remembered the look on her parents’ faces when she’d returned home and found them talking to Officer Belknap. She remembered all the times she’d asked them to bring her forgotten homework to school, all the times she’d borrowed lunch money from Poppy, forgotten to practice her trumpet or feed Honey or take a bath. “I’m sorry,” she added, looking first at her parents and then at Montrose. “Really sorry. Things are going to change. You’ll see.”

  Rosie worked hard that evening and managed to make the lists and charts and finish her homework and still go to bed on time.

  By the end of the week, the Spoonbill household was nicely organized.

  “Maybe we don’t need prizes for completing our chores,” said Mr. Spoonbill on Friday evening.

  “Okay,” said Rosie, who was relieved, since she didn’t have enough money to buy prizes for everyone.

  “I don’t think we even need the charts and lists,” added Mrs. Spoonbill.

  “Maybe not. You guys seem to remember everything now anyway. But I kind of like the charts and lists. Let’s leave them up for a while.”

  On Sunday evening at eight o’clock on the dot, Mrs. Spoonbill’s phone rang. “It’s Missy Piggle-Wiggle,” she said to her husband.

  “How are things going?” asked Missy.

  “Perfectly!” exclaimed Roseate’s parents.

  “Do you need another peppermint?”

  “No!”

  “Absolutely not!”

  Then Mrs. Spoonbill added, “Thank you, Missy. You’ve worked wonders.”

  At the right-side-up upside-down house, Missy clicked off her phone. She bent to stroke Lightfoot, who was walking casually across the parlor floor. Then she turned to Penelope and announced, “All cured.” Penelope replied, “I knew it!”

  And then Missy looked at poor Lester, who was lying on the couch with a cold cloth on his cheek. “Hmm,” she said. “Hmm.”

  9

  Melody Saves the Day

  VERY EARLY ONE morning—in the darkest hours after midnight—Missy Piggle-Wiggle
was awakened by a great rumbling and jumbling. Most people would have thought they were in the middle of an earthquake, but Missy sat up in bed and said to Lightfoot, who was snoozing next to her, “Ah. I expect House is back to rights.” She turned on the light. Sprouting out of her bedroom floor was the chandelier. The doorway was once again upside down. The window was upside down. “Perfect,” said Missy. “House is over the flu. So are you,” she added, patting Lightfoot. “And you,” she said to Penelope, who was perched on the end of the bed.

  Then Missy sneezed. She sneezed again. She reached for a tissue and blew her nose.

  “Pipe down!” squawked Penelope.

  “I cad’t help it,” said Missy stuffily. “I dod’t feel well. I thick I have the flu.”

  “Just a cold!” said Penelope.

  “Baybe. But it feels like bore thad a cold.”

  Missy fell asleep again. She tossed and turned. When she awoke in the morning, she stretched and discovered that her entire body ached. “Evedd by hair hurts,” she complained to Wag, who had joined her on the bed.

  “Impossible!” screeched Penelope.

  “Doe, really. By hair hurts. By head hurts.” She gulped in some air and sneezed five times. “Add why is the heat od so high?” She put a hand to her forehead. “Oh. I guess it isd’t. I have a fever.”

  “Breakfast time!” said Penelope, bouncing up and down.

  “Ugh,” said Missy, but she rolled out of bed and fed Wag, Lightfoot, Lester, and Penelope. Then she phoned Harold. “I have the flu,” she told him.

  “The Winter Effluvia?”

  “Baybe. I hate to ask this, but could you cub over add feed the adibals id the bard?”

  “What?”

  “The adibals id the bard. You doe, Trotsky, Bartha and Billard Ballard…”

  “Oh, the animals in the barn!” said Harold. “Yes, of course.”

  “Dod’t cub id the house,” croaked Missy, and coughed. “Everythig you deed is id the bard. The house is still quaradteed. Oh, but House is over the flu, so it’s upside dowd agaid.”

  “Okay,” said Harold. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. I’m going to leave some chicken soup on your porch. Get lots of rest and call if you need anything else.” He paused. “I miss you.”

  “I biss you, too.”