by Abby Hanlon
And I guess the floors were pretty slippery, too.
Because when Melody and I crashed into each other, I landed right on top of her and her foot went into my mouth.
“Are you okay?” Melody asks. I take off my goggles.
“Something is wiggling in my mouth,” I say.
“It’s your tongue,” says Melody.
“No, it’s something else,” I say. I put my hand in my mouth to feel. “My loof is toof,” I say. “I mean, my toof is loof.”
“Let me feel,” says Melody. She wiggles my tooth.
“Yup, it wiggles!” she whispers.
“My first loose tooth!!!!” I yell.
And then Melody bursts into tears. The giant kind.
“Oh no! Why are you crying!”
“Do you know what this means?” she asks.
“Yes! It means the tooth fairy is coming!!”
“It means you are growing up!” she sobs.
“It’s okay.” I hug Melody. “I’ll always be a baby.”
CHAPTER 3
Baby Teeth
“HOLY COW. My wiggly tooth is so wiggly!” I tell Luke and Violet that night before bed. “MY WIGGLY TOOTH IS SO WIGGLY!”
“You said that already,” says Luke.
“I just want to make sure the tooth fairy hears,” I say. “I think the tooth fairy is a sparkly little glow of light. And she lives on a fluffy cloud. And she is so little that she could fit in my pocket . . . she has soft fuzzy wings . . . and she’s a zippy little flier!”
“Do you think she’ll bring me a dollar?” I ask Luke and Violet. “Does she know me already? Does she love me so much? Because I love her! I love her more than anything, even candy!”
“If you don’t stop talking about love, I will pull your tooth out right now,” says Luke.
“And it will be very bloody,” says Violet.
I don’t know why Luke and Violet are so mean to me, but I think it has something to do with their memories.
“Didn’t Mom tell you to go to bed a long time ago?” asks Luke, giving me a kick off the couch.
“There’s a problem with my bed,” I tell them.
“What kind of problem?” asks Violet.
“Mrs. Gobble Gracker is in my bed,” I whisper.
“MMMMMOOOOOMMMM!” yells Violet. “Rascal is talking about Mrs. Gobble Gracker again!”
My mom and dad come out of the kitchen. “Come on, Rascal! It’s bedtime. You know that,” says my mom.
“But Mrs. Gobble Gracker is in my bed!” I cry.
“No more games tonight. It’s over,” says my mom. “I’m done.”
“And she wants to butter my bones!”
“What does that mean exactly?” asks Luke.
“Butter my bones . . . and EAT them!!!” I yell.
“Crunch, crunch,” says Violet, pretending to eat my arm. “Deee-licious!”
“Let’s go,” says my mom. “Daddy will read you a story.”
“Mrs. Gobble Gracker can listen, too,” says my dad. “She can even pick the book.”
Mrs. Gobble Gracker is a terrible listener.
When my dad turns out the light he says, “Think happy thoughts, Rascal.”
“Like what?” I ask him.
“How about . . . the tooth fairy! If you think about the tooth fairy, I bet Mrs. Gobble Gracker will go away.” He kisses me good night and leaves me alone with Mrs. Gobble Gracker.
“WHO is the tooth fairy?!” I say, and turn on the light. “You have been alive for 507 years and you’ve never heard of the tooth fairy!”
“Just tell me,” she says.
So I explain it to her. Of course, she interrupts. “So are you trying to tell me that there is a woman—not me—who sneaks into children’s rooms in the middle of the night without permission and takes their body parts? And it’s not me?”
“Just teeth! That’s the only body part,” I say. “Teeth that already fell out.”
“From eating too much candy?” she asks.
“Not rotten teeth! Baby teeth!” I say.
“Baby teeth?” And then she sits up in bed and starts talking in a high baby voice. “That sounds so cute! Oh yes, yes! Little mini–baby teeth! I want them. I want them!”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. Forget it. And so tell me again . . . children want her to come? And they are happy about it? And she never gets in trouble for doing this?”
“Yeah, ’cause she gives them money. . . . Why are you asking? What are you thinking?”
“Oh, me? Nothing. I’m not thinking of anything perfectly evil,” she says, getting out of bed.
Then Mrs. Gobble Gracker starts pulling things out of my closet and making a huge mess.
“Do you have any wings?” she asks. “You know, from a Halloween costume or something.”
“Nope.”
“How about a little crown? You must have a crown!”
“I don’t.”
“EVERY GIRL GOES THROUGH A PRINCESS PHASE—WHERE ARE THE CROWNS!?!?”
“Why are you yelling? Calm down,” I say.
“Okay, just tell me . . . do you have glitter? Your mom probably hides it from you because you always make a huge mess with it. Maybe in a kitchen cabinet? I must have glitter! I CAN’T DO THIS WITHOUT GLITTER!”
* * *
• • •
She runs downstairs. I hear some noise in the kitchen and then the sound of the front door slamming. She’s gone. I guess my dad was right.
I fall asleep with a happy thought.
CHAPTER 4
Cooked Eggs
When it’s time to leave for school in the morning, my mom gives me Luke’s old coat. “Here, you can wear this beat-up old coat,” she says.
I love this coat! It’s not bunchy. And it doesn’t have pillows in it. It’s flat. I wiggle my fingers in the soft furry pockets.
And guess what I find?
“Look! I found a mini–candy cane!”
“Well, that’s mine then,” says Luke.
“Nope, it’s in my coat now, so it’s MINE.”
“No it’s not! Give it to me, Rascal!”
The wrapper is melted and stuck all the way around the candy cane. I won’t have time to unstick the wrapper before Luke tackles me. So as fast as I can, I stuff the whole thing in my mouth and start chewing.
I close my eyes . . . and I’m far away in Candy Land—deep in the Peppermint Forest.
“SHE’S EATING THE WRAPPER!” yells Luke.
Chew, chew, gulp.
“What wrapper?” calls my mom.
“The candy cane wrapper!” yells Violet.
Chew, chew, gulp.
“Candy cane? Where did you get candy canes from?” asks my mom.
“Rascal, did you eat the wrapper?” asks my mom.
I look at Luke and Violet. I look at my mom. I make a very bad decision.
“No,” I lie.
We wait to see whose side my mom is going to take.
“If she ate the wrapper, I think she’ll be okay. We don’t have time for more fighting. You’re going to be late for school.”
“But it was MY CANDY CANE!” yells Luke. “And she lied!!”
“Don’t worry,” Violet says to Luke. “We don’t need Mom’s help. It’s time WE took matters into our own hands.”
For most of the way, Luke and Violet walk in front of me, but I keep talking anyway.
Then Luke and Violet wait for me to catch up.
“So, Rascal, we were wondering . . . did Mom and Dad ever tell you the whole story about the tooth fairy?” asks Violet.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, if they didn’t tell you, maybe we shouldn’t,” says Violet.
“No, tell me! Pleas
e!”
“’Cause they probably don’t want you to be too curious,” says Violet.
“I won’t be curious,” I say. “Tell me!”
“Only if you promise not to tell Mom and Dad that we told you.”
“I promise,” I say. “I won’t tell.”
“Okay, well . . . for one thing, the tooth fairy isn’t little,” says Violet. “She’s regular size.”
“A regular-size fairy like Mr. Nuggy? Wow!” I say.
“And she doesn’t even wear wings . . .” says Violet.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, but—”
“I know! Maybe she thinks the wings are too itchy. Maybe she hates them so she only wears them when she has to,” I say.
“The thing is,” says Violet, “she is a pretty cranky lady. She’s not all cute and lovey-dovey. She’s more like . . . hhhhmmmm, how do I say this? . . . a serious grouch.”
“Yeah!” I say. “Because being the tooth fairy is a really hard job. She’s so busy every night and she doesn’t get a lot of sleep, so she’s overtired. She gets so sweaty flying around all night, so sometimes she just wears a bathing suit and then if she flies over a swimming pool, she can take a quick break and . . .”
“Ah-hum! As I was saying—” says Violet.
“And I bet she has a giant purse,” I say, “and it’s a huge mess inside! It’s full of teeth and money, and she never remembers to throw her garbage away, and she secretly eats a lot of candy . . . and OF COURSE she doesn’t wear wings because she doesn’t wear a crown, either! Because she doesn’t want everyone to know who she is!!! ’Cause she’s more like a spy! Yeah! SHE HAS A SPY HAT! And I bet her bathing suit is glow-in-the-dark!”
“Fine, she wears a bathing suit, whatever, Rascal. But there’s one more thing I have to tell you about the tooth fairy.”
“I know! I know what it is! She’s getting a divorce!”
“What? No.”
“Then what?”
“Well . . . she cares A LOT about behavior. So, if you’re bad, she doesn’t give you money.”
I stop walking.
“The tooth fairy doesn’t care if you’re bad.That’s Santa!” I say.
“They’re friends!” says Luke.
“And she’s the one who gave Santa the idea in the first place,” says Violet.
“So then what happens?” I ask. “I mean, if you’re bad? What does she bring instead?”
“Well, it never happened to us.” Violet shrugs. “’Cause we’re good. So we’re not sure. But it would probably be something you really hate.”
“Like what?” I ask.
Then Luke, who has been quiet for a long time, suddenly bursts out, “I know what it is! It’s eggs! She brings you eggs!”
“Eggs? That’s the Easter Bunny!” I say.
“Not chocolate eggs!” he says, and then he smiles. “Cooked eggs!”
“So you mean . . . like an omelet?” I ask him.
“Possibly,” says Luke.
“I hate omelets!”
“So . . . then an omelet would be very likely,” he says, nodding his head a lot. “She can just slide it under your pillow.”
“Well, I am not bad,” I say. “So I don’t care. I DON’T CARE ONE TINY STUPID BIT,” I shout, and kick a bunch of dirt. But secretly, I’m worried. Very worried. If I had a banana right now I would call my fairy godmother, Mr. Nuggy. Because I think this is an emergency.
When I get to school, I give my letter to the teacher.
She says, “Thank you for the letter, Dory. But instead of going out to play for recess today, you will stay in the classroom. Because you didn’t tell the truth yesterday, I need you to spend some quiet time thinking about your behavior.”
Last year Jane missed recess because she bit Pablo’s arm when he wouldn’t hold her hand when they were line partners because he said she had cream cheese on her hand. And once Pablo missed recess because he kicked George in the butt, but Pablo said it wasn’t his fault because George begged him to.
I’ve never missed recess.
Bad kids miss recess.
Now I think Violet was right—I am bad. Bad to the bone.
I don’t start crying until lunchtime. Because everybody knows what comes after lunch.
“We won’t play hamsters at recess without you,” says George. “We promise.”
“Is Mrs. Gobble Gracker back? Is that why you are crying? Are you in danger?” asks Rosabelle.
“She’s crying so hard that I can’t understand her,” says George.
“Wait . . . listen . . . I think she said something about the tooth fairy,” says Rosabelle.
“The tooth fairy? Why is she crying about the tooth fairy?” asks George.
“Oh my goodness! Is the tooth fairy missing?” asks Rosabelle. “Or did she get hurt? Did she fly into a building? Did she fall off a cloud? Did she slip in the bathtub?”
“Don’t tell me she choked on a hot dog!” says George.
“Well, good thing none of us has a loose tooth right now!” says Rosabelle.
I show them my wiggly tooth.
Then my teacher taps me on the shoulder and says, “Pack up your lunch box. It’s time for you to come with me.” She’s eating a banana!
I’m not going to do anything crazy—like ask my teacher if I can make a phone call from her banana or anything.
But I want to.
Without the kids, the classroom looks big and empty. My teacher says I can read books on the rug. But I sit by the window and watch the clouds float by instead. My teacher eats her lunch and checks our homework.
And then a fluffy cloud floats by . . . with someone on it.
“So, what do you think of my new look?” yells Mrs. Gobble Gracker.
“I think you look kinda dumb,” I say.
“Excuse me! Is that any way to talk to the tooth fairy?” she says. “By the way, my wings don’t actually work. They’re just costume wings.”
“You can’t just dress up and say you’re the tooth fairy. That’s not how it works. There’s only one tooth fairy in the world,” I tell her.
“Only one?” she asks.
Suddenly, Mrs. Gobble Gracker is in a big rush. She gets in a little airplane and swoops by the window and out of sight.
Mrs. Gobble Gracker is definitely up to something, but I can’t stop worrying about omelets. I try not to wiggle my tooth, but I can’t stop that either.
CHAPTER 5
Nighty-Night
After school, I run into the house so I can FINALLY call Mr. Nuggy. I slide across the kitchen floor in my socks, heading straight for the fruit bowl. And then I discover something terrible.
We have no bananas.
I think about having a temper tantrum—just a mini one. Luke and Violet are not happy, either.
“I didn’t have time to go grocery shopping today,” says my mom. “I’ll have to drag you guys with me now. Come on.”
“No, no, no, we hate the grocery store! Please. Wait. Maybe I don’t need a banana . . . I can use something else to call Mr. Nuggy.” I grab the first thing I see. “Look, I can use dish soap!” I say.
“Okay, I guess I do need a banana,” I say, and put the dish soap down.
“Get in the car,” says my mom.
At the grocery store:
On line at the fish counter, my mom says, “Violet, you go get some yogurt; Luke, go choose a cereal; and Rascal, you . . .”
“Get bananas!” I say.
“Fine, then come right back,” says my mom. “And don’t run.”
I’m running down the freezer aisle and about to turn the corner when . . .
A grocery cart smacks me to the floor. And then the cart tries to flatten me.
“You’re okay. Just shake it off, kid,” says
the lady who smashed me.
She reaches into her giant purse and searches around inside for a really long time. I hear lots of rattling around in there. A candy wrapper falls to the floor. Finally, she finds what she’s looking for. A dollar bill.
“Here, take a dollar, and you’ll forget all about your troubles.” I stuff the dollar in my pocket and don’t say a thing.
“Listen, since you’re down there anyway, do me a favor, and reach that jar for me, hon?” she says. “These old knees don’t want to bend.”
“Thanks, kid,” she says. “Nighty-night!” Then she wipes her forehead with a handkerchief. “Boy, it’s hot in here.”
This time I run even faster to the bananas. I grab one and call Mr. Nuggy.
“Well, she’s right here. At the grocery store. No, she’s not wearing her wings. . . . I think they’re too itchy. . . . It’s definitely her. . . . She said ‘Nighty-night.’ Who else says ‘nighty-night’ in the afternoon?”
“She’s buying a pineapple . . . nope . . . she just put it back.”
“Warning! She’s buying eggs—she better not be planning on cooking them.”
Then my mom appears. “Rascal! There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Give me the bananas . . . all of them . . . and let’s go.” I wave good-bye to the tooth fairy.
“Why are you waving to that woman?” asks my mom, gripping my arm.
And then . . . I just have to. I want her to know what a good kid I really am. So across the lemons, I shout the only thing I can think of, “I WAS SO GOOD WHEN MY MOM GOT HER HAIR CUT! I LOVE YOU! ALL CHILDREN LOVE YOU!”
