“Are you sure?” Marielle replied.
Hannaford nodded, the TV sets were given away, and Linden was raised on books and classical music.
Now, it was true that Linden grew up to be a busy and creative boy. He was forever making skyscrapers out of Popsicle sticks and starting collections of things such as stamps and leaves. (He organized the leaves into a herbarium, which he put on display in his living room and for which he charged fifty cents per viewing.) But early on, his parents realized that it was impossible to keep him away from the things, such as television, that all his friends had. One day when he and his mother were walking by the toy museum, Linden paused to look in the window and said, “Ooh, Mommy! There’s Superman!”
That night Marielle Pettigrew said to her husband, “How does Linden know who Superman is?”
Hannaford sighed. “Probably from watching television over at the Freeforalls’.”
Bit by bit, things fell apart. When Linden was invited to his first slumber party, he watched a movie called Paul Blart: Mall Cop and four hours of cartoons. At his friends’ houses he played computer games, listened to rap music, and learned how to text. But …
Linden did not learn to like junk food. When his friends ate cookies, he asked for free-range chicken nuggets. When they ate ice cream, he ate yogurt. (He didn’t mind—much—that his parents had bent the truth about ice cream.) And at his own eighth birthday party, he insisted on serving tuna fish on gluten-free bagels with a fruit salad.
“What do you want to put in your friends’ goody bags?” Hannaford asked him when they were planning the party.
Linden thought for a moment. “Banana chips and multigrain crackers.”
His parents glanced at each other. “Maybe we could make just one exception,” said Marielle Pettigrew. “For your friends. How about M&M’s and Tootsie Pops?”
“Well,” said Linden. “All right. As long as I don’t have to eat them.”
Marielle and Hannaford gave a sigh of relief. Their son was going to be healthy and strong and have a mouth full of beautiful, cavity-free teeth.
The day the invitation to Beaufort Crumpet’s birthday party arrived was like any other. Linden went off to day camp with his bag lunch of unsalted cashews, tofu squares, and a package of kale chips. His parents went to work. When they all returned at the end of the day, they looked through the mail.
“Linden, here’s something for you,” said his mother. She handed him an envelope.
“It’s from Beaufort,” said Linden. He opened the envelope with a butter knife. “It’s an invitation. To a pizza birthday party. You’d better pack some food for me. Beaufort will probably serve cake and ice cream, too.”
On the day of the party, Hannaford Pettigrew drove Linden to the mall where Beaufort and his guests were going to have a gymnastics lesson and then eat pizza. Linden carried a present wrapped in bright polka-dotted paper and a bag containing an almond-butter sandwich and some cubed mango. Beaufort and his guests walked on the balance beam, jumped over the horse, and learned how to turn cartwheels. Then, sweaty and hungry, they sat around a big table where pizza was served. Linden ate his sandwich and mango. At the end of the party, when the parents were arriving, Beaufort handed each of his guests a striped goody bag.
Linden waited until he was in the car before he opened the bag and exclaimed in dismay, “Ew! Look, Mom. Lollipops, gummy bears, SweeTARTS. This is disgusting. Well, here’s some sugarless gum. Maybe that’s not so bad.”
Linden peeled back the paper from a stick of gum.
He sniffed it. “Peppermint,” he said. “I think.”
He licked it. “Interesting.”
He bit off a corner and chewed it tentatively. “Hmm. I sort of like this.”
Linden put the rest of the stick in his mouth. “Wow. It’s like a burst of peppermint on my tongue.”
He chewed more enthusiastically. Chew, chew, chew. Chaw, chaw, chaw.
The flavor began to fade faster than he had anticipated, so he unpeeled another stick of gum.
“What are you doing?” asked his mother.
“The flavor’s already gone. And it was really good.”
“All right,” said Marielle unhappily.
They reached their house, and the car had barely come to a stop when Linden unfastened his seat belt and flung his door open. He held the goody bag in front of him like a trophy. “Dad! Dad! Look what I got!”
Mr. Pettigrew was sitting on the front porch enjoying a nice glass of iced mint tea without sugar. The day was warm, but the breeze on the porch was cool, and it was that time of afternoon when a summer day begins to creep toward evening and the light fades just enough to remind you that night is returning.
Linden ran to his father, leaned in to his face, and smacked the mouthful of gum. “Peppermint!” he exclaimed.
His father drew back. “You’re chewing gum?” He tried to hide his alarm.
“Yep.” Linden sat on the floor of the porch and dumped out the goody bag. He brushed away all the candy and even the book of temporary tattoos and the set of fake teeth that would make him look like a vampire. Left in front of him were two more packs of sugarless gum, several pieces of bubble gum, and two gum balls the size of plums. Linden spent the remainder of the afternoon tasting the gum and experimenting with it.
“How do you blow bubbles?” he asked his mother as he unwrapped the first piece of bubble gum, which was a shocking pink color, not sugar-free, and much sweeter than he could have imagined.
His mother refused to look up from the book she was reading. “I don’t know,” she said, even though she knew perfectly well and as a child had been a champion bubble blower.
“I’ll find out online,” replied Linden. He sat in front of the Pettigrew family computer, which Linden had convinced his parents he needed in order to do his homework. Within an hour he was blowing bubbles almost as large as his own head. But they kept bursting and getting in his eyes and nose and hair. Linden was undeterred.
“Wow, did you see that? Did you see that?” he asked his parents over and over again.
He bit a hunk out of one of the giant gum balls and chewed away on it for a while. When it began to lose its flavor, he crammed the rest of the gum ball in his mouth.
“Dahmug salvib flittfermip?” he said to his father.
Hannaford, who had moved inside and was starting to prepare dinner in the kitchen, looked up and frowned. “What?”
Linden tried again. “Imfrabagslsh.”
“I’m afraid you’re impossible to understand.” His father said this with a hint of victory, thinking that surely his son would stop chewing gum if no one could understand what he was saying.
But Linden shrugged his shoulders, said, “Shpeshiwog,” and went upstairs, still smacking and chewing.
At dinnertime Linden set a saucer by his plate. His parents watched as he removed a giant slobbery wad of gum from his mouth and set it on the saucer.
“Linden, that is disgusting,” said Marielle, who was usually careful not to say anything to her son that might wound his feelings or lower his self-esteem.
“How did you even fit that in your mouth?” asked Hannaford.
Linden shrugged again. “Is it okay to leave it on the saucer?” he asked politely. “I thought that would be better than sticking it to the table.”
His mother grew pale. “Perhaps you could put the saucer in the kitchen where we can’t see it,” she said.
“Or outside,” muttered his father.
Linden removed the saucer and returned to the dining room. When he and his parents had finished their dinner of salmon and Brussels sprouts, he asked, “Anything for dessert?”
Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew gasped.
“No, huh?” said Linden. “Okay, I’ll just finish my gum.”
He went upstairs to his room, where he gnawed and mashed away until no more fresh gum was left. He sat back on his heels, disappointed. He had not perfected his bubble blowing yet.
Linden th
ought for a moment before rooting around in his closet for the box labeled POPSICLE STICKS AND GLUE. He opened it, removed a layer of Popsicle sticks, and found the hidden bag containing his allowance. He dumped out the coins and bills and counted them.
“Excellent,” he said.
* * *
The next morning Linden waited impatiently until it was nine o’clock. Day camp was over for the season, and the day stretched ahead of him. Promptly at nine, he hopped on his bicycle and rode to Juniper Street. Ordinarily, he might have left his bike in the rack in front of the library and then walked slowly up and down the street, looking in every window he passed. But this morning Linden rode directly to the Good Ship Lollipop, a store to which he had paid little attention in the past, since it sold nothing but sweets.
Linden jammed his hands in his pockets and stood in front of a shelf full of gum. There was bubble gum, gum that crackled, and sacks of gold-nugget gum. There was gum filled with strawberry liquid, gum balls that looked like baseballs, and a dispenser with six feet of bubble-gum tape.
Linden counted out his money.
And then he spent every last cent on gum.
As you might imagine, Hannaford and Marielle Pettigrew were concerned when Linden came home with four pounds of chewing gum but felt they could say little to him since he had proudly spent his own money on it. All the rest of that day, he chewed and blew bubbles and smacked and smacked and smacked.
He grew increasingly hard to understand.
“Mowmphshlerp,” he said to his mother just before dinner.
“I can’t understand you,” she replied.
Linden withdrew a lump of slimy pinkish-gray gum from his mouth. “I’m not hungry,” he told her.
“Well, I’m not surprised, with all the sugar that’s in your body.”
“I think I’ll skip supper,” he said before popping the gum back in his mouth.
After dinner, Marielle and Hannaford sat outside on the porch with cups of nice, calming tea.
“What’s that noise?” asked Marielle after a moment. She looked above her, toward her son’s bedroom windows.
Hannaford listened. “I think it’s Linden.”
“Smacking his gum?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“We have to do something,” said Marielle. “That wad of gum is getting bigger by the minute. I can barely understand a word he says. And he doesn’t seem to care.”
“He’s going to get cavities,” added Hannaford. “He’ll ruin his perfect dental record. What are we going to do?”
“I’ve heard wonderful things about Missy Piggle-Wiggle.”
“Who?”
“Missy Piggle-Wiggle. That funny little magical woman who’s Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle’s great-niece.”
“I thought Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle was the funny little magical woman.”
“They both are,” Marielle replied. “Did you hear what Missy did for the Earwigs? She cured Heavenly of being tardy.”
“I wonder if the LaCartes could recommend her.”
“I doubt it. They’ve probably never needed her. Della and Peony are perfect specimens. I’m going to phone Missy right now.”
Marielle went inside and called Missy. When she returned to the porch, she said, “Missy wants Linden to come over first thing tomorrow morning. I wonder what she’s going to do.”
* * *
Linden felt slightly nervous as he walked to the upside-down house the next day. He had played there many times, but never before had he been sent there. His mother had looked rather stern when she’d said that Missy was expecting him. Linden dragged his feet all the way, but when he finally arrived, Missy met him at the door holding the most beautiful gum ball he’d ever seen.
“Wow,” Linden whispered. “It looks like a globe.”
“It’s for you,” said Missy.
Linden drew in his breath. “There was nothing like this at the Good Ship Lollipop.”
“Of course not. This is one of a kind.”
Linden turned the gum ball around and around in his hands. “Hey!” he exclaimed. He squinted at it. “Now it looks like an apple.” He stared some more. “And now a flower.”
“Taste it,” said Missy.
Linden stuck out his tongue and licked it. Then he bit into it. “Apple cinnamon!” he exclaimed. His eyes widened. “Wait. Now it tastes like grape. How did it do that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He stuffed the rest of the gum ball in his mouth. “Annowtshmump.”
“What?” said Missy.
Linden removed the gum long enough to say, “And now it tastes like maple.” He returned the gum to his mouth.
“Like I said, it’s one of a kind.”
“Shnollupsmeng!” exclaimed Linden. “Bowntforthentup!”
Penelope the parrot flapped onto Missy’s shoulder and squawked, “He’s awfully hard to—”
Lester appeared and swatted at Penelope. She lowered her voice. “He’s awfully hard to understand,” she said in a parrot whisper.
“Miffenputh?” Linden wanted to know.
“The gum will last forever,” Missy answered promptly. “The flavors constantly change, and they never fade. Oh, and the gum is particularly good for popping, smacking, and blowing bubbles.”
“Thraphoo!” called Linden as he left the upside-down house and hurried home.
He passed by Melody’s yard.
“Hi, Linden,” said Melody.
Linden was smacking his gum so loudly that he couldn’t hear her. He tried to say, “What?” which came out, “Whumphh?”
“What?” said Melody.
“Whumphh?” said Linden again.
“What?”
“Whumphh?”
When Linden ran through his front door, he had intended to call, “Mom! Mom! Missy gave me gum that changes flavor.”
Instead he said, “Mmmmummmm,” and discovered that his mouth was stuck together. He had to pry his teeth apart with his fingers and pull the gum out.
“What on earth?” exclaimed his mother.
“I have new gum,” said Linden, feeling slightly less enthusiastic. He put it back in his mouth.
His mother watched as a strange look crossed his face. “What is it? What’s wrong? Linden? Can you hear me?”
Linden couldn’t, in fact, hear her over his chawing and smacking. But the real problem was the current flavor of the gum. He hastily removed the wad from his mouth. It sat wetly in his hand.
“What’s wrong?” said his mother again. She put her hand on Linden’s forehead.
“Um,” said Linden, “what’s the name of that herb I don’t like?”
“Cilantro?”
Linden coughed. “Yeah. Just for a moment the gum tasted like cilantro.” Cautiously, he put it back in his mouth and chewed. “Ownirapbry!” he exclaimed, which meant, “Oh, now it’s raspberry!”
“What?” said his mother.
“Whumphh?”
Linden went upstairs to his room, where he spent the greater part of the day blowing bubbles, chewing, and trying to identify each flavor of his gum. Occasionally his teeth stuck together and he had to pry them apart again. But mostly he popped and smacked and practiced his bubble blowing.
“This is horrible,” Hannaford said to Marielle that evening. “He’s worse than before. I think we should call Missy again.”
“But her cures are supposed to work wonders. Let’s give it one more day.”
“All right,” said Hannaford as the scent of popcorn drifted to his nostrils and he realized he was smelling Linden’s gum from several rooms away.
In his bedroom, Linden was carefully keeping a list of all the flavors he tasted. He spat out the gum when he tasted cilantro for a second time. He looked down his list. Among all the lovely fruity and sweet flavors, he had also identified anchovy and something that tasted the way dog food smelled. Thankfully the unappealing flavors never lasted long. Linden replaced the gum and managed to make his loudest pop ever.
It sort of hurt his ears.
He realized his stomach felt queasy. The gum was sour. Not sour in the way gum tastes when the flavor is fading, but sour in a wild, bold way, as if he were chewing on a dirty sponge. He hastily removed the gum. He planned to wait a few seconds before putting it back in his mouth, but he had realized that now even when he was tasting mint or cherry or chocolate pudding, it was harder and harder to un-taste the revolting flavors.
“I’ll just put this back up in my room where you don’t have to see it,” Linden said. He ran upstairs. He set the gum in a dish on his dresser. Then he hesitated. Experimentally, he put the gum back in his mouth. Immediately he spat it out. He sniffed it. “I knew it!” he cried. “Laundry detergent.”
“Linden?” called Hannaford from downstairs. His voice sounded awfully loud.
“Coming.” Linden walked slowly to the kitchen.
“We’d like to talk with you,” said Marielle as he took his place again.
“Okay.”
“We’ve tried not to say anything,” his father spoke up.
“About the gum,” his mother continued.
Linden felt his face turn pale. His stomach churned. “That’s okay,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to say anything. In fact, please don’t say anything. Don’t ever mention gum again.” He thought about the sour sponge and the anchovies and the laundry detergent. “Really. I’d rather not think about it.” He burped. “Do we have any chamomile tea?”
10
Frankfort Freeforall, or the Whatever Cure
MISSY PIGGLE-WIGGLE SAT in the rocking chair on her front porch and ruminated, which is an unnecessarily adult way of saying she was thinking things over. It was a cloudy late summer afternoon. School would be starting again soon. Missy couldn’t believe that she had been living at the upside-down house for so long. She also couldn’t believe that she hadn’t heard from her great-aunt. Months had gone by without a phone call or another letter. Not one single word.
Missy Piggle-Wiggle and the Whatever Cure Page 9
