“It’s not fair that we had to move here, just because Cid—”
“Hey!” said Cid, strolling toward us. “What are you two talking about?” He was stroking Hamstersaurus Rex, who was gorging himself on a bag of Tropical Taro and Guava Flavor-Wedges.
“Hi, Cid,” I said. “I was just trying to sell Sarah on all the amazing stuff we have here in Maple Bluffs. I almost forgot the duck pond! It’s this pond that’s full of ducks!”
“I’ll be sure to let her know about that next time I see her,” said Cid.
I turned just as Sarah disappeared into a doorway down the hall and slammed the door behind her.
“Yikes,” I said. “She seems a little bummed out.”
“She’s always been moody,” said Cid. “But if she’s acting weird and shy, I’m pretty sure I know why.”
“You do?”
“Of course,” said Cid. “She’s got a crush on you, man!”
I could feel the blood rushing to my ears and my face turning strawberry red. “That’s not . . . I mean . . . I’m not . . . I don’t think . . . ,” I sputtered. “Naaaaah.”
“Why not, Sam?” said Cid. “You’re the coolest kid in school!”
“Well, that’s true,” I said. Hamstersaurus Rex shot me a look. “But just FYI, maybe don’t bring that up with any other sixth graders at Horace Hotwater. I wouldn’t want them to get jealous of how cool I am.”
“So humble,” said Cid. “Did you manage to find the bathroom okay?”
“Not even close,” I said. “How come you didn’t tell me you have a manny?”
Cid laughed. “Ah, so you met Rupert? Quite a character, huh?”
“If by ‘quite a character’ you mean extremely frightening, then yes,” I said. “I’m not exactly sure working with kids is the optimal career for that guy.”
“Oh, Rupert’s scary at first,” said Cid, “but once you get to know him, he’s merely deeply unsettling.”
I laughed. Hamstersaurus Rex belched.
“So, I’ve got to ask,” said Cid, “why were you doing yard work for that old guy in the tinfoil hat who I sometimes see lecturing trees?”
“Well, it’s a long story . . . ,” I said. “Let’s just say I’m a wee bit short on cash at the moment.”
“Hey, that’s no good, Sam,” said Cid. “How can your old buddy Cid help?”
I told Cid the story of our laughably pathetic attempt to catch the Chameleonkey. He admitted he had already watched Beefer’s Epic Ninja 360-Degree Fail video online. But he was intrigued: this was a classic Hamstersaurus Rex adventure he could actually participate in. And somewhere along the way we started hatching a plan. . . .
CHAPTER 9
IT WAS SATURDAY morning once again, and the Maple Bluffs Flea Market was in full swing. The local bargain-hunters were out—examining dented panini presses, rifling through piles of tarnished souvenir spoons, haggling over the Baby President figurines they needed to finish their collection—in short, they were searching for the absolute lowest price on things nobody needs to begin with. Hamstersaurus Rex and I stood by a vendor selling used bath mats. (Business was slow.)
“Heya, Sam Dunk!” said Cid as he walked toward us. “Sam Dunk” was the awesome new nickname Cid had given me. It was much better than any previous nicknames I had been saddled with through the years. (“Sir Stinks-a-lot,” first grade; “Stinkface,” second grade; “The Incredible Stinking Stinkbag,” grades three to five. Thanks for those, Beefer!)
“Check out this cool windup moose I just bought!” said Cid, and he tossed it to me.
“Whoa! I’ve had my eye on this thing for a while!” I wound up the moose and watched it do a little hula dance. “Glad it found a good home.”
“You like it?” said Cid. “You can keep it, my man.”
“Really?” I said. “Thanks, Cid!”
“How’s it hangin’, Homerun?” said Cid to Hamstersaurus Rex. “Homerun” was another top-notch nickname based on Hammie’s initials (Hamstersaurus Rex: Homerun).
Hammie yipped with excitement as Cid stooped and extended his index finger to give him the world’s tiniest high five.
“Got a little something for you, too, buddy.” Cid reached in his knapsack and pulled out a bag of Funchos Wunderbar Limburger und Weisswurst Flavor-Wedges. Hamstersaurus Rex’s pupils dilated as he dug into the (artificial) flavors of Deutschland.
“So, are you ready to execute operation Invisible Monkey Catch?” I said.
“We maybe need a better name,” said Cid.
“Yeah, it is a little on the nose, huh?” I said. “But there’s no time for that now. We’ve got a Chameleonkey to nab.”
“Man, I can’t believe I’m going to help capture an escaped SmilesCorp mutant,” said Cid, pumping his fist. “This is even more awesome than jetpacking through the Alps!”
“You’ve done that?” I said.
“Only a couple of times,” said Cid. “I’m over it.”
We made our way to Madame Karla’s costume jewelry table. When she saw Hamstersaurus Rex and me, she gave an exaggerated harrumph.
“Some help you were, young man!” said Madame Karla. “That brooch the Chameleonkey absconded with was a one-of-a-kind showpiece!”
“There are three more of them right there,” I said, pointing to a small pile of identical hamburger brooches on her table. “Anyway, we’re totally capturing the Chameleonkey this time.”
Madame Karla crinkled her nose. “Even without your other compatriots?” she asked. “Where’s the boy from the ‘Epic Ninja 360-Degree Fail’ video?”
“Whoa, you saw it, too?” I said.
“Of course, who hasn’t!” said Madame Karla. “The part where he bellows ‘spinning ninja jump-climb maneuver!’ before his grievous accident is most amusing.”
“Well, there will be no failing ninjas today,” I said.
“And what about the visored twins and the green-haired muckraker?” asked Madame Karla.
“Don’t need them,” I said. “Just the elite crew this time. I’m talking about the A-squad. Me, my new friend Cid, and my old friend who’s a mutated hamster.”
Cid waved. Hamstersaurus Rex grunted.
“Again, I harrumph, and with more gusto!” Madame Karla harrumphed louder. “Now, are you merely wasting my valuable time with false hopes of capturing that larcenous simian, or do you intend to buy something?”
“Oh, we intend to buy something,” said Cid. “As many somethings as this will cover.” He plunked a bill down on the table. I didn’t see how much it was, but from the look on Madame Karla’s face it was enough for quite a lot of fake jewelry.
“Now here’s a young gentleman who appreciates his bijouterie!” said Madame Karla.
After filling a bag with gaudy baubles, we made our way to the edge of the flea market.
“The mistake we made last time was trying to capture the Chameleonkey in its natural habitat,” I said. “This time we face the beast on our terms.”
“This spot look good?” said Cid. We were standing in an empty swath of parking lot, hundreds of feet from the nearest climbable object that was taller than me.
“Yep,” I said. “If the little thief wants any of our shiny objects, it’s just going to have to walk here.”
“Well then,” said Cid. “Time for phase two of . . . Operation Condor’s Wrath?”
“Man, you are so good at coming up with names!” I said.
“You really think so?” said Cid. “That means a lot coming from you. Not just anyone could have thought up ‘Squirrel Kong’! So catchy.”
“You like it?” I said. “I always kind of regretted not calling her ‘Squirrellossus,’ like ‘squirrel’ plus ‘colossus.’ A little more highbrow.”
“Nah, you trusted your gut and that was the right decision,” said Cid. “Shall we?”
I unfurled an old bedsheet and we dumped our sack of costume jewelry onto it. Plastic emeralds and glass sapphires glittered in the late morning sun.
“
This looks like the perfect Chameleonkey bait,” I said.
Meanwhile, Cid pulled a roll of heavy-duty fishing line out of his backpack. “This is the stuff my dad uses to fish for marlins off the Grenadines,” said Cid.
“Great,” I said. “Now we just need to string all this jewelry together into the world’s largest, most tasteless necklace.”
“Let’s make Madame Karla proud,” said Cid.
So Cid and I got to work, meticulously threading the fishing line through each piece. Soon we had all 286 items of “bijouterie” tied to the fishing line.
“I think we’re ready,” I said.
Cid and I took our spot, crouching behind a nearby trash can. Meanwhile Hamstersaurus Rex gave a little growl, then scurried under the bedsheet and made himself as flat as possible. The little guy could get pretty flat when he wanted to. I always admired that about him.
We waited. But it didn’t take long.
“Hey,” whispered Cid as he pointed. “Look at that.”
I squinted toward the blanket and saw a fake ruby toe-ring twitch. A butterfly hat pin shifted. Then a tiara with a diamond the size of a doorknob slowly floated off the sheet.
“Now,” said Cid.
I leveled my oversized slingshot. This time, instead of a pointy car, I’d loaded in a water balloon. The Chameleonkey was pretty far away, and merely a week ago, I probably wouldn’t have been able to make the shot. But for the past five afternoons, I’d gone over to Cid’s house to practice at his indoor archery range (of course he had one of those, right next to the indoor waterslide) to improve my oversized slingshot accuracy.
As I took aim, I tried to think of a cool action movie line. “. . . Hey, Chamelonkey,” I said, “time to stop crowning around.”
Cid looked confused.
“. . . Because a tiara is like a small crown,” I muttered.
“Oh, I get it!” said Cid. “Nice one, Sam Dunk! Hilarious as always.”
I let fly. The balloon sailed through the air and—SPLOOSH—it was a perfect shot! I could suddenly see a very startled (and bizarre-looking) monkey-lizard creature wearing the doorknob tiara around its neck and dripping with acrylic paint. (Cid said he never used yellow ochre in any of his paintings, so he was happy to sacrifice a bunch of it for the mission.) The invisible monkey was invisible no more.
The Chameleonkey gave a panicked shriek and then took off back toward the flea market, still wearing the tiara like a loose collar. The fishing line (with all the sparkling fake jewelry attached) trailed behind it, and at the very end—securely tied to the line himself—was Hamstersaurus Rex! As the Chameleonkey ran, the little guy got yanked along behind it.
“Follow those mutants!” I cried.
Cid and I lit out after them. The Chameleonkey reached the edge of the flea market and sprang into the air. It grabbed on to a rack of extra-wide neckties and scurried over the top. A second later, Hamstersaurus Rex trailed behind, smacking into a hat stand and upending a box of socks along the way.
“Would you like to buy some bowling cards?” said the bowling memorabilia guy to a hapless passerby. “Check out this Mikey Mayfield rookie c—AAAAAAGH!”
He screamed as the Chameleonkey landed on top of his head, leaving a big splotch of yellow paint, and bounded off onto a nearby sun umbrella. Hamstersaurus Rex yelped as he flew after an instant later.
Cid and I tried our best to keep up. Even if we temporarily lost sight of the Chameleonkey, we could still see Hammie at the end of the sparkly fishing line, bouncing off tables and bins like a tiny water-skier. The chorus of startled screams and yellow paint tracks also marked a pretty clear path through the crowd.
At last, the Chameleonkey skittered up the exact same light pole where Beefer had pulled his Epic Ninja 360-Degree Fail. Hamstersaurus Rex dangled beneath the beast.
“Oh no! Looks like it’s going to head for the trees again!” said Cid, pointing. A few hundred yards away were the same woods where the Chameleonkey had disappeared to last time.
“Paint or no paint, once the Chameleonkey makes it to those woods,” I said, “it will be gone again for good.”
Atop the light pole, the creature crouched to spring.
“Hammie, now!” I cried.
The Chameleonkey leaped and—KATHWANG! The fishing line snapped taut and the Chameleonkey froze in midair for a split second, before it was violently yanked backward by Hamstersaurus Rex, who clung to the pole with all his dino-might. The flailing Chameleonkey swung down in a wide arc and managed to grab on to a string of pennants decorating the tent of a festively painted gourd vendor. Before the creature could get its bearings, Hamstersaurus Rex jumped off the light pole himself. The little guy swung through the air and spun around the Chameleonkey, once . . . twice . . . With each revolution, the fishing line looped tighter and tighter around the yellow monkey-lizard. By Hamstersaurus Rex’s eighth rotation, the Chameleonkey was tightly bound in fishing line, dripping yellow ochre onto the ground.
“We did it!” I cried.
Cid and I high-fived. A spontaneous cheer went up around us. I realized dozens of shoppers had watched the whole thing go down. The scourge of Maple Bluff’s flea market had been captured. With the gourd vendor’s permission, we cut down the pennant string. The Chameleonkey’s strange reptilian eyes darted around in different directions and it nervously flicked a lizardy tongue.
“In you go!” said Cid, and he dropped the Chameleonkey into a newly purchased PETCATRAZ Plus™, the toughest medium animal cage on the market, and locked the cage door behind it.
“Bravo! You two lads and your faithful hamster companion truly are the champions of this alfresco bazaar!” said Madame Karla.
“Thank you, Madame Karla!” said Cid, with a bow.
“We couldn’t have done it without your gaudy—I mean, stylish jewelry,” I said.
“This time I do not harrumph but rather I huzzah!” said Madame Karla. “Huzzah!”
“Huzzah!” cried the crowd.
Hamstersaurus Rex beamed.
“Used bath mats for both of you!” said the lady selling used bath mats. “On the house.”
“We’re good,” I said. “But thanks, though.”
Truth be told, I didn’t need a used bath mat to feel happy. It was awesome to finally rack up a win. And with Cid, I felt like I had an ally I could count on again (unlike some other folks I could name). The time was right to tell him about the Snuzzle. Maybe he could help me.
“Cid, there’s something else that’s been going on,” I said. “Something that’s a little bit more—”
HONK! I heard a car horn behind me. I turned to see that a sleek black luxury sedan was idling in the parking lot a few hundred feet away.
“Oh no!” said Cid, looking at his (cool, expensive) watch. “I’ve got to go! I’m grabbing lunch with my dad and my stepmom today before they go on their next vacation.”
“Ah, okay,” I said. “Tell them to enjoy the Maldives.”
“That’s where they just got back from,” said Cid. “They’re headed to the Seychelles this time.”
I was a little disappointed that I hadn’t gotten to bring Cid into the fold and that we wouldn’t be hanging out today. How exactly was I supposed to go back to my own toys after I’d been in the Wilkins’ game room?
“Don’t worry,” said Cid. “I’ll drop the Chameleonkey off at Maple Bluffs Animal Control on the way to the restaurant and collect the reward! Nice work, Sam Dunk.”
“You too, pal!” I said.
“See you at school!” Cid hopped into the back seat carrying the Chameleonkey’s cage and the car pulled away.
“Sam, where have you been?” cried Martha. She had appeared out of nowhere like some sort of most-likely-to-succeed jungle cat.
“Whoa!” I said, startled. “What? I’ve been here!”
“Well, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” said Martha. “I need to talk to you about something that is gravely important!”
CHAPTER 10
&n
bsp; “ALL THE OTHER members of my Model Interplanetary Council delegation simultaneously quit on me!” said Martha.
“Your what now?” I said.
“Model Interplanetary Council,” said Martha. “It’s a competitive educational simulation where students learn about diplomacy by representing the planetary interests of fictional extraterrestrial species.”
“Martha, in all honesty, that sounds like the nerdiest thing that has ever existed. And I say this as a kid who enjoys making dioramas.”
“It is the nerdiest thing that ever existed!” said Martha. “But that’s not the point. The point is that without Dwight, Lucy, and Jimmy, we can’t field a full four-person team. Which means Horace Hotwater will automatically forfeit. Which means I’ll never become the first female nonconsecutive president.” She squinted her eyes and gritted her teeth. “It’ll probably be Caroline Moody instead.”
I crossed my arms. “You know, I’ve been trying to get you to help me with something all week, but you couldn’t spare a moment. Too busy to even take a look at the broken Snuzzle that—and this is going to sound really insignificant compared to Modern Interpersonal Planet People or whatever—tried to murder Hamstersaurus Rex!”
Hammie snorted in Martha’s general direction and looked down his little nose.
Martha sighed. “If I’m being totally honest, I believed you could handle this one without me. It’s not SmilesCorp or even a giant squirrel this time; just a malfunctioning toy. I thought you had it under control, Sam,” she said. “Even though you often come across as cowardly and disorganized, you’re actually quite brave and resourceful.”
“Uh, thanks?” I said. “But I don’t have this one under control.”
“Then I guess I let you and Hammie Rex down,” said Martha. “On the one hand, I’m a Hamster Monitor, the highest calling a sixth grader can answer.” She reverently touched the Hamster Monitor patch ironed onto her sleeve. “On the other, I’ve got forty hours of e-curricks per week to manage because I’m trying to save a GPA that’s in the toilet thanks to a nonsensical and frankly infuriating clerical error. It’s hard to strike that balance. Sorry.”
Hamstersaurus Rex vs. the Cutepocalypse Page 8
