by Lin Oliver
Settling onto the top branch, the Hoove put his mind to work. He knew that it was going to be difficult to convince the Higher-Ups to unground him for the day, so he was going to have to put his best case forward. He thought about how often they brought up his lack of responsibility and how they were hoping to see him grow more responsible each and every day. He decided he would lead off with that, explaining how a trip to the museum was responsible in every possible way.
“Hey, you guys,” the Hoove called out to the sky. “Got a minute?”
At first nothing happened. Then he heard a high-pitched whistle coming from the ground below. He squinted down to see where the whistle was coming from, but the only thing he saw was a slimy brown worm wiggling its way out of the ground. Soon a second worm wiggled its way into daylight, joining the original worm in whistling a tuneless melody.
The first one spoke, which was not easy because it was so tiny. But its voice reached him loud and clear.
“Hey, big boy,” it said in a shrill voice. “Get down here.”
“You talking to me?” the Hoove asked.
“We don’t see anyone else in that tree,” the second worm said. He was a sarcastic little worm.
“Wait … are you … I mean, you’re not … I mean … you couldn’t be the Higher-Ups, could you?”
“No, we’re worms. But we’ve been sent by them to deliver a message to you.”
The Hoove floated off his branch and cautiously descended, hovering just above the grass. He looked carefully at the two worms, trying to see exactly where their voices were coming from, but they looked just like any other slimy brown night crawlers.
“How do I know you’re really their messengers?” he asked, casting them a suspicious look.
Suddenly, a huge glob of green slime shot out of the top of the first worm’s head, sailed into the air, and formed the words, “LISTEN UP! IT’S US!”
The words dropped from the sky all over Hoove’s head. It made him look like a gooey ghost from Mars.
“Is that proof enough for you?” the second worm asked.
“You’re close to convincing me.”
Suddenly, the second worm exploded, growing to the size of a large dog. It barked at the Hoove through its slimy mouth, and within seconds, returned to its original wormy self.
“Okay, I’m convinced,” the Hoove said. “I’m all ears. What do you have to tell me?”
“Excuse me,” the first worm said. “You called us.”
The Hoove took a deep breath and started talking faster than he ever had before.
“Okay, this is my request,” he began. “I’m having this enormous urge to improve my life and be responsible. I need to go to the museum, which is filled with educational opportunities for me to learn responsibility from the ground up. Especially the diorama section, where I can study the Chumash people. Let me tell you, they practically invented responsibility. They were not only responsible for the land, they were also champion basket weavers, too. If they gave out trophies for basket weaving, those guys would have had a case full.”
The second worm listened, then dove down into the earth. A few seconds later, he shot back up, straight as a stick.
“I have heard from the Higher-Ups. They have the following message and I quote: ‘GOOD TRY. WE KNOW ABOUT PRINCESS ANACAPA.’”
“Oh, that is so unfair,” the Hoove said, putting his ghostly hands indignantly on his hips … actually, through his hips. “You tell them that my desire to be more responsible has nothing to do with her.”
“Here it comes again,” the first worm said, and with that, his head exploded and another glob of green slime shot out. It floated in the air, this time forming the words, “HORSE PUCKY!”
The Hoove flew out of the way of the dripping slime before it had a chance to reach his face.
“You guys are insulting me,” he complained loudly, looking up into the heavens. “All I’m asking for is a measly little day pass to go beyond my boundary to the museum. It’s not like I’m asking to go to Ohio or Madagascar or anything. I mean, what does a guy have to do to get you to say yes?”
Now both worms started to whistle their shrill tuneless melody. As their voices grew higher and louder, they formed the words, “PROVE YOURSELF! PROVE YOURSELF! PROVE YOURSELF!”
They continued chanting those two words until the Hoove finally covered his ears and shouted, “All right. All right. I got the point. You can wiggle back into your wormhole now.”
In an instant, the sound disappeared and the worms did, too, sinking into the ground as if they had never even been there.
The Hoove just stood there under his tree, shaking his head. The Higher-Ups could be so frustrating. They always told him what he had to do, but never explained how. Prove himself … what exactly did that involve? He didn’t know how to prove himself. All he knew was that if he was ever to see Princess Anacapa again, he had to find a way.
As Billy walked home from school that afternoon, the Hoove rushed up to him at the corner of his block, as out of breath as a ghost could be.
“What took you so long?” the Hoove panted. “I’ve been pacing back and forth here for an hour.”
“I had to stay after school and redo the bottom of my basket. Turns out my reeds weren’t flexible enough because they were too dry. So I had to soak them, and that took —”
“Will you stop with the basket-speak already?” the Hoove interrupted impatiently. “I have a big problemo in the Higher-Ups department and I need your help on it.”
“Oh no,” Billy said as they headed down Fairview to their house. “Did you insult them? I’ve told you a million times that you always have to treat them with respect.”
“Would you please give your mouth a rest and start using your ears?”
“Fine. I’m listening. Oh wait, I can’t find my key.”
Billy fished around in his pocket for his house key until he remembered that his stepfather, Bennett, had tied it onto the inside zipper of his backpack with minted dental floss. “Dental floss is a multifunctional tool,” he had said that morning. “It can stimulate your gums, clean between your teeth, and make sure you never lose your key.”
“Stop fidgeting with your backpack,” the Hoove said in an irritated voice. “I’m trying to tell you something of the utmost importance.”
“To you, maybe. To me, it’s more important to open the front door and see if my mom left out any peanut butter cookies for me.”
The Hoove whooshed past Billy, flew through the door … without opening it … swooped into the kitchen, and returned with the plate of cookies — all in a split second. He opened the door for Billy and shoved the cookies into his hand.
“Here,” he said. “Munch to your heart’s content, as long as you can do two things at once, the second being LISTENING.”
Billy flopped down on the living room couch and shoved two cookies into his mouth at once. There was nothing he loved better than his mom’s buttery, nutty cookies. He would have preferred that they be accompanied by a glass of milk, but the Hoove had him cornered in the living room and was demanding his attention.
“Pro-theed,” he said, shooting out a few crumbs that landed on his knee. He promptly scooped those up and popped them back in his mouth.
“So there’s this girl,” the Hoove began.
“Oh, you mean the disappearing one, who flies away when you even try and look at her.”
“Maybe she flew away from you, Billy Boy, but she did not fly from me. Well, maybe at first, but not after she got to know me. In fact, she has invited me to her abode. The museum, to be exact.”
“She lives in the museum? How does she eat?”
“She’s a ghost, Billy Boy. We don’t eat. We just make the quality of your life better. Now can we get back on track here?”
“It’s your conversation, Hoove. I’m just sitting here enjoying my cookies, listening up a storm.”
“So as I was saying, she lives in the museum, in the Chumash diorama next to th
e hairy buffalo.”
“So what was she doing at my school?”
“That’s your first good question, Billy Boy. Those peanut butter nuggets must be firing up your brain. As it turns out, it is her responsibility to see that the traditions of the Chumash people are respected and carried on. And she protects the land and the sea around these parts. She’s like a one-woman Environmental Protection Agency. And by the way, did I mention she has beautiful black hair?”
“Aha,” Billy said. “Now we get to the real reason you’re so interested in her.”
“What are you saying? I’m not a tree hugger? I’ve hugged more pine than you can shake an oak branch at.”
“Good for you. So what’s your point?”
“The point is that I told Anacapa … that’s her name … that I’d meet her at the museum tomorrow at four o’clock. She’s going to give me the super deluxe tour of the diorama, teach me about the Chumash ways. And listen to this, Mr. Broccoli — she has also agreed to be your personal dance instructor. Come Friday night at your performance, she is going to guide your feet to perfection.”
“Cool. My feet could use some perfection. This all sounds great. So what’s the problem?”
“Use your head, buddy. The museum is off-limits for me. I requested a special pass from the Higher-Ups. And can you believe it, they did not say yes. They have the nerve to ask me to prove myself yet again.”
“You better get going on that,” Billy said. “Ticktock. You don’t have much time.”
“I’m going to start right away. I only have one more question. What do you think I should do to prove myself?”
“Well, what’s the most responsible thing you can think of that would really get their attention?”
The Hoove looked blankly around the living room, searching for ideas. Responsibility did not come easily to him.
“Well,” he stammered. “I could volunteer to vacuum the rug. Nah, I don’t do well with dust.”
He looked out the front window.
“I could mow the lawn. Nah, grass gives me a rash.”
Billy could see that the Hoove was running out of ideas before he even started. They looked around the room desperately. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw their gray cat, Stormy, who had just recently had a litter of kittens, slink into the living room. She came slinking up to the Hoove’s leg and rubbed against it. Even though Stormy couldn’t feel his leg, the cat sensed Hoove’s presence. They were good friends.
“Hey, wait a minute. An idea has just occupied my brain,” the Hoove said. “I’m going to give Stormy a bath. I bet that would score me some major points. Taking care of our animal brothers and sisters has got to rank high on the responsibility scale.”
Before Billy could point out that cats aren’t really big on taking baths, the Hoove had reached down and scooped Stormy up in one arm and stroked her head with his free hand. Stormy purred happily.
“Let’s go get you all spiffed up,” he said, heading for the bathroom. “Maybe you’d even enjoy a bubble bath, each delicate bubble caressing your fur.”
Billy followed the Hoove into the bathroom, watching as he turned on the water in the bathtub. The room filled with steam and created a mist on the mirror. Soon the mist thickened into a fog so thick it completely covered the mirror. Then a single finger appeared in front of the mirror, writing words on its steamy surface.
“Cats give themselves baths,” the finger wrote. “That’s why they have bumpy tongues.”
Billy stared at the words in amazement. As many times as he had seen a message come from the Higher-Ups, it always filled him with awe to see a new one arrive. The Hoove was less impressed.
“You folks up there are stepping all over my creativity,” he yelled into the misty air. “How many ideas can a guy have?”
The mirror fogged up again, and the lone finger wrote out one single word.
“MORE” was all it said.
The Hoove floated back and forth across the bathroom, sighing dramatically. The Higher-Ups were really making him work to get the pass to go see Anacapa. He knew he was going to have to come up with a better idea than bathing cats.
“Okay,” he said to Billy. “You’re the smarty-pants here. What’s big and impressive? Quick. Name three things.”
“Mount Everest, the Statue of Liberty, and a black stretch limousine with purple neon lights inside,” Billy suggested.
“Not helpful,” the Hoove answered. “I can’t climb Mount Everest, because my mountain-climbing shoes are in permanent storage. And I can’t even leave this neighborhood, so that pretty much makes the Statue of Liberty a big no-go. Which leaves the limousine. You don’t happen to have a black stretch limousine parked in your driveway, do you?”
“Nope, but Bennett walked to work today, so his ice-blue minivan with the ‘Stamp Out Cavities’ bumper stickers is there.”
The Hoove stopped pacing and looked up. “Okay, maybe I can work with that,” he said.
“Actually, those bumper stickers are pretty cool. They’re shaped like toothbrushes and they glow in the dark.”
“Not the bumper stickers, Billy Boy. I’m talking about the car. You know how Bennett likes to keep it all shiny and neat. How about if yours truly turns that vehicle into a monument of clean?”
He looked skyward and grinned.
“A one-man car wash,” he shouted. “If that doesn’t get me to the museum, then I don’t know what will!”
The Hoove was so excited by his own idea that before Billy could even answer, he was through the bathroom door, sailing across the house, and out into the driveway. He circled Bennett’s car three times, checking out its condition, and had the whole situation assessed by the time Billy got there.
“We got ourselves a layer a dust that looks like this car just got back from the desert,” he said. “The rims could use a good scrubbing, which I am highly capable of doing. And surprise of surprises, the floor on the passenger side is knee-deep in candy wrappers. It seems our dear Dr. Dentist doesn’t always practice what he preaches. The guy sneaks Baby Ruths like they’re going out of style.”
Billy laughed. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine Bennett Fielding stuffing his face with decay-causing sugary treats. No wonder the man carried a lifetime supply of dental floss on his belt.
The Hoove rolled up his sleeves and started barking out commands.
“Billy, I’m going to need you to run in the house and bring me the following: one bucket of soapy warm water, a large sponge, a DustBuster, and a gigantic plastic bag. We’ve already got the hose in the front yard.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Billy said, throwing out a mock salute.
Billy took off into the house and returned shortly, carrying all the necessary items.
“I found everything but a sponge,” he said. “There was one in the sink, but it still had little bits of last night’s dinner in it. I don’t think leaving Bennett’s car smelling like meatballs in tomato sauce is going to help your cause.”
“Hey, don’t worry yourself, Broccoli. I will happily become the sponge. Watch and be amazed.”
The Hoove bent himself in half and started to spin in the air. He spun so fast that he shape-shifted, his arms and legs folding in tight against his body. After a minute, all you could see of him was a basketball-size circle. Spinning faster and faster, he shrunk into the size of a softball and immediately did a cannonball into the soapy bucket of water.
“Owwww!” his voice echoed from inside the bucket.
“What happened? Did you hit the bottom of the pail?” Billy called out.
“No, the soap got in my eyes,” a bubbly voice answered. “I forgot about that sting. I haven’t had to wash my face in the last ninety-nine years.”
The sponge-shaped Hoove catapulted out of the bucket and plopped itself onto the hood of Bennett’s car, rolling vigorously from side to side.
“Hey, this isn’t so bad,” the Hoove shouted. “It’s like surfing in the ocean, except without a wave.”
&
nbsp; “Don’t celebrate yet,” Billy said. “You missed a spot on the windshield. I think it’s a bird dropping.”
The sponge stopped dead in its tracks and the Hoove’s head popped out of the ball shape.
“I don’t do poop,” he said.
“Fine. I guess you don’t really want to see Anacapa, then. Do you really think the Higher-Ups are going to overlook an obvious mound of doo-doo?”
“You’re the mound of poop,” a voice said from behind Billy. “And by the way, who are you talking to?”
It was Rod Brownstone, who had emerged from his house carrying his recently recovered walkie-talkie.
“I’ve been watching you,” he said to Billy, “and it looks to me like you’re talking to this piece of junk car. Normal people don’t have conversations with vehicles. I’m going to have to report this to the officials.”
“I can talk to anything I want, Brownstone,” Billy said. “As long as it’s not you. And if I ever do talk to you, then I should get a ticket for disturbing the peace.”
From inside the sponge, the Hoove let out a huge guffaw.
“Good one, Billy Boy. You show that piece of baloney who’s boss.”
The Hoove was laughing so hard that he skidded across the hood of the car, emitting soapsuds as he sailed along the metal. Watching the sponge seemingly move on its own, Brownstone’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. Billy grabbed the Hoove-sponge and started to rub it over the windshield, flashing Rod a sheepish smile as if everything were normal.
“Hey, you’re tickling me,” the Hoove laughed. “Cut it out.”
But Billy couldn’t cut it out. He had to make it look like he was controlling the sponge, not the other way around. The Hoove, never one to like being pushed around, resisted and hurled himself in the opposite direction. He tugged so hard that he pulled Billy to the back of the car. Billy just continued to grin at Rod and pretended to be very involved in scrubbing the rear door. With another fierce tug, the Hoove pulled Billy around to the other side panel. Billy had no choice but to follow, being careful that he didn’t trip over his own feet.
