Then he hugs me, and again, my thoughts drift to the longest sausage, and how much I wish there were 38.99 miles between The Destructor and me.
THAT QUESTION
“Mrs. Mars?” Lonnie calls. “I think Teddy needs you.”
Mom walks back into the kitchen. She’s not on the phone but I hear Dad talking in the other room. “What happened?” she asks as she picks off the stray bits of garbage on my clothes.
“Maybe if The Destructor’s latest hobby wasn’t rummaging through trash you wouldn’t have to ask that question.”
“You all have hobbies. I don’t judge; I support.”
It’s true, she doesn’t judge, and it’s one of the best things about her.
HOBBIES MOM HAS SUPPORTED, BUT PROBABLY SHOULDN’T HAVE
1. Sharon (eighteen): Singing. (Especially in the bathroom.)
2. and 3. Caitlin and Casey (fifteen): Collecting trash on their bikes. (Because being twins isn’t enough of a hobby.)
4. Maggie (fourteen): Running. (She should have been born a hamster.)
5. Grace (thirteen): Causing pain. (Especially to my feet.)
6. Me (ten): Breaking world records. (Since I’ve only actually broken one, I guess I should say my hobby is trying to break world records.)
7. The Destructor (five): Doing anything that ruins my life. (And now digging through the trash.)
As I make this list, I can’t help wondering how my parents put up with any of us.
DINNER AND THE DESTRUCTOR
Lonnie and Viva leave before I get cleaned up, which I totally understand. The smell of trash is pretty overwhelming. They’ll be back tomorrow. As I’ve said before, we’ve got a world record to break.
Later that same night, after The Destructor takes his bath and my sisters get home from chorus, work, track, and whatever it is Grace does with her pictures, we all sit down for dinner.
Mom and Dad have a rule about family dinners. We have them. Now that I think about it, it might be their only rule, which is why my whole family is crowded around the dining room table. Everyone except The Destructor, who is eating under the table, in his cat box, with his tin can outfit on. Technically, only his bottom half is in the cat box, because his tin cans block him from getting all the way in.
There are a lot of reasons why this might be strange, but in our family it’s strange because for a while The Destructor stopped eating in his cat box. We all thought he was done with it for good, but tonight for some strange reason he crawled back in.
When Sharon starts to complain about it, Mom makes the “cut off your head” signal, which means “don’t talk about it, because he’ll grow out of it if we don’t make it feel special.”
MARSHMALLOW NOSE BLOW
Strange but true, there is a world record for catching marshmallows in your mouth that have been shot out of someone else’s nose. Really. It’s called a marshmallow nose blow, and the record was shot from 17 feet 11 inches away. That’s remarkably far, and totally gross.
The only thing grosser is the spinach-and-egg thing that Dad cooked. Not even a marshmallow up the nose is as gross as that.
GOOD NEWS VERSUS BAD NEWS
Mom and Dad keep giving each other funny looks. Their eyeballs are rolling around in their heads so much you’d think they were trying to break some record. It’s obvious they have something to say, but they’re not saying it. It’s hard not to get nervous when your parents do stuff like this. The last time they acted this weird was when they told us they were having another baby, and now we have The Destructor.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore, so I blurt out, “Okay, what’s going on?”
“Who said anything was going on?” Mom asks.
I give her my “who are you kidding” look.
Mom looks at Dad, he nods, and then she takes a deep breath. Not a Darth Vader breath, just a regular deep breath, like she’s getting ready to tell us something important. “You’re right, Teddy. We have some news.”
The Destructor peers out from under the table and says, “No news is good news.” Then shovels spinach and egg into his mouth.
“This is good news,” Dad says.
Grace picks up her camera. “No one minds if I take some pictures while the news is being broken? If it is bad news, your expressions will be way better.”
Caitlin and Casey look surprised. “So you’re hoping for bad news?”
“I didn’t say that,” Grace explains. “I just said bad news makes better news.”
Sharon says, “Sad songs are more popular.”
Maggie nods. “Everyone likes stories where athletes mess up.”
Mom clears her throat to get our attention. She smiles a big smile so we all know she really thinks this is good news.
“I got a job.”
The Destructor shakes his head. “I knew it was bad news.”
DEFINITELY BAD NEWS
For once I’m in total agreement with The Destructor, but I can’t speak because I feel like I’m one of the three watermelons Olga Liashchuk crushed with her thighs in 14.65 seconds. Proving that people will do almost anything to break a record.
Dad says, “It’s not that bad.”
The Destructor pops up and takes more spinach and egg. “Yes, yes, it is.” And he disappears under the table.
Again, I agree with him. But I also wonder how she could have done this and not talked to any of us. Not prepared us.
Mom frowns. “Well, I’m very excited. I haven’t worked since Caitlin and Casey were born. A little enthusiasm would be welcome.”
Sharon practically sings to Mom, “I think it’s great!”
“Us too!” Caitlin and Casey agree.
Maggie gives a thumbs-up.
Grace walks around the table, putting her camera in our faces and saying, “Don’t hold back. Let the camera soak up your emotions.”
This might be the only time that I wish that camera really could soak up emotions, because my eyes are feeling very damp.
COULD THIS GET ANY WORSE?
Dad taps on the table like a drum roll. “And the job is . . .”
Mom laughs. She plays along with Dad and starts drumming, too, then says in an announcer voice, “Animal control officer!”
It’s clear from all our blank stares that none of us know why she’s so excited about this job.
The Destructor sticks his head out from under the table. “You’re going to control animals?” he asks. “Like at a circus?”
“No.” Mom shakes her head. “I’ll keep track of pets, make sure they’re vaccinated, or help find them if they get lost. I’ll also handle any complaints about animals.”
“Who would complain about an animal?” The Destructor wonders, but no one answers him because Mom’s explaining about the animals she means, like bears getting into the trash and skunks and raccoons. I’m only half listening because I’m thinking so hard about what we’re going to do with Mom working. How will we survive? Who will take care of The Destructor? For that matter, who will take care of me?
Dad smiles. “This is going to be a big change for the family, which is why your mom and I think we’ll need help.”
My sisters’ faces get all tight. They feel they don’t need any help. This is usually true, but not always true.
“Just through the summer,” Mom adds.
I swallow. The words finally come out of me. “Is Gran going to come live with us?” Gran is the only person who would make up for losing Mom.
“No,” Mom says. “Sadly she can’t, but we have another relative who can.”
Dad does another drum roll on the table, but this time it makes me worried. “Aunt Ursula is coming to live with us!”
“You mean Great-Aunt Ursula?” I ask. “Dad’s aunt Ursula? The one who came before?”
Mom and Dad nod.
And just like the record for loudest roar in a stadium (142.2 decibels), every one of my sisters and I scream at the same time.
COULD THIS GET ANY WORSE? PART 2
Mom says, “She’s not that bad.”
My sisters and I all start talking at once. We know exactly how bad she is.
“Who’s Aunt Ursula?” The Destructor asks. I’m reminded that he was only a baby the last time she was here. He climbs out from under the table, puts his hand on his belly and says, “I don’t feel so good.” A second later, he opens his mouth and throws up all over me.
It turns out the only thing grosser than spinach and egg is spinach-and-egg throw-up.
Grace holds up her camera and says, “It doesn’t get better than this.”
Obviously, I totally disagree.
COULD THIS GET ANY WORSE? PART 3
Later that same night, after I’m finally cleaned up, I walk into my bedroom, where The Destructor is snuggled up in his bed with Mom.
She’s saying, “It’s going to be wonderful. I’ll go to work and Aunt Ursula will be here to take care of you, and to help Teddy get to school.”
The Destructor says, “And she’s staying until the end of summer?”
Mom nods.
“Until I start school?”
“Start school?” I ask.
Mom nods again. “Jake starts kindergarten in September. You’ll be in the same school.” Mom says it like this is the best thing ever. I pull the covers over my head, because next to Mom getting a job, Aunt Ursula moving in, and being upchucked on, The Destructor going to my school is still the worst.
“What if I don’t go to school? Will you quit your job?”
Mom smiles. “How about we get through one thing at a time?”
Mom kisses The Destructor good night, then comes to me.
“Are you sure he’s okay?” I ask.
“He’s fine.” She leans down and whispers, “You know, I’m going to need your help, too.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” I say.
“I’ll need you to take care of your brother.”
“I thought I said I didn’t like where this was going.”
“I love you,” she says, which isn’t possible since she’s ruining my life. She kisses me and walks out of the room.
As soon as she closes the door, The Destructor hops out of his bed and climbs into mine. “Okay, why is this lady such bad news?”
I shake my head. “Where do I begin?”
GREAT-AUNT URSULA
The Destructor begs me some more to tell him about Aunt Ursula. “I won’t fall asleep until I know something.”
To be honest, I don’t feel like talking about Aunt Ursula at all, so I do some Darth Vader breathing to calm down. When I open my eyes, The Destructor is staring at me with begging eyes, so I say, “Technically she is our great-aunt Ursula, but we just call her aunt.”
“What’s she like?”
“Do you know Mary Poppins?”
He nods and smiles.
“She’s nothing like that.”
His smile falls off his face.
“You know Queen Latifah?” I ask.
“I love her,” he says. “She’s so funny!”
“Aunt Ursula is nothing like her, either.” I stop talking for a second. I haven’t thought about Aunt Ursula for years. The last time she came, I was five and was terrified of her. She wanted everything done in a certain way, and she wasn’t afraid to tell us how it was supposed to be done.
Instead I say, “Her teeth are made from shards of glass and you only see them when she’s nibbling on the bones of children. Or telling you her rules.”
“That’s not true,” The Destructor says, but his eyes are big, and I’m on a roll now so I keep talking. “She has arms that stretch farther than a real person’s so she can grab you if you break one of her rules.”
“I hate rules,” he whispers.
“She has ears like an owl that can hear you wherever you are in the house—especially if you’re breaking one of her rules.” I have to admit, after all the suffering The Destructor has caused, it’s fun to scare him. “She has a nose like a wolf and can smell whatever you are doing. Especially if you are breaking one of her rules.”
The Destructor’s eyes are even bigger, and he asks, “How many rules does she have?”
“Aunt Ursula has more rules than The Guinness Book of World Records has records.”
“What’s one of her rules?” he asks. I can tell he doesn’t really want to know, but he has to ask.
I think for a minute. “If you are asked to do something, do it. Or else she will use mind control to make you do it anyway.”
The Destructor leaps out of bed, screaming, “MOOOOOOOOOOM!”
I smile to myself, feeling like my job is done, and also like I finally understand Darth Vader.
SCARED AS THE DESTRUCTOR
I hear The Destructor whining that he wants to sleep with Mom tonight.
Mom says, “She doesn’t eat children. She’s related to Dad.” But he doesn’t stop begging, so she agrees. Mom is a real pushover for The Destructor.
But as I lie in the dark all I can think about is Aunt Ursula and the stuff I said about her—not the made-up stuff like the teeth, the arms, the ears, or the nose—but the stuff about her rules. I was only five when she was last here, but her rules were endless and they made no sense.
That was five years ago! She must have a thousand more rules now.
“Oh, great,” I whisper to my pillow. “Now I’m scared.” I climb out of bed and walk down the hall.
Mom looks at me and says, “You too?” She moves over to make room. “Dad will have to sleep in the guest room.”
I can’t believe this, but I actually feel bad about The Destructor, so I say, “I’m sorry I scared you.”
The Destructor looks surprised. “I’m not scared; I’m sad.” And he reaches over and hugs Mom.
Dad sleeps in the guest room, but I end up on the floor because it turns out The Destructor is a real squirmer.
By squirmer, I actually mean kicker.
I still wake up on time to feed the pigeons. It’s like I have an alarm clock inside my head that instead of going cuckoo, goes coo, coo, just like pigeons.
GRUMPY PIGEON MAN’S RULES ABOUT PIGEONS
1. Pigeons like quiet. (I try to be quiet.)
2. Keep the door closed. (I try to close it quietly.)
3. Feed the pigeons for ten minutes and ten minutes only. (I’m very good at doing this.)
4. Give the pigeons fresh water twice a day. (Pigeons like to drink and take baths.)
5. Do not name the pigeons after any more Star Wars characters. (I’ve never promised I would do this.)
PIGEONS VERSUS SADNESS
Usually, I love being with the pigeons, but today I shuffle over. I pour their food and water. I count to six hundred seconds, which is what ten minutes equals in seconds and is how long they get to eat, and then I take the food away.
Obi-Wan Kenobi flies down to say hello. He coos at me and walks up and down my leg. I have to say, one of the great things about pigeons is they have no idea if you’re happy or sad and they don’t care. But the even greater thing about pigeons is that when you are sad, just being with them makes you feel better.
THE COUNTDOWN BEGINS
When I walk into the kitchen, The Destructor is all by himself eating cereal in his cat box. Again, half in his cat box and half out. I think about suggesting he take off the tin cans, but he looks so sad that I can’t.
“You okay, Destructor?” I ask.
“Can Boy!” he says, scooping the cereal into his mouth. “And no! I’m not okay. What are we going to do when Mom goes to work?” His voice gets all shaky and milk dribbles down his chin and then he starts to cry.
And I admit, I don’t know what to say. Usually, he cries over things I don’t care about, but this time I feel the same. Luckily, Sharon walks in. I figure she’s going to college soon, so she’ll know what to do. Then I notice she’s not singing. Even I know things are bad if Sharon isn’t singing. She collapses into a chair.
When I hear Caitlin and Casey coming downst
airs I perk up. They’re always cheerful. But one look at them tells me they feel as bad as we do. And that goes for all my sisters. Maggie walks into the kitchen instead of running. She’s not even wearing her sneakers. When Grace shows up, she doesn’t hold up her camera or even try to stomp on my foot.
This is the worst morning ever. And the countdown has only just begun.
(Of course, I don’t actually know when Mom starts work, so it’s not much of a countdown.)
MOM’S RULE
Mom has a rule about breakfast. The rule is: make your own.
But this morning when Mom walks into the kitchen, she looks around, then wraps an apron around her waist, and grabs a pad of paper and a pencil. She pretends to be chewing gum, and says, “What can I get ya?”
Strange but true, Sirius holds the record for the brightest star. It is 24 times brighter than the sun. Suddenly, my whole family shines as bright as that star, even The Destructor, who points to his stomach and says, “I think I’ve got room right here for more food.”
We give Mom our orders and she says stuff like, “You want coffee with that? No extra charge,” which cracks us all up because none of us drink coffee, not even Sharon, and we aren’t going to pay her. She sets glasses on the table. “Juice comes with that. No extra charge.”
Thinking about juice makes me a little sad because it gets me thinking about Aunt Ursula and her prune juice rule, which is to drink it every day. Blech!
But I forget all about that as Mom hustles around the kitchen cooking up scrambled eggs, and poached eggs, and fried eggs, because none of my sisters like eggs the same way.
“For the kid who hates eggs.” Mom plops down a bowl of oatmeal for me.
“And Cheerios for the kid wearing the cans.”
“Can Boy,” he says. “The name is Can Boy.”
“Sure, kid.” She winks. “Whatever you say.”
“Thanks.” I hug Mom as Dad walks in.
“Is there anything for me?” he asks.
Teddy Mars Book #3 Page 2
