by Lisa Doan
Mr. Pennypacker often went on mental wanderings about various opportunities for removing modern life that came with a bill. Charlie was a little surprised that they hadn’t ended up dressed in squirrel skins and drawing cave paintings on the side of the house instead of watching cable television.
“Charles,” Mrs. Pennypacker called from below, “I could use some help down here explaining about the missing Dalmatians. As Olive keeps pointing out, one hundred of them are lost.”
Mr. Pennypacker sighed and turned to go below deck.
Charlie ran back to the railing. The van had pulled far ahead of the running men in dark suits. They began to slow as if they were losing their breath, though they kept pressing on.
Captain Wisner slammed on the brakes, and the van skidded to a stop in front of the boat. He leapt out of the driver’s side door and threw open the passenger doors. “Hurry now, Gunter, my boy. The sea waits for nobody.”
Chapter Three
Gunter Hwang, next-door-neighbor-ex-friend-backyard-vacation-squealer, was hustled out of the van. Cankelton scurried down the gangplank and grabbed Gunter’s backpack.
“Wisner!” one of the men in suits shouted in the distance.
The captain shook his fist at the man and pushed Gunter onto the gangplank.
Cankelton threw the backpack over the railing, and Charlie heard the quiet tinkling of breaking glass. He crossed his fingers that it was Gunter’s phone.
Captain Wisner lumbered over the gangplank, his weight causing it to sag. As soon as he hit the deck, Cankelton followed him, reeled in the gangplank, and raced to the stern. The captain jogged to the bow. They threw off the lines, and the current carried the boat a few feet from the dock.
The men in suits were huffing and puffing their way down the long pier. One of them had even thrown his briefcase away in a bid to go faster. Captain Wisner climbed up to the bridge and frantically worked the controls. The engines roared to life as the men reached the end of the dock.
Both men stared at the growing distance between the boat and the dock as if they were analyzing their chances of being able to leap on. The shorter man shook his head.
“Captain Ignatius Wisner,” the taller one called. “You can’t avoid us forever. Nobody avoids us forever. We’ll catch up to you eventually!”
The boat drifted ever farther from the dock. Captain Wisner leaned out a window and called, “Not today, wise guy!”
The taller man kicked at the dock. Charlie got the feeling this was not the first time they had chased after Captain Wisner. But why? Who were they and what did they want?
Whatever the captain was involved in, under no circumstances could Charlie allow Mr. Pennypacker to find out about it. They would be off the boat in seconds, and Mr. Pennypacker would demand a full refund and then press his wife to file a lawsuit. As he had told Charlie more than once, “Let some company wrong me or make me sick or sell me a lemon-car and I will sue and we will be set for life.” Mr. Pennypacker’s dream was to suffer reversible kidney damage so he could win a large settlement and then afterward get his kidneys back in shape like nothing ever happened.
The men turned and walked dejectedly back down the pier. The one who had thrown down his briefcase picked it up and shook it at the boat. Captain Wisner brandished his fist out the window by way of an answer and swung the boat around toward open sea.
Charlie and Gunter were the only passengers who had seen what happened.
Now Gunter turned and stared at Charlie.
“What are you doing here?” Charlie asked, even though he knew perfectly well what Gunter was doing there.
“You’re one to talk,” Gunter said. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be spray-painting your backyard white and pretending you went to the Swiss Alps.”
Charlie did not respond to that accusation as it hit a little too close to home. His dad had suggested something similar, only they were going to pretend they were in the Poconos. They would grease the bottom of their toboggan with Crisco and push each other down the small slope in the backyard.
“Oh, wait a minute,” Gunter said. “I forgot about the note on the mailbox. You’re supposed to be cruising in a luxury stateroom.” Gunter snorted. “Like I would have ever bought that one.”
Charlie cringed as he thought of his note. Until he remembered that Gunter was on the same boat as Charlie.
“News flash,” Charlie said, “your dad is just as cheap as mine, otherwise you wouldn’t be on this Disney-like ‘Wisney’ cruise, either.”
“It’s not Disney-like or Wisney-like, it’s a Wisner cruise, as in the captain’s last name,” Gunter said. “Me and my dad come every year.”
“You should have checked the side of the boat. It says Wisney Cruise, as in Disney with a W.”
“What’s Disney got to do with it?” Gunter asked.
“Disney has everything to do with it.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Gunter said. “This is a fishing boat.”
“Well, today,” Charlie said, “this is an almost-like-Disney cruise.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Gunter said. “As usual, Pennypacker, you have totally lost the plot.”
Behind him, Charlie heard his mom say, “Slow down, hon, I can’t keep up with you.”
Olive said, “Mickey! There you are. Where is Minnie? I want to talk to her.”
Charlie turned to see a tall, redheaded man dressed in red jeans, a black tuxedo jacket, and white gloves. He wore the kind of mouse ears that kids bought at Disneyland.
“I dunno, kid,” the man said to Olive. “Minnie’s probably at the House of Pancakes spending the last of my money. That’s where she usually is. Why pancakes? They’re filling, I guess.”
“Wait a minute,” Olive said, stamping her foot. “The real Mickey Mouse has big black feet and he has a whole different face! He has a mouse face, not a people face. You’re not Mickey Mouse.”
The man leaned against the railing and said, “I’m Mickey Mouse-r. With an r. Get the difference?”
Charlie turned back to Gunter and folded his arms.
Gunter stared at the redheaded Mickey Mouser and whispered, “Who is that guy? Where’s Brad? What the heck is going on?”
“What is going on,” Charlie said, “is that my dad booked us on this cheap knockoff Disney-like cruise and your family did the same thing. What I’d like to know is how come you’ve been making fun of my vacations when you come on this stupid thing every year? Also, am I really supposed to believe that you’ve been to Germany and South Korea? You probably just come here and buy T-shirts off the internet, Mr. Worldwide.”
Gunter ignored Charlie’s accusation. He was staring at Mickey Mouser with an r. “It’s supposed to be just a bunch of guys. We lounge around and fish and everybody’s dirty and sweaty and Brad cooks whatever we catch.”
“Right,” Charlie said. “Just Brad and a bunch of dirty, sweaty guys on a boat called Aladdin’s Dream?”
“That’s not the name of it,” Gunter said. “It’s the Kingfisher.”
“Not anymore,” Charlie said.
Gunter stared at Charlie. Then he hung over the railing to get a look. “Aladdin’s Dream?”
Charlie briefly wondered if he could heave him overboard without getting in trouble.
Gunter put his feet back on deck and turned to Charlie. “Something has gone really wrong. First those two suits chase after the van, now the boat’s name is changed, the crew is new, and they’re dressed in weird costumes. I have to figure out what’s going on.”
“Do whatever,” Charlie said.
“You’re so transparent,” Gunter said. “Obviously, you’re trying to make me think you’re not trying to figure it out. Well, I have my own ideas already.”
“I’m not trying anything,” Charlie said.
“Right,” Gunter said.
“I guess we’ll see,” Charlie said.
“We will see,” Gunter said.
“I’m sure we will.”
&nbs
p; “I know I will see. It is a fact that I will see.”
Charlie knew that once “we will see” came into a conversation with Gunter, it could go on forever in an endless loop of what Gunter would see. If there were a “have the last word” Olympics, Gunter Hwang would come home with the gold every time.
Charlie turned and walked away. He got to the opposite side of the boat and watched the port get farther and farther from view. Passengers began to come up from below, and Captain Wisner came on the loudspeaker.
“Folks,” he said, “welcome aboard Aladdin’s Dream. We have such an amazing trip planned that people literally chased me down the pier to try to get on our boat. Which, if you happened to notice it, was absolutely nothing to be alarmed about.”
Charlie glanced at Gunter. Gunter saw him looking and then rubbed his chin thoughtfully, like he was already on his way to figuring out what was going on. Charlie rolled his eyes in response.
“Even now, as we speak,” the captain continued, “we barrel straight ahead into open ocean, cruising in high style. In a mere two hours, you will hear the chow bell—I mean, the dinner gong, and you will make your way to the mess hall—I mean, our stately dining room. There, you will dine with some of your favorite Disney-like characters. After a restful night in your richly appointed staterooms, you will wake to find yourself in the beautiful Bahamas, where you will be taken on a snorkeling adventure by our own lovely Cinderalla. Go ahead and congratulate yourselves for selecting Wisney Cruises.”
His dad made his way over to Charlie. “Did you hear that?” Mr. Pennypacker said. “We’ll wake up in the Bahamas. We are rolling like royalty.”
Charlie snorted. “Royalty? What does your cabin look like? I already know that it’s missing a hundred Dalmatians.”
“All right,” his dad admitted. “Royalty is a stretch. But after all, are we really royalty kind of people?”
“Not on your watch, we aren’t,” Charlie said.
“I’ll have you know,” Mr. Pennypacker said, “that thanks to Gunter’s dad, I booked this trip on AbsolutelyWayCheap estCheapestCaribbeanVacationsCheapestImACheapskate.com. A very reputable site known for unbeatable value. You heard it from the captain himself—people were literally chasing him to go on this trip, and so you’re welcome, son.”
Charlie didn’t want his dad to think too hard about people chasing the captain, which might lead to ideas about a lawsuit. To turn his attention, he said, “What are you going to do about Olive? She’s not buying Mickey Mouser with an r.”
Mr. Pennypacker’s brow furrowed. “Well, she hasn’t met Cinderalla yet, so fingers crossed. Ah, there’s Gunter. I’d better go give him the list of rules—his dad will fine me five dollars a day if he comes back sick or injured. I lose the whole thing if he doesn’t come back at all.”
As the boat rumbled out to sea, Charlie breathed in the salt air and felt the warm breeze on his face. They were on their way. They were on a real vacation, heading off into the unknown. There was no AquaDuck, but he could watch the sea for dolphins and whales and be the first to spot exotic ports on the horizon. He might even see plankton phosphorescence or the mysterious green flash at sunset some people claimed they’d seen.
Everything was falling into place. The men in suits were left behind, it was too late for his dad to change his mind and take them off the boat, and Gunter wouldn’t bother him much. Gunter would spend the whole trip trying to solve the mystery of the men in suits because he’d said he would. Once Gunter had thrown down a challenge, he’d doggedly pursue it even if it was totally stupid. And it was usually totally stupid.
It would be like the time two people had cruised down their street, emptying the neighborhood recycle bins into the trunk of their car. Gunter had staked out his front yard for a week. When they came back again, he’d dramatically thrown himself on the hood of their Toyota Corolla and dialed 911, only to find out it was people from the next block who needed the old newspapers for a litter of puppies they were cleaning up after.
* * *
The stately dining room was a narrow rectangle with a single row of picnic tables running the length and bolted to the floor. There were more Disney-like drawings along the walls, including one in which the artist had appeared to run out of interest. As best Charlie could figure, it was the beginnings of a portrait of Goofy. At the moment, it consisted of only two large, square teeth.
The far end of the dining hall led to an open galley, and it appeared that red-haired Mickey Mouser was also the chef. So far, that did not look promising. His mouse ears hung around his neck as he threw four packs of hotdogs into boiling water. He stared into the water for a few seconds, then pulled the hot dogs out again and took them out of their plastic wrappers.
Worse than that, though, were the seating arrangements. All the kids, and the sort-of-like-Disney characters, were forced to sit together. Parents were seated at the opposite end of the tables.
Charlie was next to Olive and across from Gunter, which was as far away as he could get. On his other side were two sullen twins of about eight. They had already announced that their names were Patience and Prudence and they didn’t like anybody except each other and they had their own language called Cucuchara, which they would not teach Charlie, no matter how much he begged. Charlie had pointed out that no one was begging, but they just turned toward each other and screeched.
An older girl named Claire sat next to Gunter. She looked to her other side at the apparition sitting next to her and said, “Hashtag: what the what?” It appeared to be Cankelton, dressed as the surprising offspring of a cockroach and a wasp. He had large wings that prevented him from leaning back in his chair and two long feelers that kept falling in front of his face. Six legs were sewn down the front of his costume. They waved in all directions every time he moved, like they didn’t know which way they wanted to go.
Jimmy Jenkins was hiding on the other side of the twins to avoid having to marry Olive. Olive had not yet noticed her fiancé, as she was listing all the Disney characters who wanted to be her best friend.
She counted off on her fingers, “Elsa, Anna, Ariel, Belle, Princess Jasmine, Cinderella, Merida, and Tiana. And I’m going to tell Merida that we need to trade hair.”
Olive looked around the table for any of these new best friends, but only found Cankelton. She frowned. “Why are you scary?” she asked him.
Cankelton moved the feelers out of his eyes and said, “Not scary, miss. Just pathetic.”
“What are you?” Olive asked.
“A cricket,” Cankelton said softly.
Gunter snorted. “Cankelton, are you really supposed to be Jiminy Cricket? For real?”
“Timiny Cricket,” Cankelton said, shifting his eyes around the cabin.
“But why?” Gunter asked. “What’s going on? What happened to fishing? Where’s Brad and Clarissa? Why has everything changed?”
“Timiny Cricket knows nothing!” Cankelton said in a high, squeaky voice that sounded like he might be turning into an actual cricket.
Olive, apparently bored with the conversation, started twisting her hair around her fingers to try to make it curl like Merida’s. Charlie was relieved that her attention was focused on her hair and she had not yet noticed Cinderalla, who was smoking a cigarette near a porthole.
Charlie had hoped, for all of their sakes, that Cinderalla might have some passing resemblance to the real Cinderella. In the best-case scenario, she’d be a tall blonde in an elaborate ball gown wearing the usual glass slippers. She was blond, but that was where the resemblance ended. Cinderalla, if that was her real name, was darkly tanned, and her complexion had a leathery appearance. Her bleached hair looked crispy, like it had been deep-fried, and Charlie wondered if it would bend or just crumble into dust. Her dress was shiny pale blue and looked like a cheap Halloween costume from the drugstore—the type that hangs limp and looks more like a nightgown. The pack of Marlboros peeking out of one of the pockets did nothing to help what was already a pretty alarm
ing picture. There were no glass slippers in sight; Cinderalla wore black flip-flops and had painted her toenails black to match.
Charlie watched her take one last drag of her cigarette, smash it into an ashtray, and slap a plastic tiara on her head.
“Hey, kids,” she said in a throaty voice, throwing herself onto the bench across from Olive. “Cinderalla here.”
“Wait, what?” Claire said. She dug her phone from her purse and snapped a picture. “Hashtag: Cinderella got old.”
Olive narrowed her eyes at Cinderalla. Mr. Pennypacker watched nervously from the other end of the dining hall.
In a voice cold enough to chill a villain’s heart, Olive said, “WHERE IS THE PRINCE?”
Chapter Four
Olive leaned forward, her eyes boring into Cinderalla’s face.
“Uh … where’s the prince?” Cinderalla said, clearly not expecting this curveball.
“The prince,” Olive said grimly.
Cinderalla looked anxiously around the table, as if somebody else would tell Olive the prince’s exact whereabouts. Everybody remained silent, awed by Olive’s deadly stare.
Cinderalla finally shrugged and said, “Cripes, how should I know? I’ve been waiting for my prince to come along for years, but it’s just been one frog after another.”
Charlie braced himself for the explosion. He guessed that Olive would surpass the meltdown she’d had when she got the wrong American Girl doll for her birthday. She had pinned her hopes on songbird Melody, and the Pennypackers found out the hard way that imaginative Maryellen didn’t measure up. After tears, and then a long lecture on the superiority of Melody, poor Maryellen had been forced to stay in her box and live in darkness under Olive’s bed. In the end, Mr. Pennypacker ended up more traumatized than Olive, as this was yet another purchase made by Mrs. Pennypacker via a bidding war on eBay.
Charlie gave his dad the thumbs-down so he would be prepared for the evening storms that were about to roll in.
