Cilla Lee-Jenkins--This Book Is a Classic

by Susan Tan

  At first my mom said, “Absolutely not,” which I didn’t understand, because my Grandma and Grandpa love pets, not like Nai Nai and Ye Ye (who would never, ever, ever like Harold, because they don’t like animals in the house). Plus Harold is MUCH nicer than Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins’s new dog, whose name is Daisy and who is strange and sniffly and makes snorting noises wherever she goes.

  But it looked like Harold would have to stay home alone, and I worried that he would be lonely and that maybe while we were gone a red-tailed hawk would break through the window and carry him away, because these things happen.

  Luckily, when my Grandpa Jenkins came to pick us up, he saw Harold the moment he walked into the kitchen and said, “A frog! I love frogs! Where did he come from?”

  So I came running over before my mom could answer and said, very fast, “His name is Harold and he’s the classroom frog and he’s super nice and he gets lonely by himself and can he please come to visit your house?” I gave Grandpa Jenkins my biggest smile.

  “Of course!” Grandpa Jenkins said. “What fun. Why, I remember when I used to play with frogs behind my grandmother’s house. We’d catch them in nets, you see.…”

  My mom raised an eyebrow as she finished buttoning Gwendolyn’s coat. “You’re sure Mom will be okay with this?” she asked.

  “Of course,” my Grandpa Jenkins said, waving his hand like it was nothing. “She’ll be delighted to meet Harold.”

  And my mom threw up her hands, which I know means “yes” and “sigh” all at once. So I jumped up and down and said, “Thank you, Grandpa!”

  And that’s how Harold, Gwendolyn, and I set off on our Adventure. (Though of course, we didn’t know it yet.)

  * * *

  It turned out that Grandma Jenkins wasn’t as thrilled as Grandpa Jenkins had said she’d be. In fact, when she came outside wrapped in her bright green winter coat (which I LOVE) to help me and Gwendolyn (and Batman) out of the car, she said, “Oh. My,” when she saw Harold in the tank. And then Grandpa Jenkins said, “It’s just a frog, m’dear. I used to play with them all the time when I was younger.”

  Grandma Jenkins raised her eyebrows in a way that wasn’t that convinced, and she looked just like my mom. But to be honest, I don’t understand why Grandma Jenkins doesn’t like Harold. Especially because, now, the moment you walk into her house, you meet—

  “Daisy!” Grandpa Jenkins yelled, when we came in the door. “No jumping!”

  But Daisy, who’s a small black dog with a loopy tail and a squished-in face and big eyes like a bug’s, didn’t listen.

  In fact, she never listens.

  Daisy jumped up on my knees, snorting and drooling and wiggling her butt, and almost knocked me over, like she always does whenever I walk in.

  I wouldn’t necessarily mind this, because Colleen’s dog, Spock, does it too. But I think Daisy’s only interested in food, not like Spock, who wants you to scratch his ears or rub his belly. When you pet Daisy, all she does is jump around and try to nip your fingers, like she’s checking if there’s food there. And when you have food, you have to be REALLY careful because she’ll leap up, and once she grabbed toast from my fingers and scratched them with her teeth.

  So I don’t really like Daisy.

  And I think Harold is a MUCH better pet.

  Grandma Jenkins put Harold’s tank on a corner of the kitchen counter.

  “Can I give him a tour of the house?” I asked.

  “Um,” Grandma said, “maybe later.”

  And then she went to go wash her hands.

  I love spending days at Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins’s house. We have lots of Traditions there. Grandma is excellent at math, and if I have any homework, she likes to help me. Sometimes we sit in her office, which is a room upstairs with big windows where she grades papers and keeps giant books on art. We do our work together, and she lets me take down the fancy certificate on the wall that says she’s a “Dr. Jenkins,” because the handwriting is beautiful and loopy and I like to trace it with my finger.

  We have other Traditions there too, like how I go for a walk with Grandpa Jenkins when Gwendolyn is napping or how Grandma Jenkins and I bake cookies for dessert.

  My Grandma Jenkins is also really big on being Proper, which is another kind of Tradition. It means she likes things like Table Manners, and candles on the dinner table, and forks and knives and spoons going in exactly the right place. And sometimes being Proper means poems that I’ve never heard before, like, “Cilla, Cilla, strong and able, get your elbows off the table.”

  So sometimes, being Proper isn’t the most fun thing in the world. (Though I do like the candles at dinner.)

  But it turns out that it was just what Harold needed.

  * * *

  It all started when I was sitting with Grandma Jenkins and Gwendolyn in the kitchen while Grandpa Jenkins was practicing the piano. He’s just started piano lessons because he wants a new hobby. So far, he knows “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” and can (almost) play “Mary Had a Little Lamb” with no (big) mistakes. We usually go into the kitchen when he plays because there are only so many times you can hear these two songs, though Daisy stays out with him and sometimes barks along. Which is funny.

  Grandma was just getting a glass of water when she started looking in the tank with a little frown.

  “That water doesn’t look clean,” she said.

  “Huh.” I went over to look too. “Mr. Flight asked Billy if he cleaned it last weekend, and he said yes. Though I guess it’s always kind of cloudy … Oh!” I said suddenly. “We can ask Grandpa Jenkins when he’s done playing—he says he’s a frog expert!”

  “Why, what an excellent idea, Cilla,” Grandma Jenkins said. “I’ll tell you what. When your grandfather’s done, I’ll ask him to clean the tank. We’ll give Harold some new, nicely filtered water. I think that should cheer him up.”

  “Wow, Grandma,” I said, giving her a hug. “That’s really nice of you! Will Grandpa Jenkins mind?”

  “Not at all.” She patted my back. “It was your grandfather’s idea to bring Harold over. And a good host looks after his guest. It’s the Proper thing to do.”

  And she smiled and I smiled back, because who knew that being Proper could be so GREAT?

  Grandpa Jenkins said, “What?” when he heard our plan, and then, “Um, sure,” when he saw Grandma Jenkins’s expression. And we found an old goldfish bowl in the basement and cleaned it so Harold could stay there while we refilled his tank. Grandpa Jenkins couldn’t quite touch him without jumping, so I had to move Harold back and forth. Then we washed out the tank, and Grandpa said, “Yuck,” because Grandma was right, it WAS dirty, and it smelled not that great, and my hands felt slimy with algae. And then we put in clean, filtered water from a bottle and put all of Harold’s rocks and plants back in, and finally, Harold went back in too.

  I watched to see if he’d have a reaction, and I thought maybe he’d ribbit or do a backflip or wave to say thank you, but he didn’t do anything. He just sat, floating and blinking in the water, like usual.

  “Don’t forget to clip the tank shut,” Grandma Jenkins said.

  And I was going to.

  But Harold still looked kind of sad, so I put the lid on but didn’t quite clip it, because I wanted him to get extra air.

  “Well,” Grandpa Jenkins said from the sink, where he was washing his hands again, “we’ve done our duty, Cilla dear. Now I think I’ll go shower. That smell…”

  He shook his head and walked out of the kitchen, and Grandma, who was sitting at the table bouncing Gwendolyn, winked at me, and I winked back.

  Grandma had shut Daisy out of the kitchen while we cleaned Harold’s tank, and as soon as Grandpa left the door open behind him she ran in, straight into a little bit of spilled algae water. Then she jumped up to see if I had any food (which I didn’t). But she loved the algae smell and started rolling around in the puddle before I realized what she was doing. Which meant Grandma Jenkins had to give her a
bath in the kitchen sink. I helped, and Daisy did NOT like it. She yelped and snorted the whole time, and when she got out she raced around and jumped up on ME, and then I smelled like algae plus dog shampoo, and I said, “No, Daisy! I don’t have any food for you—get down!”

  So Grandma Jenkins made me take a bath (which was a BIG Theme that day, as you can tell), and I put on a pair of pajamas that I keep at her house, because everything else had a wet-dog-frog smell.

  After I was clean, I sat on the floor with Gwendolyn and played with her while Grandma Jenkins started cooking and Grandpa Jenkins watched the news. Grandma Jenkins came to join us when she was done, and we all sat together (another nice Tradition at their house). Grandpa Jenkins did his embroidery, and Grandma Jenkins held Daisy in her lap and brushed her so Gwendolyn could stay on the floor and we didn’t have to worry about Daisy chewing her toys.

  We were all talking, and playing, and brushing, and embroidering, when all of a sudden, we heard a bang in the kitchen.

  “What was that?” I asked, looking up.

  “Did something fall?” Grandpa Jenkins asked, turning around.

  Then we heard a sound.

  A deep sound. A loud sound. Like a song.

  But instead of words, it was saying, “Riiiibbiiiiiiiiit.”

  “Oh my!” Grandma Jenkins said.

  We jumped up and ran to the kitchen, where my Grandma’s pot roast was sitting out cooling. A jar of olives had been knocked over right next to it.

  Next to that was the tank, with the lid knocked to the side.

  And below it all, in the middle of the kitchen floor, was a puffed-out, wide-eyed, VERY happy frog.

  “Grandma, you’re a genius!” I threw out my hands. “He’s so much better!”

  “OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS!” Grandma Jenkins said.

  “Golly!” Grandpa Jenkins said.

  “Riiiiibbit,” Harold said, puffing out his chest.

  “Bababoo!” Gwendolyn said. She waved Batman around in the air and seemed very happy to see Harold.

  And just then, “Ararararararararah!” Daisy came running into the kitchen, barking.

  “Oh no!” I shouted.

  “Daisy!” Grandpa Jenkins grabbed for her. He missed.

  “RIBBIT,” Harold said. He looked Daisy right in the eyes, he made one giant hop toward her, and—

  “SCREECH!” Daisy screamed and leaped backward as Harold landed with a “plop” right in front of her. She ran and hid behind Grandma Jenkins. Who was hiding behind me.

  “Bagaboo!” Gwendolyn clapped from Grandma Jenkins’s arms, because to be fair, it WAS pretty great.

  And Harold was very brave. Which is what Adventures are all about.

  “Come on, Harold,” I said, slowly walking toward him. “Come on.…” I jumped and grabbed him.

  “Get the tank!” my Grandma yelled.

  And Grandpa Jenkins went to get it, and I ran to plop Harold in, but suddenly Harold pushed against my hand and I didn’t realize how strong he was, and he leaped right toward the counter where Grandma Jenkins had left a knife in the center and …

  We gasped as Harold missed it by an inch. I raced toward him, and Grandpa did too, but he leaped again, toward—

  “The disposal!” Grandpa Jenkins yelled.

  “NO, HAROLD!” I yelled.

  “Cover the drain!” Grandpa yelled.

  “And the pot roast!” Grandma yelled.

  We all moved at once. I grabbed a small bowl sitting on the edge of the counter and … caught him JUST in time, as he leaped toward the drain.

  “Oh.” Grandma Jenkins sighed. “My gravy…”

  “Oops,” I said, looking in bowl, where Harold blinked at me through a sticky brown mess. “Sorry, Grandma.” And then, “Sorry, Harold,” as I carefully rinsed him off.

  Because, as I had already learned with Daisy that day, pets DO NOT like baths.

  I put Harold safely back in the tank, and Grandma said, “How did that happen? Was the tank lid shut?”

  Then I said “Oops” again, and my face got red. Grandma Jenkins shook her head but also laughed, and we made sure it was latched this time (though, of course, we left the vents open so he could get air). And the best part is, Harold seemed really happy to be home. He sat in his tank, puffing out his throat and ribbiting. And Daisy clearly liked it because she began to howl.

  “Well,” my Grandma Jenkins said, as she rinsed out the gravy bowl. “What a to-do!”

  “Yes,” I said. “There was A LOT to do, wasn’t there?”

  “Indeed.” She put her hands on her hips, which is always how you know she means business. “Well, have you learned anything from this, Young Lady?”

  And this is where the moral comes in, because she was right, I HAD learned something.

  “Yes,” I said. “The next time I bring Harold home, I’ll only let him in the bathroom or the living room. The kitchen’s waaaay too dangerous.”

  * * *

  On Monday, my mom drove me to school so I could take Harold in safely. She told Mr. Flight about Harold’s adventures, and Mr. Flight said, in this order: “Wow, Harold!” And then, “Good job, Cilla.” And then, “Sorry about that, Ellen. Please thank your parents for me.”

  Then he made up a new instruction sheet, with a cleaning schedule and a reminder in bright purple letters that frogs need filtered water to keep them healthy.

  And as if all this wasn’t enough, there was one more surprise that day.

  Because when Harold the frog, who had never made a sound in class before, began singing, very loudly and happily in the middle of a silent math quiz, Mr. Flight jumped REALLY high, and said, “Oh my goodness gracious!” and sounded just like Grandma Jenkins.

  Which was another GREAT moral to learn.

  4

  DRESSES, DINOSAURS, AND OTHER DECISIONS

  My Grandma says that time flies when you’re having fun.

  This used to confuse me, because wouldn’t time need wings, and I have A LOT of fun and I’ve never seen anything except birds and airplanes fly.

  But I’m learning now that words don’t always mean exactly what they say.

  This is good to know, actually, because I got REALLY worried when my dad said that after Auntie Eva’s wedding, we’d tear up the dance floor. Because I’m sure Auntie Eva paid a lot of money for that floor, and aren’t weddings supposed to be nice, and you’re not supposed to break things, and WHY WOULD YOU DO SUCH A THING?!

  But then my dad reminded me about expressions.

  And explained that this was an expression that meant we’d have fun dancing.

  Which was a BIG relief.

  Anyway, my point is that now I understand what Grandma Jenkins was saying a bit more, about time flying (even if it doesn’t have wings), because she just means that when you’re having fun, time goes by quickly. And this is very true. Because school’s been really, really fun, and I’ve been going over to Colleen’s house a lot, and playing with Gwendolyn, and spending time with my family. And now all this time has passed, and I haven’t done any writing in a few weeks, and it didn’t seem like long at all.

  And I might not even have noticed that lots of time was passing, except for the fact that yesterday, Colleen told me that soccer season was starting soon.

  At first, I didn’t think a lot about it.

  Until today at recess, when it came up again in a big way.

  * * *

  It all started with a dinosaur game that I’d made up earlier this week. I’d come up with some new ideas for it and thought maybe we could be fire-breathing dinosaurs at recess. So I was excited to tell Colleen my plan.

  Except that when I ran out to the playground, I turned around and Colleen wasn’t there.

  She was still standing by the lunchroom door, talking with Melissa Hernandez, Sasha Simpson, and a few other kids from the soccer team.

  I walked over to them, and I was sure that Colleen would say goodbye or invite them to join our game, because we spend every recess togethe
r.

  So I didn’t know what to say, or what to do, when Colleen came over to me with a funny kind of look on her face.

  “Cilla, Melissa was just telling me that some of the kids from soccer want to play kickball today. And, um, I think I’m going to play with them.”

  “Oh,” I said, in a small voice.

  “You could play too,” Colleen said, twisting her hands.

  But we both knew that wouldn’t happen. Because I don’t like kickball. And Colleen knows it, just like she knows everything else about me.

  “No,” I said, quietly. “But … thank you.”

  Suddenly it seemed like neither of us knew what to say, and Colleen ALWAYS knows what to say, plus we’re best friends, so we shouldn’t have moments like this. It’s a rule.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  “Hey!” Alien-Face McGee came skipping over. “Sally told me you’re going to play kickball, Colleen. Want to be their cheerleaders, Cilla? We can pretend to make pyramids, and maybe our pom-poms can shoot fire.”

  “Yeah,” I said, slowly.

  “Yeah!” Colleen said at the same time.

  Soon the funny feeling went away. I was excited to watch Colleen and to cheer for her, and maybe to convince Alien-Face to be fire-breathing dinosaur cheerleaders, which would be extra exciting.

  But I also hoped that kickball wouldn’t be an everyday thing.

  Colleen is a great player, and Melissa is too. And they high-fived whenever they passed each other and seemed to have lots of sports jokes.

  But, to be fair, Alien-Face and I also had a lot of jokes, and sometimes we were giggling or roaring so much that we couldn’t really cheer, but I think it’s the thought that counts.

  And then when we got bored in the second half of the game, Alien-Face showed me some new monkey-bar tricks.

  Tim #2 came to play with us toward the end of recess and started telling us about the fun things he was doing after school that day. I was excited too, because it was my day with Nai Nai, and we were going to Chinatown, and I opened my mouth to tell him and Alien-Face all about it.

  But I realized I maybe didn’t want to.