Double Fudge
Page 15
“Mom . . . Dad . . .” Fudge yelled. “Do something!”
This was beginning to sound familiar. Way too familiar.
Cousin Howie was out of his seat in a flash. He caught Mini and turned him upside down.
“Howie,” Eudora warned, “he just finished dinner.”
But Cousin Howie whacked him on his back anyway. No tooth came out and, lucky for us, neither did anything else.
“Now the tooth fairy won’t come!” Fudge cried. He might have torn Mini apart to get his tooth back, but the Howies were out of the apartment so fast you’d have thought the place was on fire.
The second they were gone, Fudge cried, “I hate Mini! First my bird and now my tooth. He’s a disaster.”
“Now you know how I felt,” I said.
“What do you mean, Pete?”
“When you swallowed Dribble, my turtle.”
Fudge thought about that. “Did you hate me, Pete?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Was I a disaster?”
“Yeah, you were.”
From the other room we could hear Uncle Feather calling, “Disaster . . . disaster . . .”
“But I’m not anymore, right?” Fudge asked.
I didn’t say anything.
“You’re really glad I’m your little brother now. I’m the best little brother you could ever have, right?”
I still didn’t say anything.
“If you say yes, I’ll show you my secret.”
I snorted. I knew he’d show me his secret no matter what I said.
Later, when he went to bed, Fudge tucked a note to the tooth fairy under his pillow. Mom and Dad helped him write it, explaining the situation.
“Psst, Pete . . .” he called as I was passing his room.
“What?”
He motioned for me to come in and sit on his bed. “Look what I found.” He pulled a small box out from under his pillow.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Open it and you’ll see my secret.”
I opened the box. It was full of tiny teeth. “Where’d you get this?”
“I found it in Mom’s room.”
“These must be my teeth,” I said.
“But the tooth fairy won’t know, will she?”
“Yeah, she will,” I told him. “And she’ll never trust you again.”
I grabbed the box and took it to my room. I lay down on my bed, trying to remember how it felt to be Fudge’s age. I touched the tiny teeth. Then I slipped the box under my pillow—because, hey, you never know.
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Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing
1
The Big Winner
I won Dribble at Jimmy Fargo’s birthday party. All the other guys got to take home goldfish in little plastic bags. I won him because I guessed there were three hundred and forty-eight jelly beans in Mrs. Fargo’s jar. Really, there were four hundred and twenty-three, she told us later. Still, my guess was closest. “Peter Warren Hatcher is the big winner!” Mrs. Fargo announced.
At first I felt bad that I didn’t get a goldfish too. Then Jimmy handed me a glass bowl. Inside there was some water and three rocks. A tiny green turtle was sleeping on the biggest rock. All the other guys looked at their goldfish. I knew what they were thinking. They wished they could have tiny green turtles too.
I named my turtle Dribble while I was walking home from Jimmy’s party. I live at 25 West 68th Street. It’s an old apartment building. But it’s got one of the best elevators in New York City. There are mirrors all around. You can see yourself from every angle. There’s a soft, cushioned bench to sit on if you’re too tired to stand. The elevator operator’s name is Henry Bevelheimer. He lets us call him Henry because Bevelheimer’s very hard to say.
Our apartment’s on the twelfth floor. But I don’t have to tell Henry. He already knows. He knows everybody in the building. He’s that smart! He even knows I’m nine and in fourth grade.
I showed him Dribble right away. “I won him at a birthday party,” I said.
Henry smiled. “Your mother’s going to be surprised.”
* * *
Henry was right. My mother was really surprised. Her mouth opened when I said, “Just look at what I won at Jimmy Fargo’s birthday party.” I held up my tiny green turtle. “I’ve already named him . . . Dribble! Isn’t that a great name for a turtle?”
My mother made a face. “I don’t like the way he smells,” she said.
“What do you mean?” I asked. I put my nose right down close to him. I didn’t smell anything but turtle. So Dribble smells like turtle, I thought. Well, he’s supposed to. That’s what he is!
“And I’m not going to take care of him either,” my mother added.
“Of course you’re not,” I told her. “He’s my turtle. And I’m the one who’s going to take care of him.”
“You’re going to change his water and clean out his bowl and feed him and all of that?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “And even more. I’m going to see to it that he’s happy!”
This time my mother made a funny noise. Like a groan.
I went into my bedroom. I put Dribble on top of my dresser. I tried to pet him and tell him he would be happy living with me. But it isn’t easy to pet a turtle. They aren’t soft and furry and they don’t lick you or anything. Still, I had my very own pet at last.
BOOKS BY JUDY BLUME
The Pain and the Great One
Soupy Saturdays with the Pain and the Great One
Cool Zone with the Pain and the Great One
Going, Going, Gone! with the Pain and the Great One
Friend or Fiend? with the Pain and the Great One
The One in the Middle Is the Green Kangaroo
Freckle Juice
THE FUDGE BOOKS
Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing
Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great
Superfudge
Fudge-a-Mania
Double Fudge
Blubber
Iggie’s House
Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself
Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret
It’s Not the End of the World
Then Again, Maybe I Won’t
Deenie
Just as Long as We’re Together
Here’s to You, Rachel Robinson
Tiger Eyes
Forever
Letters to Judy
Places I Never Meant to Be: Original Stories by Censored Writers (edited by Judy Blume)