"What a hunk!" Sheila said as we left the store with our cones. "No wonder Libby loves to go to work."
We sat in the little park next to Ickle's and ate
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our ice cream. It felt weird to be eating ice cream at ten o'clock in the morning. When we were done, Jimmy wiped his hands on his jeans and said, "Okay... I'm ready for the library." We walked our bikes up the street but when we got to the library I said, "I'll wait out here." "Don't you want to see Izzy?" Sheila asked. "Don't you want to tell her you swallowed a fly?" "Somebody has to watch the bikes," I said. "Nobody's going to steal our bikes," Sheila said. "This isn't New York City." "Plenty of bikes get stolen here," I said. "Just read the local paper." "Peter's such a worrier!" Sheila told Jimmy. "I don't worry! I think ahead." "Too bad you didn't think ahead before you swallowed that fly," Sheila said. The two of them went inside.
They're probably
going to tell Isobel about the fly! I thought.
She'll
probably come out to see if I'm okay. She'll remind me about that baseball book I put on hold. And if she looks at me the way she did the other day I'll get dizzy again. Then Jimmy and Sheila will know the truth...
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They weren't gone for long. "Izzy's not there," Jimmy said, disappointed. "She only works afternoons."
"Too bad!" I said.
"What's so great about swallowing a fly?" Fudge said that night. We were having an outdoor barbecue to celebrate the first warm night of our vacation. "One time I swallowed a turtle."
"We know," I told him.
"And I had to go to the hospital!"
"We know," I told him.
"Everybody was worried," he said. "And sad, too."
"Nobody was sad but me," I said. "Because it was
my
turtle!"
"I remember that turtle," Jimmy said. "You won him at my birthday party."
"Pul-eeese!" Sheila said. "Could we talk about something else? I'm trying to enjoy
my
supper."
Fudge laughed. "That's how Turtle got his name... right, Pete?"
"Yeah," I said.
"I
named my dog after my first pet to remind me of what you did to him!"
Fudge danced around, holding up a french fry as if it were my turtle. "Oh turtles are so tasty," he sang, "boiled, baked or raw..."
"Cut that out!" I yelled.
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"You can't make me!" He laughed, daring me to try.
"Oh yes I can!" I reached out, grabbed him, then poured my whole cup of juice over his head.
He looked surprised. "Pete..." he cried, as the juice dripped down into his face. "How could you do that to me?"
"It was easier than I thought," I said.
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So when Sheila screamed, "Mrs. Hatcher... come quick... Fudge is all blue!" I figured he'd gotten into Mr. Fargo's paint.
Grandma and Mom came running from one direction. Me and Jimmy from another. Fudge was sprawled out on the ground near his garden. His face was streaked with blue, his shirt was
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stained blue, his hands were blue, he had blue in his hair. Even his tongue, which hung halfway out of his mouth, was blue. "Mr. Fargo's going to go nuts!" I told Mom. "None of us are supposed to get anywhere near his art supplies."
"I don't think it's paint," Mom said, spying an empty fruit basket on the ground. She picked it up and waved it at Fudge. "Did you eat up all the blueberries?"
Fudge moaned.
"You ate our blueberries!" I said. "Jimmy and I were on our knees more than two hours picking them. And Grandma was going to bake us a pie!"
"I didn't eat them all," Fudge said, in a very small voice. "Turtle ate some."
"You fed Turtle blueberries?" I asked.
"He liked them."
"Turtle's a dog!" I said. At the sound of his name, Turtle appeared from behind the bushes. He plopped down next to me. "Let me see your tongue," I said, opening his mouth.
Blue! His tongue and teeth were all blue.
Fudge clutched his stomach and moaned again.
"Boy, are you going to be sick!" Jimmy told him.
"I already am," Fudge cried. "My tummy hurts so bad!"
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"I'm not surprised," Mom said.
"I know exactly what he needs," Grandma said, heading for the house. She came back with that peppermint medicine we get every time we have an upset stomach. "Down the hatch!" she sang, feeding him one teaspoonful.
"How about some for Turtle?" I asked.
"Why not?" Grandma said. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander." I held Turtle's mouth open and Grandma poured in a spoonful.
"Blue gas," Jimmy whispered. "He's going to make blue, steamy, gurgling gas."
"I don't want blue gas!" Fudge cried.
"What are you talking about?" Mom said. "There's no such thing as blue gas."
"There is if you eat enough blueberries," I told her.
"Really, Peter..." Mom said. "Let's not make this any worse than it already is."
Dad missed the blueberry adventure. He'd gone to the town dock right after breakfast to see about renting a sailboat. By the time he got back Mom had carried Fudge to the porch, where he lay on the old wicker couch. Everyone gathered around the blueberry boy. Everyone had a suggestion for him.
"Lie on your tummy, Fudge," Mrs. Tubman said. "That's what I do when mine hurts."
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"A hot-water bottle," Mr. Tubman said. "That'll fix it."
"Make beautiful pictures in your mind," Buzzy Senior suggested.
"Just throw it all up!" Mr. Fargo said.
Sheila was about to say
Eeeuuuw... disgusting,
when Dad ran up the porch steps. "I've rented a nice little nineteen-footer!" he announced. You could tell he was really excited. "We can take a picnic lunch." He stopped when he saw Fudge. "What's wrong with Fudgie?" he asked Mom. "Why is he all blue?"
"It's a long story," Mom said. "I'll tell you about it later."
Dad paused for a minute and shook his head. Then he said, "Well... I've got the boat from noon to four and I can take up to six passengers. I know Peter wants to come... how about the rest of you?"
"I've never been sailing," Jimmy said.
"No problem," Sheila told him. "I'm an expert. I'll explain everything to you."
"Count me in," Grandma said.
"Count me out," Buzzy Senior said.
"Buzzy..." Grandma said. "You don't like sailing?"
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"About as much as a fish likes being out of water."
Mr. Fargo said, "Thanks, but no thanks."
Mrs. Tubman said she really wasn't into water sports, but she'd go if Mr. Tubman would. Mr. Tubman said he had no sailing experience but he'd always wanted to give it a try.
"What about Fudge?" Sheila asked Mom.
"Fudge isn't going anywhere!" Mom said.
"Except to the bathroom," Jimmy whispered to me. And we both cracked up.
All seven of us piled into the back of Mr. Fargo's truck. "Have a good sail!" he called when he dropped us off with our gear.
The boat Dad rented was tied to the dock. It looked kind of small, especially next to the really big boats that were moored in the harbor. As soon as we were on board Dad handed out life jackets. There was one for each of us and Dad's rule was we had to wear it the whole time.
Then he started to explain the
man-overboard
rule.
"Excuse me, Mr. Hatcher..." Sheila said, "but couldn't we call it the
person
-overboard rule? I mean,
man
overboard sounds so sexist."
"Okay," Dad said. "The
person
-overboard rule." He appointed Mrs. Tubman and me official spotters.
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If anyone fell into the water our job was to point. No matter how the boat turned, no matter how it rocked, the spotter had to keep pointing so the person overboard didn't get lost.
"Maybe I should just wait here," Jimmy said.
"Nah... once we get going you're going to like it," I told him.
"I don't know," Jimmy said. "I'm not the world's greatest swimmer."
"Nobody's going swimming," I said. "This water's so cold you'd have hypothermia in a couple of minutes."
"Hypo-who?" Jimmy said.
"Hypothermia," I said. "That's when your body temperature falls really low. Most people who die when they fall in the water die from that, not from drowning." I think Jimmy would have jumped back onto the dock if we hadn't sailed away right then.
"Oooh... my hat," Mrs. Tubman cried, as we got going. "The wind took my hat." We watched as it slowly drifted down into the water.
"Sorry, Jean," Dad said. "You should have pinned it to your hair."
"I didn't know," Mrs. Tubman said.
"Now you do," Dad told her.
"I really liked that hat," Mrs. Tubman mumbled. I don't think Dad heard her. He was at
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the tiller, which is the stick that steers the boat.
Soon we were moving along really fast, for a sailboat. I liked the
whoosh whoosh
sound as the boat cut through the water. Dad relaxed a little. So did the rest of us. We held our faces up to catch a few rays.
"Don't forget to use plenty of suntan lotion," Grandma said.
Sheila slathered it all over herself. By the time she was done she smelled like a coconut factory.
"I never burn," Jimmy told Grandma.
"Me neither," I said.
"Aren't you lucky!" Grandma said.
We sailed along that way for an hour before Dad called, "Anybody ready for lunch?"
"Yes!" we all answered at once.
We dropped the anchor near a small island. I handed out our lunch bags. Jimmy had brought his favorite--sardines and onions on rye. The rest of us had cold chicken, left over from last night's dinner.
"Am I hungry!" Jimmy said, gobbling up one sardine-and-onion sandwich and starting on the next.
"Me too!" Sheila said. "I've never been so hungry in my entire life."
"It's the salt air," Grandma said. "It does wonders for your appetite."
The three of us polished off a bag of chips,
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a box of cookies and all the juice. Then we hit the fruit. "Don't stuff yourselves," Grandma told us. "It's better to eat lightly when you're sailing." "But we're anchored now," Jimmy said, helping himself to a second peach. Grandma raised her eyebrows. After lunch we relaxed for a while. Dad took a snooze. Grandma and Mrs. Tubman had a heavy discussion about the problems of the city. Mr. Tubman read a mystery. And the three of us played Hearts with the deck of cards Sheila had brought in her pack. "I'm always prepared," she told us. After a couple of hands she said, "Speaking of prepared... is there a bathroom on this boat?"
"Look around," I told her. "Do you see a bathroom?" Since we were in an open boat it didn't take much to figure out the answer to that question. "Well, what's a person supposed to do?" she asked.
"A person is supposed to go before" "I did." "Then a person is supposed to wait until we're back." She checked her watch. "That's almost two more hours."
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"If it's an emergency Dad has a bucket," I told her.
"A bucket?" Sheila said. "That's..."
"Disgusting!"
Jimmy and I sang at the same time.
"Just when I think it's possible that the two of you are human beings, you prove that I'm wrong!"
Sheila's outburst woke Dad. He checked his watch. "We better get started. We'll be heading into the wind on the way back so it's going to take longer."
Once we were under way it felt a lot colder than before. We pulled on sweatshirts. Sheila shivered and moved closer to me. I moved away from her and closer to Jimmy. It got more and more windy as the sky filled with big gray clouds. The boat tipped and water splashed over the rail, spraying us.
That's when Jimmy grabbed my arm and said, "I feel funny."
"Dad," I called. "Jimmy feels funny."
"Keep your eye on the horizon," Dad told him.
"What horizon?" Jimmy asked. His eyes were rolling around in their sockets and he was turning green.
Grandma said, "Breathe through your nose,
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Jimmy. inhale, exhale... inhale, exhale..."
There were waves now, with white caps. The boat tipped
way
over and Sheila screamed, "Do something... before we all drown!"
"It's all right," Grandma said. "This is a keel boat. It can't go over."
It can't go over,
I told myself.
It can't go over.
Jimmy was trying to breathe through his nose, like Grandma said. I think he was more scared than sick.
"A puff is coming, Warren!" Grandma called.
"A puff of what?" Sheila cried, grabbing me.
"A puff of wind," Grandma said. "Look at the water... you see how it's rippling in front of us?" Then she shouted to Dad, "Warren... head up in the puff!"
All of a sudden the boat, which was already tipped halfway over, tipped so far the sails touched the water.
The Tubmans screamed and clung to each other. Sheila dug her fingernails into my hand. Jimmy groaned and hung on to me. He breathed his sardines and onions right into my face.
"Let Muriel take the tiller!" Mrs. Tubman yelled.
"You want Muriel to be captain?" Dad said. "Fine!"
"Really Warren..." Grandma said. "You're overreacting!"
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But she switched places with him and took the tiller, shouting out orders. "Ease the sheets, Warren... we're going to sail off the wind... it may take a while longer but we'll all be more comfortable."
The boat straightened up and sailed more smoothly. Jimmy released his grip on me. So did Sheila. Her nails left marks on my hand. The Tubmans breathed more easily. And Dad sulked.
Grandma sailed the boat in like a pro. She explained everything as she did it, to make us feel more secure. "Now... as we pull up, Warren will jump onto the dock," she said. "And while he ties us up I'll drop the sail." She looked over at Dad. "Wait for me to give you the signal, Warren..."
But Dad didn't wait. He jumped too soon... and landed in the water!
"Person overboard!"
Sheila shouted.
Mrs. Tubman and I remembered our responsibilities. We pointed at Dad. We pointed as some guy from the dock reached into the water and pulled him out. We pointed as someone else wrapped him in a blanket. We pointed until Dad looked at us and called, "Okay... th-th-that's enough! You c-c-can stop pointing now." He was shivering so hard his teeth clicked.
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Mr. Fargo picked us up in his truck. As soon as we pulled into our driveway Sheila jumped out and ran for the house. "I have to go
soooo
bad!"
"Did you all have a nice sail?" Mom asked the rest of us. Then she noticed Dad. "Warren... how come you went swimming in your clothes?"
Dad didn't answer. "I'll be in the t-t-tub," he managed to say, heading for the house.
Mom looked at Grandma. "What happened?" she asked.
"Oh, the usual," Grandma said. "But All's well that ends well."
Fudge jumped off the porch steps. "All's well that ends well!" he sang.
"I see he's recovered," I said to Mom.
"More or less."
Then Tootsie toddled over and held her arms out to me. "Up, Pee... up."
I picked her up. She was barefooted and the bottoms of her feet were covered with blue.
"Did you get more blueberries?" I asked Mom. "No... why?"
"Look at Tootsie's feet."
"Oh oh," Mom said.
We ran to the side yard, where Mr. Fargo had left his work. Mom sucked in her breath when she saw the path of little footprints across his painting.
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"What are we going to do?" I asked.
"What
can
we do?" Mom said.
Mr. Fargo and Jimmy came around the house
then. Jimmy was telling him about his sailing adventure. "I was never scared," he said. "I knew it was a keel boat... I knew it couldn't go over." He stopped when he saw us and gave me a weak smile. "Peter wasn't scared either," he added.
But Mr. Fargo wasn't listening anymore. He'd seen the footprints across his painting. His face turned purple. I held Tootsie tight and waited for the explosion.
"Frank..." Mom began but Mr. Fargo held up his hand to stop her from speaking. He got down on all fours and crawled around his canvas. He stood up and walked away from it. Then he came closer. Then he walked away. Then he came closer again. He squinted. He scratched his beard.
We held our breaths.
Finally he muttered, "Baby feet."
I looked at Jimmy. He shrugged, as if to say
Don't ask me.
"Baby feet," Mr. Fargo said again, coming toward me. I backed away. He wasn't getting his hands on my little sister.
"Itsy-bitsy baby feet," Mr. Fargo cooed.
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"Itsy bitsy teensy-weensy baby feet." He tickled the bottoms of Tootsie's feet. She squealed.
Then he laughed. Mr. Fargo actually laughed! "How'd you like to be my partner, Tootsie Pie?" She held her arms out to him. He swung her up in the air. "I think we've got something here," he told her. "I think those little baby feet of yours are going to be a big hit!"
None of us knew what he was talking about but we were all relieved.
That night after supper, Jimmy and I used up a whole jar of Noxzema. We had sunburned faces, necks and ears. Our ears hurt more than anything. "Why didn't you use suntan lotion?" Mom asked.