Harrison dropped down on the arm of the couch. He bumped the dummy, and Slappy fell to the side.
“At the theater, I met some kids from school,” Harrison began. “They were working on the stage crew. Helping out backstage at the ventriloquist show. I couldn’t find your sisters. So I hung out with them for a while.”
“So?” I asked. “Then what?” It always takes Harrison years to tell a two-minute story!
Harrison picked up the dummy’s shiny black shoe. Then he let it fall back to the couch. “I went looking for you,” he continued. “But I couldn’t find you. I guess you’d already left.”
“I had to take the girls for ice cream.” I sighed.
“So I talked to my friends some more. Then I went out of the theater. Through the back door.”
He shifted his weight on the couch arm. “I headed to the front. There was a whole bunch of trash cans on the side of the theater. The lid was off the first can. And there was Slappy, stuffed in the trash.”
“But, Harrison, that’s impossible!” I cried. “Why would Jimmy O’James throw away his dummy?”
Harrison shrugged. “He probably has a lot of dummies. This one looks pretty old. Maybe he’s broken or something.”
“Yeah. Maybe … ,” I said.
I reached down to examine him.
And he clamped his jaws down hard on my hand.
“Let go!” I shrieked. “Let go! Harrison — help me! He won’t let go!”
I tugged my hand back as hard as I could. But the wooden jaws bit into my skin.
“Ow! Help me!” I cried.
I raised my free hand and struggled to pull down the dummy’s chin. My trapped hand throbbed with pain.
“I don’t believe this!” I moaned.
“Stop pulling!” Harrison ordered. “Jillian, stop for a moment.”
He reached across me and grabbed the dummy’s face with both hands. Then he pulled the mouth open, wide enough for me to slip my hand out.
“I told you he was broken,” Harrison said.
I shook my hand, trying to shake away the pain. I had deep purple teeth marks where the dummy had bitten me.
“Wow. That was fierce!” I declared, examining my hand. “I think I was more surprised than anything. I didn’t even touch his mouth.” I shook my hand some more.
“He’s definitely broken,” Harrison repeated, staring down at the dummy. He gazed back up at him blankly. His painted mouth hung wide open now.
“Get him out of here!” I cried. The skin on the back of my hand was red and raw. It still throbbed with pain. “Owww. That hurt! You have to take him back to the ventriloquist.”
“No way!” Harrison protested. He grabbed up the dummy in both hands. “Jimmy O’James threw him in the trash. He doesn’t want him anymore. I’m keeping him.”
“We should ask Jimmy O’James if it’s okay,” I insisted. “Maybe he threw him away by mistake.”
“We don’t know where Jimmy lives,” Harrison replied.
I reached into the dummy’s jacket pocket. “Maybe he left an address or something.”
A slip of yellowed paper fluttered out of the pocket and sailed to the couch. I picked it up and examined it.
“Is it the ventriloquist’s address?” Harrison asked.
“No,” I told him. “It’s weird. It’s some kind of foreign words.”
Harrison squinted at me. “Can you read them?”
I started to read the strange words on the tiny slip of paper: “ ‘Karru marri odonna — ”’
“Jillian — time for dinner!” Mom’s voice rang out from the dining room.
I didn’t finish reading the strange words. “Sorry. Got to eat,” I told Harrison. I stuffed the slip of paper back into Slappy’s jacket pocket.
“Come on, Jillian — before it gets cold!” Mom called.
“Coming!” I shouted.
Harrison was straightening Slappy’s bow tie. I noticed he was being very careful to keep his hands away from the dummy’s mouth.
“Hey — I have an idea,” he said. “Your dad loves repair projects — right? If I leave Slappy here, do you think he might fix him?”
I stared hard at the grinning dummy. “Maybe,” I replied. “I could ask him.”
“Cool! Thanks, Jillian!” Harrison set Slappy down on the couch. Then he hurried home.
I stepped into the dining room — and let out an angry cry. “Not again!”
The twins had propped up Mary-Ellen in the chair beside me. They both giggled. They knew I hated having to sit next to that big, ugly doll at dinner.
“Do we have to have that thing at the table?” I asked Mom and Dad.
Dad shrugged. He was busy trying to pull a wood splinter from his thumb. He refuses to wear work gloves down in his workshop. So he’s constantly getting splinters.
“The doll won’t get in your way,” Mom said to me. “She isn’t doing any harm.”
“Mary-Ellen doesn’t want to sit next to you!” Katie declared with a sneer. “Because you stink!”
“Katie — stop it!” Mom scolded. “Didn’t your sister take you to a show today? You should be nice to her.”
“The show stunk too,” Amanda muttered.
“Eat your macaroni and cheese before it gets cold,” Mom said. I saw that Mary-Ellen had her own plate of macaroni. Mom and Dad are as bad as the twins. Why do they always have to give in to anything Katie and Amanda want?
We all started to eat. I asked Dad if he could fix Harrison’s dummy. Dad said he’d take a look at him after he finished the coffee table he was building.
Mom asked the twins about the ventriloquist show. But they ignored her. They were busy having a conversation with Mary-Ellen.
When I asked them to pass the salt, they ignored me too. They kept on talking to that doll.
I sighed and turned to Mom. “Can’t you stop them from talking to that doll all the time? It’s driving me nuts!”
“You talk to your lizard!” Katie accused. “You talk to that gross lizard all the time.”
“And Mary-Ellen is nicer than a lizard!” Amanda declared.
“I just wanted you to pass the salt!” I screamed.
Katie pressed her hands over her ears. “Stop yelling,” she whined. “Mary-Ellen doesn’t like yelling.”
“That hurt Mary-Ellen’s ears,” Amanda added.
“Apologize to Mary-Ellen, Jillian.”
“Yeah. Apologize to Mary-Ellen,” Katie insisted.
“AAAAAAGGGH!”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I let out a scream. Then I grabbed Mary-Ellen’s big head — and shoved it down into her plate of macaroni.
* * *
After dinner, I carried Slappy up to my room and sat down at my desk to do some homework. But I couldn’t concentrate. I felt the dummy’s dark, cold eyes on me. And I kept glancing up at his crooked grin.
Finally, I turned the dummy to face the wall. That helped a little. I did some work. Then I called some friends and chatted for a while. Then I went to bed.
But I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the twins at dinner and how furious they’d made me. They drove me bananas with that doll. Then Mom and Dad yelled at me for losing my temper.
Was that fair? I don’t think so.
It’s payback time, I decided. Time for a little revenge.
How many nights did I put myself to sleep trying to dream up a good revenge plan?
I sat up. Tonight, I have to do something, I told myself. I suddenly had an idea. It made me chuckle to myself.
Katie and Amanda always keep their sneakers by the front door. They slip them on as they head out to school in the morning.
I’m going to sneak downstairs and tie their laces into huge knots, I decided. I snickered again. I’m a really good knot-tier. I planned to tie so many knots, they’d never get them loose. They’d have to cut the laces off with a pair of scissors!
I know, I know. It wasn’t the cleverest plan in history. And it wasn’t much revenge for all
the things they’d done to me.
But it was a start.
I stood up and straightened my nightshirt. Then I crept downstairs in the dark to play my little trick.
I stopped halfway down the stairs. I heard a soft thud. A scraping sound. The squeak of floorboards.
Who is downstairs? I wondered. Are Mom and Dad still up?
I pushed my hair off my forehead. Gripping the banister, I made my way down the rest of the way.
Again, I heard the soft thuds of footsteps and the squeak of the living room floor.
“Who’s there?” I whispered. “Who is down here?”
I squinted into the dark living room.
And saw two eyes staring back at me. Staring hard without moving, without blinking.
“Who’s there?” I repeated, the words catching in my throat.
No reply.
My hand fumbled against the wall until I found the light switch. I clicked on the ceiling light.
And saw Slappy sitting in an armchair, his legs crossed. His hands were folded together in his lap.
“Huh?” My mouth dropped open as I stared across the room at him.
And then he growled, “Go back to sleep!”
“Noooo!” I let out a low moan and pressed my hands to my mouth.
The dummy talked!
My heart thudded. The room faded in and out of focus.
The dummy stared coldly at me from his chair.
And then I heard giggling. And a rustling behind the armchair.
“I’m going to kill you both!” I cried, my voice still shaky.
Katie and Amanda popped out from behind the chair. They were laughing and congratulating each other and slapping each other high fives.
“Haha. So you fooled me. Big deal,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“We scared you to death!” Katie declared.
“You really thought the dummy talked!” Amanda chimed in.
“Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t,” I scowled. “It wasn’t very nice. What’s the big idea?”
“Mary-Ellen told us to scare you,” Katie replied.
“You pushed Mary-Ellen’s face in macaroni, and now she hates you,” Amanda declared.
“Well, I hate her too!” I cried. “Hate her! Hate her! Hate her!”
I guess I totally lost it. The girls’ smiles faded. They suddenly looked frightened. They enjoy playing tricks on me. But they get scared when I go completely ballistic.
“Jillian — can we tell you something?” Katie asked in a tiny voice.
“It’s important,” Amanda added, her expression solemn now.
“No!” I cried. “No way! No more tricks!”
I grabbed Slappy by the waist and pulled him off the armchair.
The dummy’s big wooden head fell back. His eyes gazed up at me. The eyes suddenly looked so real. As if they really did see me.
So real and so cold.
The crooked red lips grinned up at me.
I felt a chill run down my back. Was he smiling like that before?
Why did the expression suddenly seem so evil?
“Please? Can we tell you something?” Katie pleaded in a tiny voice.
“It won’t take long,” Amanda said.
“No. I’ve had enough of your tricks for one day,” I snapped. “Go to bed — now.”
I spun away and stormed back upstairs, dragging the dummy with me.
“Please — ?” Amanda called.
“Please — ?” Katie echoed.
Too bad I didn’t listen to them.
At school on Monday, Harrison came running up to me in the lunchroom. “Did your dad fix Slappy?” he demanded.
“You have peanut butter on your chin,” I told him.
He wiped it away with his hand. Then he licked his fingers.
“Gross,” I complained. “Why are you doing that?”
He shrugged. “I like peanut butter.” He followed me to a table. I set down my tray. Harrison plopped down across from me. “Did your dad fix the dummy?”
“Not yet,” I told him. “He wants to finish his table first. Then he’ll get to the dummy.” I sighed. “Slappy is already causing me trouble.”
Harrison scratched his dark hair. He broke off a piece of my chocolate chip cookie and stuffed it in his mouth. “What kind of trouble?”
“The twins are already using him to play tricks on me,” I told him.
I had two slices of pizza on my tray. Harrison picked up a slice and started to chew.
“Help yourself,” I said sarcastically.
“Your sisters are evil,” he said, biting off a chunk of crust.
I rolled my eyes. “Tell me about it.”
“I’ve been thinking about your revenge,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “You know. We should do something to that big, ugly doll they carry around. What’s her name? Mary Margaret?”
“Mary-Ellen,” I said. I grabbed the other slice before he could take that one too.
“We could remove the doll’s head,” Harrison continued. He made twisting motions with both hands. “And fill it full of worms. Then sew it back on.”
“Not gross enough,” I replied. “I’d like to smear that doll with cheese and feed it to a bunch of rats.”
“That’s too kind!” Harrison laughed. “What if we fill the doll with water? Or cut off all her ratty hair and tell the twins she just went bald?”
“Not mean enough,” I said.
Harrison finished the pizza slice. “Is this all you got for lunch?” he demanded. “I’m still hungry.”
I was still thinking about cruel things to do to Mary-Ellen. But I decided to change the subject. “Harrison, do you remember where we are going after school?”
His mouth dropped open. “You and me?”
I nodded. “We’re going to the magic shop — remember? We’re going to buy some magic tricks to use in our clown act Saturday night.”
He made a disgusted face. “Yeah. Right,” he muttered, resting his chin in his hand. “Our clown act.”
“You promised!” I cried. “It’s my first birthday party — and you promised you’d help out.”
“I really don’t want to be a clown,” he complained. “I don’t think I’m funny.”
“You’re funny,” I told him. “Funny-looking.”
He didn’t smile. “Is that one of the jokes you’re going to use at the party?” he asked glumly.
“We have to practice,” I said. “So we’ll be funny. We’ll buy a bunch of funny tricks at the store. The kids will like that.”
Harrison sighed. “Remind me why I’m doing this?”
“Because you’re my friend,” I replied.
“No. What’s the real reason?” he demanded.
“Because Mrs. Henly is paying me thirty dollars — and I’m giving you half of it.”
“Oh. Right,” Harrison said, snapping his fingers. “Now I remember.”
* * *
After school, we rode our bikes to the magic store. It’s a tiny store that also sells comic books and greeting cards and T-shirts.
Harrison and I leaned our bikes against the wall at the side of the building. Above us a red-and-yellow sign proclaimed: THE MAGIC PLACE.
Heavy gray clouds rolled over the sun. A dark shadow swept over us as we started around to the front.
“Wait up!” Harrison stopped and squatted down to tie one of his shoelaces.
I turned the corner — and gasped.
The ventriloquist! Jimmy O’James!
I recognized him instantly in his black turtleneck shirt and black jeans. He carried a MAGIC PLACE shopping bag. He was two or three stores away, heading to the parking lot.
“Hey — !” I called. “Hi!” I waved at him frantically.
He turned and narrowed his eyes at me.
“We have your dummy!” I shouted. “We have Slappy!”
The ventriloquist’s expression changed. I saw his mouth drop open and his eyes go wide. “Get rid of him! Please!” he cried. “Get
rid of him — before it’s too late!”
“Huh? What do you mean?” I cried.
“Jillian — ?” Harrison came trotting around the side of the building. I turned back to him. “It’s the ventriloquist!” I told him. “He’s here! He — ”
Harrison gazed past me. “Where?”
I spun back. The ventriloquist had vanished.
“He’s gone,” I murmured, shaking my head. “I told him we had Slappy. And he said to get rid of him. Get rid of him before it’s too late.”
Harrison twisted up his face. “What’s that supposed to mean? What’s his problem?”
I shrugged. “How should I know?”
“He’s weird,” Harrison said. “He didn’t tell you to give him back — did he?”
“Well … no,” I replied.
“Good. We’re keeping him.” Harrison pulled open the door to the store. We both tried to go in at the same time — and jammed together in the doorway.
“Always a comedy act,” I muttered.
Harrison grinned. “Maybe we should do that in our clown costumes Saturday night. You know. Get stuck in a doorway?”
“Keep thinking,” I told him.
The store was empty except for a couple of kids pawing through a stack of old comic books. The magic tricks were in the back.
Harrison and I made our way to the shelves of tricks and gazed at the boxes. THE DISAPPEARING DOLLAR. THE ENDLESS HANDKERCHIEF. THE LIVING TOP HAT.
“These are real magician tricks,” Harrison said, picking up a box. “These aren’t kids’ toys.”
“I know,” I replied. “We want to be pros — don’t we? We want to impress the kids.”
“But maybe these are too hard.” Harrison snapped his fingers. “Know what would be better? Balloon animals. We could do a balloon animal for each kid.”
I frowned at him. “Do we know how to make balloon animals?”
“Well … not exactly.”
“I think magic is probably easier,” I said. “Besides, balloon animals are kind of babyish.”
“How old are these kids?” Harrison asked.
“Four,” I replied. I picked up a box: SQUIRTING PLAYING CARDS. “This looks like fun,” I said, holding it up to Harrison. “We could pretend to play a card game and squirt each other in the face. The kids would like that.”