To Catch a Mermaid (13 page)

Mertyle gasped. “She thinks I’ve got the Molly Mermaid Faraway Girl Doll?”

“Yeah. That sounds right.”

Mertyle scratched her scalp. The baby began to chew on one of Mertyle’s stuffed animals. “She really invited me? She invited me to join her club?” Mertyle acted as though it were some kind of an honor to be invited to Daisy Mump’s party. It sounded more like torture to Boom. “Everyone at school used to talk about Daisy’s parties. She’d have party-planning meetings by the water fountain and then she’d pass out her invitations at recess. But I never got one.” Mertyle paused to scratch her wrist.

“So? Neither did a lot of other girls,” Winger pointed out.

“But the girls in Daisy’s gang would always talk about how much fun the parties were and they’d never say why. They’d say it was a secret. One time, they all had matching flower leis, and another time they had matching purses. But they’d never tell the rest of us what happened at the parties.”

“Why would you care?” Boom asked. “You don’t even like those girls.”

“I guess I’m just curious. It’s like a secret club and I just want to know what goes on.”

Now that was something Boom could understand. Just like when Halvor talked about the Sons of the Vikings but wouldn’t reveal the secret handshake or the secret ceremonies. Boom would love to go into that big hall, just once, and see what the fuss was all about.

“I thought I’d never get invited. What will I wear?” Mertyle started rummaging through her closet. “I don’t have any party dresses.”

“I like that dress you wore at Christmas,” Winger said, turning as red as cherry cough syrup.

“Oh, good idea.” She rummaged around until she found the dress. “Maybe Daisy and her friends will like me, and then they’ll stop yelling ‘Mertyle, Mertyle, hides like a turtle’ whenever they walk down the street.”

But she was forgetting something. “Earth to Mertyle,” Boom said. “You can’t have a party
here.
”

“Why not?”

Boom pointed to the obvious reason
why not.
It was spitting out shredded bits of stuffed panda.

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” Mertyle snapped. “I’ve never been invited to a Faraway Girl party before. Never!” She started rummaging again.

Winger shrugged his shoulders. “Faraway Girl Doll parties are very trendy,” he told Boom.

“But what about the fungus?” Boom asked, trying again to reason with his most unreasonable sister.

“I’ll hide it.”

“Why not ask the baby to get rid of the fungus,” Winger suggested.

Of course! Winger was brilliant. “Go on, give it a try,” Boom said, pushing Mertyle toward the baby. He sat down beside Winger to watch as Mertyle gently pried the mutilated panda from the merbaby’s hand. Then Mertyle turned off the television and knelt down beside the bed. As the television’s light faded, the room grew dark.

“Baby,” Mertyle whispered. Both Boom and Winger leaned forward. “Baby, I wish I didn’t have this fungus. I wish it would go away.”

The merbaby yawned and leapt back into the cradle. Mertyle ran and flicked on the light and stood in front of the mirror. She was still covered in white fuzz. She hurried over to the cradle. “Baby,” she said again. “Please make the Ick go away.” The merbaby rolled over on her side and closed her eyes. Mertyle held out fuzz-covered hands and began to whimper.

“Come on, Baby,” Boom said angrily. “She needs your help.”

“Maybe it takes time,” Winger suggested hopefully. “Maybe the fuzz will be gone by morning.” He looked out the window. “I’d better get home or I’ll be late for dinner.”

In the hallway, Winger hesitated on the top step. A sand crab made its way across the railing. “Boom,” Winger said. “If the Ick is still there in the morning, you have to get to that pet store right when it opens. You have to get the medicine first thing.”

“Okay, but the doll party isn’t until one o’clock. I’ve got some time.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Winger got real close. “Ms. Kibble told me that if I didn’t give my goldfish his medicine, he would die. Ick is fatal!”

Chapter Nineteen:

The Captain’s Story

B
oom didn’t sleep at all that night, but it wasn’t nightmares about Principal Prunewallop, killer twisters, or lousy neighbors that tormented him. It was the knowledge that his little sister was sick — for real. An uncomfortable feeling way down low ached, until he thought he might throw up — the same feeling that had come right after the twister. Just when things looked promising, the universe conspired again to torment the Brooms. The discovery of the twenty-first century was supposed to bring his family fortune, not fungus.

But blaming the baby would change nothing. It was really all his own fault, he decided, for kicking that apple into Mr. Jorgenson’s window and starting the chain of events that had led him to the reject seafood bucket. Why couldn’t he have grabbed a crab, or a reject flounder, rather than a contagious merbaby?

Halvor came home after dark on Saturday night, so he didn’t notice the banana tree. He ate some fish stew, then went straight to his room in the garage. Now it was Sunday morning, the only morning when Halvor slept in, so Boom had a bit more time before he had to explain things. He dressed quickly, careful not to wake Mertyle and the baby. He checked his coat to make sure he still had the three dollars, hoping that Ick medicine was cheap.

The neighbors had taken advantage of the abundance of bananas, so the scent of freshly baked banana bread greeted Boom as he stepped onto Prosperity Street. His mouth watered at the thought of a thick, warm slice for breakfast, but no one came outside to offer him one as he hurried by. The fruit had attracted an assortment of seabirds that didn’t normally hang out in the Brooms’ front yard. A family of raccoons and a group of rats were gorging themselves as well. The banana tree’s monkey was sitting on the Mumps’ mailbox, playing with the little red flag.

The wind was strong and pushed against Boom so that he had to pump his legs extra hard to keep up his pace. Cold air stung his lungs as he took quick breaths. The wind tickled his left foot through the hole in his shoe. He didn’t bother stopping at the Winginghams’. He knew that Winger would be at church, suffering through a long, boring service in a starched button-up shirt and a tie. Then he’d sing off-key in the choir’s back row. Boom used to go to church with Mrs. Broom. She always stuffed her purse with hard candies, to help Boom get through all the
blah, blah, blahs
that never made much sense. Why was everyone so worried about the next life when there was so much to worry about in this one?

Ms. Kibble’s pet store was supposed to be open on weekends because Ms. Kibble took Mondays and Tuesdays off. Boom was relieved to see that the
CLOSED TODAY DUE TO A HEAD COLD
sign had been removed. Two customers stood at the counter. Principal Prunewallop, the first in line, held a bag of crickets. Boom darted behind a tall stack of dog food bags to avoid having to talk to the woman he had recently moved up to the number one position on his enemy list. He was considering adding the merbaby to the list as well. After all, something that spits and growls at you should definitely be on an enemy list. Something that gives your sister a fungal disease should be on the list, for sure.

Boom found the Ick Curing Solution on a shelf next to worm-ridding pellets. He crouched, waiting while Principal Prunewallop complained about the price of crickets. “Up two cents from last year,” she snarled. “Nine cents per cricket is a ridiculous price. I shall report you to the Better Business Bureau.”

“It’s the same price as everywhere else,” Ms. Kibble gently explained.

Principal Prunewallop held up the bag of crickets. “You can’t expect me to pay for that one.” She pointed at the bag. “That cricket isn’t jumping as high as the others. And I demand that you charge only half price for this other one because it’s a runt. I should have you arrested for trying to overcharge me.”

What was it about power that turned some people evil? Principal Prunewallop was picking on poor, shy Ms. Kibble, just as she had picked on Boom on Friday. She could have had Boom make up his tardy time any other day of the week, rather than forfeit the tournament. But she wielded her power like a pillaging Viking wields an axe. Leave no survivors! When Boom sold the merbaby to a superrich collector and became rich himself, he wouldn’t wield his power for evil. He’d open his own school — the Boom Broom Non-Evil Elementary School — the kind of place where no one’s lunch was better than anyone else’s and if you had holes in your shoes you could just pick up a new pair in the New Shoe Room. And if you wanted to play in a tournament, so you could become a champion like you deserved, NO ONE STOPPED YOU!

Lost in thought, Boom had not noticed Principal Prune wallop looking down at him. “Wasting time, I see,” she hissed. Boom crouched lower as her breath threatened to eat his flesh.

“I’m not wasting time. My sister’s sick,” he told her.

“I’ve heard that excuse far too often. You are a time- waster, Mr. Broom, and time-wasters never amount to anything.” Her enormous bottom squeezed through the pet store door and swayed out of sight.

Next in line was the fishing boat captain who had let Boom take the merbaby from the reject seafood bucket. He placed a couple of cat food cans on the counter. “There be a strange smell a-coming from Prosperity Street,” he said to Ms. Kibble. “A storm be a-brewing. I can feel it in me bones.”

“Oh?” Ms. Kibble asked, batting her droopy lashes. Her nose was still red and she dabbed at it.

He handed her a five-dollar bill. “Don’t that be the same street where that twister touched down last year?”

“Why, yes it be.” Ms. Kibble giggled, then put the cans into a bag. “I mean, yes it
is.
”

“Looks like they might be in for another round,” the captain predicted. “The scent of bananas and mud be in the air. That can only mean the wind is a-coming from the tropics. Hot, tropical wind makes the worst twisters.”

Boom peered out from behind the stack of dog food bags. Another twister? Just as his father feared. Ever since his wife’s disappearance, when he came downstairs for a quick meal, Mr. Broom always looked out the kitchen window and warned that another twister would come and get them all. Just the thought of it made Boom’s stomach queasy.

“Have a nice day,” the captain said, tipping his captain’s hat as Ms. Kibble giggled again. He almost tripped over Boom on his way out of the shop. “Why, hello there, lad. How’d things work out with that fish?”

“Fine,” Boom lied. “Fried up real nice.”

The captain tucked his bag under his arm. “Glad to hear it, but it seems a shame. Never seen a fish like that one. Kind of regretted giving it to you after you left. Caught that fish just off Pelican Beak Island. Don’t usually fish in those waters, but I was drawn there by . . . Oh well, you don’t want to hear an old captain’s tale.”

“Yes, I do,” Boom said excitedly. Any information about the merbaby could prove useful. “What were you going to say?”

Ms. Kibble came out from behind the counter as the captain cleared his throat. “Well, I got this urge to fish there. Seemed the right spot for some reason. Put in me net and dragged it a bit. There be a lot of splashing so I pulled me net out. Then came a strange sound. It surrounded me boat and the air got real cold. Storm clouds rolled in so fast that the peaceful morning turned black as tar in a blink of me eye. Me teeth started to chatter as that darned sound came closer. I went into the galley and it followed me. Shut meself in the cabin but it found me. It weren’t no natural sound. It made me feel so . . .”

“Sad?” Boom asked, holding back a shiver.

“Aye, sad. And lonely. So very lonely.” The captain’s eyes glazed over.

“Lonely,” Ms. Kibble repeated.

The door to the pet store blew open. The gust toppled a tower of plastic pooper-scoopers and sent the lovebirds to squawking. The captain peered outside. “Storm’s a-brewing. I’d better go and make sure me old boat is well tied. Good day to both of you.”

Ms. Kibble watched the captain get on his bicycle and pedal down the street. She sighed like she’d just eaten a -really creamy chocolate.

“Ms. Kibble, can people get Ick?” Boom asked. She peered over the rims of her fish-shaped glasses and pulled a twig from Boom’s hair.

“Dear boy, you really should take a bath.” She was one to talk. She was covered in more cat hair and bird droppings than a cat that slept beneath a bird feeder.

“I need to know about Ick.”

“Ick’s a goldfish disease.”

“I know, but can people get it?”

“I’ve never heard of a person getting Ick. I suppose it’s possible. We all arose from the same primordial ooze, as you so elegantly put it. If we share feelings, then I guess we can share sickness, too.”

“If you got Ick, would you use this?” He held up the bottle of Ick Curing Solution.

She took the bottle and read aloud from the back label. “‘For use on aquarium fish only. Do not inhale — can cause madness. Do not get into eyes — can cause blindness. Do not get onto skin — will burn. Do not drink. Do not add to bath water. Do not use as a food preservative, and certainly do not sprinkle on marmalade.’ Hmmm. This doesn’t sound very safe for people.”