Guinea Pigs Don't Talk (2 page)

"That Angel is itchin' for a switchin'," Lisa said. She sat on her bed with her arms folded behind her head.

"Angel is always trying to start trouble," Traci said as she studied Lisa's collection of ceramic animals. She picked up a small tiger. "Angel loves trouble. I think she is addicted to it—like some people are addicted to drugs."

"Do you think she was mad because I had her desk?"

"Could be," Traci answered. "Angel's like that. Any excuse to cause trouble."

"That's terrible," Lisa said. "Why does Joe hang around her? She's always telling him what to do. At lunch today she made him get her a straw. Then she made him carry her tray and throw her garbage away."

Traci put the tiger back on the shelf and picked up a monkey. She studied his face. "I guess he's used to it," she said. "He has lots of older brothers and sisters. They're always telling him what to do."

"What about Angel?"

"Nobody tells her what to do."

Lisa fell back on her pillow. "Poor Bruiser," she said. "I feel awful about his ear."

"Don't worry about Bruiser," Traci said, picking up a family of fat pink ceramic pigs. "He's just like these pigs."

"Pigs?"

"Yeah," Traci said. "All Bruiser cares about is eating! That's why he's so fat."

"What does he eat?"

"Anything and everything. Once I made him a shoebox house. He loved to go inside and hide. Then we noticed that the door to his house was getting bigger and bigger. He was eating his house! He loves cardboard."

"Noooooooo!" Lisa said. She rolled across die bed, laughing.

"And at Thanksgiving we had a big turkey made out of construction paper. It was too close to his cage and he ate the head off the turkey."

Lisa grabbed her sides as she laughed again.

"But his very favorite is when kids feed him their leftover lunches. Mrs. Flowers says we shouldn't give him junk because he's fat."

Lisa sat up and wiped her eyes. "Bruiser likes people food?" she said.

"He loves it," Traci said. She put the pigs back on the shelf. "I've even seen him eat broccoli."

"That's it!" Lisa said.

"That's what?" Traci asked.

"That's how I'll get my revenge," Lisa said.

She jumped off the bed and pulled her desk drawer open. She grabbed a pencil and paper.

"What are you doing?" Traci asked.

"I'm going to write a poem," Lisa answered. She tapped the pencil against the paper as she thought.

"For whom?"

"Angel," Lisa said. Then she stopped tapping. "I've got it!" She started to write.

"Angel?" Traci asked. "Why would you write a poem for her?"

"This is not just any poem ... There!" She firmly dotted the final period on the paper.

"Read it to me," Traci said eagerly.

Lisa cleared her throat.

I think that I shall never see
A guinea pig as hungry as can he.
Bruiser's his name and instead of a fight
He'll eat your lunch when he's out of sight.

"Bruiser is going to eat Angel's lunch?" Traci asked.

"He sure is," Lisa said.

"When?"

"Tomorrow, when I hide him in her lunchbox," Lisa said.

Traci's face lit up. "That's a great idea! Angel has one of those nylon lunchbags with the Velcro top."

"Double perfect," Lisa said. "He'll get plenty of air, and the Velcro will open easily." She paused, then asked, "Do you think that will be too much junk food? I wouldn't want him to get sick."

"Are you kidding?" Traci said. "Angel's mother is a health-food nut. Her lunchbag is probably filled with carrot sticks!"

"Perfect for the dieting guinea pig!" Lisa exclaimed.

Traci laughed. "Bruiser," she said, "tomorrow is your lucky day!"

"Turn to page twenty in your science book," Mrs. Flowers said brightly. "This is my favorite unit—flowers!" She began writing on the board. Her necklace of wooden day lilies clinked as she wrote.

Lisa punched Traci and whispered, "The poem is in Angel's science book."

Traci nodded.

The two friends watched with anticipation as Angel opened her book. Her shoulders twitched when she read the note. She turned slowly and looked at the lunch containers, which were lined up by the door. Hers was moving slightly. Angel looked with concern at her lunchbag.

"Angel, what is your favorite?" Mrs. Flowers asked.

Angel quickly turned back to her book. "My favorite? Uh ... Yummy Tummy Cream Cakes," she blurted out.

Everyone laughed.

"Not food, dear. Flowers," Mrs. Flowers said, fingering her day lilies. "What is your favorite flower?"

Angel looked over her shoulder and saw Lisa grinning. A knowing look crossed Angel's face.

"Venus's-flytrap," she said loudly.

Lisa quickly turned her attention to Mrs. Flowers. She couldn't face Angel. If she did, she would laugh right out loud. She had never been good at hiding her feelings.

"That's not really a flower," Mrs. Flowers said cheerfully. "But it does have a lovely bloom."

Mrs. Flowers went on with class.

Angel spent the rest of science class looking at her lunchbag. When the bell rang, she didn't get up. The other students hurried around the room getting ready to leave.

Joe grabbed his lunchbox. "You coming?" he called to Angel.

"No."

"Okay. I'll save you a seat," he said.

Lisa and Traci stayed in the coatroom as the other children left.

"What do you think Bruiser's doing?" Lisa asked.

"Sleeping," Traci answered. "The lunchbag quit moving about ten minutes ago. How long was he in there?"

"About an hour."

"That means he ate for fifty minutes. Guinea-pig heaven!" Traci said.

Lisa laughed. "I can't wait to see Angel's face when she opens it."

When the last person had left the room, Angel approached her lunchbag. Lisa and Traci peered around the corner.

Slowly, carefully, Angel unhooked the Velcro and opened the bag only a few inches. She peeked inside.

"Oh no," she mumbled.

She gently tilted the lunchbag sideways.

"Where is it?" she muttered.

"What's she looking for?" Lisa whispered to Traci.

Traci lifted her shoulders to say "I don't know."

"Bruiser, I hate to bother you," Angel said. "But I've got to find it."

She opened the lunchbag the rest of the way.

When she did, Bruiser opened his eyes. He stretched his legs and yawned. On his lips was a little dot of white cream.

Angel gasped when she saw it. "That better not be what I think it is," she said.

She lifted him out of the lunchbag.

"Aha! There's the paper," she said. Then she moaned. "It's empty!"

She looked at Bruiser.

"It wasn't your fault," she said, rubbing him between the eyes. "You like them as much as I do."

Angel gently placed Bruiser back in his cage. She walked back to her lunchbag, grabbed it, and dumped the contents into the trash can. Then she stormed out of the room.

"What was she so upset about?" Lisa asked.

"I don't know, but the answer is in that trash can." Traci was already on her way across the room.

When she reached the trash can, she hesitated a moment. She made a face. With the tips of two fingers, she pulled out the shredded wrapper from a Yummy Tummy Cream Cake.

"Angel had a Yummy Tummy Cream Cake!" Lisa said, inspecting the mauled wrapper.

"I can't believe it. Angel Peterson's mother actually bought her a Yummy Tummy Cream Cake," Traci said, shaking her head.

"And Bruiser ate it!" Lisa said. "That's why Angel was so upset."

Traci smiled. "Bruiser does have a sweet tooth."

***

In the cafeteria, Angel stomped over to where Lisa and Traci were eating.

"He ate my Yummy Tummy Cream Cake!" she blurted out.

"Sooooooooo?" Lisa said.

"So," Angel said through gritted teeth. "My mother thinks sugar is the worse thing ever invented. She hardly ever lets me have Yummy Tummy Cream Cakes. I made my bed every day for a week to get that."

Lisa felt bad, but she didn't back down. "Well, my mother thinks sugar is okay," she said. "She lets me have Yummy Tummy Cream Cakes whenever I want."

Angel exploded. "That's it. You have gone too far. Your days are numbered. Boy, am I going to get you. Just you wait."

"Give it a rest," Traci said.

"My Yummy Tummy Cream Cake is gone, and it's all because of her." Angel jabbed a finger at Lisa.

"Hey, you started it," Lisa said. "You're the one who's yearnin' for a burnin'."

Angel's face turned red. The truth made her mad. She made her face as mean as possible. Her mouth was a tight thin line. Her eyes were squinted. Her forehead was wrinkled.

"If looks could kill..." Lisa said calmly, staring back at Angel.

Angel turned her back on Lisa and stormed to the table where Joe was sitting. She sat down beside him.

"I saved you a place," he said cheerfully.

She ignored him.

"I want revenge," she demanded. "And I want it today."

Joe looked interested. "What kind of revenge?"

Angel smiled. "Guinea-pig revenge."

After lunch, Mrs. Flowers announced, "Those of you working on the science project come to the science table and finish."

"That's me," Traci said. She left for the front of the room.

"The rest of you read silently," Mrs. Flowers said.

Lisa got out her book and opened to the title page.

"Hey,"Joe whispered to Lisa. "Did you know that Squeaky can talk?"

Lisa turned around and looked Joe straight in the eye. "I might be new in this school," she said. "But there are a few things I do know. Guinea pigs do not talk!"

"Squeaky does," Joe said without blinking. He sounded sincere.

"I'll believe it when I hear it," Lisa replied. She turned back in her seat. She didn't want to get into trouble.

"Ask him what his name is," Joe whispered.

So that's the trick, Lisa thought. You ask the guinea pig his name, and he squeaks out two syllables that sound like "Kwwwwwwwwwwweeeeee keeeeeeee."

Lisa had seen that on TV. People would claim their dog could talk. When they got on TV they would say, "BoBo, what does sandpaper feel like?"

"Ruff, ruff."

"BoBo, what kind of day have you had?"

"Ruff, ruff."

And if BoBo had real talent they would ask, "Are you thirsty?"

BoBo would yawn and growl at the same time. It sounded like "I wan wa wa."

This did not fool Lisa. Squeaky couldn't talk any more than those dogs could.

Lisa glanced to the back of the room. The

guinea pigs' cages stood on a table in front of the coatroom, next to the bookshelf.

Lisa tried to concentrate on her reading, but one thought kept returning—Squeaky. Of course he couldn't actually talk. She was sure of that. But maybe he could squeak his name. It wouldn't be so unusual. After all, dogs got on TV with less talent.

Lisa stood up and walked past Joe to the back of the room.

"Speak clearly so Squeaky can understand you," Joe whispered, snickering.