We Give a Squid a Wedgie Page 4

  “I stayed upstairs like you told me to,” she said, running her hand through her short dark hair. “It was a dull way to spend New Year’s Eve. I watched some stupid variety show. Vuss-Cat’s-Knees, they called it. Madam Mumu sang some song about a cheese arcade. I think my IQ dropped twenty points by the time it was over.”

  “Well, I couldn’t have you wandering around down here. You’ve been disgraced out of polite ­society.”

  Janice snorted back at Sir Edmund. But she didn’t deny it.

  “Anyway,” Sir Edmund said. “Your new partner hasn’t called. He better not have messed this up.”

  “Ernest is a first-rate spy,” Janice said.

  “He’s a terrible celebrity impersonator.”

  “He fooled you in the Amazon, didn’t he?”

  “As I remember it, I had to pull both of you from a sinkhole in El Dorado. And now that you are working for me, I think a little more respect is in order.”

  “We are working with you now,” Janice snapped. “Not for you.”

  “If it suits you to think of it that way, fine,” said Sir Edmund. “But if Ernest messes this up, I will make sure you both are eaten by yaks.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you that yaks don’t eat meat?” said Janice.

  Sir Edmund ignored her. He poured himself a glass of crystal-clear plum brandy from a bottle labeled with a skull and crossbones. He savored a sip.

  Suddenly there was loud knocking on the door. Sir Edmund heard his butler open it and object loudly as someone clattered into the mansion.

  Janice pulled a switchblade from her pocket. Sir Edmund pulled out a silver revolver and set it on his lap. The doors to the lounge burst open and in came Ernest, dressed as a fire dancer from the waist up and a knight from the waist down. He was being chased by the butler, and was trying to catch his breath.

  “What are you doing here, you fool?” Sir Edmund demanded. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  “Stuck . . .” Ernest panted. “Underpants stuck. Terrible armor wedgie. Had to hide. Had to run . . . they . . . saw . . . me.” He put his head between his legs, trying to catch his breath.

  “They saw you?” Sir Edmund sighed, setting down his glass. “I knew you would mess this up.”

  “Stickles . . .” he panted. “He told them . . . about the map and the . . . the kraken. He told them about the Orang Laut.”

  “Of course he did.” Sir Edmund nodded.

  “I silenced him . . . before he could say . . . too much.” Ernest grabbed the glass that Sir Edmund had set on the side table. He gulped it, thinking it was water.

  “BWAH!” He gasped, spitting the burning brandy all over Sir Edmund’s face.

  Sir Edmund’s nostrils flared.

  “Sorry,” Ernest choked out.

  Sir Edmund’s butler rushed over and began wiping the little man’s face. Sir Edmund waved his servant off and squeezed the liquid out of his mustache himself. “You should not have silenced him,” he said. “We want them to know about that place!”

  “We do?” Janice asked.

  “We do?” Ernest asked.

  “As for you two”—he gave them both a withering look, ignoring their questions—“you will continue to keep an eye on the Navels. Track their every move, wherever they go.”

  “Explain yourself,” Janice demanded. “Why do we want them to know about the kraken? What if they find the island before we do? What if they get their hands on Plato’s map?”

  “If?” Sir Edmund laughed. “There is no if. I’m counting on it. The question is when.”

  6

  WE DISAGREE, DISAGREEABLY

  AFTER THE AMBULANCE took Chris Stickles away, the Navels gathered back in the great hall to discuss their plans for the expedition to find the island of the kraken and, hopefully, their mother.

  Oliver and Celia sat on a hard sofa just underneath the glowering portrait of Colonel Percy Fawcett himself. They were too anxious to fall asleep and now that their television was broken, they had nothing else to do but watch Corey Brandt plan an expedition with their father.

  “Beast Busters says the kraken doesn’t exist,” Oliver muttered. “And we’re going to believe some crazy explorer over Beast Busters?”

  “I guess so,” said Celia.

  “But the kraken is just made up! Beast Busters uses science!”

  “Oliver.” Dr. Navel sighed. He had heard every word of Oliver’s complaint. “You should know that a myth comes from somewhere. It might not be a kraken that took your mother, but it could be something that made people believe in the kraken. The monster behind the myth. Understand?”

  “Whatever,” muttered Oliver.

  “We’ll need a crew.” Dr. Navel turned back to Corey and Professor Rasmali-Greenberg. Oliver pouted.

  “I’ll start hiring the crew as soon as I get back to Los Angeles,” Corey said.

  “If we take a small boat through the Malacca Strait, we should be able to avoid attracting the ­attention of pirates,” said Dr. Navel. “We can find an Orang Laut flotilla and see if they can tell us about this island where fishermen fear to go. If my wife—” He glanced back at Oliver and Celia and dropped his voice. “If my wife is alive, she’ll no doubt be there, looking for Plato’s map.”

  “Celia,” Oliver whispered to his sister. “Do you think this is another one of Mom’s plots to get us to find the Lost Library?”

  “Probably.” Celia yawned. She was getting very tired. It was almost one o’clock in the morning.

  “So, why … you know … why did you tell Corey we would go?” Oliver asked. “Every time we go on one of these adventures, it’s horrible.”

  “It’s like the prophecy said,” Celia told him. “Maybe it’s our destiny. We’ll end up having an adventure even if we try to avoid it.”

  “It’s like changing the channel from commercials, but every other channel’s on commercials too,” said Oliver.

  “Right,” said Celia.

  “But you don’t believe in destiny,” Oliver told her.

  Celia pursed her lips. He was right of course. She didn’t believe in that destiny nonsense. She didn’t want to tell Oliver that she was just trying to impress Corey Brandt. Oliver would make fun of her. And after their last adventure in the Amazon with the fake Corey Brandt, he wasn’t likely to go happily on another adventure.

  So she told a lie, a terrible lie that not even she believed.

  “Maybe if we find Plato’s map,” she said, “Mom will come home.”

  She knew it wasn’t true. Even if they rescued their mother from Squid Island and found Plato’s map or even the Lost Library itself, there would be new things to discover and new places to explore. People who like adventure are just like people who like cheese puffs. One was never enough. You had to eat the next one and the one after that and just one more after that and then another. So what if your fingers got all orange from the fake cheese powder or if your children ended up thrown out of an airplane or lost in the jungle?

  But she knew that Oliver wanted nothing more than for their mom to come home. His eyes widened. Celia felt bad already.

  “You think so?” he asked. “You think she really will?”

  They would be twelve years old in a few months, but Oliver still thought like a little kid. She felt bad for him. He wanted to believe so badly that their mom would stop being an explorer one day. She couldn’t lie to him.

  “No,” she admitted. “I don’t really think so.”

  “So why’d you say it?”

  “Because.”

  “Because what?”

  “Just because.”

  “You’re trying to make Corey Brandt think you’re cool,” Oliver said. He had suspected this for a while.

  “I am not,” Celia snapped back at him, but of course Oliver knew the truth. They were twins, after all.

  “You would never go on an adventure if it was just to save Mom,” Oliver said. “But for Corey Brandt you’d lie right to my face. You like a wei
rd teenager from TV more than our own mom!”

  “Well, that weird teenager from TV never tried to get me killed!”

  “Mom never tried to get us killed,” said Oliver. Celia tilted her head and frowned at him. “Okay, well, she never tried to get us killed on purpose. She thought she was helping.”

  “She left us,” said Celia. “She likes adventures more than she likes her own children. At least ­Corey’s my friend.”

  “Corey doesn’t think you’re his friend,” said Oliver. “You’re just a little kid.”

  “You’re just a whiny brat,” said Celia.

  “You’re just a mean jerk,” said Oliver. “Maybe I’ll stay home. You can go without me.”

  “Good,” said Celia. “Who needs a little brother anyway?”

  “I am not your little brother,” said Oliver. “We’re twins.”

  “Well, I wish we weren’t!”

  “Well, so do I!” It wasn’t much of a comeback, but Oliver was tired.

  Both of them felt like they’d been hit in the stomach with a dodgeball. They weren’t sure how they had gotten so mad at each other, and they both felt like they’d just crossed some line, gone too far. But neither one of them wanted to apologize first.

  They sat next to each other beneath Percy ­Fawcett’s portrait, looking in opposite directions, their arms crossed, wearing matching scowls. They were like angry mirror reflections of each other, and that was how Corey found them when he came back over.

  “Celia, Oliver, so glad you guys stayed up late.” He squatted down in front of them to talk at their level. “Your father and I think we’ll spend next week practicing on the river. You guys can go to school and get your assignments and you’ll have time to get your sea legs before we head out.”

  “I’ll keep my own legs, thanks,” Oliver huffed.

  “‘Get your sea legs’ means get used to the sea,” Celia corrected him.

  “Well, I won’t need sea legs,” Oliver told Corey. “I’m not going.”

  “Oliver’s worried that it will be dangerous,” said Celia.

  “It will be dangerous!” said Oliver, glaring at his sister. “But that’s not why I’m not going.” He didn’t want Corey to think he was a wimp. “I eat danger for breakfast,” he added.

  “You eat Tooth Blaster cereal for breakfast,” said Celia. “And you won’t even do that if it’s too soggy.”

  “It’s gross when it’s soggy!” Oliver said.

  “It’s okay.” Corey put his hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “I know it’s scary, but I would, like, totally not let anything bad happen to you on the open seas. And you’ll have your dad and Celia there too.”

  “Yeah,” said Celia. “I can protect you.” She smiled an exaggerated smile.

  “I’m not scared!” Oliver hollered. “Celia’s just being a jerk because she has a crush on you!”

  “Oliver’s joking around,” said Celia, grabbing Oliver’s hand and squeezing it until his fingers turned red. “Aren’t you?”

  “Whatever,” said Oliver, gritting his teeth and pulling his hand out of his sister’s grip. He stood up.

  Corey acted like he hadn’t heard any of what they just said to him. He put his hand up for a high five. “This is gonna be the coolest trip E-V-E-R, ever. You get to miss school and we’re gonna make history! Ollie, don’t leave me hanging! Gimme a fiver!”

  Oliver’s arms hung limp at his sides. He did not give Corey Brandt a fiver.

  “Don’t call me Ollie,” he said as he turned and stomped up the stairs toward the broken door of their apartment.

  “Happy New Year!” he heard his father call from below. “Good night!”

  He grunted and kept going. He didn’t even look back at his sister. She wanted to say she was sorry, that she’d gone too far, but the words caught in her throat. He was the one who started it. He was the one being a jerk. Why should she apologize?

  Her eyes were fixed on the stairs as the untied laces of her brother’s sneakers dragged away behind him. Corey’s high five hung abandoned in the air beside her.

  7

  WE’RE NOT GETTING ALONG

  OLIVER AND CELIA SPENT the last two days of their winter vacation watching their broken television. They made their father remount it on the wall, and if they tilted their heads at the right angle and didn’t move, they could kind of see most of the picture. The sound crackled with static, like they were watching television on the beach during a storm at sea, but if they listened through the ocean noises they could make out most of what was being said. They had barely spoken to each other in the new year.

  They watched hours and hours of Sharkapalooza­ and The Squid Whisperer and KidSwap, where families traded one of their children so they could try out a different brother or sister for a week. All of the shows were Oliver’s choice. He kept telling Celia how much he liked KidSwap. She got the message loud and clear. She was tired of her brother being mad at her.

  “Can we watch Valerie-at-Large?” Celia asked. It was a new show, the biggest hit on TweenTV, and she hadn’t seen a single episode. The thought made her feel sick. Everyone at school would be talking about it.

  “Humph,” Oliver grunted without looking at her. The Squid Whisperer was demonstrating something on a bagpipe. Or maybe it was an octopus wearing a kilt. The show was really stupid.

  “Please? Anything but this.” Celia groaned. “Oliver, fine. I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Oliver asked. His sister had chosen Corey Brandt over him and he wanted her to admit it.

  “For …” Celia didn’t want to admit that she actually wanted to go sailing with Corey Brandt. She had to think of something else to apologize for.

  “Too late.” Oliver dropped the remote on the couch and went to his room, slamming the door. He didn’t really feel like watching The Squid Whisperer anyway.

  Celia watched him go. He was being such a baby.

  She changed the channel. She tried to watch Valerie-at-Large, but she had trouble paying attention. Valerie was a reporter for the school paper and she wanted to know what happened at Addison Garrity’s birthday party, but only the girls in the Six Sisters Club were invited. To join, Valerie had to do all these crazy stunts. She spent a night in a graveyard and she stole a towel from the boys’ locker room. Then there was a ceremony with candles and a chant about being friends forever. She promised to keep their secrets, even though they weren’t nice girls. But she needed to write her article. It was a moral dilemma. Break her vow or break her duties as a reporter for the school paper?

  Celia turned it off. She didn’t like all the double-­crossing and the moral dilemmas on the show. There were enough of those in real life.

  She tried to get Oliver to come out of his room, but he just shouted for her to go away.

  “Go call your new best friend, Corey!” he yelled through the door.

  Celia slouched into her room and flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling until she fell asleep.

  Just as their father had promised, they began training the next day. They had to learn about the laws of the sea and how to read navigational charts and what to do if they fell overboard during a monsoon. Dr. Navel taught them the five “points of sail” and how to launch a dinghy—a smaller motorized boat—from a moving sailboat, while holding supplies on your back and a knife in your teeth. They used a wooden spoon for practice.

  “Aye ill ee eed u oh dat?” said Oliver with the spoon gripped in his mouth.

  His father looked puzzled.

  “Why will we need to know that?” Celia translated. Oliver glared at her.

  “Oh,” said Dr. Navel with a shrug. “These are just basic skills that every mariner should have. Pop quiz! Question one: which sail is the mizzen sail on a sailboat?”

  The children groaned and spent the next hour answering their dad’s questions, never once speaking directly to each other.

  Afterward they watched television side by side in silence. Beast Busters, The Squid Whisperer, and Sharkapalooz
a reruns. Oliver refused to watch anything with Corey Brandt in it—Celia’s betrayal was that teenager’s fault—and he wouldn’t let her watch Valerie-at-Large, mostly because it was ­boring. When she tried to grab the remote, he pulled it away. When she tried again, he shoved it down the back of his pants and sat on it.

  “Gross,” Celia said.

  “Whatever,” said Oliver. “It’s safe there.”

  It was the closest thing they had to a conversation that day.

  8

  WE FACE OUR FRIENDS

  AFTER WINTER VACATION, school started again for Oliver and Celia Navel the way it starts for everyone: too soon.

  The first few days back in sixth grade were a jumble of kids comparing the presents they got and the video games they played and the vacations they took or didn’t take. The teachers spent those first cold days desperately trying to remind their students of everything they had learned in the first half of the year and somehow totally forgotten during two weeks of winter break.

  “OMG!” Stephanie Sabol squealed at Celia in the hallway, before she could even put her books in her locker. “I read on Brandtblog.com that you’re going to sail across the ocean with Corey Brandt! Is that, like, for real?”

  “Like R-E-A-L, real?” Annie Hurwitz spelled loudly behind her.

  A gaggle of girls gathered around, asking questions and making suggestions and wondering if she’d get to be on TV. Celia tried to see where her brother had gone, but she couldn’t find him through the forest of friends that had sprouted around her.

  Their teachers agreed to let the twins make up their missed classwork after they got back, as long as they promised to give a report to the whole school about what they learned on their trip. Celia didn’t think it was fair that they were getting more homework. Oliver thought it was the greatest injustice in history. Although Celia didn’t see him, he glared at her down the hallway.

  In the gym locker room, Greg Angstura snuck up behind Oliver, grabbed the waistband of his underpants, and performed the universal ritual of the bully: he yanked upward, hard, and gave Oliver a wedgie almost as bad as the one that octopus had given him.