Emily Jenkins - Toy Dance Party

First pink dusty nose, then plump, dirty white mouse, then long softy tail emerges from the vacuum bag. Bonkers shakes himself, scattering dust—and smiles. “The Chewing Society of North America!” he yells, jubilant, hugging the shark as best he can without any visible arms or legs. “The Chewing Society of North America performed a heroic rescue!”

DaisySparkle pats him with a fin.

Bonkers shakes himself again and runs over to Millie, Brownie, and Rocky. “Hey, did you guys know I was chewing from the inside, too?” he tells them, thrilled. “I was! I chewed the inside and the shark chewed the outside and together we did teamwork!”

“Hooray!” yell the mice.

“You guys should try it,” says Bonkers. “I bet you could chew as well as me if you practiced. I chewed myself out of that bag, almost. I really almost did!”

StingRay and Lumphy try to pick up clumps of dirt and chewed vacuum cleaner bag off the hall floor, but it is impossible. “Thanks a lot for the mess, ” StingRay huffs at DaisySparkle.

Eventually, Lumphy trots down to the kitchen and brings up the whisk broom and a dustpan. They clean as best they can, then shove the vacuum bag back into the machine and hope the people don’t notice the hole.

. . . . .

In the morning, when Honey and her family are getting ready for school and work, the mother calls down the stairs, “You know what? I think we’ve got a mouse living in the hall closet!”

“Really?” Honey and her dad come to see.

The mom is holding the chewed-up vacuum cleaner bag. “There are shreds of it all over,” she says.

“Hm,” says the dad. “Well, if we see any more evidence, we’ll have to trap it and put it outside.”

“It chewed a big hole,” says Honey. “That was a hungry mouse.”

As soon as the people are gone for the day, Bonkers runs to the center of the bedroom and wiggles all around. “Did you hear, did you hear?” he cries. “They said it was a mouse that chewed the big hole. They said it was a mouse, and they thought it was a mouse, and it was!” He hops up and down in glee. “It was a mouse. It was me! It was me!”

. . . . .

A week or so later, while StingRay and Lumphy are playing Uncle Wiggily, DaisySparkle scoots herself over and nudges StingRay with her nose. “Hey,” she says.

“Hello there,” StingRay says, drawing a card and moving her Uncle Wiggily rabbit four spaces, as if she’s awfully busy.

“Did I tell you I’ve been chewing the Barbies?” DaisySparkle asks, casually.

“No!” StingRay is so surprised she turns to face the shark.

“Oh, yeah,” says DaisySparkle. “You know how Honey keeps putting me in stupid outfits and making me play with those dumb things? Well, as soon as she goes out of the room, I go to town. At first I just did a few small nibbles, but a couple days ago I chewed the leg of one of them. I made some serious dents in it, too.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” says StingRay.

“I didn’t break them. I just chewed one on its left leg.” The shark coughs. “And.”

“And what?”

“Yesterday I got the arm of the other one. I nearly bit off its hand.”

“What if they can feel it?” wonders Lumphy from the other side of the Uncle Wiggily board.

“Nah. They never talk. It’s no different from chewing a table leg.”

“They might talk amongst themselves,” Lumphy says. “Like when they’re alone in the Barbie box. We don’t know for sure, just ’cause we’ve never heard them.”

DaisySparkle shrugs her top fin. “If you’re worried about it, I’ll stop. But really, if you hung out with those Barbies as much as I have, you’d know they don’t feel the smallest bite. And let me tell you, chewing them is very satisfying.”

StingRay is secretly pleased. She doesn’t want anyone hurt, but really, she hates those Barbies, too. “You don’t like playing dress-up with them?” she asks.

The shark shakes her head. “Hardly. It’s like playing with a table leg.”

“But you’re Princess DaisySparkle,” says StingRay. “Honey puts you in all those special blue outfits.”

The shark snorts. “I don’t want to wear clothes. I like to go natural.”

“You do?”

“And if you like my name, take it,” says the shark. “Blech.”

StingRay can’t believe what she is hearing. “You don’t want to be DaisySparkle?”

“Can’t stand it,” says the shark. “Call me Spark, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay,” says StingRay, absorbing the new information. “Spark, would you like to play Uncle Wiggily with us?”

“You betcha!” says Spark, looking at the board game. “Hand me a rabbit, bison! I’m gonna wiggle my Wiggily!”

Maybe it’s because DaisySparkle changed her name, or maybe it’s because she chewed the silent Barbies—but from that day on, she and StingRay are friends.

CHAPTER FIVE

In Which There Is a Sleepover and Somebody Needs Repair

When Lumphy wants to visit Frank and have a dance in his washtub, he gets himself sticky with jam. Or soy sauce, or peanut butter. Then Honey puts him in the washer and hangs him up to dry. Of course, Lumphy can go down to the basement for a visit any night he wants, or any day when the people are at work and school. But he enjoys most when he and Frank are together singing their buffalo shuffle song during the wash cycle.

Lumphy doesn’t much like talking to the Dryer. In fact, he finds her disagreeable. He can never understand a word she says—it’s all rumbling and grunting. And when she’s silent, it’s even worse. The way she sits there, it always seems as if she’s thinking something bad.

Lumphy has never been inside the Dryer. Honey’s dad says it has been “on the fritz for ages” and they shouldn’t put anything big in, like sneakers or a stuffed buffalo, because then the barrel would get out of line.

So one weekend morning, when Honey takes him downstairs to breakfast, Lumphy (very cleverly, and in the mood to visit Frank) falls into the maple syrup pooled on her plate.

The dad wipes Lumphy off with a dishrag and takes him downstairs. Says hello to the workman in the basement and opens Frank’s lid.

Wait! Lumphy wants to yell. Why is there a workman down here?

The Dryer is pulled out from the wall. Tubes and wires are coming from her back. The workman is doing something to her, but before Lumphy can see more, the dad pops him into Frank’s tub and adds soap. Then he shuts the lid and starts the wash cycle.

Warm water gushes in.

“Frank!” whispers Lumphy.

There is no answer.

“Frank, can you hear me?”

Frank gives a grunt that is almost indistinguishable from a regular washing machine noise. He doesn’t want the workman to hear him talk.

“What’s wrong with the Dryer?” whispers Lumphy, his own voice masked by the sound of the water.

Frank doesn’t answer.

“Is she going to be okay?” Lumphy is being swished back and forth in Frank’s washtub, but instead of feeling dance-y he is sick to his stomach. How could he have thought mean things about the Dryer? How could he have wished she weren’t around, when now she has wires coming out of her?

Again, Frank doesn’t answer. He can’t, because the workman will hear him.

. . . . .

When the wash cycle is finished and Frank’s buzzer goes off, nobody comes to get Lumphy. He sits in Frank’s tub, listening to the clank of tools and the music from the radio.