Teeny Weenies: Fishing for Pets Page 3

  “Tommy!” Donny’s friend Brice yelled as I dawdled by the hats.

  “Coming,” I said. But I scanned the rack. They had Good Luck hats, Great Luck hats, and just one absolutely awesome Most Excellent Perfectly Lucky hat. I grabbed it and took it to the register.

  I didn’t see a tag, but how expensive could a hat be?

  “Tommy!” Brice’s sister, Monica, called. “We can’t be late for our tee time.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll catch right up.”

  The guy at the resister rang it up.

  Yikes!

  It turned out a hat could be really expensive. It took every penny I had—even the money I planned to use the rest of the month to play at the municipal course.

  But I guess it was worth it. Actually, when I put the hat on, I knew it was worth it. I already felt lucky. Look out world, future pro Tommy Caruthers is about to tee off.

  I hurried to catch up with the others. As I ran to the first tee, the wind picked up. When it was my turn, I took a practice swing, and then got ready to clobber the ball with a perfect drive.

  I swung back. The wind gusted, tugging at my hat. I stopped my swing and clamped my hand down on the hat until the gust died.

  “Tommy!” three people shouted. “Hurry up.”

  “You can’t rush your swing,” I said.

  I tried again. And stopped again as another gust tugged at my hat.

  On the third try, I managed to complete my swing, even though the wind blew my hat off. But I was so distracted, I hit a hard slice into the woods.

  “Bad luck,” Donny said.

  Brice pointed at the name Lucky McMurphy on my hat. “Maybe you can tell them it doesn’t work and get your money back.” He let out a laugh like a donkey.

  I didn’t laugh back. But I smiled when he hit his drive into the sand trap.

  I was behind by three strokes on the first hole. I didn’t expect to win, but I’d hoped to at least not finish with the worst score.

  I did okay on the next three holes, staying even with the others, and moving a point closer to Brice, but the wind picked up again on the fifth hole, and I hit another slice as my hat threatened to fly off. This one went into the lake.

  “Refund,” Brice said.

  As I put down another ball, Donny looked over his shoulder and said, “Hurry up. We’re holding up the next group.”

  “You can’t rush golf,” I muttered, as I lined up my drive.

  By the final hole, I was in last place by three strokes, and behind Donny by five. The only possible hope I had to keep from coming in last was to hit a hole in one. I’d never done that. And this was a par five, which meant there was no way I could drive the ball all the way to the green in one stroke. But the wind picked up hard, pushing at my back.

  “Come on, Lucky McMurphy,” I whispered, “give me some of your luck.”

  Even though I knew it was a mistake to try to overpower the ball, I swung as hard as I could. The instant I connected, the wind shifted, and blew my hat right off my head. I heard the ball hit a tree. I heard a cry as the ball bounced back. And I heard the hollow whack as the ball smacked Brice in his empty head. But I wasn’t paying attention to any of that. I was watching my hat sail away, back toward the seventeenth hole.

  My amazing, expensive, lucky hat was on its way to the next state. I raced after it. Far off, I heard someone yell, “Fore!” That was followed, two seconds later, by a solid whack as someone hit a drive.

  Then I saw the hat jerk in midair, as if it had been shot. My jaw dropped at the sight. The hat plunged toward the ground like a dead bird. As it tumbled, something fell from it.

  It was a golf ball.

  The ball dropped right into the cup of the seventeenth hole.

  The hat fell to the ground next to it.

  That had to be the most unfair thing that ever happened to me. When the hat finally lived up to its name and delivered some perfectly excellent luck, it gave it to someone else.

  I walked over to the green and stared down at the hat.

  A group of golfers approached me from the other side of the green. And I could hear Donny, Brice, and Monica walk up from behind. I glanced back and saw Brice had a big lump on his forehead.

  “Nice hat,” someone said.

  I looked over at the golfer who spoke to me, and my jaw dropped again. I’m surprised it didn’t fall all the way to my feet.

  “Lucky McMurphy!” I said when I recognized my hero.

  “That’s me,” he said, flashing his famous grin. He knelt and got his ball from the cup. “Thanks for the help. I was afraid I’d go a whole game without a hole in one. No way I’d get one on the eighteenth. That’s a par five.”

  He picked up my hat and plopped it back on my head. “Thanks,” I said.

  “Listen, kid, I’ve been watching you,” he said. “You’ve got talent. But you need to work on your concentration. I run a summer program for young players who show promise. You get lessons, and you get to play for free here all summer. Are you interested?”

  All I could do was nod.

  “Great.” He gave me a card with the information. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I went back to the eighteenth green and finished the game. I lost. I came in last. But I was still a winner.

  COOKIES FOR SAM

  As the glowing red, white, and blue embers from the last fireworks faded, a great idea hit me. I thought about it all the way home, sitting in the backseat with my younger sister, Trudy. As soon as we got inside, I told her about it.

  “I’m putting out cookies tonight,” I said.

  “What are you talking about, Breen?” she asked.

  My name’s Breanne, but Breen is as close as Trudy’s gotten, so far. That’s fine with me. There are more important things than names.

  “You know how we put out cookies for Santa, right?”

  “He loves them. And he brings me presents!” she said.

  “So, this is the Fourth of July. It’s America’s birthday. I’m going to put out cookies for Uncle Sam.” I had no idea what he’d give me in return, but I’d bet nobody else ever left him cookies, so he would have to be super grateful.

  I hadn’t planned ahead, but thanks to Dad’s killer sweet tooth, and Mom’s love of buying anything she had a coupon for, we had a nice assortment of cookies in the kitchen cabinet. After our parents went to bed, Trudy and I slipped down to the living room and put a plate of Double Stuf Oreos on the table next to the couch. I had a small flag I’d saved from a cupcake last year. I put it next to the cookies so Uncle Sam would know for sure they were for him.

  We’d barely made our way back upstairs when I heard sounds from the living room. We raced back down, and there he was, popping the last cookie in his mouth. He was tall and thin, with a white top hat, beard, and striped pants, just like in the drawings I’d seen.

  “Got any milk?” he asked.

  “Uh, yeah…” I sent Trudy to get a glass of milk.

  “Excellent!” He dusted the crumbs from his hands, then plopped down on the couch, picked up the remote control, and turned on the TV.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Waiting for my milk,” he said. “Oh, soccer! I love watching soccer.”

  Trudy returned with the milk and handed it to him. “Thanks,” he said, not taking his eyes away from the game.

  “You didn’t bring us anything?” I asked.

  “Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness,” he said. “Isn’t that enough?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I mean, I was grateful for all of that. But I’d given him cookies. It wasn’t too much to expect he’d give me something back in return.

  “Hang on,” he said. He played with the remote, searched through YouTube, and pulled up an old video. It was a man giving a speech.

  “President Kennedy,” I said. Our table had place mats with the presidents. I remembered Kennedy from his smile and his hair.

  “Ask not what your country can do for you,” he said.
“Ask what you can do for your country.”

  I looked at Trudy. She looked at me. We both looked at Uncle Sam. “What can we do for our country?” I asked.

  “Just what you’ve been doing,” he said.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  He pointed at the empty plate. “Acts of kindness. Creative thinking.” Then he pointed toward the stairs. “Now, isn’t it getting past your bedtime?”

  “I guess.”

  As we headed for the steps, Trudy took my hand and said, “We didn’t get a present. He got cookies and milk, but we didn’t get anything.”

  I thought about the gifts he’d mentioned, and I thought about the Christmas presents that were mostly long gone or forgotten. “Actually, we got everything,” I said as I tucked Trudy into bed. We had life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, and, thanks to my parents, lots of cookies. That was a pretty sweet deal.

  PASSED OVER

  Benjamin tried to hide his terror. But how could anyone be calm when the Angel of Death was scheduled to make an appearance? His older brother, Joshua, had started warning him about the terrifying visitor a week ago.

  “The Angel of Death is coming,” Joshua would whisper, every chance he got.

  Benjamin would cover his ears and shout, “Stop saying that! It’s not true!”

  “Oh, yes, it is,” Joshua would say. “I know these things.”

  What made it all the more terrifying is that he’d heard part of the very same story from his parents. They’d been talking about it for weeks. So he knew it wasn’t just something Joshua made up to scare him.

  “Moses wanted to take the Israelites out of Egypt and free them from slavery,” his dad said, telling the tale to Benjamin like it was a bedtime story. “But Pharaoh, who ruled Egypt, wouldn’t let them go.”

  And then came the scary part. God told Moses that all his people should mark the doors of their homes with lamb’s blood. That way, when the Angel of Death came to take the firstborn sons of the Egyptians, he would know to pass over the houses of the Israelites. After the angel left, Moses led his people out of Egypt.

  “And that’s the story of Passover,” his dad said. “It’s a wonderful time of celebration, with a special meal.”

  Benjamin tried his best to find lamb’s blood, so he could protect himself and his family from the Angel of Death. But he lived far from the nearest store. And lamb’s blood turned out to be one of the few things you couldn’t order online.

  The day before Passover, Benjamin told his mom, “We need to mark the door.”

  “What for?” she asked.

  “To save us from the Angel of Death,” Benjamin said.

  His mom laughed. But as Benjamin fought the urge to cry, her face got serious. “Oh, hon, don’t worry. That happened long ago, and it only happened once, to punish Pharaoh. The Angel of Death isn’t coming. There’s nothing to be scared about.”

  Benjamin tried to find comfort in those words. But Joshua insisted he had special information. “Last time, the Angel of Death took the firstborn sons,” he said. “Those were the oldest boys, like me. But I’m safe. This time, he’s collecting the youngest sons.”

  “That’s me!” Benjamin said.

  “Yup. Too bad, little brother,” Joshua said. “I’ll miss you.”

  Far too soon, Passover came. Benjamin’s family gathered with his aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Everyone seemed happy. The table was filled with delicious-looking food that sent wonderful aromas into the air, including beef brisket, potato kugel, and incredible macaroons and chocolate brownies his aunt had baked. But dessert was a long way off. First, they had to eat the traditional items. Benjamin barely managed to eat anything. His stomach was so jittery, he was afraid it would run away from the rest of his body.

  Run away!

  That’s when Benjamin knew what he had to do. According to everything he’d heard, the Angel of Death didn’t hide in dark alleys or leap down on people from trees. He visited the houses of his victims. That was definitely part of the story, whether it was told by his parents or his older brother. So Benjamin decided he’d leave his house before the Angel of Death came. All he had to do was stay outdoors until sunrise, and he’d be safe for another year. Maybe, if he was lucky, his mom would have another child by then, and he’d no longer be the youngest.

  As he stared down at a half-eaten slice of brisket on his plate, he wondered whether it was even safe to stay in the house until after dinner. Joshua hadn’t told him exactly when the Angel of Death was coming. It could be at any moment. Benjamin looked at all the people around the table. Nobody was paying any attention to him.

  He slipped out of his seat, grabbed his jacket from the hook in the hallway, and headed for the front door. Happily, the rain that had darkened the sky all afternoon had finally stopped, so Benjamin didn’t have to worry about getting wet while he waited for morning.

  “Bye, Benjamin,” Joshua shouted before Benjamin could escape. “Can I have your brownie?”

  “Where are you going?” his dad asked.

  “Out,” Benjamin said, reaching for the doorknob.

  “Not by yourself, and not during dinner,” his dad said. “Especially not during this dinner. Didn’t you pay any attention to the stories I told you?”

  “Yes!” Benjamin yelled.

  “Calm down,” his dad said, using words that never worked on anyone who wasn’t already fairly calm.

  “I have to get away!” Benjamin screamed.

  “I told you no,” his dad said. “Go to your room!”

  “But…” Benjamin couldn’t find the words he needed.

  “Now!” his dad said.

  Benjamin went up the stairs to his room and slammed the door. I have to get out of here, he thought. He looked out his window at the front lawn. He was too far above the ground to get down safely. But he knew if he climbed up to the roof, he could cross over to the rear side of the house, and then drop down to the roof of the back porch. From there, he’d have no trouble reaching the ground.

  He slid open the window, stepped onto the ledge, grabbed the gutter, and pulled himself up to the roof. It was steeper than he’d expected, and slippery from the rain, but he bent over for balance and started to make his way up the treacherous slope. As he reached the top, he heard a sound behind him, like flapping wings. Startled, he looked over his shoulder.

  That was a mistake. Thanks to the sudden movement, he slipped and fell. He made a grab for the peak of the roof, but he couldn’t hold on.

  “Help!” Benjamin yelled as he slid down the slick roof toward the edge. He sped closer and closer to the gutter. Halfway down, his slide turned into a tumble. He screamed again, but nobody was close enough to hear him.

  At the end of his tumbling slide, Benjamin slipped over the edge of the roof. He made a panicked grab for the gutter, and caught it with one hand. He jerked to a stop, dangling two stories above the ground, nowhere near a window.

  I’m okay, he thought, amazed that he’d managed to save himself. He reached up and grabbed the gutter with his other hand. I can get back up on the roof.

  As he gathered his strength to haul himself up, the gutter started to pull away from the house. Old steel spikes screamed as they tore free of the wooden eaves.

  Benjamin looked down. The sight of the ground far below, and the concrete walkway right beneath him, caused his stomach to tie itself into a knot. He looked up as a dark shape blocked the moonlight. A man stood in front of him on the roof, dressed in a black robe. The robe must have had slits, because Benjamin could see large wings jutting out the back.

  “No!” Benjamin shouted when he realized he wasn’t facing a man.

  The angel bent over and grabbed Benjamin’s wrist in a grip that felt like a swirl of fire and ice. Benjamin tried to look the angel in the face, but his eyes couldn’t focus on it.

  “Are you the Angel of Death?” he asked.

  “There is obviously no need for him here,” the angel said.

  “What?”
Benjamin didn’t understand.

  “You were doing a perfectly fine job of heading toward death, all by yourself. There was no need for any angelical assistance. You might have a hard head, but it’s no match for a two-story plunge onto concrete.”

  “I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t startled me,” Benjamin said.

  “Yes, you would have,” the angel said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Trust me. I know these things,” the angel said.

  “So, who are you?” Benjamin asked.

  “The Angel of Life,” the angel said as he hoisted Benjamin onto the roof. “Let’s get you back to your room.”

  “But my brother said…”

  “Your brother is a mean little nudnik who enjoys making people suffer,” the Angel of Life said. “I think maybe I’ll ask the Angel of Stomach Flu to visit him.” He led Benjamin across the roof and lowered him safely to the bedroom window.

  “Can he get there before dessert?” Benjamin asked. “Joshua always hogs all the brownies.”

  “I’ll make sure he does,” the Angel of Life said. “And as for you, go on back to dinner. Your father feels terrible that he yelled at you.”

  “Are you sure?” Benjamin asked. He realized his appetite had come back.

  “Trust me,” the Angel of Life said.

  “You know these things,” Benjamin said, echoing the angel’s words from before.

  “I do,” the angel said. In the unfocused swirl of his face, a smile flickered. “He’ll be happy to see you. This is not a day for sadness.” And with that, the Angel of Life flew off, leaving Benjamin to enjoy the rest of the Seder dinner, a large helping of brownies, and the pleasant sight of watching Joshua leap from his seat and make a mad dash for the bathroom before he could even start to eat dessert.