Fuzzy Fights Back

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: The Great Defender

  Chapter 2: In a Cold Threat

  Chapter 3: Picture Perfect

  Chapter 4: From Bad to Nurse

  Chapter 5: Spy Hard

  Chapter 6: The Hunger Games

  Chapter 7: Old Stinky Whiskers’s Bright Idea

  Chapter 8: Filing for Dollars

  Chapter 9: Duct Tape Dynasty

  Chapter 10: Cheater Pan

  Chapter 11: Testing, One, Two

  Chapter 12: Bambi Eyes

  Chapter 13: Winner and a Movie

  Chapter 14: Home, Home, and Deranged

  Chapter 15: Survivor: Suburbia

  Chapter 16: Rocky Raccoon

  Chapter 17: A Handy Janitor

  Chapter 18: Five Reasons Why

  Chapter 19: Doctor Love Triumphs

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Fuzzy awoke to the sound of clacking. For a moment, he felt disoriented. His sensitive guinea pig nose didn’t detect the usual odors of Miss Wills’s classroom: glue, dry-erase markers, and sweaty kids.

  Where was he?

  Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Fuzzy checked out his surroundings. Tan sofa, poofy burgundy armchairs, widescreen TV. Oh yeah. He chuckled, nodding to himself. He’d come home for the weekend with Malik Summers, Room 5-B’s top student from last week.

  With a yawn and a stretch, Fuzzy rose from the footstool he’d been napping on and hopped to the floor. As the clacking continued, angry voices rose in the next room. Fuzzy’s ears perked up. It sounded like an argument.

  Was Malik in trouble?

  All classroom pets took an oath to comfort and protect their students, anywhere, anytime, anyhow. Fuzzy shook himself. No more Nap Rodent. It was time for him to become Action Rodent!

  Following the noises, he trotted out of the den and into the Summerses’ living room. As he rounded the corner, Fuzzy gasped and stopped short.

  The furniture had been pushed back, and in the cleared space, a bigger boy was attacking Malik with a stick! Malik swung his own stick to block it—clack!

  “How dare you threaten my brother, Spartan dog!” cried Malik. He counterattacked with a whunk-whunk-whack. But the taller boy easily fought him off.

  Fuzzy frowned. Why was Malik calling the other boy a dog when he was so clearly human? Why were they fighting? He watched, wide-eyed, as the two traded a series of blows.

  Click-clack-clunk!

  The fight ranged up onto the sofa and back down to the floor.

  “Your brother is a stinker!” yelled the bigger boy, his golden hair flopping into his eyes.

  “And you’re a bigger one!”

  “He stole my king’s wife, and now he’s gonna pay.”

  “Over my dead body,” growled Malik.

  Fuzzy looked from one of them to the other, thoroughly mystified. He felt like he’d wandered into the middle of one of those foreign movies Miss Wills watched sometimes. Nothing made sense. Malik didn’t have a brother; he had an older sister. And what was all this about stealing wives?

  “King Menelaus is a doo-doo head!” cried Malik. “Take that!” He aimed a blow at Floppy Hair’s belly.

  The taller boy spun aside, whacking Malik on the arm, then the shoulder.

  Fuzzy bristled. This overgrown bully was hurting his student. Nobody messed with Room 5-B’s kids while Fuzzy was on duty.

  No matter how tall, no matter how tough, Floppy Hair was going down!

  Snarling, “Leave him alone!” Fuzzy hurled himself straight at the stranger. His eyes were wide. His teeth were bared. Heck, he might even bite the blockhead.

  Floppy Hair brandished his stick. “Die, Trojan pond scum!” He chased Malik around the table, and Fuzzy had to gallop extra hard to keep up.

  Then he saw his chance. They were coming around again.

  Switching directions and rebounding off the sofa, Fuzzy launched himself at the bigger boy’s legs. As he flew, he heard Malik shout, “Watch out for Fuzzy!”

  The next seconds seemed to unspool in slow motion.

  Floppy Hair dodged. Fuzzy sailed past him, tumbling onto the floor.

  The boy caught his foot on the table and tripped, stick still raised.

  He toppled forward.

  Malik turned.

  The stick descended, straight at Malik’s head.

  Fuzzy gasped. “No!”

  Ka-tonk!

  It struck Malik right between the eyes. With a grunt, the boy crumpled onto the carpet.

  Holy haystacks!

  Fuzzy’s heart caught in his throat. Neither boy moved.

  Was Malik …?

  Rising onto his hands and knees, Floppy Hair looked over at his fallen enemy. “Dude? Are you okay?”

  Guilt wrestled with anger in Fuzzy’s gut. On the one hand, if this noodlehead had killed Malik, Fuzzy swore he’d find out how to catch rabies, then bite the bully until he caught it too.

  On the other hand, Fuzzy was supposed to protect his students, but his actions led to Malik getting hurt. Bad class pet. He crept forward, gaze fixed on Malik.

  The boy’s eyes were closed. His dark lashes rested on his cheeks. He lay so still.

  “What’s going on in there?” a woman’s voice called from the next room.

  Before Fuzzy knew it, Mrs. Summers strode into view. At the sight of her son, the curly-haired woman stiffened. “Malik!” she cried, rushing to his side.

  As she kneeled beside him, her son began to stir. Fuzzy let out a long breath. The boy was still alive. He wanted to rush forward and comfort Malik, but the weight of guilt anchored him behind the table leg.

  “Careful, don’t sit up yet,” said Malik’s mother. “What happened? Are you all right?” Her hands patted her son all over, searching for an injury.

  “It’s my fault.” Floppy Hair joined them. “I tripped and hit him with my sword.”

  “You tripped?” Mrs. Summers squawked.

  The blond boy flinched. “It was an accident. I was trying to avoid the guinea pig, and I caught my foot on the table.”

  “The guinea pig?” Frowning, Malik’s mother scanned the room.

  “Is Fuzzy okay?” Malik pushed up onto his elbows to see.

  “Is Fuzzy okay?” his mom echoed.

  For some reason, Fuzzy noticed, she kept repeating everything the boys said, only louder and more intensely.

  “Yeah,” said Malik, rubbing his forehead. “He got all excited because we were rehearsing our scene, and he ran into the middle of things. Where is he?”

  “Rehearsing a scene?” Now Fuzzy was repeating things. He smacked his own forehead. Of course. The boys weren’t trying to kill each other. They were practicing their parts for the fifth-grade play about the Trojan War.

  Oops. Fuzzy’s ears tingled with embarrassment.

  “Don’t worry about that rodent,” said Malik’s mom. She brushed aside her son’s hand and probed the reddened area on his forehead. “How does this feel?”

  “It’s no big de—ow!” said Malik. “Just a little sore.”

  The curly-haired woman bit her lip. “You were out cold.”

  “Only for a few seconds,” said Floppy Hair.

  “You’re going to the emergency room for a quick check, just to be sure,” said Mrs. Summers.

  “But I’m fine,” said the blond boy.

  “Not you, Brayden. Run along home, now; you’ve done enough.”

  “I’m fine too,” Malik insisted.

  Helping her son to his feet, Malik’s mother said, “Let’s let the doctor decide, okay, lamb chop?”

  As blond Brayden waved good-bye and shuffled off, Malik scanned the room. “Where’s Fuzzy? Gotta make sure he’s okay.”

&nbs
p; Fuzzy stepped out from behind the table leg, head bowed.

  Mrs. Summers scowled. “That creature has caused enough trouble. Put it in its cage and call your teacher.”

  “But, Mom—”

  “Soon as we get back from the ER, she’s going to take that thing away for good.”

  “But Fuzzy’s my reward.”

  Arching an eyebrow, Mrs. Summers said, “Some reward. Real rewards don’t endanger students.”

  “Mom, you’ve got it all wrong.” Malik picked up Fuzzy in the gentle grip—one hand around the chest and one under the hindquarters. “Fuzzy’s like our class mascot. The best student each week gets to take him home. It’s a tradition.”

  “Is it?” said Mrs. Summers, her lips a grim line. “Then it’s about time for this tradition to change.”

  Fuzzy spent the next couple of hours in guinea pig jail, feeling as blue as a baby Smurf’s tears. Later, when Miss Wills came to pick him up, Fuzzy learned that Malik was indeed just fine. The boy had gotten a little bump on his forehead. No big deal.

  Still, that didn’t stop Mrs. Summers from scolding Fuzzy’s teacher and saying mean things about class pets.

  All through Sunday at Miss Wills’s house, Fuzzy worried about how his actions with Malik might affect his class. Would the teacher end her tradition of giving top students a weekend with Fuzzy? But when Monday morning came and she made no such announcement, he began to relax.

  Probably Mrs. Summers was just blowing off steam. Probably she didn’t mean what she said. After all, who didn’t like class pets? They were a vital part of student life at Leo Gumpus Elementary, and likely to stay so for many years to come.

  By lunchtime, Fuzzy had settled back into his usual routine, convinced that nothing was wrong. He had no idea just how mistaken he was.

  As students tromped back into the room after lunch, Gabe hurried over to Abby and whispered something. She frowned, said, “No way!” and murmured the message to Messy Mackenzie. Whatever it was, the word spread around the room at the speed of gossip. The volume rose.

  By the time the bell rang, the whole class was humming. “Settle down, please,” said the teacher.

  Finally, the students quieted. But their gazes remained sharp, expectant.

  “Now, when we conduct an experiment using the scientific method,” Miss Wills began, “we need to cover certain basic steps. Can anyone—?”

  A forest of hands shot into the air.

  The teacher smiled. “Such enthusiasm. Yes, Maya?”

  “Is it true?” Maya asked.

  “The scientific method?” said Miss Wills. “Well, it’s a way of determining what’s true …”

  Maya shook her head. “No. Is it true that Principal Flake might take away classroom pets?”

  “What?!” squeaked Fuzzy, overturning his water bowl.

  “What?” said Miss Wills. From the look on the teacher’s face, she felt the same way he did. “Where did you hear that?”

  “It’s all over school,” said Gabe. “Is it true?”

  “They can’t get rid of Fuzzy, can they?” blurted Nervous Lily.

  Miss Wills’s forehead crinkled. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. I can’t believe that Mrs. Flake would approve something like that.”

  “But can she do it?” Loud Brandon asked.

  Fuzzy rose onto tiptoe and gripped the cage bars, awaiting an answer.

  “It’s not—” Miss Wills began. A confused frown blanketed her face like a fog bank. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t think so, but …”

  The class erupted in side conversations. Fuzzy felt squirmy all over, like he’d gotten a case of mange mites.

  Principal Flake was a nice lady, for a principal. She wouldn’t really ban classroom pets.

  Would she?

  Clap-clap, clap-clap-clap! Miss Wills applauded in a rhythm, and the kids responded with an answering rhythm. Voices trailed away.

  “I know we’re all stirred up about this rumor,” said the teacher. “But right now it’s only that—a rumor. Rest assured that I will learn the truth and let you know.”

  “Soon?” asked Sofia.

  “Soon as I can. And now, if you don’t mind, maybe we can do some actual schoolwork?”

  Students settled back into their seats. Fuzzy drew a long, shaky breath. As the class learned about the scientific method, he started applying it himself.

  Evidence: People were saying Mrs. Flake might want to ban classroom pets.

  Hypothesis: If that were true, something had turned the normally friendly woman against them.

  Conclusion: Fuzzy and his friends had better turn her back into a pro-pet principal in a jiffy. Otherwise, they’d have to say good-bye to their students, their home, and their purpose in life.

  Fuzzy eyed the wall clock. How could the minutes move so slowly when so much was on the line?

  At long last, the students headed home, Miss Wills marched off to meet with the principal, and Fuzzy was left to wait for the custodian’s daily visit. Up and down he paced, wearing a rut in the fresh pine shavings that lined his habitat.

  When Mr. Darius arrived to tidy up, Fuzzy took heart in the fact that the lanky janitor didn’t mention anything about a ban. He just fed Fuzzy some celery, swept the floor, and emptied trash cans, gliding on to the next room, as smooth as a dolphin’s belly button.

  The instant the door clicked shut, Fuzzy push-push-pushed his escape path together. Up went the platform against the cage wall. Snug beside it went wooden cubes and a ball.

  In a rush, Fuzzy scrambled from blocks to ball to platform. Over the wall he wriggled, landing with a whump on the table. From there, he followed his usual path down to the floor, across to the cubbyholes, and up the plastic saguaro to the bookcase.

  Just as he stepped onto the bookshelf, however, Fuzzy heard something that froze him in his tracks: a rattle in the keyhole!

  Holy haystacks!

  Pressing himself into a corner of the shelf, Fuzzy did his best impression of a hairy book.

  Into the room strode Miss Wills, muttering to herself. Crossing to her desk, she fished her purse from a drawer and lifted her sweater off the back of her chair.

  Fuzzy held his breath. Would she notice his escape?

  His teacher marched toward the door. It was looking like she’d blow right past his cage. Fuzzy began to relax.

  Then Miss Wills pivoted and leaned over his habitat.

  Uh-oh.

  She tapped on the bars. “Fuzzy? You in your igloo?”

  Jaw clenched, Fuzzy hoped against hope that she didn’t try to peek inside his favorite sleep spot. He really didn’t want her to know he could escape.

  “Don’t worry, big guy,” said the teacher. “It’ll all work out somehow.”

  She patted the cage and headed straight out the door.

  Fuzzy scrunched up his nose. What did she mean, somehow? With doubt wriggling in his belly like a mealworm casserole, Fuzzy scaled the rest of the bookcase, pushed aside a ceiling tile, and clambered up into the crawl space above.

  He had to know whether the other pets had heard anything more about this possible threat. Fast as a furry thunderbolt, he galloped along through the drop ceiling, sneezing occasionally as he kicked up dust.

  Before long, a warm amber light shone upward through the dimness. He found himself at the entrance to the class pets’ clubhouse, a forgotten space above Room 2-B’s closet. Voices echoed below. He wasn’t the first to arrive.

  Trotting down the narrow plank into the clubhouse, Fuzzy spotted most of the pets gathered around Cinnabun, their floppy-eared rabbit president.

  “Simmer down, y’all,” she was saying. “No need to get your whiskers in a tangle.”

  “Have you heard the rumor?” said Fuzzy, skidding down the ramp to join them.

  “That they want you to star in an episode of World’s Weirdest Rodents?” said Igor the green iguana. “Heard it.”

  Cinnabun tsk-tsked. “That’s unkind, Brother Igor. If yo
u mean the rumor about banning classroom pets, Brother Fuzzy, that’s exactly what we were discussing.”

  “Is it true?” asked Fuzzy.

  “I heard yes,” said Sassafras the parakeet.

  “I heard no,” said Igor.

  “I heard I might have to find myself a new crib,” said Vinnie the rat, “and I don’t like it.”

  Luther the rosy boa shrugged, sending a ripple down his powerful body. “In other wordsss,” he said, “nobody knows.”

  “Knows what?” squeaked a chipper voice. Mistletoe the mouse was scampering down the ramp, tail whipping behind her like a flag. “What’d I miss?”

  “Nothin’ much,” said Vinnie. “Just that Principal Flake is maybe gonna boot us outta school.”

  Clutching her chest, Mistletoe staggered back a few steps. “Us?” she said. “Out?”

  “That’s the rumor, Little Bit,” said Luther. He slithered up to a cat sculpture that had been salvaged from the trash and draped himself over it.

  On shaky legs, the mouse tottered the rest of the way down to join the group. “B-but that’s horror-ful!”

  “There’s been no announcement,” said Cinnabun, patting Mistletoe’s shoulder, “but somehow the word has spread all over school.”

  “A-are they allowed to do that?” asked Mistletoe.

  “We don’t know.” Fuzzy tugged on his whiskers nervously. “But we’ve got to find out.”

  “Amen, brother,” said the rabbit. “But how?”

  For a few seconds, no one spoke. Then Luther drawled, “What we need is a ssspy—someone who can watch the principal and get the lowdown.”

  “But the secretary would never agree to spy for us,” said Mistletoe. “She’s too loyal.”

  Luther exchanged a glance with Fuzzy. “I was thinking of one of us,” he said.

  Fuzzy frowned. “But how can we get close enough to spy during school hours without being missed in our classrooms?”

  “Beats me, Fuzzarino,” said Luther. “I was kinda hoping you’d figure out that part.”

  “Thanks a lot,” said Fuzzy.

  Sassafras shook out her wings. “Meanwhile, we can’t just wait around for our doom like pigeons on a ledge.”

  “That’s right!” Igor pounded the box they used as a makeshift table. “We’ve got to strike back with all our might.”