Fuzzy Fights Back Page 4

  Mm-mmm.

  A minute or so later, Fuzzy came back to himself. He was lying on his back beside the upended food bowl. Rolling over, he checked inside it. Empty.

  Fuzzy sat up. Someone had eaten all his food.

  Realization dawned.

  He had eaten all his food.

  Groaning, Fuzzy sank his head into his paws. His belly was happy, but his conscience was hurting.

  How could he have broken the hunger strike after only half a day? And with all that was at stake? Bad guinea pig. Fuzzy was sure the other pets had been much more disciplined.

  He sighed. He had a whole weekend to forget about his failure, but somehow Fuzzy knew he would never hear the end of it at Monday’s Class Pets Club meeting.

  “That was a terrible idea!” roared Igor as soon as the pets had assembled in their clubhouse Monday afternoon.

  Cinnabun frowned. Even her frowns were adorable. “Did you try fasting?”

  “Of course I tried,” said the iguana. “I wrestled with myself for three whole minutes.”

  “That long?” said Sassafras drily. “Poor baby.”

  Igor gripped the sides of his spiky head. “It was torture. I’m still recovering.”

  Nodding sagely, Vinnie said, “What’d I tell ya? It’s against animal nature.”

  “How long did you last?” Fuzzy asked the rat.

  Vinnie shrugged. “I didn’t even try. Pointless.”

  Fuzzy felt a little better about his own failings.

  “Did anyone fast all weekend?” asked Cinnabun. No response. “How about all day Friday?”

  Fuzzy surveyed the group. Only Luther raised his tail.

  “I eat once a week, baby,” he said.

  Their rabbit president shook her head ruefully. “So much for our hunger strike.”

  The pets slumped, studying the floor, the pillows—anything but Cinnabun’s disappointed gaze. Fuzzy found himself secretly glad that he wasn’t the only one with no willpower.

  “You know,” said Marta gently, “I’m not sure it would’ve worked anyway.”

  “Why not?” asked Cinnabun.

  “When I fasted all morning, they didn’t think I was on a hunger strike,” said the tortoise. “They thought I was sick.”

  “Me too,” said Fuzzy.

  Cinnabun blew out a sigh. “I guess we overlooked one teeny-weeny problem with the hunger strike approach.”

  “What’s that?” said Mistletoe.

  “Since we can’t speak human, they had no idea we were fasting.”

  All the pets agreed that this was true. It was so easy to see—in hindsight, anyway. They sprawled around their clubhouse in attitudes of defeat.

  Fuzzy gnawed on a whisker. Their campaign wasn’t going so well. At this rate, mean Mrs. Krumpton would call that all-school meeting, and their time at Leo Gumpus would be over faster than a cheetah’s coffee break.

  Guilt weighed Fuzzy down like a stone in his stomach. One lousy misstep on his part had brought them to this place.

  After all they’d been through, could this really be the end of the class pets?

  Fuzzy stiffened his spine and gritted his teeth. The end? Not if he could help it. If Fuzzy had gotten his friends into this spot, he could darned well get them out.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured the principal and the PTA president, and considered all he’d overheard at the office. Then something occurred to him.

  “Listen,” said Fuzzy. “Maybe we’re going at this the wrong way.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Mistletoe. “Should we be violent?”

  The iguana scowled. “After all that crazy fasting, I’m ready to take it out on somebody.”

  Fuzzy held up a palm. “No, I don’t mean how we’re doing this, I mean who we’re doing it to.”

  Sassafras groomed her wing. “I don’t follow.”

  Climbing to his feet, Fuzzy padded around the clubhouse. He always thought more clearly when he was moving. Or chewing.

  “Maybe the principal’s not the one we should be winning over,” he said.

  “But she’s the most powerful person at school,” said Sassafras. “Everyone knows that.”

  Fuzzy cocked his head. “Is she really?”

  Uncoiling himself, Luther lifted his brow. “What are you getting at, Fuzzmeister?”

  “From what I overheard, the PTA has lots of power too,” said Fuzzy.

  “True,” said Cinnabun. She nibbled a fruit chew thoughtfully. “But the PTA is a whole passel of humans. By the time we convince all of them, it’ll be too late.”

  Fuzzy scowled. He hadn’t thought of that. But it seemed like he was on the right track, somehow. What was he missing?

  Scratching himself with a hind paw, Vinnie squinted. “Who says we gotta win over the whole freakin’ PTA?”

  “Go on,” said Cinnabun.

  “Seems to me that this Krumpton dame is the key,” said the rat. “If we can change her mind, she stops leaning on Principal Flake. Bim-bam-boom—problem solved.”

  He broke off a chunk of PowerBar, tossed it into the air, and caught it in his mouth.

  The other pets looked at one another, then back at Vinnie.

  “Never thought I’d say this,” said Igor, “but ol’ Stinky Whiskers just might be onto something.”

  Fuzzy’s eyes lit up. “Of course,” he said. “After all, Mrs. Krumpton only got involved because I made Malik—uh, because Malik’s mom is a friend of hers, and she’s against pets.”

  Marta gave him a thoughtful look but didn’t speak.

  Fuzzy hurried on, hoping that the rest of the pets hadn’t noticed his slip. “The other PTA members might not even know about her plan yet. Mrs. Krumpton is the key.”

  Slithering over to a pillow and draping himself across it, Luther asked, “Ssso what would change Missy PTA’s mind?”

  Fuzzy bit his lip, reflecting on the woman’s strong opinions. “A tank?”

  Vinnie scoffed. “C’mon, Parsley Breath. Everyone’s got a weak spot. We just gotta figure out what hers is.”

  “And how do we do that?” asked Mistletoe, who’d mostly been keeping quiet.

  Gnawing on another chunk of PowerBar, Vinnie examined its wrapper. “Ya know, I’m almost getting used to these.”

  “Focus, Brother Vinnie,” suggested Cinnabun.

  “Right, right,” said the rat. He stared up at the ceiling. “Hmm. Maybe there’s somethin’ in her past we could blackmail her with?”

  “Now you’re talking,” said Igor.

  “No time for that kind of research,” said Fuzzy. “We need to stop her before the all-school meeting, and that could come any day now.”

  “If only we knew somethin’ about this dame,” said Vinnie. “Then we’d have an easier time figuring out our approach.”

  “Her child,” said Marta. The old tortoise hadn’t spoken in so long, Mistletoe jumped at the sound of her voice.

  Side conversations faltered. Everyone turned to look at Marta.

  “What about her kid?” asked Sassafras, shaking out her tail feathers.

  “Humans adore their children,” said the tortoise. “They save, they sacrifice, they even serve on the PTA for them. Maybe her child is her weakness.”

  Vinnie shook his head admiringly. “And here I thought that whole thing about old turtles being wise was just a cliché.”

  “I’m a tortoise,” said Marta.

  “Whatever,” said the rat. “Either way, you’ve got smarts, lady.”

  Marta ducked her head, acknowledging the compliment.

  Fuzzy brightened. “Now all we have to do is figure out who her kid is.”

  “Leave that to me,” said Sassafras. “I know just where they keep those student files in the office.” Her face darkened. “Although I might have some trouble getting into the cabinet.”

  Vinnie cracked his knuckles. “That’s my department,” he said. “Not a lock in the world can keep out this rat.”

  “That’s settled, then,” said Cinnabun
. “Sister Sassafras and Brother Vinnie will go investigate and report back to us. Since this is a matter of some urgency, I suggest we wait right here for their return.”

  Prompted by his guilty conscience, Fuzzy stepped forward. “Um, I’ll go with them.” Watching him, Marta pursed her lips.

  “You don’t need to come,” said Sassafras.

  “Oh, but I want to,” said Fuzzy. His conscience gave another twinge. “More hands, more eyes, more better.”

  Cinnabun’s dimples sprouted. “I question your grammar, Brother Fuzzy, but I love your team spirit.”

  He flashed her a weak smile. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s start snooping.”

  Fuzzy had been visiting the office so much lately, he felt like they should give him his own desk and ID badge: Mr. Fuzzy, School Sneak. He led the way through the crawl space. Like spies on a mission, the three pets slipped along—silent, serious, and determined. Fuzzy didn’t know what the others were thinking, but that nagging inner voice kept reminding him that this whole mess was his fault, and that he’d better find a solution soon.

  He tried to ignore it. Fuzzy felt pressured enough already.

  Onward they traipsed through the dusty drop ceiling, until Vinnie raised a paw. “We’re here,” he whispered. “I’m gonna take a peek, see if the coast is clear.”

  Sassafras made the okay sign with her wingtip feathers. Fuzzy was impressed at her dexterity.

  Easing one of the ceiling tiles aside, Vinnie peered through the crack. He must not have seen anyone, because he stuck his whole head through the gap.

  “The joint’s deserted,” he said, pulling himself back up. “If we go about two tiles thataway, we’ll have an easier time of it.” The rat jerked his thumb to the left.

  Sassafras and Fuzzy followed his directions, and soon the three found themselves working their way down the shelving into the office. Fuzzy and Vinnie did, anyway; the parakeet just glided to the desktop.

  “Show-off,” whispered Vinnie.

  Sassafras turned to them and bowed. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”

  “Believe me,” said the rat, landing on the desktop. “If I was gonna hate, beauty wouldn’t be the reason.”

  Sassafras hop-fluttered her way along the counter to the tall metal filing cabinet standing beside it. “Here we go, gents.”

  “In there?” said Fuzzy, hopping down onto the counter. “Can’t you just do your thing with the computer?” He nodded at the secretary’s machine. Sassafras was always bragging about what a computer whiz she was.

  “I would, but she already turned it off,” said the bird.

  “So?” said Vinnie. “Turn it back on.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t get it. There’s a password, and I don’t know what it is. Luckily, they keep backups of some key records on paper.”

  Fuzzy regarded her. “How do you know all this?”

  “Yeah,” said Vinnie. “Ya been moonlightin’ as a secretary?”

  Sassafras cackled. “Hardly. Mrs. Martinez left me with Mrs. Gomez for a few days when they were working on a stinky science project in our classroom. I picked up a thing or two.”

  The bird flew to the top of the metal cabinet. “The file we need should be in the second drawer with the other student files. Can you get it open?”

  “Ha!” said Vinnie. “Does a woodpecker hate a petrified forest?”

  “Um, I guess?” said Fuzzy.

  “Stand back and watch me work,” said the rat.

  But before he could begin his magic, the three pets started at the sound of a door closing down the hallway, followed by footsteps.

  “Freeze!” whispered Fuzzy.

  They held stock-still, Fuzzy and Vinnie on the counter, and Sassafras atop the filing cabinet. Not a feather fluttered, not a hair stirred. They might have been pet statues.

  Seconds later, a human came into view. From the corner of his eye, Fuzzy recognized the sturdy, tank-like figure of Principal Flake trundling toward the exit door.

  Uh-oh.

  If the principal spotted pets roaming around school after hours, she wouldn’t need any other excuse to ban them for good.

  I am invisible, I am totally invisible, Fuzzy thought as hard as he could.

  The principal’s eyes were trained on the floor; her frown was deeper and darker than a coalminer’s bathwater. Just before she reached the door, Mrs. Flake glanced absently over at the counter, then reached up to flip off the light switch.

  All went dark.

  Had she seen them? Fuzzy couldn’t be sure.

  Halfway out the door, the principal paused.

  “Hide!” whispered Fuzzy, diving behind a potted plant.

  On flickered the lights. Risking a glance behind him, Fuzzy saw that Vinnie had ducked behind the computer monitor and Sassafras had disappeared somewhere.

  The silent pause seemed to stretch longer than a visit to the vet. Fuzzy’s heartbeat thudded in his ears.

  At last, Principal Flake gave a bemused snort. “Silly woman’s got me seeing things,” she muttered. Off went the lights. Rattle-click went the door lock.

  The principal’s heels tok-tok-toked down the corridor. The pets were alone once more.

  “Whew!” said Sassafras, from somewhere behind the cabinet.

  “You said it.” Fuzzy slumped bonelessly to the countertop.

  Vinnie’s dim shape emerged from behind the computer monitor. “Enough lollygagging,” he said. “Let’s get crackin’.”

  Up onto a low shelf, then across to the filing cabinet he scrambled. Fuzzy followed. With a flutter of wings, Sassafras joined them. All three peered over the edge to the drawer handles below. Fuzzy’s gut clenched. It was a sheer drop.

  “Well?” said the bird. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Don’t rush me,” said Vinnie. “I’m thinking.”

  Fuzzy backed away from the edge. “Can you, um, think faster?”

  Arching an eyebrow, the rat said, “Feel free to pitch in. I’m not the only one here with a brain.”

  The pets examined the problem. “I know!” squawked Sassafras. “We could lower you by your tail.”

  “Nice try, Featherhead,” said Vinnie. “No way I’m lettin’ you two mooks pull off my favorite body part.”

  Fuzzy crept back to the edge and eyeballed the distance. “Wouldn’t work, anyway. You’d need a tail as long as a kangaroo’s.”

  They stared awhile longer.

  “But ya could lower me with somethin’, that’s for sure,” said Vinnie. “They got any rope around here?”

  “Let’s find out,” said Fuzzy.

  Sassafras glided over to the desk and turned on a lamp to help illuminate the search. All three of them began poking into corners and cubbyholes around the office.

  “Check this out!” squawked the bird, her nose in a deep drawer.

  “What’d you find?” Fuzzy called.

  “Mrs. Gomez has—mmf—a whole stash of fruit-flavored candy!” said Sassafras with her mouth full.

  “Can ya tie it together into a rope?” asked Vinnie.

  “Mmf, I doubt it,” said the bird.

  “Then keep searching.”

  Fuzzy unearthed stashes of pens, pencils, and Post-its, a bag of coffee beans, plant food, a brass bust of some guy with really long earlobes, back issues of some magazine called Teachers’ Universe, and a box of stale Girl Scout Cookies. But no rope.

  “Hey, hey,” said Vinnie, half to himself.

  “Whatcha got?” chirped Sassafras.

  The rat held up a silver roll of what Fuzzy had heard humans call “duck tape,” although nothing about it reminded him of an aquatic bird.

  “The answer to our prayers,” said Vinnie.

  “It’s not rope,” said Fuzzy.

  “But it’ll do.” Vinnie slung the roll over one shoulder and across his chest, like a desperado’s bandolier. “Fellow pets, come lend me a paw.”

  Working under the rat’s direction, the three of them taped a
long strip from the back to the front of the filing cabinet. Rather than tearing it off, though, Vinnie let the roll dangle off the edge.

  “So we’re taping the cabinet together?” said Sassafras.

  In a flash, Fuzzy saw the rat’s plan. “No, he’s going to cling to the roll and lower himself.”

  “Got it in one, Chubby Cheeks,” said Vinnie with a wink. “And you two won’t even need to hold the other end.”

  The rat grinned, stepping off the top of the cabinet. His feet went inside the roll, his paws gripped the edge of the tape, and he push-push-pushed with his feet.

  With a cracking sound, it unrolled crookedly, maybe half an inch. Vinnie frowned. “Needs more weight.”

  Fuzzy gulped. It was a long way down to the floor, and guinea pigs weren’t that great at gliding. But the rat needed his help—heck, all the pets needed his help. “Uh, coming,” he said. Gripping the edge of tape tighter than an anaconda’s hug, he gingerly stepped down inside the roll.

  Crick-ack-ack-ack! Fuzzy and Vinnie jerked downward as the tape unspooled another few inches. Yikes! Fuzzy’s stomach tried to escape through his throat. His eyes squeezed shut.

  “That’s the ticket!” cried Vinnie. “Again!”

  Working together, Fuzzy and Vinnie unrolled their way down until both could stand on the second drawer’s handle.

  “What now?” Fuzzy asked, trying not to look down.

  “A little hocus-pocus …” Reaching out with one foot, the rat pushed sideways on the button by the handle. When it clicked, he said, “Now put yer back against the cabinet and push with all yer might!”

  Fuzzy followed instructions. When the drawer slid out with a whoosh, his heart lurched. Whoomp! Down plunked his guinea pig butt onto a wad of hanging files.

  Vinnie smirked. “Grace personified.”

  Fuzzy shot him a look.

  After a few more solid shoves, Fuzzy and Vinnie were able to push the drawer out far enough so they could rifle through the files.

  “Is that Krumpton with a C or a K?” asked the rat.

  “Not sure,” said Fuzzy.

  Sassafras stuck her head over the edge. “How’s it going down there?”

  “It’d go a whole lot faster with another pair of eyes,” said Vinnie.