Puppet Pandemonium

E
very time Ella Pearl crawled over the top of Ricky Raccoon's puppet house, I held my breath. That unruly crocodile gnashed her teeth faster than a pair of snapping turtles looking for worms.
Clickly clack, clickly clack
. And even though I had seen my grandmother's puppet shows a zillion times, I was sure that someday Ella Pearl was going to eat Ricky Raccoon for supper.

“Not to worry,” Gram said. “Ricky is much too clever to be eaten by a cross old crocodile.” But with Ella Pearl's fiery temper, I never knew from one show to the next what might happen.

My gram was magic. She could make any puppet come alive and make kids laugh so hard they wet their pants.

When I was in the fourth grade, Gram asked me if I'd help with her Ricky Raccoon puppet shows. “I need a good director,” she said. “Someone I can depend on to run the sound system and work my spotlights.” My problem? I didn't like being in front of people. I was afraid they'd laugh at me if I made a mistake.

“But I don't know how to direct,” I told Gram.

“Nothing to it,” Gram promised. “And the pay's not bad either.”

“You know I can't make puppets act,” I reminded her. Staying behind the scenes was what I did best.

Gram understood. She had this way of making me believe I could do anything, though, so that was why after a little more coaxing on her part, I found myself saying, “Well, as long as it doesn't interfere with Little League, I guess I'll give it a try.”

Working for Gram turned out to be a blast. She showed me everything I needed to know and made me a cool T-shirt with the word
DIRECTOR
on the back. After a couple of goof-ups, I caught on to working the sound system and the spots. Sometimes my best friend, Sam, helped if Gram needed extra-special lighting.

Have stage, will travel
was Gram's motto. It said that on a magnet she kept on her fridge. And it was true, too. She and her stage traveled all over Seattle,
entertaining kids and adults. Everyone knew her. We had been working together all summer when we both learned my job was about to fizzle out.

“You'll never believe it,” I'd said to Sam during recess the day before. “My dad took a new job. Looks like I'll be starting fifth grade in Texas. Is that the pits or what?”

He groaned. “No way. Who's gonna play first base if you leave?”

“You know I wouldn't let the Seattle Seagulls down on purpose,” I said glumly. “Moving isn't my idea.”

“Awwww, man, I can't believe it.”

“Me either,” I said, feeling even worse now that I'd told Sam. “But there's not much I can do about it. There's already a For Sale sign stuck in our yard.” And my director's job? It would disappear like a puff of smoke.

Dad had this weird idea that living in a small town would be great for our family. When he found out his computer company had an opening near Franklin, Texas, his hometown, he applied for it. Moving would mean no more Seagulls, no more Sam, no more puppet shows, and the worst part, no more Gram. But she was her usual cheery self about it.

“Baker, we'll just have to adjust, that's all. I'll come and visit you often. Who knows?” she said, shrugging. “I might even bring Ricky to meet some Texas kids.”

“Promise?”

“You've got my word on it.” She gave me an extra-high five. We were now on our way to the Londonderry Mall puppet theater to give our last show together, and I wanted it to be the best one ever. Sam planned on meeting us there. I was nervous. Seems like when you want everything to work out perfectly something always goes wrong. Gram called it Murphy's Law: if something is going to go wrong, it will. But so far, so good.

“Wow, the mall's packed today,” I said, looking out the car window.

“Labor Day sales bring out lots of people,” Gram said. “Last-minute school shopping.”

My mom had told me we'd go shopping in Texas. Not only did last year's cords and shirts not fit, they were too heavy for the Texas heat. As long as I didn't have to wear a cowboy hat and boots, I'd be happy.

Gram pulled her car around to the side of the building and two men jumped off the loading dock to help us. Gram's portable stage didn't weigh much, but it was too bulky for me to carry. I unloaded the rest of the puppet equipment and we raced inside.

“We're running late, Baker. Speed it up.”

“What's new?” I said, trying to keep pace with Gram. “We're always late.”

I shouldered through a maze of people on my way to the escalator. Gram pulled a suitcase on wheels. She stored the sound system, the spotlight, the tape
recorder, and the CDs in it, plus a million other things. There was a sign at the escalator. I read it aloud every Saturday.

“No strollers. No walkers. No wheels.”

Gram always tried to convince me to ride the elevator with her, but I liked the escalators better. Sometimes people asked me about Ricky Raccoon Productions as I rode to the second floor. My T-shirt was a good advertisement.

Gram gave Ricky Raccoon an extra shove down into my tote bag. “Be careful with the puppets, Baker,” she said. “Watch—”

“Gram.” I cut her off. “I'm going into fifth grade. Remember? I haven't lost a puppet yet.” She winked at me and headed for the elevator. I'd heard her instructions all year long. I was sure everyone in the mall had heard them too. Her voice boomed out like a cannon. Dad always said the army had missed a good recruit when Gram became a puppeteer instead of joining up with them.

I held the oversized wicker tote bag close. It was overflowing with puppets. Besides Ricky Raccoon, there were Sandy Skunk, Greta Gorilla, Rita Rooster, Carole Cow, Mr. Fox, Wendell-the-Wizard, Peter Rabbit, Chicken Licken, Ella Pearl, and a million others. The kids loved them all. But they especially liked it when Chicken Licken was in the show with Ricky.
There was a horn built inside her head and when Gram squeezed it, a paper tongue flew out of her beak and she made a loud squawking noise. The kids cracked up when she appeared.

They also loved Ella Pearl, the meanest crocodile in Seattle. Although she caused big trouble in every show, the kids screamed with delight when she came on the scene. Ella Pearl was always looking for a crocodile husband, but because of her bad temper she could never find one. There wasn't any doubt, however, who was the star. The kids dug Ricky Raccoon big-time. He threw out surprises from his puppet house and no one could resist him.

I glided up the escalator. Just as I was ready to step off onto the second-floor landing, someone tapped my shoulder.

“You in the red shirt,” a lady said. “Do you have a raccoon in that bag?”

I ignored her and pulled the tote bag closer. That was when I felt Ricky's tail dangling down the side of my leg. I saw his masked face peeking out. The lady must have seen it too. I grabbed for his tail, but I was too late. Ricky's tail disappeared between the escalator steps.

At my feet was a limp body with two raccoon eyes pleading for help. How was I ever going to explain to Gram that Murphy's Law had found me in the Londonderry Mall?

W
hen the escalator suddenly stopped, I grabbed the railing to keep from falling forward.

“Whoa!” someone yelled. I turned around and saw lots of surprised faces. The woman behind me was glaring through oversized pink glittery glasses. I thought she might be part of a clown act or something. I knew immediately she didn't want to be best friends. It didn't take her two seconds to yell at me again.

“You!” she bellowed. “What did you do?” Her voice was as gruff as a TV wrestler's. The emergency alarm
kicked in, and the siren sounded like a fire drill at my school, except there was no Mr. Parsons, my teacher, yelling at the students to line up. Most of Ricky's tail had disappeared.

Pretending I didn't know what had happened, I reached down to grab Ricky.

“The trouble's over here!” the woman called out, pointing to me. A security guard appeared out of nowhere. He wasn't smiling.

“Move it!” he hollered.

“I would be glad to move it,” I whispered, trying not to draw even more attention to myself. “But I need to get my raccoon.” I pointed between the steps.

“Ha! Like that's gonna happen,” the woman said. The guard stared at Ricky. He took a step backward. Then he squatted down like golfers do before making an important putt. He studied the situation for about three seconds and then gave Ricky a jerk. The puppet didn't budge.

“See, I told ya,” the woman said, laughing in a mean way. She slapped the rubber railing beside her. “Wouldn't you know it? That kid's broken the escalator.” The guard gave Ricky another tug.

“Wait!” I cried. “Don't rip him! I need him for a show.”

I heard people grumbling behind us. They were
pushing and yelling and trying to get past us. An elbow jabbed me in the ribs.

“Hey” a man called out. “Get going. We don't have all day here.”

“Yeah,” someone else said. “The early-bird sales expire at noon!”

“Listen carefully” the security guard said, holding his hand up like a grade-school patrol boy. “We gotta fix a problem up here. Keep your shorts on. We'll be rolling soon.”