Wanted . . . Mud Blossom (13 page)

She touched her heels to Sandy Boy's sides, and they were off.

As the sound of Sandy Boy's hooves faded into the distance, the breath went out of Ralphie in one long sigh of relief.

What a nice family this was, he thought. What a nice world. What a nice woman Vicki Blossom had turned out to be.

Ralphie stopped in surprise. Two days ago he had told Vicki Blossom he loved her by mistake. Today, he could have told her the same thing and almost meant it.

Junior was in the kitchen, seated across the table from Mad Mary. Scooty was in his cage on the table between them.

Junior was leaning forward with his chin resting on his hands. He and Mary had been in the kitchen together for an hour. And gradually Mary was beginning to turn into her old self. Junior had already stopped missing her old smell of smoke, grease, and sweat, and gotten used to soap.

Junior said, “I really thought you were dead, I really and honestly thought that.”

“Why, Junior, I'm sorry I caused you to worry,” Mad Mary said.

“Not you, Mary. I was talking to Scooty.”

“Oh.” A smile cracked Mary's old face.

“I knew you weren't dead.”

“Well,
I
sure didn't,” Mary said. “How did you know that?”

“It's simple.” Junior shrugged. “You're my best friend in the world. If something had happened to you, I would have known it.”

“Ah,” said Mary.

“Ralphie,” Maggie said, “you're going to think this is just my imagination.”

“Probably,” Ralphie admitted, “but go ahead and try me.”

“Well, it's just that, you know, I can always tell when you want to kiss me.”

Since Ralphie pretty much wanted to kiss her all the time, this didn't seem too surprising. He decided not to comment.

“Don't you want to know how I can tell?” Maggie asked, glancing at him sideways.

“I guess.”

“Your eyes change color.”

Ralphie straightened his shoulders in a quick defensive movement.

“They do not.”

“Yes, they do.”

“They do not. I would know if my eyes changed color.”

“It's true,” she went on firmly. “Normally your eyes are light brown, but when you want to kiss me, Ralphie, they turn dark and murky.”

“They do not. You're making that up. My eyes have never been dark and murky in their lives. I resent that description.”

“Dark and murky,” Maggie repeated. “I'm not making it up. I'm only describing it.”

“Well, I don't believe it.”

“Next time you come over, I'm going to pull out a pocket mirror and prove it.”

“So what color are my eyes now?”

Maggie checked.

“Hmmm, dark and murky.”

“See, that proves you're lying because the last thing in this world I want to do right now is kiss you. I'm going to take my eyes and go home.”

“So, go.”

“I mean it,” he said, though he made no attempt to leave. “Why would I want to kiss a girl who goes around insulting my eyes?” He came closer. “So what color are they now?”

Maggie looked. “Actually, a little bit murkier.”

“Huh.” Ralphie didn't care what color his eyes were as long as Maggie kept looking in them. They could be purple with orange dots for all he cared.

Anyway, he hadn't known a person's eyes could change color. He wished he'd had this bit of information sooner. He could have been watching to see if her eyes changed.

He looked into Maggie's eyes.

He would have given anything to see red and white pinwheels spinning around. But Maggie's eyes were the same clear green they always were.

Here he was with eyes so murky he could hardly see out of them and here she was with eyes as clear as jewels.

Maggie grinned. “Thanks for helping me find the cane.”

“I was glad to.”

“And Ralphie?”

“What?”

“You know, sometimes you do seem almost human.”

“Sometimes I am.”

Ralphie's thoughts were racing. Maybe green eyes didn't change. Why should they? Green was the international color for GO, wasn't it? And GO was exactly what Ralphie wanted to do.

Ralphie lowered his head. He felt encouraged by the fact that Maggie's head was still tilted up.

He kissed her.

Once.

Her face was still turned up and he felt he could kiss her again.

Twice, maybe three times.

But Ralphie decided to play it cool.

He said, “Now, don't expect me to do that every time my eyes get murky, Maggie. Half the time my eyes get murky just because they feel like getting murky.”

Maggie's grin broadened so that he could see her pointed tooth. “I'll try not to.”

Ralphie grinned back at her. “I just didn't want you to get your hopes up and be disappointed.”

In the silence that followed, there was muffled laughter from the bushes, and then a chorus of, “Maggie and Ralphie up in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g …”

Ralphie swirled around, his hands on his slim hips. “Come on, you guys, cut it out. This is a tree? Use your heads. Look, you want us to kiss in a tree? Come on, Maggie, let's find a tree and climb up it and kiss so your little brother and his infantile friend can hop around yelling—”

But Maggie was laughing too hard to answer.

Junior had not been as sorry to see Monday come as he had thought. Pap had been right about Scooty. The whole thing was to teach responsibility, and Junior did not want any more lessons in that.

He would be glad to—well, he would be willing to—take lessons in reading and writing and spelling, even arithmetic. But he did not want any more lessons in responsibility. As far as Junior was concerned, he had earned an A in responsibility.

The school bus pulled up, the door opened, and Vern and Junior and Scooty got on. The first seat was vacant, and Junior took it. Vern went to the back of the bus to sit by Michael.

Junior sat with the cage on his lap as he had on Friday, but—unlike Friday—Junior was not talking to Scooty in low, excited whispers. Nor was he jiggling his legs.

The bus made another stop. The Rankin girls got on and moved to the back of the bus.

Junior thought with sympathy of the person who would be selected to take Scooty home next weekend, a person who would be full of excitement and the desire to provide pleasure for his houseguest, only to find out about the most terrible thing in the entire world—responsibility.

It was funny, Junior thought. He had looked forward to the weekend and looked forward to the weekend, and it had been terrible. It had turned out all right—as things usually did with the Blossoms—but while it was going on, it had just been terrible.

Rebecca, from Junior's room at school, got on the bus. “Hi, Junior.”

“Hi.”

She stuck her finger through the cage and wiggled it. “How're you doing, Scooty?”

“Say ‘Fine.'” Junior had always admired the way mothers answered for their babies like this.

“Did you have fun at Junior's, Scooty?”

“Say ‘Part of the time.'”

“Mind if I sit with you?”

“Me?”

She nodded.

Junior was relieved to be answering for himself.

“No, I wouldn't mind.”

She sat down.

This was the first time a girl—no, anybody!—this was the first time anybody had wanted to sit by Junior on the school bus, so he felt complimented. Perhaps she only wanted to sit by Scooty, but he hoped not.

Rebecca stuck her finger back through the wires to wiggle hello again to Scooty. “I hope I get to take him home this weekend.”

“Oh, no,” Junior said in alarm. Just a moment ago he had been feeling sympathy for someone, and what if it turned out to be Rebecca—the only person in the entire school who had ever wanted to sit by him on the bus?

“Why do you say that? Oh, no?”

“Rebecca, a hamster is a lot of responsibility.”

“I think it would be fun.”

Junior paused. He didn't want to spoil anybody's fun, especially not Rebecca's, but he was wise beyond his years in responsibility and hamsters.

“Will you let me give you one bit of advice?”

“What's that?”

“Whatever you do, don't make him a tunnel.”

In the back of the bus Michael and Vern were going over the events of the past two days. Michael started the conversation.

“I can't believe everything turned out all right.”

“I can't either.”

“I can't believe we got our backpacks.”

“Me either.”

“Did Mad Mary say anything to you?”

“About what?”

“Us trespassing in her cave.”

“No.”

“Do you think she recognized you?”

“Yes.”

“I can't believe everything turned out all right.”

“Remember Scooty?”

“And the trial?”

“And k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”

And their laughter was loud enough to make the Rankin girls turn around.

“What's funny?” they asked.

Junior hurried up the stairs to the school, down the hall, and into his classroom.

“Junior, why you're early,” the teacher said. “You're the first one here. You almost beat me.”

“I wanted to return Scooty.”

“Did you enjoy him?”

“A little bit of the time,” Junior said truthfully.

Junior put the cage on the hamster table and took his seat. He was glad to have a little time to himself. Because on the bus that morning Junior had had an idea.

He didn't dare to hope that it would turn into an invention, and besides Rebecca kept talking to him. Rebecca was a good talker—her specialty was TV shows she'd seen—and listening to her tell about shows was better than watching them. Junior didn't have time to think.

Now he did have a few private moments, and a thrill of creativity came over Junior. He closed his eyes.

He was going to make something. And unlike the wings, the coyote trap, the UFO, and the tunnel of doom, this invention was going to work.

What a good weekend this one was going to be. The horse detective was going to come, and the horse detective could see what Junior was going to make! The more people there were to admire his inventions, the better Junior liked it.

Junior opened his eyes. Junior smiled.

All about the Blossoms in …

Wanted …

Mud Blossom

and more!

Discussion Questions

An Interview with Betsy Byars

Writing Tips from the Author

1. Maggie is the oldest Blossom. How does being the oldest give her special responsibilities? Discuss whether there are moments when she would like to switch places with Junior and Vern.

2. Junior is a very creative thinker, but his “bright ideas” often go awry. Why does he blame school for his inability to think of new projects?

3. Junior's life is so full of adventure that he doesn't feel that he has to “playact.” Which of his adventures has been the most dangerous? Why doesn't Junior learn from his mistakes?

4. Describe Mud and Dump's relationship. Why does Junior think that Mud is a spoiled dog? How does Junior know that Dump is willing to be friends with Mud?

5. Mud can smell an adventure. How does this ability almost get him in “real” trouble with the Blossom family?

6. Why is Pap so angry when he finds out that Vern and Michael have been in Mad Mary's cave? Discuss whether this might be considered “breaking and entering” in the eyes of the law.

7. There are two major conflicts in the novel: Mad Mary is missing, and Mud is accused of murdering Scooty, the class hamster that Junior is keeping for the weekend. Discuss the speculations regarding each of these mysteries. What is Ralphie's role in solving both mysteries?

8. What is the first hint that Vern and Michael have something to do with Scooty's disappearance? How do they attempt to cover up their involvement by volunteering to be on the jury?

9. Junior thinks that it is scary to wake up and not know where you are. He learned this in
The Not-Just-Anybody Family
when he woke up in the hospital and in
The Blossoms Meet the Vulture Lady
when he woke up in Mad Mary's cave. Describe how Mad Mary feels when she wakes up in the hospital. Discuss how the Blossoms find Mary. Mary looks and smells different to Junior after her time in the hospital. How does he know that she is the same Mad Mary?

10. Discuss what Vern and Michael learn about humor. Discuss whether they should be punished for letting their “practical joke” develop into Mud being tried for murder.

Prepared by Pat Scales, retired school librarian and independent consultant, Greenville, South Carolina.

Why do you think Mud is such a favorite character?

Mud is a lot like Mac, a dog I loved when I was growing up. One time Mac was actually put on trial like Mud. He was accused by some neighborhood boys of eating one of the chickens they were raising. I don't remember the verdict of the trial, but my father did pay for the chicken.

Ralphie is famous for coming out with brilliant statements. What is the most brilliant statement your family has said you've ever made?

I have never said anything brilliant in my life. Here's something I don't understand about writing. I cannot write poems, but I can create a character who can and does. I can't write songs, but I created a character named Shorty Anderson who could. Same with Ralphie. I can never say anything brilliant, but I created Ralphie, who came up with “I was looking for a Bible.” It doesn't sound like much out of context, but in the situation Ralphie was in when he said it, it's brilliant.