Grizzly bears have excellent memory, especially when it comes to remembering where food is buried.
—Animal Wisdom
Can’t blame them there, right? Who doesn’t want to remember where they hid the cookies from their brother?
“If Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson is in my laundry again, I’m going to murder you!” I announced, slamming the front door shut. The house hadn’t burned down. Daz was nowhere in sight. In fact, nothing looked weird at all. The warm air inside the house felt like a hug after walking home in the chilly weather.
Kicking off my boots, I tiptoed around the slushy mess at the doorway so my socks didn’t get wet. The only thing worse than wet boots was wet socks, when you ended up squishing from room to room with cold feet everywhere. Stupid snow.
“I think murder is probably a little extreme,” Dad said, peeking out from the kitchen. An old apron was tied around his waist, and he was wielding a wooden spoon stained with something red. “Unless you’re going to attack Daz with a murder of crows?” He giggled at his own joke.
CREATURE FILE
SPECIES NAME: Goofballicus Fatheropta
KINGDOM: Our house, making dinner so Mom doesn’t set the kitchen on fire; the gorilla exhibit at the zoo, where he studies them and usually comes home smelling like them too.
PHYLUM: Funny dads with mustaches that twitch when they’re thinking hard; excellent hug giver and maker of blanket forts.
WEIGHT: Whatever it is, he’s always moaning when he steps on the scale and muttering about treadmills.
FEEDS ON: Family meetings, gorilla stuff, Mom’s special pineapple cookies with extra cinnamon sugar on top.
LIFE SPAN: Pretty sure dads are immortal.
HANDLING TECHNIQUE: If you’re staying up late to read, make sure that he can see the light underneath your blanket because then he’ll leave you alone. Keep a stash of M&M’s in the car for long rides because Goofballicus Fatheropta gets hangry after a few hours without food.
I gave him a look. “It’s Daz’s turn to help out, not mine. You can tell him to stop bugging me with his texts!”
“Ten four, peanut! We’re making your favorite tonight to celebrate!”
“To celebrate what?” I yelled on the way to my room.
He didn’t answer. Instead, a loud clatter of cutlery echoed through the hallway.
“Weirdos,” I mumbled, shaking my head. My dad was usually so preoccupied with work, he was in Gori-La La Land half the time. For a second, I debated knocking on Daz’s door and chewing him out for his irritating texts. But why wake the beast?
As my hand was on my bedroom doorknob, Daz’s door opened. His head poked out of his room like a gopher. That on its own wasn’t scary, but the look in his eyes was another story. A devilish grin spread over his face.
“You going in there?” he asked, tapping his door frame aimlessly with his fingertip. He batted his eyelashes. Was it just me or was his hair extra spiky today? I knew from experience, the spikier his hair was, the greater the chance of me being embarrassed.
I took a step back from my door. “Why?” I asked. “Why are you asking that?” Whenever Daz got that look in his eyes, the only correct response was to take cover. “Why is everyone acting so weird today? Dad even said we were celebrating something today? Is that what all your texts were about?”
He shook his head, but Daz could have angel wings and be playing the harp on a cloud and he still wouldn’t look innocent.
“No reason,” he said. The mischievous glimmer in his eyes set my teeth on edge. Nodding to my door, he smiled again. “Go ahead. Go on in!”
He might as well have been telling me to hop into a live volcano at this point.
I peeked back at my door, inspecting the knob for any telltale signs of Daz prankery.
Bloodstains?
Nope.
Hidden insects?
Nope.
Superglue?
Nope.
What was he up to?
“You didn’t let one of your snakes loose in my room again, did you? I told you, I am not going to keep helping you find Oscar if you’re dumb enough to set him loose in there.”
He giggled and closed his door mysteriously. “Good luuuuck,” he said from behind the door.
I frowned, giving myself a pep talk. I will not live in fear of my brother. I will not live in fear of my brother!
Cracking my door open, I sniffed inside. It might seem weird, but there was no way he was going to get me with a skunk again like the Great Stink of ’11.
My room smelled normal from the outside.
But when I yanked my door open, my heart fell into my butt.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. My ears began to tingle, and my vision began to do swirly-whirlies. “You’re kidding me!” I steadied myself on the door frame as I gaped at her.
It wasn’t a reptile staring back at me.
Instead, it was a girl with bright eyes, clunky boots, and fingerless gloves.
A face I hadn’t seen in months!
“You’re actually here!” I yelped.
Liv—as in, the Liv, my lifelong best friend who I hadn’t seen since she moved to New Zealand—uncrossed her arms and wiggled her fingers in the air. “Surpriiiise!”