ON A BRIGHT morning in late June, Mr. and Mrs. Ferdinand Forthright looked at each other across the breakfast table and clasped hands.
“It’s here,” whispered Alexa, Ferdinand’s wife.
“What we’ve been dreading,” replied her husband.
“Ten weeks. Ten. Weeks.”
“Day after day after day. Why does summer vacation have to be so long?”
“I’m going to put in a call to Valerian Hoonley this morning,” announced Alexa. She let go of her husband’s hands and straightened up, trying to will herself to feel brave.
“Who’s Valerian Hoonley?”
“You know Mrs. Hoonley,” Alexa replied, which was ridiculous, because if her husband knew who Valerian Hoonley was, he wouldn’t have said, “Who’s Valerian Hoonley?”
“I really don’t.”
“She lives across the street and two houses down.”
“Oh. Why are you going to call her?”
“Because she’s the only neighbor I’ve met since we moved to Little Spring Valley. And because her children never whine. Maybe she’ll have some advice for us about Austin and Houston.”
Mr. Forthright put his hands to his temples and closed his eyes. The very mention of his children gave him a small headache. Suddenly he opened his eyes. He had heard a noise from upstairs. He pushed his chair away from the table and grabbed his briefcase. “I’d better get to the office.” He rushed out the door just as his children came thundering down the stairs.
“MO-OOOOOOM! WHERE ARE MY SNEAKERS? I CAAAAAN’T FIIIIIND MY SNEAKERS!” whined Austin. She thrust herself into her chair. “THIS IS THE WROOOOOOONG KIIIIIIND OF JAAAAAAM!” she added. “WHERE’S THE RAAAAAASPBERRY?”
Houston flung himself down next to his sister. “WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DOOOOOO TODAA-AAAAY? WE HAVE A WHOLE DAAAAY WITH NOTHING TO DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.” He poked out his lower lip.
Mrs. Forthright looked longingly out the window, where she could see her husband backing his car down the driveway. He was so lucky that he got to spend the entire day in an office. She sighed and found Austin’s sneakers and the raspberry jam.
“YOU DIDN’T ANSWER MEEEEEE,” whined Houston. “I SAAAAID, WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DOOOOO TODAY?”
His mother lowered her voice, which she hoped would encourage her son to do the same, but this had never, ever worked. “You could walk to school and play on the playground,” she whispered. The school was half a mile from their house. Surely her children’s whiny voices couldn’t carry that far.
Austin moaned, “BUT WHAT IF IT RAAAAA-AAAINS?” She said this without bothering to turn around and look out the window. If she had, she would have seen the lovely sunshiny day and the clear blue sky.
“I don’t think it’s supposed to rain today,” murmured her mother.
Houston sat on his chair and stared at the jar of raspberry jam. Then he stuck his finger in it. “THERE ARE BROOOOOOWN THINGS IN HEEE-EEEERE.”
“MOM, HE PUT HIS FIIIIIIINGER IN THE JAAAAAAAM!” cried Austin. “THAT IS DIS. GUS. TIIIIIIIIING.”
Mrs. Forthright scooped out a spoonful of the offending jam. She turned to Houston. “The brown things are raspberry seeds.”
“BUT I DON’T LIIIIIIKE SEEDS IN MY JAAAAAAM. THEY GET CAUGHT IN MY TEEEEE-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEETH. I CAN’T EEEEEAT THIS.”
Mrs. Forthright stepped out of the kitchen. She stepped all the way on to the front porch, where she stood for a moment, breathing deeply. Across the street, that nice neighbor whose name was either Mr. Bickle or Mr. Buckle was watering the flower garden with his two small sons. Alexa breathed in, out, in, out, relishing the peace. At last, with great reluctance, she turned around and listened at her front door. All was quiet, so she went back inside. The moment she appeared in the kitchen doorway, Austin said, “MO-OOOOOOM, IT IS SOOOOOOOOO HAAAAAAAARD BEING THE NEW KID!”
“WHY DID WE HAVE TO MOOOOOOOVE HEEEEEERE?” added Houston. “WE DON’T KNOW ANYBODYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.”
“You’ve been going to school in Little Spring Valley for two months,” their mother replied. “And, Austin, you’ve been going to dance class for almost as long. You must have met plenty of kids, both of you.”
“NOBODY LIIIIIIIIIKES US,” whined Houston.
“THEY’RE ALL STUCK UUUUUUUUUP,” added Austin.
“They can’t possibly all be stuck up. Why don’t you each invite a friend over today?”
“WE ALREADY TOOOOOOOLD YOU,” said Houston. “WE DON’T KNOOOOOOOW ANYBODY.”
“WE HAAAAAAVE NO FRIEEEEEEEENDS,” added Austin.
“Just one person each. A classmate. Surely you know some of your classmates.” Alexa Forthright paused to sigh. “And could you please lower your voices a bit? I’m four feet away. I can hear you just fine.”
Austin set down her glass of orange juice. She was a thin, pale girl who found so many faults with the food her parents served her that she rarely finished a meal. Now she leaned over to get a better look at her juice. “THERE’S PULP IN HEEEEEEERE! I CAN’T STAAAAAAND PULP!” She pushed the glass away.
“I HATE SEEDS,” Houston said again.
“Friends,” their mother reminded them. “What about inviting some kids over today? I’ll make the phone calls for you. Austin, who should I call for you?”
Austin let out a sigh big enough to have come from a whale. At last, she said in a wispy little voice, “Petulance Freeforall.”
“Great. And Houston, who should I call for you?”
Houston buried his head in his hands and muttered, “Egmont Dolittle. But he won’t come.”
This is how Mrs. Forthright’s phone calls went:
MRS. FORTHRIGHT: Hello, I’m looking for Petulance Freeforall.
PETULANCE: That’s me.
MRS. FORTHRIGHT: I’m Austin Forthright’s mother, and I was wondering if you’d like to—
PETULANCE: I can’t. I’m busy today. I’m busy all the days. Bye!
MRS. FORTHRIGHT: But I didn’t even tell you … Hello? Hello?… Hello?
“She hung up, didn’t she?” said Austin. “I knew it.” She tipped her head to the ceiling and closed her eyes. “STUUUUUUUCK UUUUUUP. Just like I said.”
Her mother was undeterred. “Let me try Egmont.” She punched in the number on her phone.
EGMONT: Hello, Dolittle residence.
MRS. FORTHRIGHT: Egmont? What lovely manners you have. This is Mrs. Forthright, Houston’s mother.
EGMONT: Ummmmmm …
MRS. FORTHRIGHT: Egmont? Are you still there?
EGMONT: I have to go walk my dog.… Take care!
Mrs. Forthright ended the call. She really couldn’t blame Petulance and Egmont. If she were a kid, she wouldn’t want to play with Austin or Houston.
She looked at her children. Austin had taken four sips from her pulpy orange juice and several miniscule bites from the middle of her toast, leaving a large pile of remains on her plate. Houston had eaten around every single raspberry seed on his toast, leaving behind a billion teensy pieces of toast, each with one seed in the middle. “Can’t you think of a single thing to do today?” asked Mrs. Forthright.
Austin let out another one of her whale sighs. “Lots of kids around here go to Missy Piggle-Wiggle’s house.”
“Who’s Missy Piggle-Wiggle?”
“That funny lady who lives in the upside-down house with the barn in back.”
“Oh. I was wondering who that house belongs to. Why do the kids like to visit her?”
“She has lots of pets. A cat and a dog and a talking parrot.”
“She’s supposed to be magic.”
Mrs. Forthright frowned. “Are you certain about that?”
“YEEEEEEEES!” cried Austin, who wasn’t certain at all, since she had never met Missy, let alone visited the upside-down house.
“This person is a magician?” asked her mother.
“NO!” Houston kicked his shoes furiously against the legs of his chair. “She’s MAAAAAAGIC, not a magician.”
“What exactly makes her magic?”
“Um, her clothes, I think,” Austin replied weakly.
“She has a pet pig,” added Houston, who would have sounded more impressed if he had actually met Lester and watched him prepare a meal.
“And the kids here like to visit her?”
“YEEEEEES! WE ALREADY TOOOOOOLD YOU!” wailed Austin.
Houston kicked at his chair again.
“Can you please stop that, dear?” said his mother.
“I WASN’T DOING ANYTHIIIIIIIING! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS CRITICIZING ME?”
Alexa Forthright did a quick calculation and figured that the upside-down house was at least a mile away. “Why don’t you two visit Mrs. Piggly-Wiggly today?”
“THAT’S NOT EVEN HER NAAAAAAAAME!” cried Austin. “It’s Missy Piggle-Wiggle.”
“Apologies. Missy Piggle-Wiggle. Why don’t you walk over there? It’s a beautiful day—”
“CAN’T YOU DRIIIIIIIIVE US?” whined Austin.
“I could, but you need some exercise. Go on. It’s the first day of summer vacation. Enjoy yourselves.”
* * *
Across town at the upside-down house, breakfast was over. Missy had risen early and done the morning farm chores. She had fed Wag and Lightfoot and Penelope, and she had made a pot of coffee for Serena and her crew. The day was already warm, and Missy had opened the back door to let in the summer air and the scent of roses.
The moment should have been peaceful, but Missy was pacing the kitchen, staring at a piece of paper Serena had handed her earlier.
“What’s this?” Missy had asked.
Serena had stared at the floor and shuffled her feet around. “A revised estimate for the repair job.”
“Oh,” said Missy. And then, when she’d looked at the figure at the bottom of the page, she’d added, “Oh, dear.”
“I’m sorry,” said Serena. “It’s just that the work is taking longer than I thought it would.”
Missy knew Serena was too polite to add that even when the house was behaving, the job wasn’t easy. The day before, for instance, Serena had had to pull out all the cabley things she had just installed because they were backward.
“They would be perfectly perfect in other buildings,” Serena had said as she tugged and pulled at the wires. “But here, they’re—”
“Wonky?” suggested Penelope in a loud voice, and the house had let out an alarming grumble.
Now, to add to Missy’s worries, Penelope was swooping back and forth through the kitchen, emitting squawks and screeches.
“What on earth is the matter?” Missy asked her.
“Trouble! Trouble on the way!”
More trouble? wondered Missy.
The doorbell rang. Penelope flapped to the front door and announced, “Never mind. It’s only Georgie Pepperpot and Veronica Cupcake!”
* * *
Alexa Forthright shut the door behind Houston and Austin and leaned against it briefly. Just as soon as she recovered from breakfast, she would put in a call to Valerian Hoonley. She watched her children straggle down the sidewalk. Even with the front door closed tightly, she could hear Houston say, “I DON’T KNOW WHY MOM IS MAKING US GO OOOOOOVER THEEEEEERE.”
“WE DON’T EVEN KNOOOOOOOW MISSY PIGGLE-WIGGLE.”
“MOM IS SOOOOOO MEEEEEEEEAN.”
“AND UNFAAAAAAAAIR.” Austin slumped along, scuffing her sneakers down the sidewalk, leaving tiny bits of rubber in her wake.
Houston followed three paces behind. “STOP WALKING SO FAAAAAST. I CAN’T KEEP UP WITH YOOOOOOOU!”
“I’M NOT WALKING FAST; YOU’RE WALKING SLOOOOOW. YOU’RE A COMPLETE SLOOOOOO-OOWPOKE.”
By the time the Forthright children had whinily reached the upside-down house, they were sweaty and tragic-looking. They stood together at the end of the crooked path leading to the porch and glanced at each other.
“Should we really go in?” Austin asked her brother.
“All the other kids do.”
“The house looks creepy. And there’s a hole in the roof!”
“This place is weird.” Austin cocked his head. “Did you hear that? Someone inside the house just said, ‘Trouble! Trouble at our door!’”
“You’re making things up.”
The Forthrights stumbled along the path, which seemed to shift beneath their feet. They struggled to keep their balance. They had just reached the steps to the porch when suddenly every single window shade in the house flapped down. At the same time, the steps were slurped inside the house like a turtle drawing its head into its shell.
“Hey!” exclaimed Houston. “The steps disappeared! How are we supposed to get INSIIIIIIDE?”
“WE WALKED AAAAAAALL THE WAY OVER HERE FOR NOTHIIIIIIIIING!”
The door was opened then by a young woman with the reddest hair Austin had ever seen. She was wearing a straw hat with a ribbon tied around the brim and a flowy, sparkly lavender dress that reached all the way down to her ankles. A parrot was perched on her shoulder, and a large pig stood at her side.
“You must be the Forthrights,” said the woman. Then she called over her shoulder, “House, put yourself back to rights, please.”
The house grumbled and moaned.
“No dawdling!” ordered Missy.
Austin looked at Houston in dismay and said in her quietest voice (which Missy could hear perfectly well), “She seems kind of mean.” But then the porch steps unfurled and the window shades snapped up, and Missy smiled at her guests.
“Welcome,” said Missy. “Let me see. You must be Austin.” She pointed to Austin. “And you must be Houston.” The Forthrights nodded. “Come on inside. Georgie and Veronica are here, and we’re making blueberry muffins.”
Houston rushed up the stairs, certain that they would disappear beneath his feet. Austin ran even faster, passed her brother on the porch, and stopped breathlessly in the hallway of the upside-down house.
“Whoa,” she said.
Houston ran into her from behind. “Whoa,” he said.
There was silence as they turned around and around, looking at the furniture that had floated to the ceiling and the chandeliers sprouting from the floor.
“How do you read?” Austin finally asked.
Missy waved her hand. “I just curl up on the floor by one of the lights.”
Lester tugged at Missy, and she sniffed the air. “I think the muffins are done. Come join us in the kitchen.”
Houston and Austin followed Missy Piggle-Wiggle and the pig to the kitchen, where two children they didn’t know had strapped scrub brushes to their feet and were skating across the floor.
“Thank you for cleaning up,” Missy said to them.
She was about to serve the muffins when the parrot squawked, “Melody Flowers is here!” Two minutes later she squawked, “Rusty and Tulip are here!” Two minutes after that, she squawked, “Harold Spectacle is here—even though it’s a workday and he should be at the store!”
Soon the little kitchen was bursting with people and animals. Lester passed around a plate of muffins.
“Thank you, Lester,” said Melody.
“Yes, thank you,” said Rusty.
“Mmmm. These are scrumptious,” said Veronica, who had just that morning learned what scrumptious meant.
Houston took a muffin and bit into it. He chewed. And then he spat the mouthful into his hand. “THEEEEEEESE HAVE SEEEEEEDS! I HAAAAA-AATE SEEDS.”
“Blueberries don’t have seeds,” said Tulip. “They’re too little.”
“Of course they do. All fruits have seeds!” wailed Houston.
“Okay, but blueberry seeds are the size of, like, molecules,” replied Tulip.
“I DON’T CAAAAAARE! I CRUNCHED ON ONE. I KNOW THEY’RE IN THE MUFFIIIIIIINS!”
“Gracious,” said Harold. “I think we should institute a no-whining rule.”
Veronica was staring wide-eyed at Houston. “And a no-spitting rule,” she said. “If you do that again, I’ll barf.”
“Rules like that aren’t generally effective,” murmured Missy. Then she turned to Austin. “Would you like a muffin?”
Austin squinched up her eyes and whined, “BLUEBERRIES TURN MY TOOOOOOOOONGUE BLUUUUUUUUUE.”
“Goodness,” said Harold, who had sat down at the table next to Lester.
“Of course they turn your tongue blue,” said Rusty, frowning. “They’re blueberries.”
“BUT I DON’T WAAAAAAANT A BLUE TOOOOOOONGUE.”
Melody took Austin by the hand. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” she said with great sympathy. “I was new here last year, and in my old town, Utopia—”
Tulip rolled her eyes. “We know, we know. Utopia was perfect.”
“But in Utopia,” Melody went on desperately, “there was an after-school club for…”
Harold stood up then and beckoned Missy into the living room. “I’d better get back to the store,” he said. “I just wanted to stop by and say hello.” He grabbed his top hat and ran for the door. “Do you by any chance have a cure for whining?” he asked.
“Absolutely. But I need to wait until one of the Forthright parents calls and asks me for help. A good cure must be timed just right.”
Harold nodded and stroked his chin. Then he gave Missy a quick hug and left for the bookstore.
Missy returned to the kitchen just as Georgie said, “Let’s go digging for pirate treasure,” and Houston replied, “Digging for treasure? BUT IT’S HOOOOOOOT OUTSIDE!”
Missy noticed that her fingertips were beginning to tingle. She felt that one or the other of the Forthright parents would call her within three days. She wiggled her fingers. No, she thought. The call would come within three hours.
* * *
Alexa Forthright drove to the grocery store and began the tedious process of choosing foods her children wouldn’t object to. She was in the cereal aisle searching for something that didn’t crunch too much but that also wouldn’t get too soggy in milk, that was neither too sweet nor not sweet enough, that didn’t smell like fruit or vanilla or cinnamon or chocolate, and that had almonds in it but no other kind of nut, because these were Austin’s cereal requirements.
“Mrs. Forthright?” said a voice from behind her.
Alexa jumped. “Oh! It’s … Mrs. Freeforall, isn’t it?” Alexa had a dim memory of meeting Mrs. Freeforall one afternoon in the parking lot of Little Spring Valley Elementary School.
Mrs. Freeforall smiled. “Yes. How are things going? I know you’re new here and that moving can be very stressful.” Before Alexa could reply, Mrs. Freeforall barreled on, “I was wondering if you’d made the acquaintance of Missy Piggle-Wiggle.”
“How odd that you should mention—”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, I couldn’t help but notice that your children have a bit of a problem with, well, whining. Now, Missy has cured all my children of … I’m not certain how else to say this … of unwanted habits.”
“She’s a wonder!” said a man’s voice from the canned-goods aisle. A head peeped around a display of tomato soup. “Missy cured my daughter Heavenly of her habit of being late for everything. Every. Single. Thing,” he added. “I’m sure she could do something for your children.”
“Really?” Alexa felt she should be offended that every parent she met seemed to know about Houston and Austin and their whining, but she was too relieved by the prospect of a cure for them—an actual cure—to be truly offended. Side by side, she and Mrs. Freeforall pushed their carts toward the checkout counter, where they bumped into nice Mr. Bickle or Buckle from across the way.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Mr. Bickle-Buckle began, “about a wonderful woman in town who might be able to do something about the whining I hear coming from your—”
Alexa Forthright held up her hand. “Does anybody have Missy Piggle-Wiggle’s phone num—?”
“Yes!” cried Mrs. Freeforall, Mr. Bickle-Buckle, and Heavenly’s father.
Alexa pulled out her cell phone.
At the upside-down house, the ringing phone was picked up by Lester, who handed it politely to Penelope, who squawked, “Hello? Hello? Hello?”
Alexa thought the voice sounded parrot-like, but she bravely asked for Missy Piggle-Wiggle. And when Missy found out who was calling, she said, “Ah. I’ve been expecting you. I’ll send Austin and Houston home with”—she caught herself before she said “the Whiny-Whiners Cure”—“the perfect cure.”
“Oh, couldn’t you please give it to them now? Right now? I don’t think my husband and I can wait one second longer. I hope it’s fast acting.”
“Very fast acting,” Missy assured her.
Missy ended the call and hurried upstairs to her room. She opened the cure cabinet and surveyed the contents. The Whiny-Whiners Cure had edged itself to the front of the shelf so it would be easy to find. Missy carried the small box out to the front porch, where Austin and Houston were sitting like lumps. “I have a treat for you,” she said. She shook two ruby-colored drops into her hand.
“What are they? Candy?” asked Austin. “I don’t like anything blue or salty or slimy or too sweet or too sour.”
“They don’t have seeds, do they?” asked Houston.
“They’re seedless, red, and delicious,” said Missy.
Austin pinched one between her fingers and examined it suspiciously. Then she touched it to her tongue. “Hey, it’s good!” she said. “Try yours, Houston.”
Houston rolled his around in his mouth, frowning furiously. At last he said, “It is good.”
“Wonderful,” said Missy, and she sat back and waited.
Ten minutes later, Lester appeared at the front door. He pushed it open with a hind hoof and set down a tray with a stack of cups and a heavy pitcher.
“Lemonade!” shrieked Veronica, and she and the others ran for the porch, Wag at their heels.
Lester poured the lemonade into cups, and Georgie passed the cups around. He handed one to Austin, and she peered into it, then said, “I SEE PUUUUUUUULP!”
No one looked at her. No one paid even the slightest bit of attention. Lester kept pouring, and Georgie kept passing.
Austin set down her cup. “I SAAAAAAAID, I SEE PUUUUULP!”
Houston stared at his sister. “Are you saying something?” he asked.
Austin’s face was turning red. She clenched her fists and tried again. “THERE’S PULP IN MY LEMONADE!”
“Whoa,” said Houston. “Your lips are moving, but no sound is coming out. It’s like you’re on mute.”
“Really? That’s so weird,” said his sister.
“I heard you that time.”
“Maybe I’m getting a cold and losing my voice. Or else it’s probably the pulp in the lemonade. I HAAAATE—”
“Are you still talking?” asked her brother. “Because you’re on mute again.”
“Hey, Houston,” said Rusty a few minutes later. “Are you sure you don’t want to dig for treasure with us? One day we’re going to find it, you know. The very next hole could be the one with the treasure chest at the bottom.”
Houston rolled his eyes. “There’s no treasure. And besides, IT’S SOOOOOO—”
Rusty looked at Houston, whose mouth was working furiously but who suddenly wasn’t making a sound. He knocked on Houston’s head. “Hello? Anybody home?”
What Houston was trying to say was, “IT’S SOOOOOOOO HOT OUT HERE! I’LL FAAAAAA-AINT. AND BESIDES, DIGGING FOR TREASURE IS FOR BAAAAAAABIES.” He could hear himself inside his head.
But Rusty heard absolutely nothing.
Houston grabbed for his sister’s hand and whispered to her, “We have to get out of here. Something weird is going on.”
“It must be this house,” Austin replied. She glanced behind her at the window, and the shade snapped down, then up. Lester smiled at her.
The Forthrights, still hand in hand, jumped down the steps and ran for the street.
“Hey, don’t you want to finish your scrumptious lemonade?” Veronica called after them.
Houston and Austin didn’t stop running until they had turned a corner and could no longer see the upside-down house. They slowed to a walk and caught their breath.
“Do I have a fever?” Austin asked her brother.
He put a hand to her forehead. “I don’t think so. Let’s just get home.” They walked silently until they reached their front door. Then they barged inside, where they found their mother unpacking groceries.
Alexa Forthright sighed. “Back so soon?”
“Mom, it was horrible there!” Houston cried. “Everyone was MEAN, AND THIS PIIIIIIIIG—”
Mrs. Forthright stared at her son. She could see that he was speaking—that, in fact, he was quite worked up about something—but no sound was coming out of his mouth.
The relief that washed over her caused her to sink into a chair.
“Do you hear him, Mom?” asked Austin. “Maybe we’re going deaf.”
“I don’t think we’re going deaf, dear.”
“But something is WROOOOOONG!” wailed Austin. “SOMETHING HAPPENED AT THAT HOUUUUUUUUSE—”
Mrs. Forthright smiled. Now she could hear neither of her children. “How about some lunch?” she asked brightly.
Austin rolled her tongue around in her mouth. She swallowed several times. Experimentally, she said, “Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah,” like a singer warming up. Then she asked, “Can you hear me now?”
“Perfectly,” said her mother.
“Can you hear me?” asked Houston.
Their mother nodded. “I’ll make grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“GRILLED CHEEEEEEEESE? I DON’T WANT—” Austin’s voice was cut off as if someone had snipped a wire.
Inside her head, Alexa Forthright was saying, Thank you, Missy. Thank you, Missy. Thank you, wonderful, magical Missy Piggle-Wiggle, whoever you are.
* * *
That afternoon, Mrs. Forthright attempted something she usually never, ever did unless her husband could come along. She took Houston and Austin shoe shopping. Shoe shopping caused whining of unimaginable proportions. Whining about pinched toes and ugly colors and the fact that everyone else’s parents let them wear sparkles.
But Alexa was feeling brave. She marched her children into Heel to Toe and said to the salesman, “We need sneakers, please. Sensible sneakers that will last into the fall at least.”
“SENSI—” Austin started to whine. In her head she was saying, “SENSIBLE? I DON’T WANT SENSIBLE SHOES! I WANT SPAAAAARKLES!” but she had a feeling no sound was issuing from her mouth.
Sure enough, the salesman, whose nametag read MR. CARBUNKLE, was staring at her as if, Austin thought, she had something green on one of her teeth and he couldn’t decide whether to mention it.
Now, sometimes parents make very bad mistakes in the rearing of their children. For instance, sometimes they rear children who are whiners, or children who would be allowed to mock them simply for saying the word rear. But other times they have epiphanies, which is a scholarly way of saying that suddenly they have helpful insights regarding thorny problems. That’s exactly what happened to Alexa Forthright on that warm June afternoon in Heel to Toe on Juniper Street.
It suddenly occurred to her to take advantage of the fact that her children were magically incapable of whining. “Austin,” she said, “do you have a different idea about your sneakers? Maybe you can you tell Mr. Carbunkle what you’d like—in a clear, calm manner.”
Austin swallowed. She took a deep breath. And then she found herself saying, “I was hoping for sparkles on my shoes. Do you have any sneakers that are practical and sparkly?”
“Absolutely,” replied Mr. Carbunkle. He turned to Houston. “And for you, sir?”
Houston had been staring openmouthed at his sister. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, “THIS IS GOING TO TAKE FOREEEEEEVER, AND I WANT TO GO HOOOOOOME.” Instead he said, “Mom, can’t we go home now? Please?”
Alexa shook her head. “No. You need sneakers. But the more you cooperate, the sooner we’ll get home.”
The Forthrights set a record that afternoon. They were in and out of the shoe store in less than half an hour. As they walked to their car, Austin said in awe, “Mr. Carbunkle was right. He found sparkly, practical sneakers. And they fit just fine.”
“Well, you were very cooperative,” replied her mother. “You answered his questions—”
“I know,” interrupted Austin. “In a clear, calm manner.”
“And it paid off. Houston, I know you wanted to go straight home, but how about if we stop for ice cream first?”
“Ice cream? In the middle of the day?”
“As a reward for the lovely way you both interacted with Mr. Carbunkle.”
The trip to Fester’s for ice cream was as successful as the trip to Heel to Toe. When Mr. Fester accidentally handed Houston’s cone to Austin, and Austin began to shriek, “THAT ONE HAS CHOCO—” Houston simply reached for it and said, “Thank you. The other cone is my sister’s.” Then he whispered to Austin, “The adults respond better if you don’t panic. Just go with it.”
The only glitch in the Forthrights’ Whiny-Whiners Cure came when Mr. Forthright, unaware of the events of the day, poked his head into the house that evening. Hearing no whining, he called out timidly, “Hello?”
“Hi, Dad!” Austin and Houston flew at him, wearing their new sneakers.
“We went to the shoe store today!” exclaimed Houston.
“I got sparkly sneakers,” said Austin. “Look. They’re purple. Just like Missy Piggle-Wiggle’s dress.”
“What?”
“And then we got ice cream for a treat,” added Houston.
“Mr. Fester gave me the wrong cone,” said Austin, “but Houston and I traded, so it was okay.”
Mr. Forthright squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the whining to begin. When it didn’t, he slid all the way down onto the kitchen floor in a faint and had to be revived with smelling salts. Even so, his wife phoned Missy that night to thank her.