CHAPTER NINE

On the drive back, Pingy fills up Mrs. Hammerdorfer’s car with a fishy smell. In the aquarium, I didn’t realize Pingy had a smell. In Mrs. Hammerdorfer’s car with its rolled-up windows, I realize he does.

“Ew,” Lexie says. “What’s that stink?”

“It’s Ty,” Breezie says. “Ty, you stink.”

I hold my backpack tight. “I’ve given up baths,” I say. “I’m going for the Olympic world record.”

Lexie laughs. “Gross.”

Mrs. Hammerdorfer makes a disapproving sound.

We arrive at school just in time for pickup. Mom is waiting in her station wagon—not Sandra, but Mom—and I’m so glad to see her. So so so so glad, even though she’s not going to be happy when she learns about Pingy. I’m even glad to see Teensy Baby Maggie in her car seat.

“Mom?” I say as I climb into the backseat. I'm still not allowed to sit in the front. It's a law. “There’s something I—”

“Ty, hush,” she says. “Do you know why I had to come pick you up today? Do you know why I had to wake Maggie up from her nap so that I could drive out here to get you?”

“Um, but—”

“Not. A. Word,” Mom says. Her fingers are tight on the steering wheel. “I can’t believe you would run off from your class like that! What were you thinking?”

She said not a word. Does she want a word now? Or will it make her yell more?

“You could have gotten lost, or kidnapped . . .” Her air comes out in a big burst. “Mrs. Webber had to call security! She had to call security to look for you!”

“But I wasn’t lost or kidnapped.”

“You could have been.”

“But I wasn’t.”

She glares at me in the rearview mirror. “Not another word. And when we get home, you’re going straight to your room, and you’ll be staying there all night.”

Her nose twitches.

“No, strike that. You’re going straight upstairs to take a bath, because you smell awful. Why in the world do you smell so awful?”

“Well, that’s what—”

“Never mind. Home. Bath. Bed. Do you understand?”

“But Mom, I really need to—”

“No,” she snaps.

Teensy Baby Maggie starts crying. Pingy starts piu-ing. Mom is scaring all of us.

At least Teensy Baby Maggie’s wails cover up Pingy’s noises.

I let Teensy Baby Maggie hold my finger. She doesn’t let go.

“Shhh,” I whisper to both of them. I say it again. “Shhhhh.” It sounds a little like a wave sounds when it rolls in at the ocean.

• • •

In the bathroom, I close the door and unzip my backpack.

“Come on out, little guy,” I say to Pingy. There’s a tremble in my voice, and it surprises me. I wedge my hands around his feathered body. Except not exactly feathered. More like . . . fuzzy.

But he’s warm, and he doesn’t seem banged up, and I am so glad about this that my muscles go loose.

“Piu?” he says.

I laugh, although the tremble is still there. But Pingy isn’t worried. He’s as cute and happy as ever. He twists his head from side to side, like, So this is where I live now? Cool. Do you have any more peanut butter?

I set him on the fluffy yellow bathmat.

He pees, making a dark spot.

“Ack! No! You have to pee in the toilet, okay?” I lift him up to show him, but I realize that he’s too small. He would fit all the way in, and what if he got flushed?

Bathtub, I think. He can pee in the bathtub, and even though he’s already peed, I put him in there anyway. I let go of him, and he takes two slippery steps. Then he squirts out a green squishy poop.

“Ew,” I say, giggling. “Pingy!” I wipe it up with toilet paper and flush it down. I soak up the pee stain as best I can and flush it down, too. Then I settle onto my knees and prop my arms on the rim of the tub. Pingy waddles and slips and flaps his wings.

I love him so much. But I’m worried about him, too. About him being here. I don’t think a penguin can live in a bathtub forever. And what do penguins eat besides peanut butter?

Fish.

Where do I get fish?

“Piu?” Pingy says. “Piu, piu?”

“Ty!” Mom yells. It sounds like she’s at the bottom of the staircase. “I don’t hear the water running!”

I stay quiet. I put my finger to my lips to tell Pingy to be quiet, too.

“Winnie, would you go make Ty take his bath?” I hear Mom say.

“Mo-o-m,” Winnie calls from her room. “He’s seven years old. He can take a bath by himself.”

Of course I can, I want to tell them. BUT NOT WITH A BABY PENGUIN IN THE TUB!

“Winnie, please. I really can’t deal with him right now.”

A hole opens up inside me. I rock from my knees onto my bottom. I pull my legs to my chest and wrap my arms around them.

She’s mad because she thinks I acted like a baby on purpose, like by running away at the aquarium. Like not taking my bath. But she gets mad when I don’t act like a baby, too. Like when I do things all by myself, like get my pacifiers down.

She is being a Big Fat Meanie Mommy. I hug my shins tighter and bury my head between knees.

There are footsteps in the hall, followed by a quick rap on the bathroom door.

I unpretzel my body.

“One sec!” I cry. But before I can hide Pingy—in a towel? in the cabinet beneath the sink?—Winnie strides in.

“Ty,” she starts, “you’ve got to take your—” Her words trickle off. With super-wide eyes, she takes in Pingy. Pingy takes Winnie in, too.

Winnie turns to me. I try to make my face to look sweet and innocent.

“You have a penguin,” she states.

I smile hopefully.

“There is a penguin in our bathtub.”

“His name is Pingy.”

She presses her hands to her eyes, then drops them. “Holy pickles, Ty.” She kneels by the tub.

“Isn’t he so cute?” I ask. “Did I tell you his name is Pingy?”

“Pingy?”

“You should say hi to him,” I say. It’s better having Winnie in here with me. I didn’t think it would be, but it is. It makes me excited again.

“Um, hi, Pingy,” Winnie says. She glances at me. “Wait—how do you know he’s a he?”

“I just do?”

Winnie reaches her hand out, then draws it back. “Can I . . . touch him?”

“Sure. Just be gentle.”

Winnie strokes Pingy’s head. He nudges up against her palm.

“Piu. Piu piu,” he says.

“Awww,” Winnie says. “He likes me!”

“He might be hungry.” I pause. “He likes peanut butter.”

Winnie grins. Then all at once she pulls her hand away and wipes off her grin.

“So you stole this baby penguin from the aquarium?” she demands.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You can’t steal penguins. You can’t steal, period.” She looks at me. “You know that, Ty.”

I hunch my shoulders.

“Don’t you think his mom is missing him?” Winnie asks.

“She wasn’t even paying attention to him. She was just picking at her feathers.”

“That doesn’t mean she won’t miss her baby when she realizes he’s gone.”

“Piu piu,” Pingy says.

I hold very still. There’s something about his pius that sounds . . . different.

“He doesn’t sound happy,” Winnie says.

“Yes he does,” I say. But he doesn’t. This is the first time his pius have sounded the opposite of happy. Unhappy. For some reason, I think of Price, and also of Price’s mom, walking out of Trinity after dropping him off.

“What’s wrong, Pingy?” I say.

“Maybe you’re right and he’s hungry,” Winnie says. “You say he likes peanut butter?”

“Uh-huh.”

She gets to her feet. “I’ll go get it so Mom doesn’t see you out of the tub. And you should . . . ack. Can Pingy swim?”

“I don’t know. Probably?”

She pulls her hair off her neck, holds it there for a second, then lets it fall back over her shoulders. She does that when she’s thinking.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll go get the peanut butter. You hold Pingy in your lap—not in the tub—and turn on the bathwater so that Mom doesn’t come barging in. You don’t want her to come barging in, believe me.”

“Then what?”

“Don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”

“But what if he poops on me?”

“Then you’ll have penguin poop on you.” Her hand’s on the doorknob, but she hasn’t yet opened the door. “I can’t believe you stole a penguin from the Georgia Aquarium.”

“It has over eight million gallons of water,” I offer.

“And you’re telling me that because . . . ?”

“Because that’s a lot of water. With a lot of sea creatures in it.” I bite my lip. “So maybe they won’t miss one teeny-tiny penguin?”

“Believe me, they will,” Winnie says.

Strangely, that makes me feel better.