8

Min Un-Saves the Day

“Home again, home again, jiggity-jig,” CAR announced as the doors unlocked themselves . . . “TA-DA! Safe and sound,” CAR lilted as the rear passenger door opened with a flourish.

Min rolled her eyes. That door just opened quicker than CAR drives. “Yeah, thanks, CAR.” The Wengrods were always polite to CAR, no matter how late they arrived. Dr. Wengrod—Mom—always said good manners meant it was important to be kind to everyone, even machines. Even the slow ones, Min thought with a sigh.

If she complained too much, the other Dr. Wengrod—Dad—would point out that you never knew when a robot revolution was coming. “Better safe than sorry, Min!”

Thinking of her dad and his crazy advice made Min miss him and her mom—which then made her worry about them being so far away—so by the time she hopped out of CAR, she was already grouchy. She tossed her backpack over the gate, yanking it forcefully with both hands. (You had to toss your backpack over first, or you’d never be able to wrench open the rusting metal gate.)

GROOOOOAAAAAAN!

“Quiet, Min!” Max looked up at her from where he was lying on the lawn. Max had beaten her home, which put Min in an even crankier mood.

“Stupid slowmobile,” she muttered.

“Shhh!” Max hissed.

Ignoring her brother, Min smirked and swung the gate shut . . . hard.

SLAAAAAAAAAAMMM!

“Min! You’ll scare them,” Max said, sounding strange.

“Scare wh—?” Min started to ask, but she stopped speaking when she saw what Max was pointing at.

KITTENS!

The ones from the road.

In their yard.

They were hiding behind an overturned flower box that had been sitting next to the front steps since their dad had replanted the backyard vegetable garden for a water-recycling experiment last February. (Their whole garden had died. “Hypothesis proven,” her dad had joked. “Conclusion: I should never be allowed to take care of the garden.”)

Min could only see part of one spotted tail poking out . . . until an even fluffier gray tail joined it, waving frantically back and forth.

“Are you crazy?” Min looked from the little waggling tails to the little whining brother. “No. Don’t answer that. Not until Mom and Dad get back.”

“I’m not crazy,” Max said, defensive.

“Then what are you doing . . . with these things . . . and, follow-up question, why are you doing it?” Min watched as first the twin tails became entangled, then four tiny paws began to bat at each other. Now two furry heads were knocking as they scrabbled behind the planter box.

Siblings, she thought. Definitely siblings.

“I didn’t have any choice! I heard them at the river,” Max said. “Stu here must have fallen in. He was stuck on a branch in the water. And Scout—that’s the littler one—was trying to save him. They could have drowned!”

“You named them?” Min shook her head. “After knowing them for what, twenty minutes?”

“More like fifteen,” Max muttered quietly. “And what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just leave them there.”

“Uh, yeah, you could! Aren’t you supposed to leave wild animals in the wild? Isn’t that, like, a government rule or something?”

Max shot back, “Aren’t you supposed to be nice to people? Isn’t that, like, a golden rule or something?”

“This is different, Max. These aren’t people. I mean, what if they have rabies?” Min frowned. “Do cats get rabies? Or what if they have, like, mad cow disease or bird flu? Is there a cat flu?” Min was not a fan of rabies, or infectious diseases in general.

“Max, Min?” A voice crackled as House’s front-door monitor flickered to life, interrupting their argument. “You’re home! Good. Why aren’t you coming in? I ordered pizza! Cy set the table in the kitchen for you. What’s this . . . dialogue . . . about?”

“NOTHING!” Max jumped in, glaring at Min with his finger to his lips.

“Nothing?” House paused. “Sounds like something. How was your day?”

“It was great,” Min said.

“Awesome!” Max said, a bit too enthusiastically.

The logo on House’s screen spun as it processed the conversation. “Your voices sound—different. Why have your inflections shifted?” House scanned the twins using the sensors in his monitor.

“Your voices are pitched nine percent higher than average—and you’re speaking thirteen percent faster. Technically, you are within a vocal range labeled WEIRD. Is something . . . WEIRD . . . going on around here?”

“Nope,” said Max, looking pointedly at Min. Min shook her head but kept quiet.

House considered. “Oh, I know. This is probably about your ParentorGuardians leaving the country. As children, you are experiencing a condition of . . . WEIRD . . . ness.” House sighed melodramatically. “I know it must be . . . so, so hard, my little lost lambs . . . having your ParentorGuardians gone.”

House occasionally quoted Netflix shows, especially when trying to approximate Organic emotions. (Mrs. Reynolds next door had very poor hearing, and the entire Wengrod household was more than familiar with a whole category of streaming Nordic Crime Drama programming as a result.)

“What is that one, Days of Summer Fjords?” Max asked, hoping to distract House from the weirdness.

“Affirmative.”

“Really?” Min looked over at House’s screen. “What episode? Did they find the body yet?” She pulled the door open, hoping to escape this conversation.

“Not yet, although, spoiler alert, they did find . . .”

House’s spoiler was itself spoiled when Joan Drone came buzzing through the front door. Joan’s whirring propellers—which sounded like a swarm of bees—drew the immediate attention of the kittens. Scout popped his head out from behind the upside-down flower box and inched forward to stalk this new prey . . .

Min, standing in the doorway, looked over at Max, eyes wide. He saw Scout too. Uh-oh. They both watched as the kitten crept through the grass, hunched low, tail wiggling.

Joan didn’t notice and flew lower, confirming that Max had in fact arrived safely.

“Hey, let’s go inside, I’m starving,” Max began, desperate to avoid a disaster. “I’d love some pizza!”

But it was too late. Now Stu was also sneaking out from behind the flower box, curious to see where Scout was going.

Stu froze when he saw Joan flying above him like a giant buzzing insect. Then he crouched low and started creeping closer too. The hunt was on.

Both kittens were no more than a foot away from the bottom step now. Min almost smiled when she saw their tiny butts slowly wiggling. They were eyeing every loose wire that dangled from Joan’s robot frame. Assessing it for weaknesses. Vulnerabilities . . .

Min winced as Scout suddenly transformed into a blurry fur ball—and then flew wildly at Joan Drone—attack claws extended! Out of control, one paw batted Joan’s landing gear as it flew past.

BZZZZZZZT!!

Joan lost balance and quickly jerked back, alarm buzzer sounding loudly.

Stu continued the attack, barely catching a loose wire from the base of the drone and pulling Joan further off balance . . .

BWEEEBWEEEBWEEEEBWEEEBWEEE!!

Joan’s alarm went into full emergency mode as she jerked up, away from the kittens, and zoomed noisily back into the house.

The kittens, startled by the alarms, went streaking back to the safety of the flower box, diving through Min’s legs and scratching her on the way. “OWWW!” Min glared at Max.

“That was self-defense!” Max glared back, but he looked like he wanted to hide behind the flower box with the kittens. “It was an accident! You can’t be mad about an accident . . .”

House amped up the volume from its front-porch monitor. “Max, Min, what was that terrible noise? What accident? Why did Min just scream; are you in pain?”

Nobody said a word.

House cranked up the volume even louder. “I repeat: Min, are you hurt? Should I call nine one one? I’m calling nine one one.”

“It’s not an emergency, House!” Max exclaimed, exasperated. Min looked like she disagreed, but her brother ignored her. “It’s only, um, kittens,” he tried again, sounding stressed.

House paused, camera surveying, processing this new information. “Kittens. Small, undeveloped . . . cats?” House’s screen began to pulse red with alarm. “Children, this will not do. My instructions are quite clear on this topic. No animals are allowed at the Wengrod Household.”

“For once, I agree with Big H.” Min smiled.

“Well, it’s common sense really. Even a cursory review of the internet supports this decision.” House’s logo spun and a series of images flashed on-screen. “Consider the fur, the dander, the fleas, the claws, the . . . biological . . . outputs.” Did Max hear a hint of disgust in House’s voice? “These creatures carry contaminants that could cause untold problems with not only the human respiratory system, but the sensitive technology held inside.”

House considered. “It may not be an emergency, but it is certainly an INFESTATION. I’ll call an exterminator immediately.”

Max panicked. “What? No, House! No EXTERMINATING! They’re just babies!”

House stood its ground. “My protocols are quite clear. No animals in the house. The Felis catus subspecies, in particular, is mischievous and unpredictable. Undeniable. Why, in the last twenty seconds I reviewed four thousand three hundred twenty-two videos documenting the chaos and havoc caused by these animals.” Cat videos filled House’s screen. “I find it disturbing, to be quite honest.”

“Okay, I get it,” Max said. “You have a thing about cats, just like Min.”

“What?” Min looked at him.

“Yeah,” Max said. “You both have a thing, like, a prejudice or whatever. Only against cats.”

House agreed with him. “You are right, Max, I have a thing against cats. And it’s more than just common sense. It’s called a setting. It’s like a rule. We all need them. They tell us how to behave. In this case, my settings in Home>Rules>Pets are clearly set to NO.”

“Never?” Max asked.

“Not without explicit instructions from a Master User, and unfortunately the ParentorGuardians aren’t available.”

“Max, House is right.” Max looked so sad, Min almost felt bad for him. “They’re wild animals.” She tried another angle. “Besides, think about the danger to them in there! All the electrical wires they could chew on. The batteries they could accidentally eat . . .”

“They won’t eat your stupid batteries—and we can borrow food from next door.”

So much for being nice, Min thought. “Well, what about my project? Hello, the Battle of the Bots is the day after tomorrow. I can’t have cats, like, peeing in my circuits!” Min wasn’t joking now.

Max knew his sister never joked about Battle of the Bots.

But before he could respond, a noisy, beat-up car pulled up to the gate . . . and Cousin Javi hopped out. “HEY-Y-Y-Y!”

Cousin Javi was a mess of brown curls, brown skin, brown freckles—and then a general collection of lanky limbs and elbows, all wrapped in a T-shirt with “#resist” printed on it.

“Phew, Javi! Thank goodness!” Min brightened.

“Javi! Save me,” Max shouted.