CHAPTER SIX

A POUNDING ON THE GLASS

It took me only about ten giant steps and three impressive leaps (and two unimpressive ones) to get to the phone booth. Inside, the concrete floor was sandy. The phone itself looked old enough to be the great-grandfather of any phone that now existed.

I picked up the receiver and, using the credit card number my dad gave me, called home. It took seven rings before my father picked up.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hello, Perry. You were exactly who I was hoping would call. I’d ask how you are, but I can already hear adventure in your voice.”

“Really?”

“For sure. So you arrived safely?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“I miss you already. Also, do you know where you left the remote?”

“In the drawer near the footstool.”

“Of course. So how’s your uncle? Remember, he’s a little . . .”

“Free-spirited?” I guessed.

“For sure. When we were kids he used to eat his pancakes with his hands. He’d roll them up like breadsticks and dunk them in syrup.”

“I do that, too,” I reminded my dad.

“Well, I suppose you two will have a great time together then,” my father said with a contented-sounding sigh. “So is your uncle nearby? I’d like to talk to him.”

“He’s not here,” I said. “I’m in the phone booth he always uses. It’s just down the street from his house.”

I really wanted to tell my father everything. He had always been my biggest champion, and I knew he could probably say some things that would make me feel better. But I also knew he would freak out and worry.

“How exciting,” he said. “I bet the kids here in Ohio aren’t getting the chance to use phone booths.”

“I bet you’re right.”

“Soak it all in.”

“I’m soaking.”

“Tell me, Perry, do they have wheat on Bunny Island?”

“Yes,” I said. “In fact, Zeke has wheat crackers.”

“Good, I’ll rest easy knowing that. Were you aware that if you chew on grains of wheat long enough they become a delicious gum?”

“Of course, but only because you’ve told me that my whole life.”

“Wheat gum. What can’t wheat do?”

It was nice to hear my dad’s voice, but I had an uncle to find.

“Dad?” I asked. “When was the last time you talked to Uncle Zeke?”

“Well, I suppose it was about a month ago. He called me to tell me about some interesting carrots he was growing.”

Bam, bam, bam!

Someone knocked on the phone booth. I jumped and spun around to find a girl standing on the other side of the glass smiling at me.

“Are you all right?” my dad asked. “Why are you screaming?”

“It’s nothing,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “I thought I saw a bug.”

“You really haven’t spent much time outside, have you?” He laughed. “That’s why it’s great you’re there. Play in the sun, get a bit dirty. The almanac says this could be a big year for beneficial insects!”

The girl knocked on the glass again. This time I screamed at a lower volume.

“I should go, Dad. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Before you hang up, I need to ask you something, Perry. Didn’t we go shopping for groceries a few days ago? Our kitchen cabinets are practically bare. I thought we had a whole summer supply of chips and treats.”

“That’s weird.”

“Maybe we have mice?” my dad suggested.

“I bet that’s it,” I said.

The girl knocked again, and this time, it was less friendly sounding.

“I gotta go,” I insisted.

I should warn you that whenever my dad calls me, we always end our phone calls by saying the same cheesy thing to each other. This time was no different:

“Go forward with wheat in your sails, Perry.”

“Yes, sir, kernel.”

Hey, I warned you.

I hung up the phone and opened the door of the glass booth. The girl who had been knocking shoved past me as I stepped out.

“Sorry, I . . .”

“No time,” she said urgently. “So sorry.”

She picked up the phone, shoved some coins into the slot, and rapidly dialed a number.

“Come on, come on,” she pleaded into the device. “Someone pick up.”

I didn’t usually let girls my age push me around. Actually, I had never really had the chance before.

Also, I know it’s impolite to listen in to other people’s conversations, but with my uncle’s life in the hands of some cold-blooded newts, I needed to pay close attention to everything. Admiral Uli always insisted that those who fought injustice with him had to keep their ears open and their blowholes closed. So as the sun beat down on my neck, I eavesdropped as carefully as I could as she talked into the phone.

“What number am I?”

So, she was numbered? Maybe the number was written on her foot like the newts of Tally Island. They were all numbered because they looked alike, and it was the only way to tell them apart.

“Did I make the cut?” she asked the phone.

I could only guess what she was hoping to make the cut of—a secret academy, a spy school? Or maybe she was trying out for the Rudely-Pound-on-the-Phone-Booth team. Either way I needed to be prepared. So I reached my hand in my pocket and prepared to pull out my mask.

Things were about to go down.