Toy Dance Party (10 page)

Plastic calls again. “Are you doing a nice thing?” she asks. “Or a naughty thing?”

Silence.

“They’re not listening, either,” says TukTuk.

. . . . .

Lumphy and Spark drag the Barbie box to the center of Honey’s bedroom. It is closed tight, with the Barbies and all their clothes inside. StingRay loosens the caps on the nail polish.

“You have to be very neat,” Lumphy warns his friends. “Because Frank can’t help you with nail polish.”

“What about dry cleaning?” StingRay is anxious.

“That won’t get polish out, either. TukTuk told me Honey’s mother takes her nail color off with a special remover,” Lumphy explains. “Plus, she keeps it in the medicine cabinet, which is hard to get to. So don’t spill any polish on yourself or you’ll never get clean.”

StingRay begins with the robin’s egg blue, which will match her plush even if she does spill. She is painting herself—a large and beautiful stingray—right over the picture of a Barbie doll on one end of the box.

StingRay makes the darling curve of her own tail, the strong arch of her flippers, the adorable shape of her own nose, loving the feel of the polish brush as it slides across the vinyl. Loving the blue. Loving, even, the smell of the polish.

Spark has been scribbling, holding the brush in her teeth and making violent slashes of light green. “I’m cheering up already,” she says, out one corner of her mouth. “You cheering up, bison?”

Lumphy has made a thick red line all along the crack where the lid meets the rest of the box. It is a dark and angry scrawl, but he does like the look of the deep red against the soft pink of the box. He tells Spark, “Yes,” and tries something: a flower. And another. And another. Then he changes colors and paints purple flowers.

Sheep rolls over to see what’s happening. “Is that clover you’re painting?” she asks the shark. “Or is it grass?”

“It’s the ocean,” says Spark.

“Oh.” Sheep thinks for a minute or two and then asks, “Don’t you think it would be good if you painted some clover? Then it would be interesting.”

“Interesting to you, maybe.”

“Everyone is interested in clover,” says Sheep. “What’s not to like?”

Spark doesn’t answer. She’s concentrating. Sheep watches a little longer, then tips over on her side and falls asleep.

. . . . .

Plastic has been rolling herself dry on the bath mat, thinking. “I don’t want to be naughty,” she tells TukTuk. “I want to be nice.”

“So be nice if you want to be nice,” TukTuk says.

Plastic thinks some more. “Did you see that nail polish?” she asks.

Yes, TukTuk saw it.

“There was a glitter gold color.”

“Um hm.”

“Glittery goldy gold,” says Plastic. “So so bright, glittery gold polish!”

“Are you changing your mind?” asks TukTuk. “Are you going to be naughty now?”

“I’m changing my mind!” yells Plastic, twirling. “Glittery goldy gold polish!”

She bounces down the hall after the others.

. . . . .

Everyone’s paintings look excellent, thinks Plastic, bounding into the bedroom. “Glittery goldy gold!” she cries again. “Is anyone using it? Can I have a turn?”

StingRay pours a puddle of glitter gold on the big flat lid of the Barbie box.

“Thank you!” says Plastic, springing up. “Ooooh, it feels slippy! And sticky!”

Plastic rolls from side to side and round and round in the polish, coating the pink vinyl with gold. “Look at me!” she squeals, twisting herself in circles to create a spiral pattern in glitter. “I’m painting! I’m painting with no hands!”

Her painting is so swirly and goldy gold. Plastic hops off the box to let the others see what she’s done, and rolls joyfully around on the rug, thinking only about gold and what a happy bright color it is.

“Don’t come so close to me,” snaps StingRay. “I’m dry clean only.”

Plastic stops rolling.

“Uh-oh.” Lumphy looks at Plastic and shakes his head.

“What?”

Lumphy coughs. “You’re gold.”

“I am?”

“And the carpet. It’s gold, too.”

Plastic looks around. Lumphy is right. She has left a sticky path of glitter gold everywhere she rolled.

“It doesn’t come off,” scolds Lumphy. “Weren’t you listening when I explained?”

No. Plastic had been in the bathroom when he explained.

Oh no no no—Plastic has been so naughty! She has never been naughty like this before. What to do, what to do?

Before she has time to think, before anyone has time to think, the toys hear a key in the door.

The people are home early.

Rumpa lumpa

Rumpa lumpa

Frrrrrr, frrrrrr.

Grunk! Gru-GRUNK!

Lumphy, StingRay, and Spark hide beneath the high bed, tipping over two jars of polish as they run. But Plastic is scared to move. If she rolls or bounces, she’ll track nail color on even more of Honey’s carpet. What to do, what to do?

The parents come upstairs. The mother stops short when she sees the mess. “Honey?” she calls in a strained voice. “Can you come here now, please?”

The dad scratches his neck and speaks in a low, angry voice. “Look what she did to her rubber ball. And to the sheep. And the rug.”

“And all that nail polish she just got,” the mom adds. “And her Barbie box.”

Honey enters the room and catches sight of Plastic, covered with glitter gold. And Sheep, asleep in a puddle of Spark’s green polish. She walks over and looks at the Barbie box, painted with a curious mix of ugly, angry scribbles and beautiful art.

Honey knows the toys have done it. Plastic can tell from her expression.

They have never done anything this bad before. Nothing that would get Honey in trouble.

Will she know why they did it? Will she be angry?

She pulls Plastic off the sticky carpet. She begins to lift Sheep, too, but as she does there is a ripping noise.

The noise of a felt ear—the only ear Sheep has left—tearing.

Part of Sheep’s ear is stuck to the carpet with nail polish.

Honey’s hand stops for a moment, but there is no other way to move Sheep. Gently, she rips the ear the rest of the way and holds the wounded Sheep in her arms. “I’m sorry,” she says to her mom and dad. “It was a bad idea and I should have cleaned it up. I was careless.”

Plastic nearly twitches with surprise and relief. Honey squeezes her.

“I’ll clean off all my toys, and buy you new remover with my allowance,” continues Honey. “I’ll try to clean the carpet, too.”

The mother shakes her head, still angry.

“It’s a start,” says the dad.

. . . . .

Honey takes Plastic, Sheep, and the Barbie box to the bathroom, where she rubs polish remover on Sheep’s matted wool. Some of the polish comes off, but Sheep will be forever green around the left side of her neck and head. Her hearing—though not gone—will be worse than before. Honey puts a Band-Aid on the ear nub. She dabs Plastic with remover, then rinses the ball under the tap and dries her with TukTuk. The clumps of polish come off pretty easily, but it looks as though Plastic will remain shimmery, with a slight residue of glitter gold.

Plastic doesn’t mind. Honey doesn’t seem mad at all. She’s taking care of them! She even squeezed Plastic in an understanding way. Besides, Plastic thinks, the glittery goldy gold looks
very
good.

When Plastic and Sheep are as clean as they can get, Honey looks at the paintings on the Barbie box. She tries to open it.

It won’t open.

Honey runs a cotton ball dipped in remover along the edges, but Spark has put so much sticky green along her side of the box, and Lumphy so much red on his, that the lid won’t separate from the bottom.

The Barbies are still inside.

Honey tugs and pulls—but the box won’t open.

The Barbies will probably have to stay in there for a very, very long time, together with all their clothes.

Honey carries Plastic and Sheep and the ruined Barbie box into the bedroom, where she places the box on top of the bookshelf so everyone can see it. She finds Lumphy, StingRay, and Spark under the bed and sets them together on the fringed pillows.

Lumphy’s stomach feels awful, and StingRay’s body is tight with anxiety. They peek at Spark, but it is impossible to tell what the shark is thinking.

Will Honey yell at them and give them time-outs in a bucket in the hallway? StingRay wonders.

Or send them off to the zoo to be teased by the real live animals?

Or leave them at the dump because she doesn’t love them anymore?

“You sweetie guys,” Honey announces. “This is the best present I ever got.”

“We’re not in trouble!” Plastic whispers to her friends.

“Even though you made a mess, and Sheep’s ear got hurt,” Honey continues, “I know you meant for it to be a surprise. The picture of StingRay is just the right blue, huh? And blue is the best color.” She smiles at StingRay. “And here are the golden swirls, and these pretty flowers, and the greeny grass on the other side. You guys are big big sweeties to make this.”

Spark’s top fin twitches ever so slightly in annoyance.

Honey pats Sheep and strokes StingRay’s tail. “I know I haven’t played with you much lately.” She pets Lumphy’s woolly back. “But I love you. And I will always keep you,” she swears. “StingRay, Plastic, and Lumphy. Sheep and DaisySparkle. Even Highlander and the mice. I’ll keep all of you, forever.”

. . . . .

“What did I tell you?” grumps Spark as soon as Honey has gone downstairs for dinner. “Un. Ob. Ser. Vant.”

“We’re not in trouble!” says Plastic, rolling a circle around her friends. “She loves us forever and she didn’t mind that we were naughty!”

“She didn’t even know we
were
naughty,” says Spark. “She missed the entire point.”

Lumphy sniffs. “She thought it was a present. It was the opposite of a present.”

“Exactly.” The shark twitches her tail and mutters: “Greeny grass. Hmph.”

StingRay eyes the Barbie box. “It’s stuck shut, isn’t it?” she says, wonderingly. “They’re not coming out again.”

“Not for a good long while, anyway,” says Spark. “At least we got that done.”

“She loves us all!” cries Plastic.

“It’s true,” says StingRay, swishing her tail thoughtfully. “She did say that. But it still feels like not as much. Like she loves us—but
not as much
as she used to.”

“But forever!” says Plastic.

“Yes,” says StingRay. “Forever but not as much.”

. . . . .

That night, after Honey has gone to sleep, Sheep has a tearless cry over her lost ear. And her green face. And Honey growing up. It is the first time in her long sheep-y life that she has ever cried. The sobs sound like this: “Herffle, herffle. Herffle, herffle.”

Plastic feels sorry for Sheep, she really does, but it is hard for her to keep still and act sympathetic. Every few minutes she rolls down the hall to bounce in front of the bathroom mirror, admiring her beautiful new sheen. “I’m a gold ball, a gold ball!” she whispers to her reflection.

Lumphy understands how Sheep feels about her ear. He lost his tail a long time ago. Sometimes he still misses it. He nuzzles Sheep’s face.

“Herffle, herffle. Herffle, herffle,” she sobs.

Lumphy keeps nuzzling, but the herffles keep herffling.

“Should I tell a story?” asks StingRay. She lay down with Honey at eight-thirty, but after the events of the day found it impossible to fall asleep. Now she is on the carpet, worrying about her wounded friend. “Would it help to hear a story, so you can think about something else?”

Sheep nods.

StingRay taps her flippers for attention. Spark and the toy mice scootch across the carpet to listen.

StingRay thinks how nice it is to feel important and helpful. She is such a considerate and special stingray!

She is about to launch into the tale of Princess DaisySparkle and the fairy treasure when she looks down at her friends and remembers: that is not Sheep’s favorite story.

It is not Lumphy’s, either.

The toy mice aren’t very interested, and Spark positively dislikes it.

It is only StingRay’s favorite story.

StingRay really
does
want to tell it, though.

And StingRay thinks the things that Sheep likes—are boring. It would be so much more interesting to tell about DaisySparkle.

“Herffle, herffle. Herffle, herffle,” goes Sheep.

StingRay makes a decision. “Once upon a time, there was a meadow,” she says loudly, making sure that Sheep can hear. “A wide grassy meadow with lots of juicy green clover.

StingRay talks into the night, boring but pretty stuff about greenery and chewing. As she talks, Sheep gradually stops herffling.