Lizard of Oz, Page 3

  And a horrifying, deafening cry made both of us gasp.

  Adele grabbed me and squeezed my shoulders. Her eyes were wide with fright. “Wh-what was that?” she stammered.

  I laughed. “It’s Screech.”

  She let go of me. “Screech?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Screech. My dad’s macaw.” I pulled her into the room.

  The big red-and-blue bird hopped up and down excitedly on his wooden perch. He tilted his feathery head to one side, ruffled his big red wings—and let out another deafening shriek.

  Adele pressed her hands to her ears. “Why does he do that?”

  “Gets excited, I guess. It’s kind of boring being a macaw.”

  Adele frowned. “Why does your dad own a macaw?”

  I shrugged. “Why does he do anything? I told you, both of my parents are seriously weird.”

  Adele tossed back her hair again. She gazed around the room. Her eyes stopped at the glass case on the long worktable. “Is that it?”

  I nodded. “Dad is setting this room up as a lab and a workroom. You know. A place to get the lizards ready before we move them to the farm.”

  Adele crossed the room to the worktable. “I just want to look at the lizard egg and get out of here,” she said. “No offense, Kate, but your house gives me the deep creeps.”

  No offense? Really?

  I wanted to insult her back. “I never knew you scare so easily, Adele.”

  She squinted at me. “I wasn’t scared. Just startled. First, a mouse attacks me in the living room. Then a parrot tries to make me deaf.”

  I grinned. “I know. It’s like living in a wildlife preserve.”

  She leaned over the glass case and peered down at the egg. “Just as I said, Kate. It looks like an ordinary egg resting on sand.”

  “It’s a lizard egg. Believe me,” I said. “It’s a little bigger than a hen’s egg. And it’s heavier. My dad let me hold it once.”

  She squinted down at it. “You’re joking, right?”

  I gritted my teeth again. “No way.”

  Why would I lie to her about this? Did she really think I made the whole lizard story up just to get attention in school?

  I decided it was a big mistake bringing Adele home with me. And then I went ahead and made another big mistake …

  “Can you take it out so I can see it better?” she asked.

  “No way,” I replied. “Come on, Adele. You promised you just wanted to look at it.”

  “But I can’t really look at it in the sand. Under the glass. Just for a second, Kate. I just want to see it up close.”

  “I … don’t think so.” My hands suddenly felt cold and wet. I knew it was a very bad idea.

  So why did I do it?

  Just to make her stop calling it a fake? To make her stop calling me a liar?

  Adele begged one more time.

  I let out a long breath. Then I bumped her out of the way and leaned over the worktable.

  Carefully … Carefully, I lowered both hands into the glass case. I could feel my heartbeat start to race. My hands were actually trembling.

  I wrapped my fingers gently around the egg. It felt warm against my skin. Slowly, I lifted it out of the case.

  Adele’s eyes grew wide as I held the egg up close to her. “Can you feel anything moving around inside it?”

  “No,” I said. “Not at all. It must be too soon.”

  My hand felt wet against the hard eggshell. “Are you satisfied, Adele?” I said. “Did you get a good look at it?”

  “Let me just hold it for a second,” she said.

  She reached for the egg—and it slid out of my hand.

  I let out a cry as the egg hit the hard floor with a loud craaaack.

  I stared in horror as the shell cracked and shattered, and yellow goo oozed out around it on the floor.

  Adele pressed her hands against her face and began to shriek at the top of her lungs: “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”

  But was that a pleased smile I saw cross her face?

  I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I stared down at the yellow puddle of yolk as it spread over the floor.

  How could this happen? How could I ruin everything?

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to disappear. If only I could go back in time … back in time just one minute.

  “Oh … oh … oh …” Low moans escaped my mouth.

  “I’m so sorry!” Adele cried. “I’m so sorry!”

  And then I turned—and saw my dad standing in the doorway, his eyes on the broken egg.

  “Oh, Dad—” I choked out. I tried to say more, but the words wouldn’t come.

  “I’m so sorry!” Adele cried. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it.

  Dad took two steps into the room—and burst out laughing.

  “Dad—what’s so funny? Are you okay?” I demanded. “Dad?”

  He laughed till he was red in the face. Shaking his head, he laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.

  Adele and I gaped at him, our mouths hanging open.

  Has he lost his mind? That’s the thought I had. Has the sight of the destroyed egg made him crazy?

  He finally stopped laughing. “Sorry,” he murmured, wiping tears off his face with both hands. “Sorry, girls. It was a mean joke.”

  “Joke?” I said in a trembling whisper. “Joke?”

  He nodded. “I switched the eggs this morning. That’s an egg from the fridge.” He started to laugh again.

  I dove for him and wrapped my hands around his neck. “I … I could strangle you!” I stammered.

  “You should have seen the looks on your faces,” Dad said.

  “I had two heart attacks!” I cried. “I couldn’t breathe at all. Seriously.” I shook him by the neck. “You and your stupid jokes!”

  “I was going to play the joke on you and Freddy later, after dinner,” he said. “But you two beat me to it.”

  Adele sank back against the worktable. Her face was pale, and she held her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she murmured.

  “I’ll get you a glass of water,” Dad said.

  She shook her head. “Just let me catch my breath. That was quite a scare, Mr. Lipton.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s what life around here is like all the time,” I told Adele.

  “Stop complaining. You love it,” Dad said.

  I shook my head. “Who says?” I glanced down at the puddle of egg at my feet. “That was the meanest joke you ever pulled, Dad.”

  He grinned. I realized he took that as a compliment.

  “Do you want to see the real lizard egg?” he asked Adele. “I put it in the warmer over here.”

  He walked to a shelf behind us. I saw that he had a new piece of equipment. It was silvery and rectangular and a little bigger than a toaster.

  Dad rubbed his hand over the top. “This new warmer protects the egg from the air,” he said. “And it keeps it at a good temperature.”

  Adele and I hung back. “Is this another joke?” Adele asked. She had her hands clenched tightly in front of her.

  “Yes. Is something going to come flying out at us when you open it?” I asked.

  Dad shook his head. “No. I’m serious now. No more jokes. This lizard is too valuable. And too important to our family’s future.”

  I moved closer. Adele didn’t budge.

  Dad lifted the top of the warmer. Then he reached in and carefully lifted the egg out. “This is the egg of a very rare Tasmanian cobra lizard,” he told Adele. “Kate has probably told you all about it.”

  Adele took a few reluctant steps closer to the egg. She squinted hard at it. “It has speckles on it,” she said.

  “See? It doesn’t look like a regular egg,” I said. “The shape is a little different, too.”

  “It’s going to hatch soon,” Dad said. He petted the egg with one finger. “This little guy is going to be the star of our new lizard farm.”

  He turned and started to lower the egg back i
nto the warmer.

  “Thanks for showing it to me, Mr. Lipton,” Adele said.

  I saw Dad’s nose twitch. The egg appeared to bounce in his hand. Dad’s eyes shut suddenly.

  He tilted back his head—and let out a loud, explosive sneeze.

  Then another. Then another.

  I gasped. Another sneezing attack!

  A sneeze exploded from his mouth and nose in a deafening roar.

  I watched, frozen in horror, as the lizard egg flew from his hand.

  “Oh nooooo.” A moan escaped my throat.

  The egg sailed across the room and smashed hard into the side of the worktable. It dropped to the floor. Jagged lines spread over the shell. And it cracked open with a sick craaaaack like shattering glass.

  His empty hand still raised in front of him, Dad sneezed again. Again.

  And Adele and I stared down at the broken egg … waiting. Waiting to see what would crawl out.

  Dad pulled a tissue from his pants pocket and mopped at his nose.

  A hush fell over the room. I could feel the blood pulsing at my temples.

  The cracked egg lay on its side at our feet, a ragged hole in it. Green yolk, the color of pea soup, poured out and formed a thick puddle on the floor.

  No one moved. No one blinked.

  Waiting. We were waiting for the lizard to appear, to poke its head out, to come tumbling out with the oozing green yolk.

  But no.

  The egg didn’t tilt or crack more. No creature came scampering out. The thick liquid stopped dripping from the shell.

  Nothing moved. Nothing.

  “Dad,” I whispered, finally finding my voice. I grabbed his sleeve. “Dad, please tell me this was another one of your jokes. Please.”

  Dad shook his head sadly. He avoided my eyes. “Not a joke, Kate,” he murmured.

  I let go of his shirtsleeve. He gazed down at the green mess on the floor. “The joke is my career,” he said bitterly. “All of our big plans. Ruined by a sneeze. That’s the joke.”

  “But, Dad—” I started.

  He spun away. Head down, muttering to himself, he slunk toward the door.

  “Dad, maybe that guy in Australia has more lizard eggs,” I called after him.

  But he disappeared out the door without saying another word.

  I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway, trying to catch my breath. I forced back the urge to burst into tears. But in that moment, I realized this was one of the saddest moments of my life.

  Adele stood beside me, biting her bottom lip, her hands tensed into tight fists at her sides. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I guess I’d better go.”

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say.

  If I hadn’t brought Adele home, would any of this have happened? Was it all my fault?

  I led Adele back to the kitchen. She picked up her backpack and swung it onto her shoulders. “Sorry,” she murmured again. It seemed to be the word of the day.

  “See you in school,” she said. I held the kitchen door open for her and watched her walk away until she vanished around the side of the house.

  Did I feel horribly sad? Yes.

  Did I feel horribly guilty? Yes.

  I decided to help Dad and clean up the mess on the floor of the hatching room. I grabbed a roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter and found a trash bag under the sink.

  I carried them to the hatching room. A faint sour smell already floated over the room from the spilled egg yolks.

  I dropped to my knees, grabbed a wad of paper towels, and began to mop up the yellow yolk from the refrigerator egg. Some of it stuck to the floor, and I had to rub hard to get it up.

  One good thing, I thought. After what happened today, Adele will never want to come here again.

  I dumped the broken shell and yellow yolk into the trash bag. Then I moved to the green lizard goo.

  Still on my knees, I lifted the broken egg and began to swing it into the trash bag.

  I jumped when I felt the shell bounce in my hand. “Whoa!” I cried out in shock. I saw something poke out. A tiny leg?

  I raised the shell closer, squinting hard at it. Something wiggled. Another leg poked out. And then I gasped as a tiny creature fell out of the shell and bounced to the floor.

  I was already on my knees. I dropped lower to see it better.

  The thing was a little bigger than a grape. I couldn’t see its head. The whole creature was covered in stubby black hair. It rolled over a few times. Then it pulled itself up onto four spindly legs.

  I lowered my head almost to the floor. My whole body was trembling, with excitement, I guess.

  Squinting hard, I saw a stub of a head with two tiny pinprick black eyes. The head bobbed up and down as the creature tested its legs.

  It doesn’t look anything at all like a lizard, I thought. Is this really what a newly hatched lizard looks like?

  I jerked my head up as the tiny creature suddenly spun in a circle. Its legs flew out from under it, and it bounced on the floor. It froze for a few seconds, as if trying to figure out why it fell. Then, slowly, it raised itself on its slender legs.

  “Dad is going to be so happy,” I told myself. I reached into my jeans pocket for my phone. I wanted to snap some photos. But I remembered that my phone was charging up in my room.

  The lizard looked like a fat, hairy bee. Its eyes were tinier than poppy seeds on its lump of a head. It steadied itself and began to walk again, slowly and carefully this time.

  I glanced around the room. I knew I had to pick the lizard up and put it somewhere safe. But where? Would it stay in the glass case with the sand?

  I watched it walk through the green puddle of yolk from the shattered egg. Its tiny head sniffed at pieces of the shell. Sticky green yolk stuck to its spindly legs, but it kept walking slowly but steadily until it stepped out of the puddle.

  The hairy little lizard lowered its head and began to pick up speed as it walked in a straight line. I gazed in front of it and realized where it was going.

  At first, I thought I was gazing at a black spot of dirt on the floor. But as it came into focus, I saw that it was a dead ant.

  “Whoa.” I uttered a sharp cry as the lizard darted up to the ant, lowered its head, opened tiny jaws—and snapped the ant into its mouth.

  The jaws worked quickly. I heard noisy chewing sounds as the lizard gobbled up its meal. It sounded like someone chewing gum.

  “Hungry little dude,” I murmured.

  The ant disappeared in less than three seconds. The lizard started walking again, in a straight line. It picked up speed. Its head swept from side to side. I realized it must be searching for more ants.

  I knew my dad had a big bag of dead crickets waiting, for its meals. I couldn’t go get the bag. I couldn’t let this creature out of my sight. It was headed toward the open door to the hall.

  I couldn’t just stare at it any longer. I had to act.

  I was still down on my knees. The little hairball turned and disappeared around the side of a cabinet.

  No!

  If I lost it, I’d never forgive myself.

  I jumped to my feet and hurtled to the end of the cabinet. My eyes frantically scanned the floor. I didn’t see it.

  Wait.

  Yes. There it was. Trotting toward the open door.

  I’ll pick it up and put it in the warmer, I decided. The warmer had a lid on it. So the creature couldn’t climb out.

  I took a deep breath. Bent down. Reached my open hand to the floor and—

  “OUCH!”

  It bit me.

  The pain still throbbing, I shook my finger. I examined it. I saw a thin cut, like a small paper cut. A single drop of blood appeared.

  I shook the hand again, waiting for the pain to fade. Then I reached down to the floor with my other hand and gently wrapped my fingers around the hairy little creature.

  He buzzed and shook his body against my palm. The prickly hair tickled my skin. I h
urried to the warmer, hoping the little guy wouldn’t bite me again. I breathed a sigh of relief as I lowered him into the warmer. Then I carefully closed the lid and rushed to find my dad.

  * * *

  “Does it still hurt?” Dad asked.

  “A little,” I said. “Not as bad as before.”

  Of course, Dad was dying to see the lizard. But he decided he should take care of my finger first.

  Freddy watched as Dad dabbed the droplets of blood with a cloth. Then he smoothed some ointment over the cut and wrapped a bandage around the finger.

  “You’re going to get rabies,” Freddy said. “Then you’re going to froth at the mouth and howl like a dog.” He did some ridiculous dog howls.

  He thinks he’s hilarious. But what’s funny about rabies?

  “Lizards don’t carry rabies,” Dad said.

  “Just saying,” Freddy replied. That didn’t make any sense at all.

  “Okay. You’re all patched up, Kate. Let’s go see this guy!” Dad exclaimed. He took off running full speed down the hall.

  Freddy and I followed. “Can I hold him?” Freddy called.

  “He’ll bite you, too,” I said. “What makes you think you’re safe from a lizard bite?”

  Freddy raised both hands and grinned at me. He was wearing gloves.

  A few seconds later, all three of us were peering into the warmer. The creature already looked bigger to me. And I saw black hairs all over the bottom of the warmer.

  “He’ll shed that hair and start to look more like a lizard,” Dad said. “I … I’m so excited, I can barely speak. You realize, don’t you, that this is the only Tasmanian cobra lizard in all of America.”

  “He looks like a fat bug,” Freddy said. “Check out those hairy bug legs.”

  “Give him time,” Dad said. “He’ll look more like a lizard every day.”

  “I don’t think he’s comfortable in the warmer,” I said. “Look. He’s pacing back and forth. Maybe we should put him in the sand in the glass case. He’ll have more room.”

  “Maybe he’s hungry,” Freddy said. “Kate, why don’t you put your finger in there and see.”

  I gave Freddy a shove. “Ha-ha.”

  “Maybe we should move him,” Dad replied. “I have to call your mother. She won’t believe the lizard has hatched and she missed it.”