He gets into his fire truck, turns on the siren, and heads down the street. We all get into Vanna and follow him.

  I can’t believe it! The fire truck stops in front of Deets’s house! Deets is standing in the driveway with his dad and another kid, who must be his older brother. We all scramble out of the car after Fireman Frank.

  Then a truck pulls up. A woman jumps out. A short, round woman with Brillo Pad hair, wearing a tan uniform, carrying a loop on a stick. It’s Mrs. ’Stache!

  “Animal control!” she yells.

  Then a van screeches up.

  “It’s Marty Manchester from the news,” Darby says, pointing at the van and jumping up and down.

  Marty gets out of the van with a team of people carrying cameras and microphones.

  “Rolling!” says the camerawoman.

  “This is Marty Manchester reporting live from the scene of the swine.” He flashes his white teeth at his own joke. “A trio of large hogs have escaped and are running rampant through the Hidden Marsh neighborhood.”

  Deets’s dad starts yelling.

  “They’re in my garden! In the back! Those pigs are eating my prizewinning rhododendron bushes. I have the best rhododendrons in the country, and they’re ruining them! I’ll sue whoever did this!”

  “Lead me to the pigs,” says Fireman Frank.

  “This way,” Deets says, turning to run through the gate to his backyard.

  Mr. Frizzle pushes past Deets. “Me first, Deets!”

  Then Deets’s brother pushes Deets down onto the grass and follows his dad.

  “Dumb Deets,” he snarls.

  Deets looks like he might cry. Darby and I look at each other. Deets makes it really hard to be nice to him, but I think both Darby and I decide at the same time that it’s what we have to do. Darby holds out her good hand and helps him up.

  We follow Fireman Frank and Mrs. ’Stache into the yard, with the news team following. We enter the yard just in time to see the last pig butt squeezing under the fence where the pigs have dug a hole. There are leaves and branches all over the lawn. Deets’s little shih tzu is jumping up and down by the fence, yapping nonstop.

  Deets’s dad is jumping up and down, too, with a long stream of inappropriate words spewing from his mouth.

  Everyone stares for a moment, then Fireman Frank turns and runs back to his truck.

  Mrs. ’Stache follows him.

  “Animal control! Out of my way!” she yells.

  “It’s the perfect job for Mrs. ’Stache!” Darby says.

  Mom turns and runs after her, yelling, “SOOO-EEEEY!”

  We all turn and follow Mom. We can see the three pigs running down the street toward the lake road, dust clouding up behind them. I never knew pigs were so fast! We jump back into Vanna and follow Fireman Frank, Mrs. ’Stache, and the pigs. They’re headed toward Darby’s house! As we approach her driveway, we see a police car drive up from the other direction and slam on the brakes. Two police officers jump out and leap at the pigs, but the pigs swerve around them, veering into Darby’s gate and down her driveway toward the lake.

  We hop out of Vanna, and the whole lot of us chases them on foot down the driveway, except Mrs. ’Stache, who keeps on driving. She slams on her brakes by the house, barely missing the squealing pigs, who speed like runaway trains down the grassy hill.

  Mrs. ’Stache throws open her door and follows them on foot, right on their tails, as the pigs run straight onto Darby’s dock and leap impressively off the end. A huge splash of water drenches Mrs. ’Stache and the dock. Mrs. ’Stache tries to stop, but the wet dock is slippery—and she slides right off the end!

  “Oh, no,” Darby and I say together.

  “Are you getting this?” Marty Manchester asks the camerawoman.

  She gives him a thumbs-up.

  We all run to the dock and watch the pigs swim away toward the swamp, followed by Mrs. ’Stache, who is a much better swimmer than she is a runner, even fully dressed with boots on. That lady is full of surprises.

  “SOOO-EEEEY!” yells Mom.

  “Too late, Mom!” I say.

  “I think that they’re headed toward the blueberry farm,” says Darby’s mom. “Maybe they’re going back to their sty for food.”

  We all pile back into Vanna and drive to Mrs. Swanson’s house to wait. When we pull up, Dad and Abby are in the driveway with Mr. and Mrs. Swanson.

  “Oh, Lily,” Dad says.

  “SOOO-EEEEY!” yells Mom.

  “Mom,” I say. “Stop! It’s not working!”

  “Yes, it is,” she says.

  We see the three pigs turning the corner on the street, chased by a very wet Mrs. ’Stache. The pigs run past us, around the house, and back into the sty. Mr. Swanson closes the gate behind them.

  “They’ll always come back for food,” he says.

  Mrs. Swanson runs into her house and comes out with a towel for Mrs. ’Stache, who seems like she might pass out from breathing so hard.

  “Well, looks like my work’s done,” says Fireman Frank. “Let’s keep these hams where they belong, shall we, girls?”

  “Yes, Fireman Frank,” we both say.

  “See you later, Mary,” he says, winking at Darby’s mom.

  “I hate Mikey Frank,” says Darby. “And his dad.”

  “Well, looks like this hog-wild chase has an ending happier than a pig in slop,” says Marty. “This is Marty Manchester signing off until next swine. Ha ha!”

  I ride home with Dad and Abby. Dad lectures me for less than a minute before he starts laughing. The three of us laugh all the way home.

  After dinner, Mom, Dad, Abby, and I all gather around the TV to watch the news. We see Deets get knocked aside by his dad, then pushed over by his brother.

  “I feel really sorry for Deets,” I say.

  “But he’s such a bully!” Abby says.

  “No one deserves to be treated like that by a parent,” Dad says. “It’s no wonder he’s mean. Try showing him a little kindness at school. It might work wonders.”

  Next we see Vanna racing down Pine Lake Road, Mrs. ’Stache in front of us, and the fire truck in the lead. Then we see Mrs. ’Stache run down the hill and slide off the dock after the pigs.

  Abby rolls on the floor laughing, tears streaming from her eyes.

  “Good news, Marty,” says Susan the co-anchor. “We posted this segment online earlier this evening, and we’ve received several offers from organizations who want to buy these pigs to save them from the slaughter.”

  “It’s true,” says Mom. “Mrs. Swanson already received an offer from someone who has a hog sanctuary called Hog Heaven. They want to buy Bacon and the other pigs and are willing to pay quite a price.”

  “Will you sell him?” I ask Mom.

  “I think so,” she says. “Maybe I’ll take the money and invest it in Fakin’!”

  “Well, you and Darby certainly saved our Bacon, Lily,” says Dad.

  Abby hugs me.

  “Thanks, Weewee,” she says.

  The next day at school, we see the news segment on SHTV, including the part where Deets gets pushed around by his family. When the video shows Mrs. ’Stache slide into Pine Lake, Mrs. Larson starts laughing so hard she spits her coffee on her desk.

  “It’s going to be a fun day in the teachers’ lounge!” she says, laughing.

  “I did it,” Deets says. “I saved the pigs!”

  “You did not, Deets,” says Gabriella. “We all saw what happened.”

  Iris looks at Deets, who’s turning red.

  “Way to go Lily, Darby, and Deets!” she says.

  Everyone claps for us, and Deets almost smiles.

  As soon as we walk out for recess, kids start teasing Deets for getting pushed down by his brother. Deets is getting riled up and looks like he might hit someone. Iris veers from her path to the library and stands next to him.

  “Deets is the bully!” shouts Gabriella. “And a liar!”

  “Maybe he just needs a real friend,” Iris says.

  She tries to put her arm around Deets’s shoulders, but he shrugs her off and runs away. The group turns to follow him.

  “You’re awesome, Iris,” Darby says. “Will you come to the invisible clubhouse with us today?”

  “I’m almost done with my book,” says Iris. “I think I’ll go to the library to finish it.”

  “Come on, Iris! Please?” I ask her. “We want you to be in our club.”

  “Well,” she says, “I guess I could try it out.”

  So she does. We teach her the Rizzlerunk pledge. Then, when we’re just in the middle of teaching her the secret handshake, Abby wanders by with some friends.

  “Heeere, kitty, kitty!” they are all calling. “Heeere, kitty!”

  One of the little girls is crying.

  “What’s happening, Abby?” I ask her. “Why are you calling for a kitty?”

  “Her new kitten got lost,” she tells me, pointing to the crying girl. “She brought him for show-and-tell, and he got away. He escaped outside.”

  The little girl starts bawling even harder.

  “What does he look like?” I ask.

  “He’s tiny and black and fluffy and has gween eyes and a black nose, and he’s weally, weally cute,” the girl tells us.

  “Okay, we’ll look for him,” we tell them.

  We spend the rest of recess searching the playground for the kitten, but we can’t find him. Then the bell rings, and we run to class. As we enter the room, we see a fuzzy little black ball on top of the rats’ cage.

  “The kitten!” Darby says.

  The cage is open and Ratsinburger is still there, but Marshmallow is gone.

  “He ate Marshmallow!” David yells.

  Sonja starts to cry. Mrs. Larson comes in with a cup of coffee that she’s trying not to spill.

  “Seats, everyone!” she says. “You know if I’m not here when you get back to the classroom, you need to—”

  Suddenly, Mikey yells:

  Mrs. Larson sets down her coffee and moves toward the cage.

  “It’s a first-grader’s kitten,” I tell Mrs. Larson. “She lost him during show-and-tell, and she was looking for him at recess with my sister.”

  “It’s a monster kitten!” Sonja cries.

  Mrs. Larson picks up the kitten, who gazes up at her with his adorable green eyes. I can hear him start purring all the way from my desk.

  “Oh, boys and girls,” Mrs. Larson says, “that is impossible. This tiny little kitten is the same size as Marshmallow. There’s no way it could have eaten the rat. Marshmallow must have escaped.”

  “It’s Marshmallow’s tail!” shouts Mikey, pointing to the ground.

  “Cool!” says José.

  Gabriella screams.

  Mrs. Larson looks down, and, sure enough, there is the end of a rat tail on the ground.

  “Oh, dear,” says Mrs. Larson. “Children, I know you’re upset. Please sit down.”

  We sit down. A few kids are crying harder now.

  Mrs. Larson gets a paper towel and picks up the rat tail in one hand, still holding the kitten in the other.

  “I will be right back,” she says.

  We all get up when she leaves and look around the classroom to see if we can find the rest of Marshmallow, but no one can find him.

  When Mrs. Larson returns, we sit down and she talks to us.

  “I am so sorry about Marshmallow,” she says. “It is a terrible thing that happened, and I feel awful you had to be a part of it.”

  “All that’s left is Ratsinburger,” David says.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Larson says. “It looks like Ratsinburger is the sole survivor of our experiment. I suppose I’ll find a different nutrition project next year. This one certainly didn’t turn out as planned.”

  “I think that would be wise,” says Darby.

  “Truth or dare?” Darby asks me on the bus on the way home after school.

  “Truth!” I say.

  “Why do you keep doing truth? You’re really no fun to play with!” Darby says. “Hmmm . . . I have to think of a good one . . . I know . . . Have you ever lied to me?”

  I feel myself get hot. My face must look like a huckleberry. I can’t lie again.

  “Yes,” I say, feeling my stomach do a flip.

  “You have?” she says. “About what?”

  “That’s a new question! Only one question,” I tell her.

  The bus stops, and we get off with Abby.

  “Truth or dare,” I say as we walk across the street.

  “Tru . . . No. Dare,” Darby says.

  “You almost said truth!” I say. “Why’d you change your mind?”

  “I’ve told you a million times! I just like dares better!” Darby says.

  “Okay,” I say. “I dare you to stand in the yard in front of Zach for three minutes.”

  “Are you serious?” she asks.

  “Yep!” I say. “Abby and I will keep watch, and when we’re done counting to a hundred and eighty, you can leave the yard.”

  “That’s mean!” Abby says. “Zach is the scariest dog in the whole world!”

  “He is scary,” Darby says. “But he’s behind a pretty tall fence. I’m not worried. I’ll do it.”

  We get off the bus and walk the trail toward Zach’s yard. Zach hears us before we even round the corner and starts barking like a crazed killer dog. When he sees us, he bares his teeth. Slobber starts dripping from the sides of his mouth like we’re a bunch of walking hot dogs.

  “I hope he doesn’t have rabies or something!” Darby says.

  “Me, too. For your sake,” I say.

  “Good luck, Darby!” says Abby. She looks scared.

  Darby runs to the middle of the lawn and stands there.

  “One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi . . .” Abby and I count out at the top of our lungs.

  Zach starts taking running leaps at the fence as soon as Darby steps onto the lawn. He’s getting higher and higher with each leap. He looks like he’ll shred Darby like a newspaper if he gets hold of her.

  “Count faster!” Darby yells.

  “Thirty Mississippi, thirty-one Mississippi,” Abby and I count.

  Zach is leaping so high now, he’s almost coming up to the top of the fence.

  “Lily, he might make it over,” Abby says.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “If he could make it over, he already would have.”

  “I have to pee!” Darby says. “Count faster!”

  “Eighty-eight Mississippi, eighty-nine . . .”

  All of a sudden, Zach’s flying leap clears the top of the fence. He did it! He tumbles onto the ground. Darby drops her backpack like she’s going to run, but then she just stands there frozen like Michelangelo’s David.

  “Darby, run!” Abby and I shout. “Run!”

  Abby starts crying. Zach gets on his feet and looks straight at Darby. Then he surprises all of us. He yelps, turns around, puts his paws up on the fence, and starts whimpering. He looks back at Darby and then starts running back and forth along the fence as if he wants to get back in.

  Darby finally moves. She picks up her backpack and sprints toward us. We all run full speed ahead into my house and flop onto the living-room floor.

  “Did you see that?” Darby says. “He’s just a big baby! He’s got about as much guts as a little bunny rabbit! He acts like a killer hyena all the time, but really he’s just a big chicken-dog!”

  We are all rolling on the floor laughing now.

  “You’re amazing, Darby,” I tell her. “I would have been way too scared to do that. I wouldn’t have cared what I don’t want to tell the truth about.”

  The next day, we come to school and see Mrs. Larson’s rear end sticking out from the cabinet under the sink.

  “What are you doing in there?” shouts David, running over to her.

  She jumps and bumps her head on the pipes.

  “David,” she says, pulling herself out from under the cabinet and rubbing her head, “please keep your voice down!”

  “What were you doing in there?” he asks her again.

  “Seats!” she yells.

  After we’re all seated, we have to stand again for the Pledge of Allegiance.

  “Indivisible,” we all say, “with liberty and justice for—”

  “RATSINBURGER’S GONE!” Mikey yells.

  Everyone runs to the rat cage.

  “How’d he get out?” Sonja asks, starting to cry. “Was it that kitten again?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get back to your seats, boys and girls,” says Mrs. Larson.

  When we’re all settled, Mrs. Larson tells us the story.

  “I came in this morning, and his cage was wide open,” she says. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t a kitten—or any other kind of animal. Our classroom door was locked when I left last night, and the room was empty. Ratsinburger’s cage was closed. I check it every night before I leave, so I know it wasn’t us who left it open. I asked Ms. Wetherall, our janitor, if she might have opened it to clean the cage, and she looked at me like I was a little bit crazy. She said with a whole school to clean, she wouldn’t bother with a rat cage.”

  “Good point,” says Darby.

  “The only thing I can come up with,” Mrs. Larson continued, “is that darned rat got smart enough to open the cage by himself!”

  “That’s because he’s a Super Rat!” Billy shouts.

  “Billy, I have the floor,” Mrs. Larson reminds him. “May I continue?”

  Billy nods.

  “So, I looked everywhere, and then I saw him run under our sink,” she continues. “I put my head in there to find him, but he must have found a crack in the wall, because he was gone. Class, I don’t know where that rat is. Please keep your eyes open. Now, as you know, we have a spelling test first thing this morning, so please take out your pencils and paper.”

  Mrs. Larson looks around the room as she says this. I can tell she’s kind of jumpy like Mom was with Riley.

  “Benign,” Mrs. Larson says.

 

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