Friendship According to Humphrey (6 page)

College! I hoped they had bigger chairs there.

Aldo pulled up a chair so we were practically whisker-to-whisker. “See, I went to college for a year. When my dad died, I quit because I needed to make money. I thought I’d go back, but I never did.”

“It’s never too late,” I squeaked.

Aldo shook his head. “I’m not a kid anymore.” He reached in his pocket. “Maria got me this application for City College, but I don’t know.”

City College! That’s where Natalie the babysitter went! She said that’s where people go to become doctors and lawyers and teachers. That’s where people go to study things like psychology and get good jobs.

“GO-GO-GO!” I said, hopping up and down.

“Maria thinks I’m smart enough,” said Aldo. “I just don’t know if I can handle all that studying.” He sighed and rose from his chair.

“Guess I’d better get this room cleaned or I won’t have a job at all.” Aldo tucked the application back in his pocket. “First, I’m going to go turn up the heat.”

Good old Aldo. He was a thoughtful guy. And a smart guy, too. I hoped his wife could talk him into going back to school.

I wasn’t sure I could do it all by myself. And I was pretty sure Og wouldn’t be any help at all.

6

T
he next morning, Kirk hurried from the cloakroom and stuck a big piece of paper on my cage. It almost blocked my view of Og, which was not a bad thing.

Once the other students settled in their seats, they started giggling and pointing, led by Gail, of course. Mrs. Brisbane looked puzzled until she glanced over at my cage. The sign read, HELP! I’M BEING HELD PRISONER IN ROOM 26!

“And who is responsible for this, as if I didn’t know?” she asked.

Kirk rose and took a bow as everyone applauded. I joined in, though I was the only one who knew I could never be a prisoner with my lock-that-doesn’t-lock.

“Let’s all sit down now,” said Mrs. Brisbane. “And get back to poetry.”

Somebody made a very, very rude noise and Mrs. Brisbane did not like that one little bit. “I-Heard-That-Kirk. And I don’t ever want to hear it again.”

During the rest of the week, we heard a lot more animal poems. Most of them were about frogs. One was about a dog (Miranda’s). Sayeh wrote about a beautiful bird called a dove. (“Dove” rhymes with “love.”)

Nobody wrote about hamsters.

Aldo didn’t mention City College again. And Tabitha still didn’t talk to anybody except Smiley.

I was looking forward to a change of scenery by the end of the week. A relaxing getaway to one of my classmates’ cozy homes. One with plenty of heat and no frogs.

 

On Friday, Mrs. Brisbane said, “I can’t remember. Who asked me about taking Humphrey home this weekend?” Miranda’s hand shot up.

“Yes, Miranda. I got the note from your father. That will be fine.”

I let out a little “Eek!” I don’t think anyone heard me. Everyone knows that I have a special place in my hamster heart for Miranda. After all, her name is Golden and I am a Golden Hamster. We both have lovely golden hair.

But I have a terrible fear of her dog, Clem. I barely escaped a terrible fate the last time I went home with her, but could I do it again?

Then it hit me. “Wait a second! Did you say ‘father’?” I squeaked. Because when I went home with Miranda before, there was only her mom. And the dog, of course. And Fanny the fish.

Mrs. Brisbane chuckled. “I guess Humphrey approves.”

I puzzled over this all afternoon. Sure enough, at the end of the day, a tall man called Mr. Golden arrived to pick up his daughter. At least I wouldn’t be riding the bus with Marty Bean—that was a break! Miranda, thoughtful as ever, threw a warm blanket over my cage. As they carried me out, Mrs. Brisbane picked up Og’s cage.

“I thought you said Og stayed here on weekends,” said Miranda.

Mrs. Brisbane chuckled. “It’s a surprise for my husband. He always enjoys Humphrey, so I thought he’d get a kick out of having Og for the weekend.”

I felt COLD-COLD-COLD and we were still inside! I thought the Brisbanes were my best friends of all. Were they ready to replace me with a frog?

Once we were in the car, I didn’t have time to worry about the Brisbanes. I was too worried about facing Clem again. I could practically see his sloppy tongue and drippy nose and smell that bad breath waiting for me up in Miranda’s apartment.

What a shock it was when the car pulled up in front of a house, not an apartment building. “Here we are, Humphrey,” Miranda announced. “You’ve seen my mom’s place, but this weekend we’re staying at my dad’s place.”

A nice lady that Miranda called “Amy” met us at the door.

“Hi, honey,” said Mr. Golden, kissing Amy on the cheek. “Meet Humphrey the hamster.”

“Cute,” Amy replied. “I think he should stay in the girls’ room.”

“What about the living room?” asked Miranda. “Or the dining room table?”

“I think he’d get in the way,” Mr. Golden said. “Let’s go to your room.”

Miranda’s room in the apartment had a bed, a desk, a fish tank and stars on the ceiling. Her room in this house had two beds, a dresser, a desk and no stars. Everything in this room was pink, from the walls to the bedspreads to the carpet on the floor. A girl about Miranda’s age was sprawled across one bed, reading a magazine.

“What’s THAT?” she asked in an unpleasant voice.

“Humphrey. He’s our class hamster,” Miranda explained.

“Well, he’s not staying in my room,” the girl stated firmly.

“It’s Miranda’s room, too, Abby,” Amy said as she came in the door behind us. “Put Humphrey on the desk.”

Miranda thoughtfully opened my cage to straighten out my ladder and my water bottle, which had slid around during the ride.

“Mom, I have to do homework on that desk,” said Abby, sitting up.

Huh? Amy was Abby’s mom and she was married to Miranda’s dad? Things were quite confusing.

“Okay, we’ll put his cage on the floor,” said Amy.

I heard a baby crying in another room. “I’ve got to see what Ben wants,” she said. Mr. Golden followed her and Abby got up to close the door.

“He stays on your side of the room,” Abby told Miranda. “And don’t forget, no crossing the line.”

Abby took her foot and dragged it in a straight line across the middle of the pink carpet. “No crossing the line. Ever.”

Miranda sighed. “I know. You tell me every time I’m here.”

“Sometimes you forget. And don’t touch anything of mine.”

“I never do,” Miranda countered.

“You used my barrette last time,” said Abby.

“It was a mistake! It looks exactly like mine!” Good for Miranda for standing up for herself! “I didn’t complain when you borrowed my book without asking.”

Abby plopped back on the bed again and thumbed through her magazine. “Just don’t cross the line,” she muttered.

I hopped on my wheel for a spin. Sometimes it cheers people up to watch me spinning. Abby was not one of those people. She glared at me. “Don’t tell me it makes noise,” she said nastily. “Can’t you stop it?”

“Humphrey is not an ‘it.’ He’s a ‘he.’ ” said Miranda. I love that girl! “You could read in the living room,” she suggested.

“I was here first.” Abby suddenly slammed down her magazine and stood up. “Okay, anything to get away from you.”

After she left, Miranda leaned down close to my cage. “I was hoping she’d like you, Humphrey. She sure doesn’t like me. It’s not my fault my dad married her mom. It’s not my fault she has to share her room with me every other weekend.” She sighed. “I’ve tried to be friends with her, but it’s no use. She’s a wicked stepsister, like in
Cinderella
.”

Miranda looked SAD-SAD-SAD, so I leaped up on my ladder and hung from it by one paw to cheer her up.

She smiled, so I leaped onto my tree and began swinging from branch to branch, like that Tarzan guy I saw on TV. That made Miranda laugh.

Abby returned with a sour expression on her face. I must have looked that way the day somebody in Room 26 (I’m still trying to figure out who) slipped me a slice of lemon.

“Mom wants us to help fix dinner. She’s got to feed the baby.”

She disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.

“See you, Humphrey,” Miranda whispered. “And remember, don’t cross the line!”

After she left, I squinted my eyes, but I couldn’t see a line anywhere. All I could see was a sea of pink. So much pink, I felt a little ill.

 

Later that night, while Miranda took her bath, I was alone with Abby. I decided to try and be friendly.

“Nice room you’ve got,” I squeaked politely.

Abby turned toward me and frowned. “Were you squeaking at me?” She shook her head. “This is the last straw. First, I have a room all to myself. Then Mom marries
him
and pretty soon I have a stepsister taking half my room and a new baby brother crying all the time and nobody knows I exist! I’m supposed to be happy about the whole thing when it wasn’t
my
idea. And now they’ve moved in a guinea pig!”

That wasn’t a huge insult, because guinea pigs are cute and furry like me, only not quite
as
cute. Anyway, I could see Abby’s point. I wasn’t happy about Og moving into Room 26 and it sure wasn’t my idea! The difference was, Miranda is actually nice. And Og is, well, Og.

Miranda returned and the two girls settled into their respective beds.

“Night, Humphrey,” Miranda said to me.

Neither girl said a word to the other.

I had a long night ahead of me, and since I’m nocturnal and do most of my sleeping during the day, I had a lot of time to think.

What Abby had told me helped me understand why she was so crabby with Miranda. If only I’d studied psychology like Natalie, maybe I could get inside her head and figure out how to make her like Miranda as much as I did.

 

The next morning, Miranda cleaned my cage while Abby lounged on the bed, writing in her diary.

“What are you doing, anyway?” she asked Miranda.

“Taking out the old bedding, putting in new. Changing the water, stuff like that.”

Abby slammed her diary shut. “It doesn’t—you know—go to the
bathroom
in there, does it?”

“Well, sure.”

Abby leaped off her bed and pointed to the door. “That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard. Get it out of my room right now!”

(I’ve figured out a lot about humans, but I still don’t know why my little potty corner is always such a big deal to them. I’m really quite tidy.)

Miranda didn’t budge. “He’s on my side of the room.”

I was all for Miranda. On the other paw, I could see that Abby had been through a lot of changes in a short time. It’s not easy getting a new roommate. I learned that the hard way! I also knew what a good friend Miranda can be. Friends help friends, so I figured it was time I did something about it.

I had a Plan. A Plan using reverse psychology. Since Miranda had no luck getting Abby to like her, my Plan would make them
not
like each other even more. (If that was possible.)

Okay, it didn’t make a lot of sense, but when Natalie used reverse psychology, it worked REALLY-REALLY-REALLY well.

I had the chance to set my Plan in motion a short time later when Mr. Golden announced that the whole family was going to a museum.

“Do we
all
have to go?” asked Abby.

“Yes, all of us. We’re a family, you know,” said her mom.

Abby wrinkled her nose. “Even the baby?”

“We’ll bring the stroller,” said Miranda’s dad. “He’ll like it.”

Despite her grumbling, Abby joined the rest of the family and I soon had the whole house to myself. My Plan would take speed, strength, courage and lots of time. It would be well worth it . . . IF it worked.

Once I was sure they were gone, I opened the lock-that-doesn’t-lock and hurried over to Abby’s bed. I had been studying it all morning and thought that if I grabbed on, I could climb the bedspread, paw over paw, like a rope. I was huffing and puffing by the time I reached the top, but I made it! Sitting on top of the bedspread was the purple-and-pink striped pen Abby used to write in her diary. I gave it a big push and it rolled off the bed and onto the floor.

After that, I scrambled over to Abby’s night table. There, I found her pink bracelet with ABBY spelled out in purple and white beads. I pushed that onto the floor, too.

The next part of my mission was fun. I grabbed the edge of the bedspread and slid DOWN-DOWN-DOWN really fast!

I was far from finished. Next I climbed all the way up Miranda’s bedspread to get to her gold ring with the pink stone, which I pushed onto the floor, along with a red loopy thing she sometimes used to pull back her hair. (You don’t expect a guy hamster to know what it’s called!)

I was halfway to my goal, and the hardest part of my Plan was yet to come.

All morning, I’d had my eye on a big ball of string on the desk. A long piece of the string hung down almost to the floor. I grabbed it and pulled as hard as I could. More and more string unrolled and fell to the floor. I chewed it off and set to work.

Looping the string around the pen and the bracelet, then holding the string in my teeth, I climbed up Miranda’s bedspread again. Whew! Mrs. Brisbane says exercise is good for you, but that was work! Once I was on the bed, I tugged on the string, pulling up the pen and the bracelet. (Believe me, for a small hamster, those two items are very heavy!) I carefully laid them both on Miranda’s pillow where she couldn’t miss them.

As tired as I was, there was no time to rest. I slid down to the floor, looped the string around Miranda’s ring and the hair holder and pulled them up onto Abby’s bed, laying them on her pillow.