Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat (7 page)

E
MMY ALMOST CRASHED
into Dr. Leander in her hurry to get out of the building.

“Oh, hello,” he said. “Feeling better, are we?”

“Um,” said Emmy, ducking behind him. She had just seen the rat man coming down the hall, led by the principal.

The Rat had seen him, too. There was a frightened squeak from the backpack's pocket, and a sudden scrabbling of claws up Emmy's arm. She nearly yelped aloud.

“Get—your claws—off—my neck!”
Emmy hissed, trying to disengage the Rat, who had hidden under her hair.

“What did you say, Emmaline?” The psychologist took out a blue notebook and flipped a page.

Emmy backed out the door, wedging her fingers beneath the Rat's tightly gripping paws. “Nothing, Dr. Leander—
ouch
!”

Dr. Leander followed her outside, writing busily. “Do you talk to yourself often, dear?”

Emmy gave the Rat's body a little furious shake. “Oh—you know—now and then. When I'm really
annoyed,
or in
pain
—”

“Are you troubled about something, perhaps? Do you think someone is out to get you?”

“Someone just
got
me,” said Emmy through her teeth as she pulled the Rat off her neck with a wrench that felt like it drew blood. “And someone else”—she gave Dr. Leander a hunted look—“keeps
following
me.”

She thrust the Rat into her backpack, but he wouldn't let go.

“Who keeps following you, Emmaline?” Dr. Leander kept his head down, writing as he trotted alongside. “Tell me.”

Emmy gave him an exasperated glare. “A giant brain-sucking spider. A ten-foot-tall noodle. Write anything you want, but
I'm
going to gymnastics!”

“Talks to self … hallucinations,” muttered the psychologist, taking notes as Emmy stalked off. “Becomes hostile when questioned ….”

Emmy was halfway across the playground before she managed to free her hand from the Rat's death grip. “Did you have to get hysterical?”

“I was not hysterical.” The Rat had regained his dignified bearing. “I was merely reacting with the natural instinct of the hunted animal. Instinct, I might add, is something very understandable in a—”

“Chicken?” Emmy felt the back of her neck tenderly.

“—in a creature that must live by his wits and—”

“Feathers?”

“Oh, shut up,” said the Rat grumpily. “Anyway,
you're
the one who's so
troubled.
Why do you go to see that guy, anyway? Been torturing frogs? Hearing voices?”

“Miss Barmy makes me. You know, my nanny.”

“Whatever for?”

Emmy glanced over at the soccer game. “Oh, she says my mental health is important, and it's just like a regular checkup at the doctor's, or something.”

“And you believe that?” The Rat sounded disdainful.

“Not really, but I don't care if I skip class—it's only during silent reading, anyway.”

“Hey, Joe! Nice footwork!”

Emmy walked behind the crowd on the sidelines. They were cheering, but Joe's father was the loudest of all. He strode up and down, waving his arms.

“That's my boy! Come on, go, go, GO!”

Joe's father was laughing, his face full of satisfaction, and Emmy felt a moment of pure envy. Maybe Joe's dad did make him practice hard, like it said in the poem, but he sure was proud of his son.

Oh, well. Her parents would be home tonight, and maybe they would be proud of her, too. She had saved all her tests, and her essay titled “Animals of India,” and her latest report card. She imagined their faces when they saw all the A's. Should she show her schoolwork in the car? Or during quality time at home? No—maybe she'd just tie the whole packet up with a ribbon and hand it to her parents at bedtime …

“NO! Follow the player, not the ball—listen, you STUPID KID!”

Joe's father paced. His neck was swollen, and the pride on his face had changed to dark red anger.

Emmy didn't want to look at Joe. Now she understood the poem he had written.

But she had problems of her own. Through the shoulders of the crowd, she could see a man in black coming out of the school, looking around.

Emmy's eyes slid sideways to the belt of trees and bushes that edged the school property. She waited until the man turned away, shading his eyes. And then, like a rabbit, she bolted for the safety of the trees.

“Why did you run? Did you see the bad man again?” The Rat's tremulous voice wafted up from her backpack as soon as she set it down.

“Yes,” said Emmy, crouched low behind the bushes, “but I found a place to hide.”

“It's not dark enough,” said the Rat worriedly. “Can't you find a nice hole somewhere?”

Emmy peered anxiously through the leaves. Where was Professor Vole now? She turned back to see the Rat's small, plump body clamber out of the pocket. “Ratty, don't run off!”

“Call of nature,” said the Rat briefly, moving to a nearby tree and lifting his hind leg. “Do you
mind
?”

He glared until Emmy looked away—and then, all at once, a whistle blew, a player shouted, and a black
and-white ball came crashing through the bushes. It landed just behind Emmy, spinning.

“I'll get it!” a familiar voice called, and in the next instant two sturdy legs pounded into the brush. In the space of a breath, Joe tripped over Emmy, tumbled in a wild thrashing of bare arms and blue jersey and one flying shoe, and landed a solid elbow right on the Rat's long, pink tail.

The Rat screamed and snapped in automatic reflex, biting Joe in the biceps. A drop of blood welled up and Joe stared at his arm, his face very pale.

“I … don't feel so good,” he whispered. “I feel … really weird.”

“I feel worse,” gasped the Rat, still holding his damaged tail. And then he didn't say any more, for Joe began to shrink.

Right before their eyes, without any warning at all, Joe shrank to the size of the Rat. His clothes shrank with him, all except for the shoe that had fallen off in his wild tumble. Joe stared at it—a black soccer shoe, bigger than his whole body—with the expression of a shock victim.

“Joe! Where are you? Did you get the ball?”

Feet thudded. Voices called. The Rat stood with his paws in his mouth, staring at Joe.

There was no time to think, so Emmy acted on instinct alone. She stuffed Joe and the Rat into her backpack, curled up on the ground, and shut her eyes.

A
MID THE SUDDEN BABBLE
of voices, Emmy lay still.

“Are you all right, little girl? What happened?”

“Did you see a boy come through here?”

Emmy put a hand weakly to her head and tried for a dazed expression. It wasn't hard. “Yes, but …” She trailed off, looking around her. “I don't see him.”

“Here's his shoe,” said one of the men, looking grim. Joe's father ran into the road, looking up and down Main Street. “Joe! Joe!”

“A kid can't just disappear,” said someone.

“Not without help,” said another voice. “Did anyone see a car stop?”

There was a silence.

“All right,” said the referee. “Somebody call the police. The rest of you fan out and search.”

Emmy pulled the backpack from under the bushes and stood up.

“Joe!” she called, along with fifty others. “Joe!” She walked across the street and into the entrance to the
gym. Through the glass she could see her class practicing on the uneven parallel bars, but Emmy went straight up the stairs to the girls' bathroom, entered a stall, and locked the door.

The Rat stuck his head out, looking disgusted. “Don't tell me—we're in another girls' bathroom. Sheesh!”

Emmy opened the top flap and looked in nervously. “Joe? Are you okay?”

“Okay?
Okay?
I'm shorter than a Barbie doll, I'm stuffed inside a backpack with a rat, and you ask me if I'm
okay
? You're joking, right?”

Joe pulled down the side zipper and stuck his head out, breathing deeply. “That's better. No offense, but your backpack really reeks. What is that awful smell?”

Emmy looked at the Rat, who crimsoned deeply under his fur.

“Oh no.” Joe looked from one to the other. “Oh no no no—I remember now—”

Emmy and the Rat both spoke at once.

“I tried to mop it up—”

“It was just a little sweat—”

Joe shuddered, looking like Tom Thumb in a soccer jersey, and shut his eyes. “This has
got
to be a dream.”

“Don't be so sure,” said Emmy gloomily. She looked at Joe—a tiny person with a disgusted expression—and found that the impossible was not so hard to believe anymore. Maybe she was getting used to it. She had believed in a talking Rat for long enough, after all. What was so amazing about a shrinking boy? Or no—it was a shrinking
rat,
the tag had said.

“But it's too bizarre to be real!” Joe looked darkly at the Rat. “What did you bite me for, anyway? Were you
trying
to shrink me?”

The Rat looked sulky. “You'd bite somebody, too, if they creamed your tail.” He lifted his tail and examined it tenderly. “Anyway, how come you think it was
my
fault?”

“But it was!” Emmy sounded excited.

“Oh, sure,” said the Rat hotly, “blame the rodent, as usual.”

“No, listen. That tag—on the other rat in the store, the one just like you—I didn't understand it at first, but now it all makes sense. You're a Shrinking Rat.”

“A
what
?”

“A Shrinking Rat. Of Schenectady, whatever that means.” Emmy grinned. “That's why the rat man
wanted you back. You bite people, they shrink. You're just like that other rat in the store—”

“But that can't be right.” Joe frowned in concentration. “He bit me yesterday when I tried to feed him, and nothing happened then.”

“What rat in what store?” The Rat looked from Emmy to Joe and back again.

“Anyway,” said Joe, looking indignant, “if Ratso here
did
shrink me, then he can just unshrink me right now. No way am I going to spend the rest of my life the size of a Batman action figure.”

“
Unshrink
you?” the Rat screeched. “What do you think I am, a
magician
?”

“Guys!” Emmy nudged them back inside the pack. “We can't sit here arguing in the bathroom forever. We've got to
think.
Who can help us? What are we going to do?”

“It still stinks in here,” Joe said irritably, but Emmy ignored him. Cautiously, she peeked around the corner.

There was no one on the landing. But through the second-floor window, Emmy could see flashing lights. There were police cars. There was Joe's father, hold
ing his son's shoe. And there was someone in black, surrounded by officers in uniform.

Emmy slid open the window a crack and listened.

“That's him!” cried Mr. Herbifore. “That's the man who threatened Joe, right in my classroom! If anyone took the boy, he did!”

“I need that rat for research!” shouted Professor Vole. “You're interfering with the pursuits of science! I demand my rights!”

“Here are your rights,” said a burly policeman. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you ….”

Emmy watched as Professor Vole was handcuffed, put into a squad car, and driven away. She was still watching as the crowd gathered in somber knots, Joe's father in the middle, and moved off.

“I know who can help us,” she said slowly.

 

“Emmy!” Brian looked nervously at the door. “Listen, my uncle might come back any minute.”

With a zipping sound and a tiny grunt, two heads poked out from Emmy's backpack—one gray and furry, and one with a thatch of rumpled yellow hair.

Brian's mouth hung open for a full minute.

“I think I'd better tell you everything,” said Emmy.

She sat down on the couch and went through it all. It sounded even more impossible when she said it out loud.

“So does this kind of thing happen often?” Emmy asked earnestly. “I mean, your back room is full of rats with tags that say they can do amazing things—”

“Back room?” said the Rat alertly. “Full of rats?”

Brian looked puzzled. “Listen, why does this rat keep squeaking? Does he think he can talk or something?”

The Rat looked annoyed. “What's his problem? Wax in the ears?” he muttered and slid off the couch. “I might just check out these rats in the back room.”

“I don't want to see any more rats,” said Joe. “Just unshrink me, is all I ask.”

Brian looked worried. “I don't really know how,” he began, when the phone shrilled.

“The Antique Rat, may I help you?” said Brian. “Oh—hello, Uncle, I've been worried. You're
where?
JAIL?” He glanced at Emmy. “Um hmm … uh huh … just a minute.” He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a pen and a piece of paper.

“Okay, I'm ready now—shoot. Um hmm … uh huh … in the blue case? No—okay—I see it.”

Brian scribbled down notes industriously. Joe, bored, began to do flips on the sofa cushion. Emmy leaned back and shut her eyes.

She wasn't worried. Brian would never give them away, she knew, and maybe he could figure out how to fix everything. It was a relief to let someone else do the thinking, for a change. She was so tired …

“Emmy! Wake up, I've got to go.”

Emmy opened her eyes as Brian shook her shoulder. “Huh? Go where?”

Brian looked at the paper in his hand. “I've got a delivery to make to the old Addison place. And then I've got to find my uncle a lawyer.”

“The old Addison place? That's my house!” Emmy sat upright. “You can give me a ride home.”

“But what about me?” Joe stood on the middle sofa cushion, looking very small.

Brian looked thoughtful. “Could you just go home with Emmy tonight? In the meantime, I can look around. Professor Vole has lots of notes and things. I'll see if I can find directions for … for unshrinking—”

“SISSY!” shrieked the Rat from behind the velvet curtain. “I'VE FOUND YOU AT LAST!”

 

The Rat's short furry arms clutched the Shrinking Rat of Schenectady through the metal bars of her cage. The two rodents, their gray fur damp with tears, looked identical except for the white patches behind opposite ears.

“Torn from the nest,” sobbed the Rat brokenly, his words half muffled in the other rat's shoulder. “I never thought I'd see you again, my own dear Sissy.”

“That explains why she looks so much like Ratty,” Emmy whispered to Joe, who was perched on her shoulder. “She's his sister! Do you suppose she can shrink people, too?”

“Come on, if you want a ride,” Brian urged, poking his head into the back room. “I'm late.”

The Rat leaped from the bank of cages to Emmy's shoulder, nearly knocking Joe off. “You've got to set Sissy free!” the Rat cried, but Brian was already striding out the door, a blue carrying case in his hand.

 

Brian's truck was old, loud, and rusty. Emmy, bouncing in the front seat, held Joe carefully. The Rat
scrambled up to the driver's headrest and perched there, shouting in Brian's ear.

“Why can't you let Sissy go?” the Rat demanded indignantly. “What has she done to you?”

Brian changed gears with a clashing noise. “What's he saying?”

Emmy repeated the Rat's words.

“Sorry,” he yelled over the roar of the truck's engine. “My uncle left me in charge. I can't just start letting the rats go, they're his
business
.”

“Have a heart!” the Rat cried. “She's been in a cage for
years
! Your uncle has no right—”

“Give it a rest, Ratty, he can't understand you,” said Emmy. “I don't know why.”

Brian accelerated over a series of potholes, and the Rat's voice cut off abruptly. He hung on to the headrest with all four paws.

“Joe! You okay?” Emmy asked.

“S … sort of.” Joe hung on to her thumb, looking sick. “Are we almost there?”

Emmy looked out the window. “Yes—I see my house. There's Jems, driving out—”

She gasped. She had forgotten! With everything that had happened, she had forgotten. It was six
o'clock, and Jems was driving to the airport to pick up her parents. She could see his taillights glowing at the end of the block.

Emmy stared out the window, unblinking. She had missed meeting her parents, the best part of all, and now she had to face Miss Barmy. Who knew what the nanny might do to punish her for being late and skipping gymnastics … she might not get to see her parents at all tonight. She sat in silent misery, a dull weight in her chest.

“Here we are!” said Brian cheerfully. “And there's that mean lady, waiting at the back door. Emmy?” He bent over and peered at her beneath the dashboard. “Why are you hiding?”

“I can't face her yet. I've got to think up a story.”

“Who? The mean—” Brian looked embarrassed. “Sorry, is she your mom or something?”

“No, my nanny, and she's
horrible
—”

“All right, just stay there if you want. I've got to make the delivery, though.”

Brian grabbed the blue carrying case out of the back and went up the walk, whistling. Miss Barmy stepped out.

“You're
late.
” Miss Barmy's voice was murderous.

Emmy, under the dashboard, flinched.

“Sorry, ma'am. My uncle couldn't come himself, but I thought you'd want your delivery anyway.”

There was a silence. “You thought correctly, young man. However, I am most
seriously
displeased, and I shall speak to your uncle about it. Give me the case.”

Emmy looked at Joe, whose tiny face looked as puzzled as she felt.

“Yes, ma'am. I'll come to pick it up in two hours.”

“Make it three,” snapped Miss Barmy. “And when you come back, park that noisy truck a block away and walk.”

The back door slammed. Brian got into the truck and wiped his forehead. “Whew!” he said. “She's your nanny?”

“Yeah, worse luck,” said Emmy gloomily. “Brian—what, exactly, did you deliver?”

“Some rat,” Brian said. “My uncle had it all ready in the carrying case.”

“But what is she going to use it for?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Brian started the truck. “I don't use 'em, I just deliver 'em.”

“Wait.” Joe tugged at Emmy's sleeve. “Aren't we getting out here?”

Emmy nodded. “I've got to find out what she's doing with that rat. Will you help me?”

“I'll do anything, as long as I don't have to ride in this truck anymore. I'm about to lose my lunch.”

“I'm coming, too!” The Rat leaped onto Emmy's backpack as she slipped out of the truck and ran for the bushes.

 

Emmy balanced carefully on an overturned bucket that the gardener had left out.

“Careful,” said Joe, crouching in her palm as Emmy lifted him over her head. “Don't tip so much. Up a little more …” He stepped off her hand onto the kitchen windowsill.

The Rat scurried up a woody vine that clung to the stone.

“Can you see anything?” Emmy whispered.

“I see a mixing bowl, and, um, part of a stove ….” Joe pressed his small face to the glass.

Emmy leaned against the stone wall. “Do you see Miss Barmy anywhere?”

“Yeah,” said Joe. “She's rolling something around with her hands on the counter.”

“Rolling? Like a ball?”

“Yeah, like a big—a big ball of—”

“She's kneading dough, you dim bulb,” said the Rat. “Don't you know anything about baking?”

“Oh, like you do,” said Joe. “Seriously, I liked you better when you
didn't
talk.”

“Well, if you would ever
read
…
Nummi Gourmet
always has a whole section on breads, it's
basic
—”

“Rat,” said Emmy sternly, “
shut up.
Joe, can you see the carrier?”

“Yes … yes, there it is. She's opening it up now, she's taking out this big bushy rat—”