Showdown in Crittertown (9 page)

Nilla's curiosity won out over her anger. She was soon tossing sharpened paper clips at a target. I heard her squeal happily, “Look! I almost hit the bull's-eye.” Then she added, “Why do they call the dot in the center the bull's-eye?”

History laughed and admitted, “I don't know! But if you keep practicing, you're sure to hit it. You're a natural!”

Nilla grinned.

General History handed her a bunch of javelins tied with string. “Take these back to the post office when you leave.”

Nilla asked, “Why?”

General History explained, “I want the post office colony to have plenty of time to practice with these—so when the library colony wins we can say we beat you fair and square.”

Nilla asked, “What do squares have to do with being fair?”

And we all laughed.

As our laughter was dying down, Nilla took careful aim at the target and flung a javelin with all her might. With a satisfying THUNK, it landed right in the center. Nilla giggled. “What makes you think the library colony will win?”

After enduring two more kisses from Travel, we departed, climbing onto Buttercup's neck, carrying the javelins and Nonfiction's letter.

Grayson said, “Looks like he wrote a letter as long as the one Pops sent. Why would they need so many words just to arrange for the Mouselympics?”

Not wanting to give away the secret, I shrugged. If all went well, Nonfiction's letter would say he agreed to the treaty. And he might have some ideas for changes.

If not… I didn't want to think about war. The fact that General History was so excited about the Mouselympics was certainly cause for happy thoughts.

As we scrambled off Buttercup's neck, Grayson observed, “What's going on, Cheddar? You seem as twitchy as Twitchy!”

I took a deep breath and tried to sound casual. “Really? I'm fine. Maybe just a little tired from having the recruits squeaking in my ears all morning.”

Still, I couldn't help trotting as I carried the scroll to Brownback's nest. Grayson's grandfather was also eager to discover Nonfiction's response.

He ripped at the ribbon tied around the library leader's letter. When he unrolled it, I recognized my own paw-writing.

For one horrible moment, I thought Nonfiction had returned the truce because he was rejecting it. Then I saw his signature at the bottom. In large, elegant script he had written “Nonfiction, Leader of the Library Clan.”

I pointed to it and told Nilla, “
That
is an autograph!”

Brownback smiled and shouted, “Bring me a pen! Let's make this official.”

Grayson asked, “What do you need a pen for, Pops?”

“Just bring it!” his grandfather yelled in a rare fit of impatience.

As soon as Grayson returned with the pen, Brownback signed his name next to Nonfiction's. “There, now there will be peace,” he told Grayson.

When his grandson still looked puzzled, Brownback added, “From now on the only fighting between the post office and library clans will be in fair games during the Mouselympics.”

Grayson finally understood. “So your ‘letter' was a truce.”

Brownback patted him on the back. “Exactly! Much better than a war; we're forming the first United Mouse Colonies.”

I smiled. “That's as good as melted mozzarella!”

The third graders dug through their toy boxes and “mouseable” scraps to create more clever events for the Mouselympics. Wyatt turned an old mini car racetrack into a running track with Popsicle stick hurdles. April used an empty onion bag to make a volleyball net.

Grayson, Nilla, and I had a wonderful time learning all these sports and then teaching them to the library colony's mouseletes. Like General History with the javelins, we made sure that the library mice had the same equipment as our team to practice for the big event. That way, the post office mouseletes could “win fair and square.”

Since the children were so busy preparing for the crafts fair, we scheduled the Mouselympics for the weekend after that. I hoped we'd also be celebrating the rescue of Crittertown Elementary School. If not, we'd at least have an exciting event to take our minds off our troubles.

As the day of the fair drew near, everyone in town got into the spirit. Many summer people, whose mail was usually forwarded until well after the first crocus, came back to town early. They wanted a chance to meet
the
Arthur Kingston and to support Crittertown Elementary School.

Newspapers and radio shows kept talking up the event. The Crittertown B&B provided muffins and coffee. The bakery donated cookies. And to my extreme delight, the Crittertown Market provided its finest cheese platter.

It took every ounce of my strength not to go near that platter while all the humans were milling around admiring Mr. Kingston's early work. Just in case I felt too tempted, Nilla kept a tight grip on my tail.

Javier examined the sketches and grinned. “Look! He wasn't ‘great' yet. His work wasn't even much better than mine,” he told April.

She whispered, “I think your drawings are better than these.”

Luckily, the citizens of Crittertown thought that even the early doodles of a famous artist were worth lots of money. As they bid for each picture, Nilla tried to make sense of the numbers on the blackboard.

She said, “I can't do subtraction in my head. Are they close to having enough money to fix the school?”

I smiled. “Very close.”

Then all the humans suddenly started murmuring. “He's here!” “It's Mr. Kingston!” “The artist is here!”

We stared at the little old man with the wispy white hair poking out of a battered hat. Mr. Kingston smiled at everyone. He shook a few paws and nodded at some kind words. Then he went over to the crafts table.

The artist pronounced the Mouselympics equipment “quite clever.” When he saw April's collection of “imagination doors,” his wrinkled face lit with a delighted smile. “Oh! I must have all of these. They will make great gifts for my students.”

Mr. Kingston insisted on paying “an outrageous” amount of money for the doors. (“Outrageous” according to the thrifty humans gossiping nearby. I thought it was just right.)

When the school secretary finished the math, I thought she might faint. “It's more than enough,” she said. “The school is saved!”

Everyone cheered.

We'd barely recovered from the excitement of the fair when it was time for the Mouselympics. We didn't have a torch to carry through the streets like they do at the start of the human Olympics. So the children made a paw print flag that led the parade from the library to the post office and finally to April's garage. Buttercup barked all the way.

The children took turns pulling the wagon full of mouseletes and those of us from both colonies who wanted to watch the games. If any grown-up came near, the children quickly covered us mice with stuffed animals. So it looked like the parade was “just for toys.”

The Mouselympics equipment was all set up in April's garage. The girls had made tiny medals out of candy wrappers: gold foil for first prize and silver for second. Andy and Wyatt arranged building blocks to form a podium, so the winners of each event could stand there proudly to receive their medals.

Brownback and Nonfiction announced the opening of the games. They also briefly described the treaty joining our two clans.

“What's all the squeaking about?” Tanya wondered.

I wrote, “The treaty.”

Bill groaned. “You know how politicians love to make speeches.”

Perhaps the two leaders could tell the rest of the crowd felt the same way, because they quickly ended their remarks. Brownback said, “And now for the first event.”

Nonfiction added, “The paw race.”

The runners lined up at the starting line. Andy lifted a trumpet to his lips. Wyatt said, “On your mark, get set…” Andy blew the horn just as Wyatt said, “Go!”

I hadn't expected to get so caught up in the excitement. After all, it was just a race. But as Grayson and General History pulled out in front of the other mouseletes, I leaped to my feet with a pounding heart.

Charlie nudged me. “Shouldn't we cheer?”

I'd almost forgotten the pom-poms gripped in my paws. For a moment, I couldn't remember one word of the cheer we'd practiced over and over. Then the recruits' high squeaks filled my ears and I joined in:

“Who's the team with the most? Yaaaaay….post! Give me a ‘P'; give me an ‘O.' Yaaaaay…. P.O.!”

I can't claim that our cheer really made a difference. But it seemed like our squeaks gave Grayson the boost he needed.

As he and General History crossed the finish line, the whole crowd held its breath. Wyatt sounded like a real sportscaster when he announced, “Grayson of Team Post Office wins by a whisker!”

At first General History looked angry. Then he smiled and shook Grayson's paw. “Good race,” he said loudly. In a whisper he added, “I'll beat you next year!”

Grayson laughed. “Maybe you will—and maybe you won't!”

The library clan won the volleyball and basketball games. Grayson shook his head. “I told you we needed more team practice!”

Our clan took home the gold for pencil vaulting and the long jump. Grayson's chest puffed with pride to display his three gold medals. There would be no end to his bragging now! But it was nice to see my friend so happy.

Charlie tugged my fur. “Don't you want a gold medal?”

I touched the paw print necktie given to me as the Postmouseter. I said, “This is all the prize I need.”

Charlie's skinny friend snickered. “Cheddar won't get a gold medal until they add a cheese-eating contest.”

I decided to ignore him, although I couldn't help imagining the “Cheeselympics”: a mozzarella pull, a slicing contest, a grating relay, a nibbling race…

Charlie squeezed my paw and pulled me out of my cheesy dream. “It's Nilla's event, the javelin toss!”

After the first round of throws, the contest came down to Nilla and General History. She looked so small standing next to him. My breakfast started jumping in my belly all over again.

Nilla had been practicing every day since General History gave us those sharpened paper clips. I'd seen her hit the bull's-eye many times. But would she win today? No one could know! Now I understood why humans made such a fuss about sports.

Nilla's paws shook. I hadn't seen her this nervous since that horrible day we visited the Crittertown Market.

Her first toss hit the target, but nowhere near the bull's-eye. Nilla bowed her head in shame.

The library mice cheered as General History prepared to toss his paper clip. Charlie nudged me again and whispered, “They don't have pom-poms or a rhyme.”

General History wiped his eyes and then tossed his javelin. Had the cheer distracted him? Or was he just tired from the other events? For whatever reason, his paper clip was no closer to the bull's-eye than Nilla's.

The garage grew quiet before their second throw. Charlie opened his mouth, but I shook my head and whispered, “Let's save our cheers until after the toss.”