“I had no idea you were alive!” Bitsie was saying to this dusty brown furball with one missing eye. “Had I known, I would have called you when your show got cancelled.”
I couldn’t believe it. Was Bitsie blind? The only thing that would have made Mavor the Mammoth look any less alive was to have an axe in his head and some flies buzzing around the wound.
“Bitsie,” I said.
He ignored me. It was like when Kayleigh Mombourquette, my so-called best friend in Grade Two, met Melissa Weagle. I didn’t count anymore. Bitsie had new friends to talk to now. “It wasn’t your fault,” he was saying. “You didn’t have much to work with. I mean, a dinosaur day care? Whose idea was that? Don’t these people realize that there’s not a mammoth alive who could fit in those eensy-teensy chairs?” Bitsie rolled his eyes and elbowed Mavor in that old “Can-you-believe-these-guys?” way. Mavor’s front leg bent up backwards and landed in his ear. It stayed there.
I tried again. “Bitsie.”
Bitsie turned and looked at me like he was Mr. Rhodenizer and I’d just horked a spitball at the chalkboard or something.
He got all prissy with me. “You had all day to talk to me on the bus, but you chose not to. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m getting acquainted with a colleague of mine…So, Mavor, after Prehistoric Preschool…”
This was hopeless.
I rattled the doorknob. I pounded on the door. I threw myself against it. Bitsie shook his head like I was a hyperactive three-year-old and ignored me. Again.
He would have kept on ignoring me too, but then Arnold—his new idol—rapped on the other side of the door.
“Calm down now,” Arnold said in a reasonably nice way.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I just don’t want you going anywhere.”
Bitsie laughed. “Arnie, you don’t have to worry about me! I’m here! I’m with you, man!”
I threw myself against the door again. Harder this time because my father’s a doctor and, if I ever did manage to escape, I knew he’d be able to fix a broken collar bone.
Arnold and Bitsie were both screaming at me now to behave, and the door wasn’t going anywhere, so I stopped and threw Mavor against the wall.
“Hey!” Bitsie went, all offended. “The guy just woke up!
Would you give him a break?”
I grabbed a sailor and biffed him too. And a pink mouse. And a ladybug. And a walrus. And a panda ballerina. I’d just grab a leg and blast whatever was attached to it as hard as I could.
Bitsie was going, “Hey! Hey!” and “What are you doing?” and my favorite,“You’re not making a very good first impression!” As if he’d know about making a good impression—first or otherwise.
Finally, I’d had it. My little demonstration wasn’t working. I dropped the farmer I had by the overalls and waited until I heard Arnold walk away. “Bitsie,” I whispered to him. “Can’t you see? They’re not alive! They’re not asleep!
These are just puppets! They’re…foam-heads!”
Bitsie put his hands over Mavor’s big floppy ears so he couldn’t hear and glared at me. “You’re just jealous!” he said. “Well, too bad. These are my friends and I’m staying here. I don’t care what you say. So why don’t you just go? Go home to your precious Kathleen and Mr. Dreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeamboat!”
“Fine,” I said. “I think I will.”
I went to open the door, all innocent. “Oh, gee, it seems to be locked. I wonder why that is. Maybe you could ask your good friend Arnie to let me out.”
“I’d be delighted,” Bitsie said, because of course we all know how perfect his manners are, and started calling for Arnold through the keyhole.
“Yes, Bitsie.”
“Would you mind letting my former friend out please?
It’s time for her to go home.” Bitsie looked at me in that “I-hope-I’m-making-myself-clear” way.
Arnold was apologetic. “Sorry, Bitsie,” he said, “but I can’t do that. I need her here to help with my next project.”
Well, Bitsie thought that was the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard in his whole life! “Oh, please!” he went.
“Her? Help? Ha! She’s just a puppet wrangler, a junior puppet wrangler. She doesn’t know anything. Nothing.
Nada. Rien.” He even said “rien” with a big wet French “r” like he was Celine Dion or Pepe Le Pew or somebody.59
There was silence from the other side of the door. For a second there, I thought Arnold was actually thinking of letting me go.
“Well, that may be true,” he finally said, “but your friend still knows too much.”
59 I think that’s what bugged me most of all. Don’t you hate people who pretend they can speak French when they can’t?