Friendship According to Humphrey Read online

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 ti
me. 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.

  (I’m happy to say those two items were not as heavy as the others.)

  When the girls came back, Miranda would find Abby’s belongings on her own pillow. Abby would find Miranda’s things on her own pillow.

  I scurried back to my cozy cage and closed the door behind me. I wanted to be safe when the fireworks began!

  “Little friends may prove to be great friends.”

  Aesop, writer of fables

  7

  Fright Night

  Abby entered first, plopped down on her bed as usual, and sighed a big sigh.

  “THAT was fun,” she said. “Especially when the baby spit up in the restaurant.” I don’t think she was actually talking to me, but I listened anyway.

  A second later, Miranda came in. “Hi, Humphrey. Did you miss me?” she asked, bending down close to my cage.

  “Of course!” I squeaked.

  “I suppose you understand what it’s saying,” Abby said sourly.

  “Sort of,” said Miranda. “I think he’s trying to tell me he missed me.”

  Bingo!

  I watched Abby closely as she reached for her diary and pen. “Where’s my pen?” she asked. She looked at her pillow. “What’s this stuff doing here?”

  Miranda pointed at Abby’s bed. “Hey, that’s my hair scrunchie!”

  So that’s what the hair thing is called!

  “And my ring!” Miranda jumped up, crossed over the imaginary line and grabbed her things. “You took them!”

  Abby spotted something on Miranda’s pillow. “There’s my pen! You took it! And my name bracelet!” She snatched her items and glared at Miranda. “You’re always taking my things.”

  “You took my things! I never touched yours,” Miranda insisted. I never heard her sound that angry before.

  Abby’s face turned red. “Why would I take your dinky ring and your stupid scrunchie? I have my own ring and my own scrunchie!”

  “Why would I take your dumb pen and a bracelet with your name on it? And why would I put them on my pillow where you can see them?” asked Miranda.

  “Just to be mean?”

  “I’m not mean!” said Miranda. “Anyway, isn’t it weird that my things were on your pillow and your things were on my pillow?”

  Abby thought for a moment. “Like somebody planned it.”

  “Like somebody wanted us to notice,” agreed Miranda.

  Suddenly, they were actually talking instead of arguing. I crossed my paws. This had to work!

  Abby sat back down on her bed. “Who would do that? My mom wouldn’t. Or your dad.”

  Miranda collapsed onto her bed. “Well, the baby didn’t do it.” She started to giggle.

  “Maybe Humphrey did it,” said Abby, and she started to giggle.

  I chuckled, too.

  “Those things didn’t fly from bed to bed,” said Miranda. “Somebody put them there on purpose.”

  “Or something,” said Abby. “Like a . . . a ghost!”

  Miranda turned pale. “You don’t have ghosts here, do you?”

  “No,” said Abby, shaking her head. “At least I don’t think we do.”

  “There are no such things as ghosts,” insisted sensible Miranda. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

  “NO-NO-NO, there aren’t any ghosts, except in stories,” I squeaked. I know I was trying to convince myself.

  “I know,” said Abby. She opened her diary and tore out a page. “I’ll write down every possibility of who could have done this. Number one: Miranda.”

  “I didn’t!” Miranda protested.

  “I’m just writing down all the possibilities. Miranda, me, my mom, your dad, Ben, Humphrey. They’re the only ones in the house—right? Unless there was a burglar.”

  The fur on my back stood straight up. Burglars are scary things!

  “Burglars break windows and steal things,” Miranda pointed out. “The doors were locked, the windows were locked and nothing was stolen.”

  “I’m writing all this down. Burglar. Ghost.” Abby quietly stared at the paper for a moment. “Would you swear you didn’t do it?”

  “Of course,” said Miranda.

  “And I’d swear I didn’t do it. Hey, wait a second! Maybe it was Humphrey!” Abby jumped up and walked over to my cage. She bent down and checked the door. “Nope. It couldn’t be him because his door is locked.”

  Thank goodness that old lock-that-doesn’t-lock fools them every time!

  “The only thing on the list that makes sense is a ghost,” she announced.

  “But it doesn’t make sense,” said Miranda.

  “I know,” Abby agreed.

  The girls actually agreed on something. This was progress! They’d gone from not liking each other to being REALLY-REALLY-REALLY mad, to talking things over.

  After a while, the girls left the room to have dinner. This time, they left together. When they came back much later, they were still together.

  “Dad said it didn’t make sense,” Miranda was saying
.

  “And Mom agreed,” Abby replied. “What now?”

  The girls flopped down on their respective beds. “I know,” said Abby. “Let’s stay up all night.”

  “Why?”

  “To see if any ghosts show up.”

  I felt a chill creep down my spine. I knew I was the one who moved their things around. And I knew I wasn’t a ghost. But I still got a shiver thinking something SCARY-SCARY-SCARY just might show up.

  “Lights out, ladies.” Mr. Golden stood at the door later that night, smiling. “Hope you have sweet dreams. You, too, Humphrey.”

  “Thanks!” I squeaked back.

  “Everybody all tucked in?” Amy appeared at the door, holding baby Ben.

  “Yes, Mom.” Abby snuggled down in her bed and pulled up the covers.

  “Good night,” said Miranda, pulling up her blanket as well.

  The lights went out and it was DARK-DARK-DARK in the room, except for the night-light in the wall, which gave off a pink glow.

  The girls were quiet for a few minutes. Then Abby whispered, “Are you awake?”

  “Yes,” Miranda whispered back.

  “Know any scary stories?” asked Abby.

  I certainly knew a few. Like about the time Clem, the dog, almost ate me. Or the time Aldo first came in the room at night and I thought he was a ghost.

  Miranda thought for a minute and said, “I remember one from camp.”

  “Tell it,” said Abby. “But not too loud.”

  Miranda—sweet Golden-Miranda—told a fur-raising tale about a hitchhiker who turned out to be a ghost. The way she told it was scarier than facing Clem!

  “That was a good one,” said Abby. “I know one, too.”

  Her story was even worse. It was about a group of kids who dared each other to go into a graveyard at night. One girl went in, saw a horrible face and died of fright. Recalling Og’s gruesome grin, I felt faint after that story!

  “Abby?” Miranda whispered. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell any more scary stories. I’m feeling kind of weird.”

  “Me, too,” said Abby. “Let’s be quiet.”

  It was quiet all right. Maybe a little too quiet for a nocturnal fellow like me. Without thinking, I hopped on my wheel for some exercise. I guess that wheel needs oil, because it went SCREEEECH!