A Squirrelly Situation Read online

  The postmaster read the numbers and announced, “Three pounds, eight ounces,” while the other judges leaned in to confirm.

  “Right,” said Dr. Pritzker, making a note of it.

  Travis petted Fluffy, gave him a slice of carrot, told him he was a good boy, and put him back in the box.

  Then it was time to weigh Woodrow’s squirrels. One was clearly a lot bigger than the others and might even give Fluffy a run for his money. But Woodrow wanted to weigh the smaller ones first, making a fuss about putting them on the scale himself. They all weighed quite a bit less than Fluffy.

  Then Woodrow picked up the biggest one and put it on the scale so gently you’d have thought it was breakable. It had to be a pretty old squirrel, because it was kind of lumpy and misshapen. Or maybe there was something wrong with it.

  The judges leaned in. I noticed that Woodrow looked nervous.

  “Four pounds even,” said the postmaster. “Looks like we have a winner.”

  We all applauded politely, even me, trying to be a good sport. Travis looked a little downcast, so I said, “Don’t worry about it. Fluffy is much nicer than that old thing. Why, just look at it; it must have some kind of disease.”

  I noticed that Dr. Pritzker was giving it a funny look as well. I sidled over to him and whispered, “Is there something wrong with it, Dr. Pritzker? Why does it look like that?”

  “Hmm,” he said, and reached out to lift the squirrel from the scale.

  “I’ll get it!” cried Woodrow, lunging forward.

  But it was too late. Dr. Pritzker was lifting it by the tail.

  And then it happened. A whole stream of little metal pellets fell out of its mouth, making a merry plink-plink-plink on the pan of the scale.

  Everybody froze. It took us all a moment to understand that the squirrel had been stuffed with BBs. To make it heavier.

  We all looked at Woodrow, who turned white as a sheet in front of our eyes. I didn’t know it was possible for a living human boy to be that color.

  “I—I,” he stammered. The blood rushed back to his face, now the color of a boiled beet. “I—I—don’t—don’t know how that happened.” He looked like he was going to be sick.

  We all stared at him. Nobody said a word. He turned and bolted in the direction of his home. Travis stood there looking shocked.

  “Hey, Woodrow!” I shouted. “You forgot your lousy, old squirrel.” (Yes, I know it wasn’t the nicest thing in the world, but I was furious. He’d tried to cheat my little brother.)

  Some other folks in the crowd cried “Cheater!” and “Boo!” after him.

  Dr. Pritzker shook the corpse, and a few more pellets dropped out. Now the squirrel looked a whole lot smaller and not so lumpy. Dr. Pritzker swept the pellets into the grass and dropped the body back on the scale in disgust. We could all see that it really weighed only two pounds.

  The judges gathered in a huddle. I could tell that none of them were in the mood to give Woodrow any kind of prize for anything. After a minute, Dr. Pritzker turned to the crowd and said, “It is the judges’ decision that Woodrow Chadwick deserves no prize at all and is disqualified from the entire competition. Where’s the boy who bagged five squirrels? Come on up here, son. We’re giving you the prize for most squirrels shot.”

  The boy looked stunned but happy to accept the prize of a handsome folding pocketknife with a horn handle. Everyone clapped for him.

  “Next,” said Dr. Pritzker, “the prize for the biggest squirrel goes to Travis Tate.”

  “And Fluffy!” Travis called out.

  “Right. And, uh, Fluffy. Come on up here.”

  The postmaster presented the prize to Travis, another pocketknife. “It’s just the right size for skinning squirrels,” he said, only half joking.

  Ugh. Travis looked offended and nearly handed it back. “Don’t worry,” I said. “You can use it for all sorts of other things. You can sharpen my pencils so I can make my Scientific Observations in my notebook. My pencils need sharpening every day. And you can use it to cut bark for Fluffy. After all, it’s his prize too.”

  Travis smiled and slipped the knife into his pocket.

  7

  After a couple of weeks of looking very ashamed and keeping to himself, Woodrow tried to turn things around by making a joke of it and laughing it off. For a long time, nobody laughed with him, not even my brother Lamar. It got so bad that we even started feeling kind of sorry for him.

  One day at school Travis and I sat eating our lunches. Across the schoolyard, Woodrow sat on the stone wall, eating all by himself.

  “He looks kind of … lonely,” said Travis.

  “Of course he does,” I said. “He deserves to.”

  “You know, I’m not really mad at him anymore. I mean, I was really mad at him for a while. But I’m not really, not anymore.” He paused. “Do you think I should tell him?”

  I sighed. “I guess so. He looks pretty miserable. And no one else is going to forgive him until you do.”

  Then Travis did something I’m really proud of. He picked up his lunch bucket and walked across the yard. Woodrow seemed to shrink smaller and smaller as he got closer. All eyes were upon them. We couldn’t hear what they said, but Travis stuck out his hand. A second later, Woodrow jumped to his feet and stuck out his hand as well. They shook.

  After that, the other kids slowly started talking to him again, and he perked up considerably.

  Thus ended the War of the Squirrels. Didn’t I warn you it was an underhanded and unsavory story? I believe I did.

  By then, Thud was all grown up. He was almost the size of a bobcat. Viola moved him out to the shack where she lived and got him his own basket. A really big basket. He turned out to be an excellent mouser, just like his mother.

  Fluffy, of course, did not turn out to be a mouser. But you could set him loose at the base of a pecan tree and he’d dig you up a nut in three seconds flat.

  About the Author

  Jacqueline Kelly won the Newbery Honor for her first book, The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate. She was born in New Zealand and raised in Canada, in the dense rainforests of Vancouver Island. Her family then moved to El Paso, Texas, and Kelly attended college in El Paso, then went on to medical school in Galveston. After practicing medicine for many years, she went to law school at the University of Texas, and after several years of law practice, realized she wanted to write fiction. Her first story was published in the Mississippi Review in 2001. She now makes her home with her husband and various cats and dogs in Austin and Fentress, Texas. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  About the Author

  Copyright

  HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY, Publishers since 1866

  Henry Holt® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010 • mackids.com

  Text copyright © 2019 by Jacqueline Kelly

  Illustrations copyright © 2019 by Jennifer L. Meyer

  All rights reserved.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018945031

  ISBN 978-1-62779-877-8

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  First edition, 2019

  eISBN 9781627798785