The True Meaning of Smekday

“Why don’t you come with us?” I asked. “You and Alberto. Find your parents.”

Christian looked back at me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He bit his lip. He looked forward and back.

“No,” he said. Then he shook his head. “No. I can’t. The…Brotherhood, and all.”

I thought I understood. If Christian left, Curly would have all the other kids feeding him grapes and rubbing his feet within a week.

“But…” he said, “maybe we can still help you out a bit. And if you run into a Maria Gonzales in Arizona…tell her Christian is all right. Tell her Alberto is all right; she knows his father.”

I promised I would, and we hurried away without even thanking him.

I cut through the halls, nearly dragging J.Lo behind me. It turned out that Boov were not so great at running either, despite all those legs. Around the second corner I heard voices, so I winked off the flashlight. It didn’t matter.

“They have seen us!” said J.Lo.

There was a long hall, and a Boov patrol at the end of it. In the middle was the ladder.

“Run fast,” I said, and we made for it, hurtling closer and closer to the Boov all the while. There were four of them, and they saw the ladder too. Our only grace was that they couldn’t move any faster than J.Lo.

“I can’t…believe…” I huffed, pulling at his wrist, “that we were…conquered by you people!”

“Halt!” said one of the Boov. Then he shouted something in Boovish that I’m guessing was also “halt.” They might have known we were unarmed, because their own guns weren’t drawn. So they were probably surprised when we all reached the ladder at the same time and I squirted the two in front with window cleaner.

“Baaaah!” they shouted, shielding their eyes. “MuNah-ah-ah-ah!”

They stopped dead, blocking the corridor, and their comrades stumbled over them as I pushed J.Lo up the ladder. I followed, with another Boov right behind me. I tried squirting him too, but he swung his wide, garbage-lid mouth open so the ammonia only went down his throat. He lapped it up like fruit punch.

“Do not to feed them!” said J.Lo. “Why are you feeding them?”

We were at the top of the ladder, pushing up through a trapdoor into the blue morning air. The patrol Boov swiped at my ankles, and I was thankful for his tiny frog arms. Still, he’d have me in a moment.

Then I remembered the miniature turkey baster. I pulled it from my pocket, pointed down, and squeezed. A deafening cone of huge, sticky bubbles sprayed out like noisy champagne. It was loud like a jet engine. The Boov were all knocked off the ladder, and J.Lo and I were shot up through the trapdoor like cannonballs. We landed ungracefully a few feet away.

“That…that is not what that is for,” said J.Lo.

“What?”

“What?”

“Where’s the car?”

“What?”

We stood and looked around. Christian had gotten us pretty close to the English Puffins ride. I hoped the car was still there. I hoped Pig was still in the car.

We dashed toward a big ring of toasters with puffins sticking out. The puffins sat in one slot of the toaster, and you sat in the other, and the whole ring spun around while the toaster lever popped you up and down. I’d always hated that ride.

We were nearly there when a statue of Happy Mouse we were passing suddenly didn’t have a head or arms anymore, and I realized the Boov were shooting at us.

“Get down!” I shouted. “Hide!”

I pushed J.Lo to the ground behind a snack bar, and wondered if they’d just start blasting everything to pieces.

“What are they doing? What are they doing?” I whispered.

J.Lo peeked around. “They are coming up slow. Trying to surround. They are maybe thinking we are having other things for shooting at them.”

I wished it were true. The car was so close. I could see it now, between two puffin heads.

“There is the good news and the not very good news,” whispered J.Lo.

“What’s the good news?”

“I am believing that they want to take me alive.”

“And the bad?”

“I am not believing they want to take you alive.”

“Maybe…” I whispered, “maybe if we stay real close together, they can’t shoot.” And then I thought, Why am I whispering? They know where we are.

“Hey!” I shouted. “Heeeeey!”

J.Lo looked at me like I’d finally lost it.

“What…” he whispered. “What do…”

I screamed my best monster-movie scream. We both peered around the side of the snack bar.

“Why do you do it? Whyfor?”

“Lions,” I said. “They can’t climb trees, but there’s nothing wrong with their ears.”

“Ah,” said J.Lo, nodding. “Hm. This is some old humans expression?”

Then we saw it. A Boov bolted out of an alley with a half-starved lion running behind him.

“Ahh! Big kitten!” said J.Lo.

“Shh! Time to be quiet,” I said.

The Boov was shooting wildly behind him, vanishing rooftops and lampposts but not upsetting the lion a bit. They ran behind a snack bar, and three other Boov scurried out, crying like sheep.

J.Lo and I crept out and around the Puffins ride. There was the car, in one piece, and Pig pressed up against the glass.

“I hope he’ll be okay,” I said as we scrambled into the front seats. I was watching the lion pin a Boov down as the others raced up to help.

“The other patrol Boov will to assist him with the lion,” said J.Lo.

I had meant the lion, but decided not to say so.

Slushious swiveled around, and I guided it through the park, taking a wide loop back to the entrance.

“We made it,” I said. “We got away.”

J.Lo was looking backward over the seat. “No,” he said. “Not away yet.”

I checked the mirror. There were five ships rising up behind us. I threaded the car through cartoon streets, and the ships followed—past Hannibull Lee’s Paddleboat, through the cigarette trees around Big Rock Candy Mountain, straight toward the ruined castle of the Snow Queen, which jostled Slushious up and down like a huge speed bump as we passed. Then there was a low grinding noise, like the whole world was clearing its throat, and the ruins swiveled underground while the good castle snapped into place. Three Boov ships scattered while the remaining two smacked into the castle like pinballs—one fell to bits and the other plowed into a carousel.