Lizard of Oz Read online

  I suddenly thought of Adele Bender, a girl at school who pretended to be my friend but really wasn’t. Adele always had to win, no matter what. She thought everything was a competition. And she was always desperate to beat me and come out on top.

  She always has to know what score I get on every quiz, just to see if she beat me or not. And when we have our tennis lesson, she kills the ball. I mean, she slams it at me as if we’re playing dodgeball instead of tennis.

  Last year, I invited twelve kids to my birthday party. So she invited fourteen to hers. See? Everything is a contest with Adele.

  I pictured the look on her face if I showed up with this amazingly weird and valuable lizard at school. I’d get so much attention, she’d seriously die. Ha-ha.

  I was still thinking about Adele when Miss Morris returned to the room. She carried a small glass box in front of her in both hands.

  She handed the box carefully to Dr. Clegg. Once again, I got the idea she was signaling to me, this time with her eyes.

  Dr. Clegg carried the box over to us. In the cage, the Tasmanian cobra lizard lowered its head to the cage floor and shut its yellow eyes.

  “This is better than selling you a full-grown lizard,” the old man said. He raised the glass box, and I could see a pale white egg inside. “For one thing, it will be easier for you to get it safely through the airport and through customs.”

  We all squinted at it.

  “It’s a lizard egg?” Freddy asked.

  Dr. Clegg nodded. “They take only a few weeks to hatch. I can give you complete instructions. This is the only egg I have right now. But I am willing to sell it to you to start your lizard collection.”

  Mom and Dad gazed at it wide-eyed. They really do look like children when they get excited like this.

  “A Tasmanian cobra lizard could make us famous!” Dad exclaimed.

  Mom finally asked a sensible question. “How much will it cost us?”

  Dr. Clegg flashed his thin smile again. “We can talk about that,” he said. “I’m sure we can agree on a price.”

  A million thoughts whirred through my head. Shouldn’t my parents do some more research on this lizard? Shouldn’t they do a little research on Dr. Clegg? At least Google him?

  Do they really think they can just carry the lizard egg on the plane? Won’t they get in some kind of trouble with the airport security people?

  I wondered if any of these questions crossed their minds as they gazed so excitedly at the little egg.

  I wandered away as the three adults talked about the price. Miss Morris stood in the doorway to the next room, half-hidden in shadow. She waved frantically to me. “Here. Over here,” she whispered.

  I hesitated. Then I walked over to her.

  She grabbed my wrist. “Listen to me, mate,” she whispered. Her eyes were on Dr. Clegg across the room. “Don’t take that egg. I’m warning you. Don’t take that egg.”

  “Wh-why not?” I stammered.

  But her eyes suddenly grew wide with fright. I turned and saw Dr. Clegg staring at us. And when I turned back, Miss Morris had vanished into the other room.

  I saw Dr. Clegg shaking hands first with my mom, then with my dad. I didn’t have to hear the news. I could see they had a deal. And I knew my family was the proud owner of an egg that would hatch out a Tasmanian cobra lizard.

  Mom and Dad looked so happy, I thought their faces might burst. I mean, their gleeful grins made them look like kids who were just told they were going to Disney World or had won a million-dollar prize.

  I wanted to be happy about the lizard egg, too. But Miss Morris had ruined it for me. I could tell she was serious. She wasn’t playing some kind of cruel joke.

  If only she’d had a chance to explain her warning.

  Freddy was down on the floor in front of the lizard cage. He poked a finger in and touched the sleeping lizard on the top of the head. “Hey, he feels warm,” he reported. “Lizards usually feel cold.”

  “You’re right,” Dr. Clegg said. “Lizards are cold-blooded. That means they take on the temperature of their surroundings. That’s why they spend so much time sunning themselves.”

  He pulled out a small pad and wrote a note to himself. “I’m going to send you a complete study of the Tasmanian cobra lizard as soon as you get home. I’m also going to give you my hotline number. There is a big time difference between Australia and the United States. But you can call me any time of the day with any questions or problems.”

  Dad held the glass box up to his face and peered in at the egg. “That will be a big help,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough, Dr. Clegg.”

  “Well, do keep in touch,” the old man said, walking us to the door. “And I will want to see photos as soon as this little creature hatches out of there.”

  And then we were back out on the street. Mom and Dad couldn’t stop chattering about what a lucky day it was and how the family lizard farm was going to be a huge hit.

  Mom tucked the egg into her bag and carried the bag carefully in front of her in both hands as we made our way back to our hotel.

  That night, I dreamed I was in some kind of big grocery store that had only eggs. Tall shelves of eggs—hundreds of eggs—all around. And I stood with a grocery cart and waited. I was just waiting for the eggs to start hatching. But they never did. Nothing happened. And I woke up feeling disappointed and frustrated.

  I don’t usually remember boring dreams like that. But I remembered that one.

  And I was still thinking about it at the airport in Sydney as we boarded the plane for home. Mom sat in the row behind us. Dad sat between Freddy and me, and he kept the egg in its glass box on his lap. He didn’t want to let it out of his sight.

  Dad helped Freddy tighten his seat belt. “You know, a lot of times Australia is called Oz,” he told us. “That’s because an abbreviation for Australia is Aus. And people here pronounce that as Oz.”

  “And Sydney is sometimes called the Emerald City,” Mom chimed in from behind us. “Like the city in The Wizard of Oz.”

  “That’s right,” Dad said. “So … guess what I have in my lap here. The Lizard of Oz!” He laughed at his own joke.

  “That’s lame,” I said.

  “I don’t care,” Dad replied. “It’s funny.”

  Freddy and I laughed, too. Just to make him feel good.

  We didn’t know that the lizard inside that egg was no laughing matter. We didn’t know that it was about to bring nothing but screaming horror into our lives.

  I forgot to mention that we live in a creepy old house in the middle of two vacant lots. I didn’t mention it because I don’t like to think about it.

  Mom and Dad bought the house because it reminded them of a haunted house they saw in a scary movie they went to on their first date.

  Seriously.

  They have big plans to fix the whole house up and make everything shiny and new. But, as I said, my parents have so many plans and ideas, they don’t get around to a lot of them.

  Well, they did work on some rooms, like the living room and the kitchen and our bedrooms. But it’s a very big house, and most of it is your basic ruin. A bunch of rooms are shut off. We never even look inside them.

  I’m telling you all this because, as soon as we got home, Mom and Dad cleared all the junk out of a spare bedroom in the back of the house on the first floor. They had it painted immediately, and they put up shelves.

  And Dad said it was his hatching room. His lizard lab. He bought several glass cases to hold lizards in when they hatched and a bunch of other equipment he thought he might need when he buys more lizards.

  I followed Dad as he carried the egg in its glass box into the hatching room. “This is exciting,” he said, clicking the new ceiling light on.

  “Did Dr. Clegg e-mail you all the instructions?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” Dad said.

  “We’ve been home a week,” I told him. “He should have sent them by now.”

  Dad shook his head. “K
ate, you’re such a worrier.”

  “Someone around here has to worry,” I said.

  For some reason, that made him laugh.

  He carried the glass box to the larger case where he planned to keep the egg. A small space heater behind the case sent billowing hot air over the glass.

  Dad started to lift the egg from the little box.

  “Can I hold it? Just for a second?” I asked.

  He hesitated. “I guess.” He handed me the egg.

  I cupped it between my hands. I held it against my palms. I hoped maybe I could feel something moving inside the egg.

  But no. It just felt like an egg.

  I handed it back to Dad. I realized I’d been holding my breath the whole time. I let it out in a long whoosh.

  Dad held the egg carefully between his hands. “I’m going to keep it in this heated case—” he started. But then his expression changed.

  His eyes bulged. He made a choking sound.

  “Dad—what’s wrong?” I cried.

  “The egg. It … it’s …” he stammered. “I can feel the lizard moving in there. It … It’s banging against the shell. I think … I think … Oh, wow! Here it comes! It’s bursting out, Kate. Here it comes!”

  I gasped and took a step back.

  The egg quivered between Dad’s hands.

  “Get ready,” Dad said. “Get ready to catch the lizard when it jumps out.”

  I raised both hands. My heart started to pound. My whole body tensed.

  Dad burst out laughing. “Gotcha again,” he said. “Did you really believe me? This lizard isn’t going to hatch for at least two more weeks.”

  “Aaarrrgh!” I let out a scream. I bunched my fists tight. I wanted to punch my dad really hard. But I held myself back. I didn’t want to make him drop the egg.

  “How funny are your jokes?” I said. “Not!”

  He laughed some more. “What’s funny, Kate, is that you always fall for them.”

  I grumbled under my breath. Does everyone have a dad who is constantly playing babyish tricks on them? I don’t think so.

  Dad had spread a layer of sand over the bottom of the glass tank. He carefully lowered the egg into the sand. Then he adjusted the heater behind the tank.

  “It’s nice and warm and comfy in there,” he said. “Our little friend will be popping out very soon.”

  I raised my phone and flashed a selfie of me and the egg beside me. I couldn’t wait to show it to everyone at school. Ms. Arnold, my teacher, was a science freak. I knew she’d love the whole lizard story.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, in Ms. Arnold’s class, I projected photos from Australia onto the wall. I heard a lot of oohs and aahs from the kids as they looked at the many kinds of lizards. The bearded lizards were a huge favorite. Some kids didn’t think they were real.

  I finished with my selfie of me and the egg. I talked about how my dad bought the egg and soon it would hatch a Tasmanian cobra lizard.

  “That is so interesting,” Ms. Arnold said, staring at the egg. “Kate, you will have to give us daily reports on what is happening with that egg. I think we all want to see what comes out when that egg cracks open.”

  That’s when Adele Bender interrupted. I knew she would. I told you she’s totally competitive with me. I knew she couldn’t stand to see me get all this attention from Ms. Arnold and from the rest of the class.

  “I know what will come out of that egg,” Adele said. “Egg yolk!”

  A few kids laughed.

  Ms. Arnold narrowed her eyes at Adele. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, look at it,” Adele said. Yes, she had a sneer on her face, her top lip curled up almost to her perfect nose. “That egg came from the supermarket. The whole thing is a fake.”

  Everyone started talking at once.

  I knew Adele would say something like that. She always did.

  Did I mention one way that she always comes out on top? She’s a lot prettier than I am. She looks a lot like one of those magazine models with creamy skin, really high cheekbones, cat-shaped blue eyes, and long, wavy reddish hair to die for.

  I don’t want to talk about my hair. It looks like the kind of string they make floor mops out of. So I’m admitting it right now. Adele wins in the awesome-looking department.

  But no way she could win on lizards.

  It took Ms. Arnold a while to get everyone settled down. Adele remained with her arms crossed tightly in front of her, her mouth locked in a scowl.

  “The egg is real,” I said quietly. “Everyone knows I went to Australia. Those lizards in my photos are all real, and they can only be found in Australia.”

  “The egg is real, too,” Adele said. “You can make scrambled eggs out of it because it’s a regular egg from the supermarket.”

  “You’re crazy!” I cried. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Adele. You just think—”

  I didn’t get to finish my sentence because the bell rang. Everyone jumped up and began shoving things into their backpacks and talking and laughing.

  I didn’t move from the front of the room. Adele didn’t move, either. She just sat there at her desk, staring at me. Challenging me.

  And that’s when I made a big mistake. That’s when I invited her to come over to my house and see the egg for herself.

  What was I thinking?

  “I forgot how old your house is,” Adele said as we walked up the front lawn. She kicked at a clump of dandelions. “These are probably pretty old weeds, too.”

  “We’ve been away,” I said. “That’s why the grass hasn’t been mowed.”

  “We have a gardener who does it,” Adele said.

  We walked along the side of the house. We had to step around a rake and a shovel my dad had left on the ground. The garage door was open. Cartons were stacked everywhere. There was no room for the car in the garage.

  I could see Adele taking in every messy detail. I knew she wanted to tell me what slobs my parents are and how her house is shiny new and neat.

  “Your parents don’t have jobs, do they?” she said.

  She really wasn’t a friend. Why had I asked her to come over? Just to prove I wasn’t lying about the egg?

  “You know we had a mini-horse farm,” I said. “I brought the whole class there once, remember?”

  She nodded. “They were cute.”

  “My parents have big plans for the lizards,” I said. I opened the kitchen door and motioned for her to come in.

  “Hey, I’m home!” I shouted.

  No reply.

  “Guess no one’s home,” I said.

  The dirty breakfast dishes were still on the table. Adele made a sniffing sound. “What’s that smell?”

  “My dad had sardines for breakfast,” I said. “He’s totally weird.”

  “My parents are weird, too,” Adele said. “They’re probably a lot weirder than your parents.”

  See? She has to win at everything!

  We dropped our backpacks against the wall. “Would you like a snack or something?” I asked.

  Adele shook her head. “Not really.” She pointed. “Is that your living room?”

  I led the way down the short hall to the living room. “This is one of the rooms my parents fixed up. Most of the house still needs a lot of work. Would you believe my parents like to pretend they live in a haunted house?”

  Adele didn’t answer. I glimpsed something move quickly at her feet. Suddenly, her eyes bulged. Her mouth dropped open and she screamed.

  “What was that? Did you see it? It ran right over my shoes!”

  “I saw it,” I said. “I think—”

  “The lizard!” she screeched. “Kate, it’s the lizard! It’s running loose!”

  She tilted back her head and started to scream.

  I grabbed her shoulders to try to calm her down. “Adele, listen to me. Adele, take a breath. Don’t panic.”

  She finally stopped. Breathing hard, she stared at me.

  I laughed. �
��I think it was a mouse.”

  She swallowed. “A mouse?”

  I nodded. “This old house is filled with mice. They mostly live in the empty rooms we don’t use. But we were away for three weeks. In Australia, remember? And they’ve gotten a lot braver.”

  Adele’s whole body shuddered. “I hate mice. They totally creep me out.”

  “Dad keeps promising to call an exterminator,” I said. “But he’s been busy trying to buy more lizards.”

  “Lizards,” Adele repeated. “The egg. I almost forgot.” She swept back her perfect coppery hair. “You said I could see the lizard egg. Where is it?”

  I pointed down the back hall. “Mom and Dad set up a special hatching room. But they’re not home. I don’t think I can show it to you.”

  “I knew it!” Adele cried. “I knew the whole thing was a fake.”

  “No. Really—” I said.

  “I was right,” she insisted, her blue eyes flashing. “There is no egg. There is no lizard egg at all—is there!”

  “Yes, there is a lizard egg,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m not a liar, Adele. But I don’t think my parents would want me to show it to anyone unless one of them was here.”

  She sighed. “I just want to look at it. I won’t touch it, Kate.” She made a face. “Yuck. I don’t want to touch it.”

  My mind whirred. I couldn’t decide what to do. If I didn’t show it to her, she’d tell everyone at school that she came to my house and there was no egg.

  “Promise you won’t try to pick it up or anything?” I said finally.

  She raised her right hand. “Promise.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll show it to you. I’ll prove you are wrong.”

  I led the way down the hall. “Careful,” I warned. “Some of the floorboards in this hall are loose.”

  The boards squeaked under our shoes. I suddenly had a heavy feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I knew I was taking a risk.

  But … if we just looked at the egg resting in the glass tank, what could happen?

  I stopped at the door to the hatching room. I took a deep breath. Then I pulled open the door.