The Case of the Bug on the Run (3 page)

I couldn't help it. I shrieked.

Mr. Patel jumped.

And the tray might have flipped to the floor, except that Mr. Patel is not only cute, but also he can juggle.

“I'm sorry, Cameron,” he apologized after he caught his breath. “I didn't know you were scared of carrots.”

Tessa looked at the tray. “Those are some funky- looking carrots.”

“Carrot croquettes with poppy seeds,” Ms. Major explained. “Cammie doesn't have to eat them. But for the sake of the picture, a smile would be better than a look of sheer terror.”

I was embarrassed. I actually like carrots. I popped
an appetizer into my mouth. It was sweet and crunchy. Again I prepared to smile for the camera—but this time I truly did see something moving on the floor.

It wasn't a cockroach.

It was a kitten paw!

The tables were set with floor-length white cloths. A wicked little black paw had poked out from beneath one. What was BK—I mean Fluffy—doing here?

The photographer hadn't seen what I had. Now she peered over the top of her camera and sighed. “Puzzled surprise is not an improvement.”

I started to apologize for my face, but then I saw a second paw—this one with tabby stripes—and after that the tip of an orange swishing tail. I elbowed Tessa and pointed. Her eyes widened. “Oh, no—if Granny sees the Ks, we'll have to give them away for sure. What do we do, Cammie?”

“Uh . . . be polite, eat our dinner and hope for the best?” I said.

Tessa waved her arms. “Is that supposed to be a plan? Because if it is, it's your lamest one yet!”

Tessa was right. My plan was lame. But for a while, it worked.

The point of the dinner was to get people thinking about kids and healthy eating. So the menu included lots of fruits and vegetables that kids like. Besides carrots, there was a green salad with orange slices, cold strawberry soup, and whole wheat pizza with fresh tomatoes.

Tessa and I sat a table with Nate, Lily, Mrs. Verity and four nice lunch ladies from Pennsylvania. Mr. Verity and Mr. Schott couldn't be there because they had business meetings.

Between dinner and dessert, Mom introduced Mr. Amaro, and he talked for a few minutes about how to add fruits and vegetables to school lunches.

“And in conclusion,” he said, “please remember this simple equation: fruits plus vegetables times kids equals awesome!”

One of the lunch ladies at our table raised her hand
to ask a question, but Mr. Amaro wasn't taking any. Instead, he excused himself and left in a hurry.

Then it was time for dessert—some kind of white ice cream with green sprinkles served in a crystal goblet. Mrs. Verity tried it first and announced, “I like it. The parsnips add zip.”

By this time, the event was almost over, and I had stopped worrying about the Ks. Probably, I thought, they had run away when all the people came in. Worst case? They were hidden in out-of-the-way corners, asleep.

Too bad I was wrong.

All through dinner, the kittens had been lying in wait for just the right moment to cause complete and utter cat-astrophe!

It's hard to know what goes on in the mind of a kitten. But considering what happened next, I have a guess.

Fluffy, formerly known as BK, was catnapping under a table when she woke up and saw a skinny, dangerous reptile threatening to bite the ankle of a poor innocent lunch gentlemen. What could she do? She pounced!

It wasn't her fault she was wrong about the reptile, which wasn't planning to bite any ankle at all because it wasn't really a reptile. Instead, it was the twisted shape of the gentleman's untied shoelace. Likewise, it wasn't Fluffy's fault that the gentleman never expected a random furball with claws to fasten itself to his foot during a formal White House dinner, so that when it did, he sprang from his chair and kicked like an NFL player—sending Fluffy sailing football-like across the room . . .

. . . to a crash landing in a bowl of sunflowers at the head table.

Yellow petals exploded everywhere and Fluffy, dripping wet and embarrassed, leaped from the table to a lunch lady's lap and then the floor—taking two servings of parsnip ice cream and three water glasses with her.

By now the other five kittens were awake and wanting to get in on the action. Out from under the tables they shot, leaped onto chairs for a better look, then proceeded to the tabletops, which they used the way a frog uses lily pads, jumping from one to the next. Unlike lily pads, however, the tables were laid with rare, historic and breakable glassware.

There was a lot of noise, but—to their credit—the kittens left several things unbroken.

By now the White House staff was mobilizing with mops, brooms and sponges to take back their territory. At the same time, the lunch ladies and gentlemen, used to dealing with food fights worse than this, were assembling to support their allies. In fact, the forces of order probably would have prevailed . . . except that now, from the State Dining Room door, came a truly scary sound, the bugle before the cavalry charge in some classic movie:
“Awh-roohr!”

Hooligan, worried about his little kitten buddies, had come to the rescue!

Quick as a wink, he did his frenzy thing—lunged forward, thumped his paws, sprang high in the air, then spun so fast he turned blurry.

There are not really English words to describe the effect of a big, clumsy, too-energetic dog on a room
containing lots of healthy food, well-dressed people and fancy china, but imagine a furry, dog-smelling blur of noise and destruction on top of six kittens' worth of sharp claws, teeth and caterwauling, and you get the idea.

Lily thought she was watching the circus and kept trying to slip out of her mother's arms to join the fun.

“Maybe if we stay out of the way,” Tessa whispered, “no one will remember he's our dog and they're our kittens.”

“Right,” I said, “and maybe if we close our eyes, we'll disappear.”

In the end it was Granny who stopped Hooligan in his tracks, using one of her patented laser glares. Once our dog had been corralled, Mr. Ross, the White House staff and the lunch ladies got the jump on the kittens one by one, then began to sweep up the wreckage.

By eight-thirty, Mom and Aunt Jen had herded the guests into the Entrance Hall so we could say good night. I made sure to apologize to the lunch ladies from Pennsylvania who had sat at our table.

“Oh, don't mention it,” said one. “I've been working in school cafeterias for thirty years. A few domestic animals run amok are no problem.”

The second Granny opened the door to say good night, Tessa and I knew we were in trouble.

Tessa spoke first. “It wasn't us that let the Ks out.”

Granny crossed her arms over her chest. “It doesn't matter who let them out. They are your pets, and you are responsible. The kittens must go, and the sooner the better.”

There is never any point arguing with Granny.

“Yes, ma'am,” we said at the same time.

Granny had been standing near the door. Now she walked toward the table that held James Madison's tank. “After what happened this evening,” she said, “it seems funny that this is the pet I was worried about. In fact, he's the only one that didn't cause trouble.”

Oh, no! In about one second, Granny would look into the tank and see that our cockroach was gone. Was it possible for us to be in more trouble?

“Don't disturb him, Granny!” Tessa said. “He needs his beauty sleep.”

Granny looked down into the tank and frowned. “No amount of sleep would make him beautiful.”

“Wait,” said Tessa, “he's there?”

Granny looked up. “Where else would he be? Oh, no. Don't tell me—”

“Okay, we won't,” Tessa said.

I was afraid Granny might ask questions, but instead she checked her watch and announced, “It's almost time for the news with Jan and Larry. They're supposed to have a story on your visit to the zoo today, and I want to see it.”

Angry as she was, Granny still kissed us each good night. The door closed. Then Tessa and I waited for a count of five before bouncing up, running across the room and staring down into the tank.

James Madison was there, big as life and relaxing on a magnolia leaf.

Tessa wagged her finger. “You are a bad, bad bug!”

James Madison did not reply.

Had he come back on his own? Had someone brought him back? And where had he been, anyway?

If this really was a mystery, it was getting more mysterious.

Tessa and I were too tired to stay up talking, so we turned off our lights. I was dreaming of exploding sunflowers when Mom came in.

“Oh, so sorry, muffins,” she said. “I didn't realize how late it was, but—to tell you the truth—I miss you.”

“That's okay, Mama.” Tessa yawned and switched on her lamp. “We miss you, too. Are you mad at us like everybody else is?”

Mom sat down on the edge of Tessa's bed. “I might be if I had the energy. But running the country has tired me out lately.”

“Poor Mama. What's the trouble?” Tessa asked.

Mom sighed. “There's more than one, I'm sorry to say. But here's an example. I don't know what to do about those miniaturized drones.”

Tessa said, “I happen to know something about drones. They are airplanes without pilots. Does that help?”

“Actually, I already knew that,” Mom said.

“So then what's the problem?” Tessa asked.

“Well,” Mom said, “Mr. Schott's top secret project is awfully expensive. Also, some people don't like drones.”

“You mean because they can spy on people?” I remembered what Nate had said at lunch.

Mom nodded. “Yes, and they can be used as weapons, too. That sounds bad, but drones are good if they help keep Americans safe. Also, Mr. Schott's company employs a lot of workers who need jobs. . . .” She shrugged. “What to do about them is a tough question.”

“Mama,” said Tessa, “did you know it was going to be so hard to be president?”

Mom nodded. “I had a feeling.”

“Then why did you want to do it?”

Mom thought before she answered, “It's a little like solving mysteries, I guess. Even though it's challenging, you girls and Nate do it because it's worthwhile and you're good at it.” She shrugged. “Those are basically the same reasons I wanted to be president.”

Tessa always has more to say, but that night she didn't have the chance. Mom leaned over and gave her a kiss and a snuggle. Then she came over to my bed, leaned down and gave me a kiss and a snuggle, too.

On her way out the door, Mom said, “One more thing. Please don't tell your friend Courtney my concerns about the drone project. If her father mentions it in his blog, it will only make things worse.”

“You don't have to worry about that,” said Tessa. “Because Courtney only cares about the bugs.”

“The bugs?”

We explained how Courtney thought Mr. Amaro had talked Mom into putting bugs in school lunches.

Mom laughed. “Well, I hope someone set Courtney straight! I have no intention of adding bugs to school lunches.”

Usually the Ks wake us up.

But now the Ks were in not-so-solitary confinement in Hooligan's room—two doors down from ours.

So instead, we were awakened the next morning by people drumming and chanting outside:

“Liberty, equality—set the White House cockroach free!”

Tessa and I rolled over, looked at each other, threw off our covers and ran to the window. The yelling came from a crowd on Pennsylvania Avenue just outside the White House fence. Some of the people carried signs with pictures of butterflies, beetles and grasshoppers. Two women held up a banner between them. It read:
BUG LIBERATION FRONT
.

Tessa stood next to me. “Cammie, what's ‘liberation'?”

“Same as freedom. But I never heard of bug liberation.”

“I am all over it,” said a voice behind us—Cousin Nate. He and Aunt Jen have an apartment on the White House's third floor. Usually he sleeps as late as he can. The people outside must have waked him, too.

“Don't you know how to knock?” Tessa asked.

“Don't you want to know what the Bug Liberation Front is?” Nate asked.

Unlike some kids I could name (Cammie and Tessa), Nate has his own computer.

“Oh, fine,” said Tessa. “What?”

“They're a political group. They believe bugs will inherit the earth, and humans should be nice to them.”

Tessa faced the window and waved her arms the way she does. “So what's the problem, people? We are so very nice to James Madison!” She looked around. “Where are my shoes? I am going down there to talk to them.”

“No, Tessa, don't!” Nate said. “See, the BLF also believes bugs should not be kept in cages.”

“Aha!” Tessa smacked her forehead. “That's the solution to the mystery, then! It was the BLF that let James Madison out yesterday.”

“Wait, what? James Madison got out?” Nate said.

“I guess we forgot to tell you,” I said. “And I don't think it was the Bug Liberation Front. Because then who put him back? And besides, how would they even know we had a cockroach?”

“True,” said Tessa. “And for that matter, how do they even know we have a cockroach now?”

“From Jan and Larry.” Granny came in behind Nate. “As I expected, you were on the local news with Jan and Larry last night. They mentioned you'd adopted a cockroach from the zoo. I have to give these bug liberation people credit. They move fast. But now we have more pressing issues to discuss.”

“Like how we're not in trouble anymore?” said Tessa hopefully.

“And we don't have to give away the Ks?” I said.

“Actually, you're in more trouble than ever,” said Granny. “Wait till you see the news coverage of last night's dinner. But first things first. You have an appointment. Mr. Morgan and Mr. Webb will meet you in the Treaty Room in twenty minutes.”