Toy Dance Party: being the further adventures of a bossy-boots stingray, a courageous buffalo, and a hopeful round someone called Plastic

CHAPTER SIX

Let’s Do Our Nails

Plastic and Spark are in the bathtub. It is bouncy to have a friend to float with, and Plastic is boinging herself against the tiled wall and dropping back into the water with a big splash. Spark is swimming in circles with only her fin above the water. It is a Saturday afternoon in late spring. Honey has a soccer game, and the family is out of the house.

Lumphy watches Plastic and Spark from atop the closed toilet seat, and StingRay is looking at the pretty colors of nail polish lined up at the back of the sink. Purple, red, pale green, and glitter gold. Robin’s egg blue, even. Each one has a tiny brush inside for painting fingernails.

That robin’s egg blue polish is almost the same color as StingRay herself.

Plop! Plastic boings into the water again.

“You’re splashing too much,” StingRay warns, waving a flipper. “See those water spots on my plush? And look at that puddle on the floor. How are we going to clean it all up?”

“Don’t use me,” warns TukTuk, from her place on the rack. “I only just dried out from last night, and for once I’m folded neatly.”

“Calm down, people. We’ll use the bath mat,” says Spark, lifting her head out of the water.

The bath mat doesn’t talk.

“A bath mat doesn’t have the same absorbency as a towel,” says TukTuk. “You’re not going to soak up that whole puddle with just a bath mat.”

“I can get a purple towel from the grown-up bathroom,” proposes Lumphy.

“Or Plastic could stop splashing,” says StingRay. “If she weren’t splashing, there wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Sorry.” Plastic is embarrassed.

“Stop worrying,” says Spark, lifting her head out again. “It’s not like Honey’s observant or anything. She won’t notice a little water, and neither will her parents.”

“Honey is, too, observant,” says Plastic.

“Suit yourself.” Spark heaves herself onto the ledge of the tub, dripping water onto the tiles. “But what kind of a kid leaves a shark in a box and then a mouse in a vacuum cleaner? Unobservant, that’s what kind.”

“She didn’t know Bonkers got sucked into the vacuum!” cries StingRay.

“Because she failed to observe it,” says Spark.

StingRay is loyal. “Honey’s very busy. She’s got soccer and chores and homework to think about.”

“She’s getting older,” puts in Lumphy. “That’s what the problem is.”

“I’m just saying,” Spark explains. “Honey forgot to get Lumphy out of the basement the night we had the dance party. She didn’t play with you guys at the sleepover. Plus she’s forcing me to play dress-up and do stupid Barbie stuff, when any kid paying attention should be able to tell I don’t like it. Hello? Honey is okay, but she doesn’t seem that into us, if you want to know what I think.”

“She used to be wonderful,” says Plastic. “Just wonderfully wonderful.”

Plastic hates that Spark doesn’t love Honey, because Plastic loves her no matter what and for always—but it is true that things are not quite the same as they were when Honey was younger.

“She didn’t notice I had that hole in my flipper,” StingRay admits.

“She doesn’t play in the bath anymore,” adds TukTuk.

“She didn’t take us on vacation,” says Lumphy. “Not one single one of us.”

“And there’s not as much specialness.” This last is hard for StingRay to say. She looks at the floor while she speaks. “It used to seem like the specialness would go on forever and ever, but now it’s hardly ever special.”

Spark drops into the bathtub again, pulls the plug with her teeth, and hurls her rubbery body over the ledge onto the bath mat. She shakes herself dry like a dog and announces: “Let’s do our nails.”

“What?” asks Lumphy.

“Our nails. I see you checking out that polish, StingRay.”

StingRay nods absently. She is still thinking about the specialness problem.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” says Spark.

“I don’t have any nails,” says Plastic, nervous. “It’s normal for a ball!”

“Neither do I,” says Spark. “Who cares? ‘Do our nails’ is an expression. We’ll paint something else with the nail polish. That’ll cheer you guys up, won’t it?”

Plastic bounces over to look at the colors. “Oooh!” she cries. “There’s gold here! Real live glitter gold!”

“What would we paint instead of nails?” StingRay wonders. “The Barbie box or something?” The idea comes out of her mouth without any planning.

“Aha!” cries Spark.

“Aha what?”

“Aha, yes! The Barbie box!” Spark throws herself out the bathroom door and down the hall. “Fantastic idea, fishie!” she calls over her top fin.

Lumphy and StingRay look at one another for a minute, StingRay feeling surprised at the idea she has voiced. Painting the Barbie box.

She didn’t mean to suggest it.

Or maybe she did.

In fact, she did mean it.

That stupid box and those silent Barbies, getting all the attention and specialness.

StingRay grabs two bottles of polish from the edge of the sink and leaps with them down to the floor. “What are you waiting for?” she asks Lumphy.

“Nothing,” Lumphy answers. “I’m waiting for nothing.” He scrambles up, sticks two bottles under his front legs, one more in his mouth—and jumps. The two of them hurry down the hall.

“Wait!” calls Plastic, unsure.

No answer.

“They’re not waiting,” says TukTuk.

Plastic calls again. “Are you doing a nice thing?” she asks. “Or a naughty thing?”

Silence.

“They’re not listening, either,” says TukTuk.

. . . . .

Lumphy and Spark drag the Barbie box to the center of Honey’s bedroom. It is closed tight, with the Barbies and all their clothes inside. StingRay loosens the caps on the nail polish.

“You have to be very neat,” Lumphy warns his friends. “Because Frank can’t help you with nail polish.”

“What about dry cleaning?” StingRay is anxious.

“That won’t get polish out, either. TukTuk told me Honey’s mother takes her nail color off with a special remover,” Lumphy explains. “Plus, she keeps it in the medicine cabinet, which is hard to get to. So don’t spill any polish on yourself or you’ll never get clean.”

StingRay begins with the robin’s egg blue, which will match her plush even if she does spill. She is painting herself—a large and beautiful stingray—right over the picture of a Barbie doll on one end of the box.

StingRay makes the darling curve of her own tail, the strong arch of her flippers, the adorable shape of her own nose, loving the feel of the polish brush as it slides across the vinyl. Loving the blue. Loving, even, the smell of the polish.

Spark has been scribbling, holding the brush in her teeth and making violent slashes of light green. “I’m cheering up already,” she says, out one corner of her mouth. “You cheering up, bison?”

Lumphy has made a thick red line all along the crack where the lid meets the rest of the box. It is a dark and angry scrawl, but he does like the look of the deep red against the soft pink of the box. He tells Spark, “Yes,” and tries something: a flower. And another. And another. Then he changes colors and paints purple flowers.

Sheep rolls over to see what’s happening. “Is that clover you’re painting?” she asks the shark. “Or is it grass?”

“It’s the ocean,” says Spark.

“Oh.” Sheep thinks for a minute or two and then asks, “Don’t you think it would be good if you painted some clover? Then it would be interesting.”

“Interesting to you, maybe.”

“Everyone is interested in clover,” says Sheep. “What’s not to like?”

Spark doesn’t answer. She’s concentrating. Sheep watches a little longer, then tips over on her side and falls asleep.

. . . . .

Plastic has been rolling herself dry on the bath mat, thinking. “I don’t want to be naughty,” she tells TukTuk. “I want to be nice.”

“So be nice if you want to be nice,” TukTuk says.

Plastic thinks some more. “Did you see that nail polish?” she asks.

Yes, TukTuk saw it.

“There was a glitter gold color.”

“Um hm.”

“Glittery goldy gold,” says Plastic. “So so bright, glittery gold polish!”

“Are you changing your mind?” asks TukTuk. “Are you going to be naughty now?”

“I’m changing my mind!” yells Plastic, twirling. “Glittery goldy gold polish!”

She bounces down the hall after the others.

. . . . .

Everyone’s paintings look excellent, thinks Plastic, bounding into the bedroom. “Glittery goldy gold!” she cries again. “Is anyone using it? Can I have a turn?”

StingRay pours a puddle of glitter gold on the big flat lid of the Barbie box.

“Thank you!” says Plastic, springing up. “Ooooh, it feels slippy! And sticky!”

Plastic rolls from side to side and round and round in the polish, coating the pink vinyl with gold. “Look at me!” she squeals, twisting herself in circles to create a spiral pattern in glitter. “I’m painting! I’m painting with no hands!”

Her painting is so swirly and goldy gold. Plastic hops off the box to let the others see what she’s done, and rolls joyfully around on the rug, thinking only about gold and what a happy bright color it is.

“Don’t come so close to me,” snaps StingRay. “I’m dry clean only.”

Plastic stops rolling.

“Uh-oh.” Lumphy looks at Plastic and shakes his head.

“What?”

Lumphy coughs. “You’re gold.”

“I am?”

“And the carpet. It’s gold, too.”

Plastic looks around. Lumphy is right. She has left a sticky path of glitter gold everywhere she rolled.

“It doesn’t come off,” scolds Lumphy. “Weren’t you listening when I explained?”

No. Plastic had been in the bathroom when he explained.

Oh no no no—Plastic has been so naughty! She has never been naughty like this before. What to do, what to do?

Before she has time to think, before anyone has time to think, the toys hear a key in the door.

The people are home early.

Rumpa lumpa

Rumpa lumpa

Frrrrrr, frrrrrr.

Grunk! Gru-GRUNK!

Lumphy, StingRay, and Spark hide beneath the high bed, tipping over two jars of polish as they run. But Plastic is scared to move. If she rolls or bounces, she’ll track nail color on even more of Honey’s carpet. What to do, what to do?

The parents come upstairs. The mother stops short when she sees the mess. “Honey?” she calls in a strained voice. “Can you come here now, please?”

The dad scratches his neck and speaks in a low, angry voice. “Look what she did to her rubber ball. And to the sheep. And the rug.”

“And all that nail polish she just got,” the mom adds. “And her Barbie box.”

Honey enters the room and catches sight of Plastic, covered with glitter gold. And Sheep, asleep in a puddle of Spark’s green polish. She walks over and looks at the Barbie box, painted with a curious mix of ugly, angry scribbles and beautiful art.

Honey knows the toys have done it. Plastic can tell from her expression.

They have never done anything this bad before. Nothing that would get Honey in trouble.

Will she know why they did it? Will she be angry?

She pulls Plastic off the sticky carpet. She begins to lift Sheep, too, but as she does there is a ripping noise.

The noise of a felt ear—the only ear Sheep has left—tearing.

Part of Sheep’s ear is stuck to the carpet with nail polish.

Honey’s hand stops for a moment, but there is no other way to move Sheep. Gently, she rips the ear the rest of the way and holds the wounded Sheep in her arms. “I’m sorry,” she says to her mom and dad. “It was a bad idea and I should have cleaned it up. I was careless.”

Plastic nearly twitches with surprise and relief. Honey squeezes her.

“I’ll clean off all my toys, and buy you new remover with my allowance,” continues Honey. “I’ll try to clean the carpet, too.”

The mother shakes her head, still angry.

“It’s a start,” says the dad.

. . . . .

Honey takes Plastic, Sheep, and the Barbie box to the bathroom, where she rubs polish remover on Sheep’s matted wool. Some of the polish comes off, but Sheep will be forever green around the left side of her neck and head. Her hearing—though not gone—will be worse than before. Honey puts a Band-Aid on the ear nub. She dabs Plastic with remover, then rinses the ball under the tap and dries her with TukTuk. The clumps of polish come off pretty easily, but it looks as though Plastic will remain shimmery, with a slight residue of glitter gold.

Plastic doesn’t mind. Honey doesn’t seem mad at all. She’s taking care of them! She even squeezed Plastic in an understanding way. Besides, Plastic thinks, the glittery goldy gold looks very good.

When Plastic and Sheep are as clean as they can get, Honey looks at the paintings on the Barbie box. She tries to open it.

It won’t open.

Honey runs a cotton ball dipped in remover along the edges, but Spark has put so much sticky green along her side of the box, and Lumphy so much red on his, that the lid won’t separate from the bottom.

The Barbies are still inside.

Honey tugs and pulls—but the box won’t open.

The Barbies will probably have to stay in there for a very, very long time, together with all their clothes.

Honey carries Plastic and Sheep and the ruined Barbie box into the bedroom, where she places the box on top of the bookshelf so everyone can see it. She finds Lumphy, StingRay, and Spark under the bed and sets them together on the fringed pillows.

Lumphy’s stomach feels awful, and StingRay’s body is tight with anxiety. They peek at Spark, but it is impossible to tell what the shark is thinking.

Will Honey yell at them and give them time-outs in a bucket in the hallway? StingRay wonders.

Or send them off to the zoo to be teased by the real live animals?

Or leave them at the dump because she doesn’t love them anymore?

“You sweetie guys,” Honey announces. “This is the best present I ever got.”

“We’re not in trouble!” Plastic whispers to her friends.

“Even though you made a mess, and Sheep’s ear got hurt,” Honey continues, “I know you meant for it to be a surprise. The picture of StingRay is just the right blue, huh? And blue is the best color.” She smiles at StingRay. “And here are the golden swirls, and these pretty flowers, and the greeny grass on the other side. You guys are big big sweeties to make this.”

Spark’s top fin twitches ever so slightly in annoyance.

Honey pats Sheep and strokes StingRay’s tail. “I know I haven’t played with you much lately.” She pets Lumphy’s woolly back. “But I love you. And I will always keep you,” she swears. “StingRay, Plastic, and Lumphy. Sheep and DaisySparkle. Even Highlander and the mice. I’ll keep all of you, forever.”

. . . . .

“What did I tell you?” grumps Spark as soon as Honey has gone downstairs for dinner. “Un. Ob. Ser. Vant.”

“We’re not in trouble!” says Plastic, rolling a circle around her friends. “She loves us forever and she didn’t mind that we were naughty!”

“She didn’t even know we were naughty,” says Spark. “She missed the entire point.”

Lumphy sniffs. “She thought it was a present. It was the opposite of a present.”

“Exactly.” The shark twitches her tail and mutters: “Greeny grass. Hmph.”

StingRay eyes the Barbie box. “It’s stuck shut, isn’t it?” she says, wonderingly. “They’re not coming out again.”

“Not for a good long while, anyway,” says Spark. “At least we got that done.”

“She loves us all!” cries Plastic.

“It’s true,” says StingRay, swishing her tail thoughtfully. “She did say that. But it still feels like not as much. Like she loves us—but not as much as she used to.”

“But forever!” says Plastic.

“Yes,” says StingRay. “Forever but not as much.”

. . . . .

That night, after Honey has gone to sleep, Sheep has a tearless cry over her lost ear. And her green face. And Honey growing up. It is the first time in her long sheep-y life that she has ever cried. The sobs sound like this: “Herffle, herffle. Herffle, herffle.”

Plastic feels sorry for Sheep, she really does, but it is hard for her to keep still and act sympathetic. Every few minutes she rolls down the hall to bounce in front of the bathroom mirror, admiring her beautiful new sheen. “I’m a gold ball, a gold ball!” she whispers to her reflection.

Lumphy understands how Sheep feels about her ear. He lost his tail a long time ago. Sometimes he still misses it. He nuzzles Sheep’s face.

“Herffle, herffle. Herffle, herffle,” she sobs.

Lumphy keeps nuzzling, but the herffles keep herffling.

“Should I tell a story?” asks StingRay. She lay down with Honey at eight-thirty, but after the events of the day found it impossible to fall asleep. Now she is on the carpet, worrying about her wounded friend. “Would it help to hear a story, so you can think about something else?”

Sheep nods.

StingRay taps her flippers for attention. Spark and the toy mice scootch across the carpet to listen.

StingRay thinks how nice it is to feel important and helpful. She is such a considerate and special stingray!

She is about to launch into the tale of Princess DaisySparkle and the fairy treasure when she looks down at her friends and remembers: that is not Sheep’s favorite story.

It is not Lumphy’s, either.

The toy mice aren’t very interested, and Spark positively dislikes it.

It is only StingRay’s favorite story.

StingRay really does want to tell it, though.

And StingRay thinks the things that Sheep likes—are boring. It would be so much more interesting to tell about DaisySparkle.

“Herffle, herffle. Herffle, herffle,” goes Sheep.

StingRay makes a decision. “Once upon a time, there was a meadow,” she says loudly, making sure that Sheep can hear. “A wide grassy meadow with lots of juicy green clover.

Clover so bright it almost glowed.

There were goats and sheep and rabbits,

all living in the meadow.

The rabbits ate the clover,

and the goats ate the clover,

and do you know who else ate the clover?

The sheep! They ate as much clover

as ever they wanted, each day.

They ate grass, and there were, like,

four different kinds.

The sheep ate these, and when they wanted

dessert,

there were pretty flowers in the meadow

that were also good to eat.”

StingRay talks into the night, boring but pretty stuff about greenery and chewing. As she talks, Sheep gradually stops herffling.

Highlander pricks his ears. Bonkers squirms and occasionally bites his own tail, while Brownie falls asleep on top of Millie and Rocky. Spark chews on a puzzle piece while she listens. Plastic, feeling gorgeous, rolls back into the bedroom and leans herself against Lumphy.

StingRay makes up stories, and she can tell it is helping.

The stars twinkle outside the window, and the toys cuddle up.

Everything is good again, because they are together.