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

CHAPTER TWO

In Which There Are Wonderful Costumes and Violence Occurs

The next morning, when the family is downstairs in the kitchen, Plastic rolls over to where Lumphy and StingRay are still drying on the radiator.

“I didn’t know the toy mice had names,” she whispers to her friends. “Did you?”

Lumphy didn’t.

“I’ve been calling them Mice. Or just Mouse if there was only one,” says Plastic.

“Me too,” confesses Lumphy. “Just ‘Hey there, Mouse. Come here, Mice.’ Like that.”

“Do you think they’re mad?” worries Plastic.

“How could they be?” sniffs StingRay. “They’re only mice.”

“But we didn’t know their names!” cries Plastic.

“Speak for yourself.” StingRay flips over to get the warm radiator heat on her back. “I knew.”

“You did? Did you know what their names were?”

“Um …” StingRay wavers. “Not exactly. But I knew they had nice mouselike names, just like they do. Like Bonko. That’s precisely the kind of name I thought she’d have.”

“Ahem,” coughs Plastic.

“What ahem?”

“Bonkers,” corrects Plastic. “It’s Bonkers. Not Bonko.”

“Whatever,” sniffs StingRay. “I knew she had a name, is what I’m saying.”

“He,” says Plastic.

“What?”

“That plump mouse Bonkers is a he.”

“How can you tell?” asks StingRay.

“He told me.” Plastic bounces once, lightly.

Lumphy shakes his head, reflecting. “I thought they were all called Mouse. Like StingRay is called StingRay and Sheep is Sheep.”

“And Rocking Horse is Rocking Horse,” adds StingRay.

“Ahem,” coughs Plastic.

“What now?” StingRay is irritated.

Plastic explains: “The horse is called Highlander. I thought everybody knew that.”

“Well, do you know the Girl’s name, then?” harrumphs StingRay, to cover her embarrassment. “Do you, huh?”

“Yeah,” says Plastic.

“Yeah? You mean you know it?”

“Sure.” Plastic twirls in self-satisfaction.

“What is it?” StingRay is too curious to pretend anymore.

“Honey,” replies Plastic. “That’s what her mom and dad call her when they wake her. They say, ‘Get up, Honey. Good morning.’ ”

. . . . .

Honey charges up the stairs and everyone goes quiet. She shoves her feet into her winter boots and grabs a sweater from a drawer. “Can I take a Barbie?” she yells down the stairs.

Her mother sighs from below. “Why do you need a Barbie at the movies?”

“Just for fun. In the car,” Honey answers.

StingRay wants to go to the movies.

StingRay wants to have fun in the car.

Why should a silent Barbie get to go when a knowledgeable and beautifully blue StingRay is available instead?

While Honey’s back is turned, StingRay leaps off the radiator and scoots herself as close to the vinyl Barbie box as possible. She tries to look adorable.

“Fine,” the mother calls. “But be quick. I don’t have time for you to put it in a new outfit or anything. The movie starts at eleven-forty-five.”

Honey puts on her sweater and walks over to the Barbie box. There is StingRay on the floor, looking up with those big eyes. “StingRay wants to go to the movies, too,” Honey yells down the stairs. “She’s never been.”

“StingRay or a Barbie,” her mother answers. “Not both.”

“But I want to take StingRay.”

“So leave the Barbie,” says her mother. “Let’s go.”

Honey grabs StingRay, clips a barrette in her hair, and—ha ha! StingRay is off to the movies, and the Barbie box remains unopened.

. . . . .

When StingRay returns, she is glowing with happiness. Three hours alone with Honey! Three hours of specialness! Specialness forever and ever!

But instead of playing with StingRay, or reading to StingRay, or cuddling StingRay and talking about how wonderful it was going to the movies together, Honey tosses StingRay on the bed, grabs her old library books, and leaves the house with her parents. The toys are alone again.

The specialness is over.

“Plastic!” StingRay calls, pointing a flipper. “Come here. I have a new game to play.”

Plastic rolls over to her.

“I will be Princess DaisySparkle,” StingRay announces. “And you can be my ugly fairy pet.”

“Okay, I’ll be a fairy.” Plastic bounces up to join StingRay on the high bed. “My name is … um … my name is Dimple!”

StingRay crinkles her nose. “No, your name has to be Wiggy. Wiggy is DaisySparkle’s pet fairy.”

“How about Pimple?” offers Plastic. “Or Plumcake? Or Pancake?”

“It’s from the movie I saw,” says StingRay. “The Fairy Treasure. You have to be Wiggy. Here, let me explain.”

“You guys,” Plastic calls out. “StingRay is gonna tell us about the movie!”

Lumphy and the mice trot over to listen. Highlander perks up. Even Sheep rolls over, yawning.

Plastic bounces down to join her friends, and StingRay looks upon them all from the wonderful height of the bed. They are all paying so much attention!

“The movie theater is big,” StingRay says. “Bigger than a school, if you’ve been to school like I have. It’s dark inside and smells like popcorn. People eat popcorn in the movies. It’s a whole room full of people eating the same food in the dark, just popcorn. Oh, and candy. Then the movie comes on, and it’s like being in a cave that’s full of butter smell—”

“A cheese cave!” cries Plastic. “Cheese is when you put milk in a cave!”

“I’m telling about the movie,” StingRay reminds her.

“Tell the story!” squeaks the mouse called Bonkers. “Tell it now!”

StingRay fluffs her plush out. “Princess DaisySparkle is the kindest, most excellent princess that ever lived,” she explains, “and she’s so special the whole kingdom loves her. She wears a royal blue dress and then a sky blue dress. She has hair down her back really long, and she rides a unicorn. She has an ugly fairy pet called Wiggy, and these mean guys try to get the fairy treasure.”

“Ooh!” cries Bonkers. “Mean guys.”

StingRay continues: “DaisySparkle meets a prince, and a witch is chasing after them—all green in the face, with teeth. She lives in an underground lair.”

“What’s the name of the prince?” asks Lumphy.

“It’s not important,” says StingRay. “He’s a prince. Then DaisySparkle wears a navy blue dress and saves the treasure but she gets caught, and the ugly fairies come to her rescue, and then it’s the end. It was so, so good.”

“What happens with the witch?” asks Lumphy.

“They get rid of her.”

“And what about the prince?” Lumphy wants to know.

“She marries him at the end and that’s when she wears this dress that’s robin’s egg blue with silver trim,” answers StingRay.

“Does he get a fairy pet, too?”

StingRay harrumphs. “These other guys are not important, I told you. DaisySparkle is important. I’ll explain it while we play, okay? Highlander, you can be my unicorn, and Plastic’s going to be Wiggy, and Mice, you can be the ugly fairy friends. Lumphy, you can be the witch if you want.”

Lumphy is not sure.

“Do you want to be the prince? You can be the prince.”

Lumphy does not answer. He would like to be somebody important.

“Sheep?” StingRay jumps down and pokes the one-eared sheep. “Sheep, you be the witch, okay? Because Lumphy will be the prince.”

Sheep does not reply, because she is not awake.

“I’ll be the witch,” Lumphy finally decides.

“Good. Your name is Cackle.” StingRay goes under the bed. Last time she was supposed to clean her room, Honey shoved a bunch of dress-up clothes under there. StingRay attempts to adorn herself in a sky blue handkerchief—but it is too small to stretch around her plush body. She tries again, this time wrapping herself in two necklaces and a small white feather boa.

Not blue enough.

StingRay concocts a new outfit of navy ribbon and a crocheted blue scarf, but discards that as well. Finally she settles on a plastic tiara, accessorized with a lacy royal blue sock from Honey’s laundry bin.

All the other toys have been waiting

quite

a

long

time

when StingRay emerges from under the bed and asks: “Do I look like a princess?”

“Aha!” yells Lumphy as Cackle, wearing a black velvet Barbie cape. “You rotten DaisySparkle! I’m going to steal your ugly fairy pet and kidnap her to my witchy lair. Wiggy, I’ve got you!” He leaps on Plastic and drags her away to the space underneath Highlander.

“Wait!” cries StingRay. “You can’t kidnap my fairy!”

“But I already did!” Lumphy laughs his evil laugh and squeezes Plastic in his forepaws.

“Kidnapped! Kidnapped!” yells Plastic.

“And your underground lair can’t be Highlander,” objects StingRay. “He’s my unicorn.”

“It’s my lair … because I’m in it,” growls Lumphy. “I’ve captured your unicorn, too. How ’bout that?”

“I wasn’t ready!” cries StingRay. “We didn’t even start and now you’re kidnapping everybody!”

Plastic bounces forward. “I can escape, right, DaisySparkle? Can’t Plumcake escape? Can’t she fly?”

“Wiggy,” corrects StingRay. “Wiggy is your name, and you’re a boy.”

Plastic stops bouncing. “I don’t want to be a boy,” she protests. “I’m a girl.”

“It’s pretend, Plastic,” says StingRay. “In pretend, girls can be boys, and boys can be girls. Anyone can be whatever they want. Look: Lumphy is being a witch, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m a boy witch,” says Lumphy.

“You are not!”

“I am, too. I’m going to magic your unicorn and turn it into a dragon for me to ride on!” cries Lumphy, grabbing a pickup stick and using it for a wand. “And I’ll magic the ugly fairies, too. Mice, you all have been turned into gremlins, and you must do my evil bidding!”

“Oooh, make me a gremlin!” pleads Plastic. “Make me a girl gremlin! Magic me!”

“Stop!” cries StingRay. “You guys are playing it all wrong.”

“It’s pretend,” Lumphy reminds her. “Anyone can be whatever they want.”

“Gremlin! Gremlin!” yells Plastic.

“But it’s not the movie!” StingRay bangs her tail on the floor. “And you took my unicorn. That’s not what’s supposed to happen!”

Lumphy brandishes his wand. Why can’t he play the way he wants? “Cackle is turning you into a … a … a spoon, DaisySparkle!” he cries. “Because you are a no-fun bossyboots.”

Why is Lumphy ruining everything? StingRay will not have it. “I’m not a spoon, you’re a spoon!” she cries, grabbing one end of the wand.

“No, you’re a spoon!” yells Lumphy.

“You!”

“Spoon!”

“Then you’re a fork!” cries StingRay.

“Spoon is worse!”

“No, fork is worse!”

“Don’t call me fork!” cries Lumphy, dropping the wand and launching himself at StingRay. He bats her face with a buffalo paw and sinks his teeth into her left flipper.

“Oww!” If StingRay could bleed, she would be bleeding a lot right now.

Lumphy chomps harder, and StingRay swings her long tail around and hits him in the head. Wonk!

And again. Wonk!

And finally—Wonk! Lumphy lets go. Oof!

Lumphy has a chunk of StingRay’s plush in his teeth. Pthheeh. But while he is spitting out plush, StingRay bangs him upside the head with a flipper. Bap!

Sheep is now awake and bleating in distress, while Plastic bounds around the room squealing, “Stop! Stop!”

The mice—Bonkers, Millie, Brownie, and Rocky—view the proceedings as entertainment. StingRay bangs Lumphy with the other flipper, this time on his woolly buffalo neck. “Ooh,” squeaks Millie. “She landed a good one on him, there!”

“They need to control their tempers,” says Rocky. “They should use their words.”

StingRay hits Lumphy in the tummy with her tail—Bap!—knocking him over.

Now Lumphy, back on his feet, lowers his head and shakes his buffalo horns. He is so angry! StingRay is such a bossyboots all the time!

Charge!

Rumpa lumpa,

Rumpa lumpa,

Lumphy goes for StingRay like a bull in a bullfight. He rams his horns into her, tearing a hole in her side, then tosses her up, through the air, and across the room, where—Fwap!—she lands in the big toy box.

Lumphy doesn’t care if StingRay is hurt. He doesn’t care if she never talks to him again.

Horrible, bossyboots StingRay.

Still wearing his cape, Lumphy runs,

Rumpa lumpa,

Rumpa lumpa,

out of Honey’s bedroom, past the bathroom—and into the grown-up bedroom.

. . . . .

Honey’s room is silent except for the

thump ump

ump ump

uhhhh of Plastic, letting herself cease bouncing,

and rolling to a stop. “Are you okay, StingRay?” she calls into the quiet.

A flipper peeks over the edge of the big toy box, and waves weakly.

“She’s okay!” cry the mice.

“She’s the winner!” whispers Bonkers to Millie. “I knew she could win. She’s got a great tail, hasn’t she? And Lumphy hasn’t got any tail at all, just a stumpy bit.”

StingRay’s flipper grabs hold of the box’s edge, and she hauls herself over onto the carpet. Plastic inspects her wound. “You have a hole,” she tells StingRay. “You’re going to need to get it sewn up if you don’t want your stuffing coming out.”

StingRay nods. Then her face crumples and her mouth turns down and her eyes squinch—and she would be crying tears if she could, and anyway, she is crying, just without the tears.

Frrrrrr, frrrrrr.

There is no Lumphy here to tell her not to panic.

. . . . .

Lumphy has hardly ever been in the grown-up bedroom before. The bed is lower than Honey’s but so wide it takes up almost the whole room. The closet is enormous, and through another door is a bathroom inhabited by purple towels whom Lumphy doesn’t know very well. Two tall dressers loom at the far end, and in between them is a low wooden chair with a basket on it. There are no toys, and nothing underneath the bed except a mom-sock and a cookbook.

Lumphy stomps in furious circles under the bed for several minutes. Then he emerges and begins kicking the wooden chair with his left hind leg.

That StingRay! Lumphy kicks again.

She always has to be the important one.

She always wants to make the rules.

“Hitting me with her tail,” he mutters to himself. “As if a tail is so useful. As if a tail is such a great thing to have.”

Another kick.

“I don’t know why Honey took her to the movies, anyway,” Lumphy grunts. “I would have liked to see a movie. I would have liked it as much as StingRay. I would have liked it more, actually.”

Another kick. Harder, this time, and ooohhh, the chair wobbles and—the basket on it tips. The stuff in the basket tumbles out: yarn and thread and needles and fabric. It is a craft basket, and several balls of rainbow yarn land on top of Lumphy. He jerks his head around, but that only serves to stick his horns tight into an acrylic-blend ball. He rolls on his back,

on his side,

on his back,

oofa

oofa

oofa

and around some more, trying to get out from under. Soon, poor Lumphy is tangled in rainbow yarn, and he can’t seem to untangle, no matter how he rolls, and without thinking, he cries out, “StingRay, help!”

But no StingRay helps, this time.

And he knows: no StingRay is coming.

StingRay is wounded. Her flipper has a hole in it, made by buffalo teeth and horns.

Lumphy lies on his side, tangled in yarn.

For a long while.

Finally, when he hears the sound of the family car pulling into the driveway, Lumphy struggles to his feet. He takes something from the craft basket in his mouth and shuffles underneath the grown-up bed, his feet jumbled in yarn and his head bowed with the weight of a ball of rainbow acrylic on his horns.

. . . . .

“As soon as Honey sees me, she’ll have me mended,” StingRay tells Plastic. “She’ll be so mad that Lumphy made a hole in me, she’ll take care of it right away. Then she’ll punish Lumphy really bad.”

This idea makes Plastic nervous. “Punish him how?”

“Oh, she’ll spank him with dry spaghetti

or maybe make him drink nasty fruit-punch-tasting

medicine.

Or she’ll give him sixty-eight time-outs

where he has to sit in a bucket by himself in the hallway,” says StingRay, as if she knows.

But when Honey comes in, smelling of toothpaste and strawberry soap, she takes StingRay to bed as usual—without noticing the hole.

How can Honey not see that there is a gaping hole in StingRay’s flipper, with stuffing peeking out? Exactly where there was no hole at all when they went to the movies and had all that specialness together?

Honey goes to sleep after ten pages of the story about the mouse in the dungeon, but StingRay lies there, awake, long after eight-thirty, patting her own wounded flipper in the dark and saying, “There, there, it’ll be okay,” because nobody else is around to say it.

. . . . .

It is midnight by the time the grown-ups fall asleep. The house is dark, and from his hiding place under the parents’ bed, Lumphy can hear the toy mice giggling. It sounds as if Highlander and Sheep are having a conversation and Plastic is in the bathroom, bouncing around. Lumphy can hear her showing off for TukTuk. Still trailing yarn, with a ball of rainbow acrylic on his head, and holding the something he got from the craft basket between his teeth, Lumphy limps to Honey’s room. It is slow going, as his feet are tangled and his head woefully heavy, but Lumphy gets there and asks the toy mice to untangle his legs and pull the ball of yarn off his horns.

Quietly, he climbs onto the high bed, where StingRay and Honey are sleeping. He taps StingRay’s tail, hoping to wake her up.

She doesn’t move.

“Psst. StingRay,” whispers Lumphy. “Look what I brought.”

She doesn’t wake.

Carefully, Lumphy takes the something in his paws. It is a needle, already threaded with blue thread. Lumphy pokes it into the edge of StingRay’s wound with his front feet, then pulls it through the other side with his buffalo teeth. Holding a bit of thread down with one foot, he loops the needle through and pulls it tight to make a knot. Then he sews up StingRay’s hole in neat stitches, pushing in with the forefeet and pulling out with the teeth, until it’s time to make another knot. He bites the thread so as not to leave any of it trailing, and scurries back to the grown-up bedroom to return his supplies to the craft basket, which Honey’s mom has straightened up.

. . . . .

StingRay wakes at five in the morning.

Her flipper feels different. Feels better. She twists her head to look at it and sees a lovely row of royal blue stitches, almost invisible unless you were looking for them. She is fixed. She is good as new!

At first she thinks Honey must have done it, but Honey is sound asleep with her mouth slightly open, and StingRay has to admit that Honey never wakes at night unless she has a nightmare.

StingRay moves to the edge of the bed and peeks over to see if any toys are awake. Nobody is. Sheep is tipped over beneath Highlander and the mice are cuddled together under the toy box where they like to hide.

Lumphy has returned. He’s asleep in his favorite spot on the fringed pillow on the floor.

But what’s that? StingRay leaps down and scoots over to look more closely. A piece of royal blue thread trails from Lumphy’s mouth. It is the same thread as StingRay’s stitches.

Now StingRay understands. Lumphy must have done it.

StingRay doesn’t know how he managed, but Lumphy must have sewed her up.

With blue.

A beautiful, wonderful color of blue, which is already the best color of all the colors there are in the world.

If that isn’t an apology, StingRay decides, it is something awfully close.

Maybe it is even something better.