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

CHAPTER THREE

The Garbage-Eating Shark (Which Is Not the Same as the Possible Shark)

One evening, Lumphy, Plastic, StingRay, and Sheep are watching a documentary about beagle dogs on television. Honey and her parents are out at a nighttime party.

During the commercials, Sheep has been telling everyone all about the time she went outdoors and there was actual grass and she chewed it when nobody was looking.

Sheep tells this story a lot. She doesn’t seem to remember that everyone has heard it before.

Plastic isn’t paying attention. She is wondering why beagle dogs seem familiar, even though she doesn’t think she has ever seen a beagle dog.

When the show is over, there comes a documentary called Great White Sharks: Fearsome Fiends of the Briny Deep.

“Shark! Shark!” cries Plastic, bouncing vigorously. “I got eaten by a shark once!”

“Oh no,” mumbles StingRay. She is afraid of sharks. In particular, she is afraid of the kind that is so big it could eat garbage. Or a plush stingray. And not even notice that it wasn’t eating food.

“I mean,” says Plastic, correcting herself, “I nearly got eaten by a shark.”

“You did?” asks Lumphy. Because Plastic has never said a word until now.

“Well, a possible shark. A garbage-eating, ball-eating possible shark. Yes!” cries Plastic. “At the beach one time. I know all about these guys.”

She is excited to see what they look like on TV, because the one that carried her around in its mouth at the beach was not anything she got an especially good look at.

StingRay announces she is going upstairs. “It’s eight o’clock,” she says, over her shoulder. “And since eight-thirty is when I always go to sleep with Honey, I should start getting ready for bed.”

“But she’s not here. She’s at a nighttime party,” notes Lumphy.

“I don’t want to be off-schedule tomorrow,” StingRay demurs.

“Won’t you stay and watch the sharks?” asks Plastic, twirling. “The sharks are going to eat stuff with their big big teeth!”

“I wish I could, but it’s my bedtime,” says StingRay. “You have your fun.” She lurches up the steps.

On the television, an enormous fish with teeth charges through the water to eat a piece of meat that is hanging off the back of a boat.

“Hm,” says Plastic.

Now another enormous fish swims past the camera, then eats a baby seal.

“Hm,” says Plastic again.

“What?” asks Lumphy.

“I don’t want to say,” says Plastic.

“You can’t say ‘hm’ over and over without saying what you mean.”

“It’s just … it’s not the same kind of shark, I guess,” says Plastic.

“That ate you?”

“Mine had fur,” says Plastic. “And went on four legs. And it was spotty, like the beagle dogs.”

“It was furry?” asks Sheep.

“Yes. And it made that same barky noise, like the beagle dogs do.”

“Then it wasn’t a shark,” says Sheep.

“It wasn’t?”

“Sharks are fish,” explains Sheep. “I thought everybody knew that.”

They watch for a few minutes as a scientist explains that sharks do eat garbage by mistake sometimes, and that dead sharks have been found with license plates, tires, and hunks of wood inside their stomachs.

“Hm,” says Plastic.

“What?” Lumphy wants to know. “What ‘hm’?”

“I think I was eaten by a beagle dog, then,” says Plastic. “Not a shark.”

“Being eaten by a beagle dog is still scary,” says Lumphy, comfortingly.

. . . . .

Two days later, Honey comes upstairs after school holding a large package that has arrived in the mail. It is a cardboard box. The return address reads “Grandpa” and then a street name and number.

StingRay is watching from on top of the high bed with the fluffy pillows. Lumphy and Plastic are watching from a shelf. Honey plonks the box on the carpet beside her bed and kneels down to rip the tape off the outside.

Inside the box is something wrapped in bubble wrap and surrounded by small pieces of Styrofoam. Honey looks at the present but doesn’t bother to take it out right away. Instead, she grabs the top piece of bubble wrap and begins popping the bubbles with sharp snaps.

“Honey?” her mom calls up the stairs. “Shay’s dad is on the phone. He wants to know if we’d all like to go over there for the afternoon.”

Honey drops her bubble wrap, grabs her box of Barbie dolls and clothes, and runs downstairs. “Taking the silent Barbies again,” mutters StingRay.

There is a sudden movement on the floor.

The cardboard box is rocking from side to side.

It is actually hopping and jerking across the carpet like a fish out of water. And it is making a noise.

Grunk! Gru-GRUNK!

Grunk! Gru-GRUNK!

The thing that’s wrapped in bubble wrap wants to get out.

Plastic and Lumphy leap onto the high bed and cuddle up to StingRay.

Grunk! Gru-GRUNK! goes the cardboard box.

It scoots across the floor, rocking and jerking.

Grunk! Gru-GRUNK!

They can hear Styrofoam peanuts crunching and the bubbles of the bubble wrap popping.

Pippity-pop, gru-GRUNK!

Pippity-pop, gru-GRUNK!

Finally, a voice like a bugle yells from inside the box. “I got my head out. The head is out, people!”

The toys look at one another.

The voice continues: “Anyone here with hands or teeth? Hands or teeth, anyone?”

Lumphy has teeth. But he doesn’t mention them. He is not feeling very tough and brave, somehow.

StingRay can do a lot with her flippers; they are almost like hands—but she doesn’t mention them, either.

The bugle voice comes again. “The kid left me tied up in here.”

Silence.

Plastic is relieved that she doesn’t have any hands or teeth like the cardboard box is asking for.

“I don’t think they’re supposed to do that, are they?” the voice goes on. “They usually take you out and play with you, right?”

The one-eared sheep rolls across the carpet and sniffs the box. “Did you say something about teeth?” she asks, dimly.

“Teeth! Yeah. Anyone with teeth?”

“I don’t hear very well,” explains Sheep. “It’s my ear, you see. I lost it.”

“I can’t see your missing ear. I can’t see jack!” yells the thing in the box.

“I have teeth,” Sheep tells it. “Once, I went outside and there was actual grass and I chewed it when Honey wasn’t looking. I even got some clover, I think. Actual grass, can you believe it?”

“Fantastic!” yells the thing in the box.

Sheep pokes her nose into the bubble wrap. She begins to chew on the tape that surrounds whatever is inside.

The thing in the box holds still.

Lumphy, StingRay, and Plastic watch from the bed as Sheep chews, rhythmically.

She chews for a long time.

The thing in the box doesn’t speak.

When she is done, the one-eared sheep burps. “Tape is sweet,” she says to herself. “I wouldn’t have thought it.”

Sheep is not curious about what is in the box because she has forgotten why she began chewing. Fatigued by her efforts, she rolls away under the bed and is asleep almost before she gets there.

The toy mice are hiding and nowhere to be found. The box is still.

Lumphy is looking for his courage. He whispers to himself, “I am a toughy little buffalo. A toughy buffalo. A toughy. A buffy. A tough-a-buff.”

“You’re a what?” StingRay asks him.

“A tough-a-buff.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m tough and brave. And I’m going down to see what’s in the box. Are you coming with me?”

“I was going anyway,” StingRay lies. “I was waiting for Sheep to be finished.”

But while they’ve been discussing, up on the high bed, the plump mouse Bonkers has scooted over to the box. “It was nice to Sheep, right?” he calls to Lumphy. “So I’m going to say hello!”

“Okay,” calls Lumphy, still on the bed. “You go for it.”

Bonkers creeps to the top of the box. “Sheep is finished with your tape, I think! You can come out now.”

The cardboard box gives a tremendous whump!

And then

Grunk! Gru-GRUNK!

Grunk! Gru-GRUNK!

Out from the crunching, popping bubble wrap emerges

a large

gray

rubber

hollow

toothy

garbage-eating

fearsome fiend of the briny deep

great

white

shark.

Ahhhhhhhh!

Plastic bounces at top speed out of Honey’s room and down the stairs. Lumphy and StingRay leap off the foot of the bed and follow. Hardly even caring if the people are home (although they are not; they have gone to Shay’s), the toys run to the kitchen—

Rumpa lumpa, rumpa lumpa.

Frrrrrr, frrrrrr.

Boing, boing, boing!

Around through the pantry,

eeeeerrrrrrr—

and down another flight of stairs.

Rumpa lumpa, rumpa lumpa.

Fwap! Gobble-a gobble-a.

Fwap! Gobble-a gobble-a.

Boing, boing, boing!

Bonk!

Into the basement, where the shark will not find them.

. . . . .

StingRay has never been in the basement before. Plastic was there once, when Honey’s mother repaired her with industrial-strength tape, and Lumphy (who gets dirty a lot) comes down often to visit Frank, the washing machine.

StingRay is almost more scared of the dusty, spidery corners of the basement than she is of the garbage-eating shark.

But not quite. The three toys skitter across the cold floor and leap into a laundry basket filled with dad-clothes. They hide under a pair of pajamas and listen for the Grunk! Gru-GRUNK!

But the basement is quiet.

And still quiet.

Until Frank talks.

“Lumphy!” he cries. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

“Hi, Frank.” Lumphy peeks his head out. Still no shark.

“Don’t be shy, little buffalo,” says Frank. “I can see your friends under there, and I’ve guessed your plan.”

“You have?” asks Lumphy. Because he has no plan.

“It’s a party, right?” Frank says gleefully. “That’s why you brought your little pals.”

Lumphy is so surprised he doesn’t answer.

“My first-ever party,” Frank continues. “I can’t believe you thought to surprise me. Is there gonna be cake?”

“Rarrrahh,” says the Dryer, a dusty brown contraption next to Frank.

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport,” Frank snaps at her. “It is too a party. Lumphy, you shouldn’t have. A party all for me?”

The Dryer grunts.

“It could be for you, too,” concedes Frank. “But I thought you said you didn’t think it was a party.”

“Roorgaah.”

“Fine. Don’t be logical. Lumphy!” Frank calls. “How do we start? I’ve never been to a party before.”

Lumphy is going to explain that they are escaping from a shark, not arriving at a party at all, when Frank interrupts: “Me and the Dryer—we’re both just thrilled.”

Lumphy can’t bear to tell them the truth. “We were trying to get a real cake,” he fibs. “But we could only get an imaginary one. It’s right there in front of you. Chocolate peanut-butter mocha vanilla banana flavor, with frosting roses.”

Plastic catches on. “It’s a party!” she yells, bouncing out of the laundry basket and hopping onto Frank’s lid. “Happy party, everybody!”

“That’s Plastic,” explains Lumphy. “And this is StingRay.”

StingRay, still hidden under dad-pajamas, sticks one flipper out and waves.

“Party!” yells Plastic. “Party, party, party!”

“You can come out, StingRay,” says Frank. And then, about the Dryer, “I know she’s not much to look at, but she doesn’t bite.”

“Hrmph,” says the Dryer, offended.

“A joke, a joke,” Frank tells her. “You know I think you’re beautiful.”

“StingRay is scared of basements,” says Lumphy. “Do you think you could sing her a song, Frank? Because then she wouldn’t be scared, and you’re such a good singer, it would really add to the party.”

“Of course,” booms Frank. “And I know there are some towels here who won’t want to miss the chance to back me up. Towels, wake up! We’re gonna sing!”

A pile of folded purple towels, sitting on top of the dryer, awake from the slumber in which they spend the largest part of every day.

“What’s going on?” asks one.

“Frank wants us to sing,” explains another.

“Frank is all the time singing,” complains a third. “Hey. Is that the ball we see sometimes in the bathroom?”

“Yeah,” answers the first. “The Girl’s ball.”

“I thought I recognized her.”

“Just freestyle it with me, okay?” begs Frank. “Sing backup.”

“We’re always your backup,” mutters the second towel. “You never ask if any of us wants to sing lead, do you?”

But Frank isn’t listening. Instead, his big beautiful voice is belting out:

“StingRay, wing-ray,

We all stand up and

SING-ray!

StingRay, fling-ray,

What a special

Thing-ray!

Sing it out loud!

Sing it out,

Sting it out!

Singy, Stingy,

Wingy, Thingy,

Stingy, sting,

StingRAY!”

The towels are humming and oooh oooh oohing, and when Frank sings it all over again, some of them do harmonies. It is very impressive.

During the repeat, StingRay comes out from underneath the dad-pajamas and claps her flippers together. Lumphy is dancing, wagging his tail stump and shaking his buffalo body. Plastic is bouncing.

By the third time through, Frank’s lights are blinking and he’s tilting slightly back and forth. StingRay is tossing her tail around and jumping on the clothes in the laundry basket, while Plastic has added an extra spin to her rhythmic bounce.

“Dance party! Dance party!” Plastic screams.

And it is.

They follow “The StingRay Song” with “Greasy Little Buffalo.” Then a number called “Love Train,” which Frank and the towels know from the radio. StingRay wraps her flippers around Plastic and they roll together in circles on the dusty basement floor. Frank bangs his lid up and down and the towels shimmy their corners as much as towelly possible. Then StingRay grabs Lumphy’s paw and they wiggle and kick and swish their backsides while Plastic bounces so high she hits the basement ceiling.

Finally, everyone collapses in exhaustion; even Plastic.

The music over, they sit around happily chatting and eating slices of the imaginary chocolate peanut-butter mocha vanilla banana cake, with frosting roses for all. StingRay puts her flipper around Plastic and says, “You see? There’s nothing to be frightened of in the basement. It may be dark and dusty, but it’s perfectly safe.”

“I know,” says Plastic.

“I mean, it might be scary for the mice,” says StingRay, “because they’re small and the washer and dryer are so big, but it’s not scary for larger toys like you and me.”

Oh no.

Suddenly, Plastic remembers.

The mice! Bonkers, Millie, Brownie, and Rocky. “We left them upstairs with the shark,” she says, in a small voice.

“What?”

“We left Sheep up there, too.”

“Huh?”

“With the shark.”

StingRay is aghast. “Oh, they’re going to be so mad.”

“If they’re …” Plastic can’t quite say what she’s thinking.

“If they’re what?”

“Um. If they’re still alive.”

“It’s eating them right now!” StingRay cries. “It thinks they’re garbage!

We left them there to get eaten

while we had a dance party!

I can’t believe it.

We’re horrible friends.

Horrible!

I hate myself,” moans StingRay. “Lumphy, stop talking to the towels. We have to go! The shark is eating Sheep and the mice!”

Lumphy takes in the situation and feels like he might throw up, even though he doesn’t even eat. “What should we do?” he asks.

“Oh, the poor mice!” continues StingRay, ignoring his question. “Shoved into a shark stomach

with bits of cardboard

and sour-milk smell;

chewed into tiny bits of mouse mixed with

green beans

and things with mold on them …

Ooooh, that’s it!” StingRay waves her flipper, inspired. “Garbage. We need garbage.”

“How come?” Plastic wants to know.

“It’s a garbage-eating shark, right?”

“Right.”

“So if we stuff it full of garbage, at least it won’t be able to eat anyone else,” explains StingRay. “Come on!”

. . . . .

There is no time to be secretive. Lumphy, StingRay, and Plastic dash upstairs to the kitchen and open the cabinet under the sink. Lumphy pulls with his teeth and StingRay yanks with her flippers and together they grab the plastic garbage bag and drag it out of its bin. Grunting and huffing, they lug it up the stairs while Plastic bounces at top speed into Honey’s bedroom.

There she finds the shark on one corner of the rug, right next to Sheep and Bonkers. It looks as if it’s about to eat them! And where are the other mice? Oh dear, oh dearie, it is too late!

Plastic takes a good hard bounce on the floor and launches herself at the shark, hitting it hard on its back. Ooof! “Take that, you mouse-eater!” she yells.

Still waiting for Lumphy and StingRay to get up the stairs with the garbage, she retreats briefly, then bounces the shark again.

“Ouch,” the shark says as Plastic readies herself for a third bounce. “Would you back off for a minute, roundie?”

“You big mean mouse-eater!” cries Plastic, and she bounces it again, ooof!—this time knocking the shark off its tummy and onto its side.

“Hey!” it yells. “Mind your manners!”

Sheep and Bonkers rush to safety underneath Highlander, just as StingRay and Lumphy struggle in with the bag of trash.

“Sit on it, Lumphy!” cries StingRay. “Hold it down!”

Lumphy (very bravely) launches himself onto the body of the weakened rubber shark, pinning it to the floor with his forefeet and holding it down with his bottom while StingRay grabs bits of garbage from the bag and shoves them into the shark’s hollow insides.

Spluurk! In goes an orange peel.

Splot! A used tissue.

Spluurk! Another orange peel.

The shark is struggling and tossing its head, snapping its jaws, but Plastic gives it a hard bounce on the nose and StingRay keeps shoveling in the garbage.

A wet coffee filter.

Moldy blueberries.

A rubber band.

A half-eaten pancake.

Old tofu.

Soggy lettuce.

An unwanted carrot.

All of it goes into the hollow shark until it can’t hold any more and its jaws are wedged open.

“There!” cries StingRay. “Now you can’t eat any more mice!”

“Ngggaagaarrrice,” says the shark with its mouth full.

“The bedroom is safe!” StingRay calls out to Sheep and whatever mice have survived. “You can come out now. If we work together we can all tie the shark down with some yarn before Honey gets home from her playdate.”

Sheep rolls out slowly from beneath Highlander.

She is followed by Bonkers. And Millie.

And Brownie.

And Rocky.

They are all there. All four mice.

“Oh. Um. Hi,” says StingRay.

“I thought you were eaten,” says Plastic.

“We saved you!” StingRay announces, standing on her tail and waving her dirty flippers around. “We didn’t run away, like maybe it seemed like we did; we didn’t run away or go to a dance party. Oh, ha!” She chuckles to herself. “Like we would have a dance party at a time like this, heh heh.”

“Excuse me,” says Sheep, agitated. “If Lumphy keeps sitting on my new friend, how can we have our chewing club?”

“What new friend?” snaps StingRay.

“What club?” wonders Lumphy.

“While you guys were gone, we invented it,” explains Sheep. “Me, the shark, and Bonkers. Remember how I chewed the grass that one time when I went outside? And I chewed a shoelace before, too. And she”—Sheep gestures with her lone ear at the shark—“she only just got here and already she’s done cardboard and bubble wrap. So we thought we’d have a club.” Sheep looks at the shark, underneath Lumphy, its mouth stuffed with garbage. “But if you keep doing that to her, I don’t know if it’s going to work out.”

“I just now did a bit of cardboard!” cries Bonkers. “I did. I chewed it. Do you want to see?” He scurries over to the box and shows them a tiny nibble. “So I can join the club, too!”

“I didn’t even know he had teeth,” whispers StingRay to Lumphy.

“Yeah, they’ve all got teeth,” says Lumphy, who is still sitting on the shark. “Just tiny mouse ones.”

“Oh,” says StingRay, who doesn’t have any teeth at all.

“Geewi Gugu Gorgareerrica,” says the shark.

“Oh, right!” cries Bonkers. “It’s gonna be called the Chewing Society of North America. Great name, huh?”

Lumphy wants clarification. “You mean, the two of you are in a chewing club with. Um. Her?” He points with his nose to the shark underneath his bottom.

Sheep nods.

“It was the shark’s idea,” explains Bonkers. “ ’Cause sharks are naturally good at chewing. We’re gonna make a list of all the stuff we want to chew, too. It’s called the List of Chewables. Great name, huh? We’re going to start with a sock. Because nobody will notice if a sock is missing. People lose socks all the time, right?”

“Oh no,” says Plastic. “I think we made a mistake.”

“Don’t be hasty,” says StingRay. “Let me get this clear. Sheep, did this shark attempt to eat you?”

Sheep shakes her head.

“Did it try to eat the mice?”

Sheep shakes her head again.

“It was only chewing, not eating?”

Sheep nods.

“Everyone up here was fine, all this time, and you were just sitting around forming clubs together and not even wondering what happened to us?”

“Yes,” answers Sheep.

StingRay glares at Plastic. “You told me she was eating everybody! You told me they probably weren’t even still alive.”

“Oops!” says Plastic, bouncing lightly. She rolls over to the shark. “Hello. My name is Plastic. And I’m not a roundie, I’m a ball. I’m made of rubber, like you.”

The shark doesn’t reply.

“And um. I am sorry I bounced you,” Plastic continues. “I am sorry I bounced you a lot of times, actually.”

Nothing from the shark.

“I just. I got almost eaten one time by a beagle dog and I got really, really scared when you started with that Gru-GRUNK that you do. You know how you go?”

The shark nods, a very tiny nod.

“I think I don’t understand chewing,” Plastic goes on. “Because I don’t have a mouth, or any teeth. Because of being a ball. That’s normal for a ball, not to have those things. I can smell, though,” she adds. “And see and hear. Even though I don’t know how I do them!”

She is expecting the shark to express interest, because really, what she just said is very interesting, but the shark only twitches. She seems quite weak, now that Plastic looks at her, as if maybe she is choking on all that garbage.

The shark disgorges a small bit of soggy lettuce from her mouth.

“Um. Lumphy?” says Plastic. “I think you should stop sitting on our new friend.”

“Oh.” Lumphy had forgotten where he was. He climbs off the shark. “We should probably take the garbage out of her,” he says, thoughtfully.

“Fine,” says StingRay. She rears up on her tail, grabs the shark with her flippers, and begins shaking it over the plastic garbage bag.

Unwanted carrot.

Soggy lettuce.

Old tofu.

Pancake.

Rubber band.

Blueberries.

Coffee filter.

Orange peel.

Used tissue.

More orange peel.

When the shark is empty, StingRay drags her down the hall to the bathroom, while Lumphy shoves the trash bag under Honey’s bed. Then together they turn on the bath, put in a plug, and run some water.

The limp, exhausted shark doesn’t say a word.

When the water is deep, they add some bubble bath and put her in. The soapy water runs into the shark’s hollow cavity and washes out all the leftover bits of garbage.

The shark revives. She begins to swim the length of the bathtub, swishing her thick tail with only her top fin sticking out into the air. It is exactly the way the sharks swam on Fearsome Fiends of the Briny Deep—but Lumphy doesn’t tell that to StingRay, even though it sends a shiver across his back.

When the shark is clean, they drain the water and dry her off in TukTuk’s warm folds.

“I’m really really really sorry,” says Plastic again, rolling to meet them as they reenter Honey’s bedroom.

The shark coughs once and then asks, “You a floater?”

“Why, yes, I am!” says Plastic, pleased.

“All right then,” the shark says, gruffly. “Any floater is a friend of mine.”

“I’m sorry, too,” says Lumphy. “It was a bad mistake.”

“What are you, bison or buffalo?” asks the shark.

“Buffalo,” Lumphy answers.

“What’s the difference?”

Lumphy shrugs. He doesn’t actually know. He has never heard of a bison.

“Ha! Just kidding you. There’s no difference. Bison, buffalo. It’s the same thing!” The shark laughs and turns its eyes to StingRay. “Yes?”

StingRay looks away. “I um …”

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

StingRay squirms. “I like the way you swim,” she finally says.

“Yah, well. It comes natural when you’re a fish,” says the shark.

StingRay is mortified. She is a fish. But swimming doesn’t come naturally to her, because she’s made of plush, not rubber.

“Are you gonna say sorry?” asks the shark. “Or not? Because I think I am owed an apology here, and to be honest, I’ve had a rotten day.”

The word sticks in StingRay’s throat, but she chokes it out. “Sorry.”

And once it has been said, she is surprised to find that she feels a whole lot better. Like she has been holding her breath—if she had breath—and has now, after a long time, exhaled.

“Apology accepted,” says the shark. “Now, can anyone recommend a piece of wood or an old bit of junk no one cares about in this place? Because I could really use something to chew.”