“Let me get this straight,” said Bongo. “You’re afraid of flash—?”
“Shh,” HairySpiders hissed. “We try not to say that word around him.”
“So what do you actually call him?” Agnes asked.
“He answers to ‘Flash,’” HairySpiders explained.
“Well, Flash,” said Bongo, “you understand the drill, right? You pretend to be dead. You guys are good at that, right?”
Flash nodded excitedly. “Opossums are the best dead pretenders in the world.”
“So you play dead, Samar and Stephen see you as they’re coming home from school—”
“We’re hoping they come home at about the same time today,” I interrupted.
“—and they freak out,” Bongo continued, “see the cute little maybe-dead baby, talk about what to do—”
“Are you certain this is safe?” asked HairySpiders. “I’m feeling a little faint just thinking about it.”
“We’ll all be watching. And Stephen and Samar are smart kids,” I reassured her. “They’ll know not to touch a sick animal.”
“So they go get their parents, call a wildlife rescue place or maybe a vet, and while they’re busy,” Bongo continued, “little Flashli—er, Flash—runs back to his den. Samar and Stephen come back out, have a good laugh about the vanishing opossum, maybe the parents even get to talking—“
“I really think You would do a better job,” BigYou complained. “She’s a born actor. Or You or You.”
“This has been officially decided,” Bongo said firmly. “We flipped the penny, remember?”
“Just saying,” BigYou muttered.
Down the street, the school dismissal bell rang. “Places, everyone!” Bongo urged.
“This is totally going to work,” I said.
“This is totally going to fail,” Bongo said at the very same instant.
25
“And action!” Bongo whispered.
Little Flash waddled out to the middle of the lawn.
He lay down on his side and curled up. He closed his eyes. He drew back his lips, revealing tiny, needle-sharp teeth.
“Perfect,” Bongo said.
“Try foaming at the mouth, dear,” HairySpiders called.
Down the street, we could see Stephen approaching. Luckily, Samar was just a few yards behind him.
Flash leapt up. “How am I doing, Ma?”
“Wonderfully, my baby,” said HairySpiders. “Mommy’s so proud of her little bitty opossum!”
“BE DEAD!” Bongo cried.
“Oh, yeah.” Flash shrugged. “I kinda forgot, Aunt Bongo.”
“I’m not your aunt,” Bongo said. “I’m not even a member of your species.”
“Well, that doesn’t really matter,” I chided.
“BE DEAD!” Bongo cried again.
Flash hiccuped.
“Oh, my,” said HairySpiders. “He does that when he’s nervous.”
“How come I can’t be dead, Mom?” asked RosePetal.
“NEWBIES, QUIET!” Bongo commanded. “FLASH, STOP HICCUPING, DUDE!”
“Here they come!” I whispered. “Stephen and Samar!”
The hiccups got louder.
“FLASHLIGHT!” Bongo said. “NOW!”
“Don’t call him that!” his mother cried.
Flashlight froze. He stopped hiccuping. Foam dripped from his mouth. His half-open eyes were glazed and unseeing.
“The works!” Bongo whispered. “Brilliant!”
Stephen found Flash first. Samar was close behind.
“What should we do?” Stephen asked.
Success, I thought. They were actually talking to each other.
“Don’t touch it,” said Samar. “It might be rabid. Or it could just be playing dead. I read that opossums will do that.”
“I’ll go get my mom. Maybe she can call someone.”
“Sounds good,” said Samar.
To my disappointment, Stephen and Samar nodded at each other and promptly went into their separate houses.
And once again, that was that.
All that work, for just a few moments of conversation?
How, exactly, did people make friends? How hard could it be?
Still, I reminded myself, Stephen and Samar had spoken to each other. And that was a good first step, wasn’t it?
“Flash?” Bongo called. “Time to go back to your den, buddy. Before they come back.”
Flash remained frozen in a little opossum ball.
“Flash?” I called.
“Flash? Baby?” HairySpiders yelled.
“Oh, my,” said BigYou. “I don’t think your baby’s acting.”
“My baby! My precious Flash!” cried HairySpiders, and Flash’s brothers and sisters began to wail.
“You really should have used one of my Yous,” BigYou said.
“FLASH! STOP BEING DEAD!” Bongo yelled. She hopped over to Flash and gently poked him with her beak.
“How dare you peck my son!” HairySpiders yelled. “Flash! I’ll save you, baby!”
HairySpiders dashed out of her hollow, scrambled down my trunk, and promptly fainted.
“Oh, great,” said Bongo. “Just fantastic. Like mother, like son. What now, Wise Old Tree?”
“You grab Flash,” I instructed. “FreshBakedBread and BigYou, can you rescue HairySpiders? Pull her over to Fresh’s den, under the porch.”
“HairySpiders called my children ‘boisterous,’” BigYou said.
“BigYou said my children stink,” FreshBakedBread said.
Over two centuries of life, and I’d hardly ever raised my voice.
This was one of those times.
“NOW!” I commanded, just as the door to Stephen’s house opened.
You’d be surprised how fast raccoons and skunks can be when they’re motivated.
26
Stephen and his mother eventually gave up trying to find the mysterious baby opossum. Samar watched them from her living room window, but she didn’t venture out.
After about an hour, HairySpiders and Flashlight woke up and returned, on wobbly legs, to their den.
And that was that. Again.
“Don’t worry,” I told Bongo. “Third time’s a charm.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just something people say.”
“Charm,” Bongo sneered. “Did you know that’s what people call a bunch of hummingbirds?”
“No, actually.”
“Hummingbirds! Which, let’s face it, are pretty much just overdressed flies. But a bunch of us crows together, guess what we get to be called?”
“What?”
“A murder! A murder of crows! Can you believe it? A bunch of trees, you’re a grove. A bunch of raccoons? A gaze.” Bongo flapped her wings. “But crows? We’re a murder.”
“Are you quite finished?” I asked.
“Sorry. I’m worried about you. And I get grumpy when I’m worried.” Bongo plucked out a piece of new grass and tossed it aside.
“I have one more plan to get Samar and Stephen talking,” I said.
“How about a plan to get you not turned into a picnic table?”
“I can’t control everything in life, Bongo,” I said gently. “And if I could, what fun would that be? But this little thing. This wish of Samar’s. I can make it happen.” I hesitated. “At least, I think I can.”
“I don’t understand why this matters so much to you.”
“She reminds me of a little girl I knew a long time ago.”
“You’re a buttinsky,” said Bongo wearily. “But I love you anyway.”
She looked at me with something like the crow version of a smile—beak open, head cocked, eyes gleaming. “So what’s Plan Number Three?”
27
Once night had fallen, I sent Bongo on her next mission.
“All you have to do is untie Samar’s wish,” I instructed.