I tried to look contrite. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. This last night of our course is the test. I’ll do it all when I get home at five.”
“You and Paul were supposed to move the recycling bins on the weekend. You forgot about that too. The workmen are putting a fence through there tomorrow, Lisa, so they have to be moved tonight.”
I groaned inwardly. I had at least two hours of homework as well. I was trying hard not to daydream in school this year. If I worked hard, I’d have good marks going into grade seven. It seemed I was an incurable day dreamer. But, if I couldn’t daydream in school, then I had to have time to do it at home. Didn’t grown-ups understand that?
“Oh yeah, I forgot. Okay, I’ll do that too.” I mustered a weak smile to show I would really try hard not to forget.
Dr. Ferguson glanced over my head at Mom. His look softened. He stepped aside as I latched my helmet over my head, jumped on my bike, and headed down the driveway.
“Li . . . sa,” he called out with a sigh, “Roper’s following you. You forgot to tie him up.”
CHAPTER 2
I punched the pillow into a ball behind my head and switched on the reading lamp. This was my favorite time of the day. I could usually manage to read for a couple of hours after going to bed. Mom used to check on me in the past, but not any more.
Tonight I was tired, but pleased with myself. I’d missed only one question on the test for my baby-sitter certificate. I said the first thing you check when a baby cries is to see whether it’s hungry. But the instructor said you’re to check for an open diaper pin. I didn’t know anyone still used diaper pins. Besides, I had no intention of baby-sitting anyone in diapers. Changing diapers is just not my idea of fun. I’d taken the course so that I could baby-sit our neighbor’s little girl. Between that and working in the clinic, I could maybe save enough for a computer.
Paul had ridden over after the class to help me move the re-cycling bins. Then I’d done the chores and afterwards my two hours of homework. I’d even had time to take Roper for that promised walk.
I began to read my book. As I turned a page, a paw nudged my elbow which is Roper’s way of saying, “Please, may I come up?”
I patted the bed. “Come on.”
He leapt up and wiggled over me, giving me a slurp on the face in passing. Sniffing at the blankets, he pawed them and turned around slowly at least three times before snuggling down, his back against my leg. Why do dogs turn around so many times before they lie down? Someday I’m going to figure out the answer to that question.
After a few minutes of reading I began yawning. It had been a long day. Tomorrow was Saturday and I could read then. Turning my reading lamp off, I closed my eyes, my hand on Roper’s back.
Have you ever been awakened by a dog snoring? My bedside clock glowed 3:00 a.m. I shoved Roper as he grunted and snuffled and twitched, no doubt dreaming of a battle with Tiffy. Realizing my bedroom ceiling light was still on, I sleepily stumbled to the door to switch it off.
The need to cross back to bed in the dark woke me up completely. Perhaps it’s silly, but I’ve always imagined something living under my bed, lurking, just waiting to grab a foot. Normally, I take a flying leap from the middle of the room to land on top of the bed. That way, my feet can’t be grabbed from under the bed.
I stopped, poised, in the middle of the darkened room. What if I landed on Roper and squashed him? I was tiptoeing towards the bed, when I heard a noise outside the window. With under-the-bed monster jitters in my brain, it’s a wonder I didn’t scream at the top of my lungs. But I didn’t . . . for there was something vaguely familiar about the sound. The blind prevented me from seeing out.
“Li . . . sa,” a mechanical voice chimed faintly through the window.
It couldn’t be! I silently tiptoed to the window, listening. Roper whined uneasily in the dark.
“Sh . . . sh . . .” I whispered, “it’s okay.” I cautiously pulled the blind down to release the spring, then let it up a bit and peeked underneath.
Gagar! Just as I’d thought. In my excitement I let the blind go whirling to the top with a loud SNAP.
Gagar’s squat little body looked as alien as ever with his large bald head and enormous, unblinking eyes, but I wasn’t scared. He was an old friend. I tugged at the old window. Groaning, it finally slid upwards.
Something rustled behind me. Moonlight washed over the bed. Roper, who must have decided this whole scene wasn’t for him, was belly-crawling under the blankets towards the foot of the bed. Only the tip of his tail stuck out. He stopped at the bottom, a quivering lump.
“It’s okay, Roper,” I whispered, “it’s only Gagar from the planet Ylepithon. He won’t hurt us.”
Roper’s tail moved once to acknowledge that he’d heard me, but he stayed where he was, secure under the blankets.
Forcing the window as high as it would go, I stuck my head out. Gagar was standing on the sloping red roof, his hands on his hips. Tangled wires led from what must have been his ears, along his arms and legs to the little box attached at his waist with a belt of racing colored lights. The softly glowing dome of the spaceship lit up the lawn below.
“I didn’t think you’d ever come back. I’m sorry about the fleas last year—how they all got away and stuff.”
The little box tinkled with laughter. “Not a problem, not a problem. Sometimes when things don’t work out, it’s for the best, as this was.”
“It was?” I asked. I’d been feeling kind of bad all year, thinking we’d let Gagar down.
“Yes, when our mission failed here, we decided to try another solar system. We found the planet Tular, where the fleas can jump a half a kilometre high. Imagine having that much power for our flea capacitors.”
“Wow,” I gasped, trying to imagine what such super fleas would do to Roper.
He chortled. “They’d make mincemeat out of Roper, I’m afraid.”
I’d almost forgotten that Gagar could read my mind. Did he know everything about me, I wondered nervously? Did he read all my thoughts?
“No, I’m much too busy. I only pick up things that concern me,” his box answered, the intrusion making me jump.
“Your flea capacitor quit on you prematurely. Let me see it please,” Gagar’s translator box blipped. I fumbled with the chain around my neck until the clasp came apart and handed the golden grasshopper to Gagar. He stared at it intently, turning it over and over in his hand.
“Just as I suspected. This flea capacitor was not made on Ylepithon. It is of inferior quality. Our neighboring planet produces cheap imitations. Somehow this one got mixed in with ours.” He chuckled. “You were lucky to land in a haystack.
“I will replace this with our new, improved version which my mate is designing at present, and you will truly be able to fly for the rest of your life.”
I put my hand out. “No, I . . . I think I just want to keep this one to remind me of the wonderful flights I had last year.”
Gagar dropped the golden grasshopper in my hand. “But I thought you wished to fly.”
“I did . . . I do . . . but . . . but . . . I’m getting too old for it.”
Gagar