What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?

Jixemitri CWP #4

Author’s note:

This story is a sequel to “All I Want For Christmas.” If you haven’t read that, you may want to. This story plays on several gags in earlier stories in the Here and Now Universe, such as “Boys Will Be Boys.”

Mart Belden wearily plopped down in his seat at the kitchen table. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked around for any signs of intelligent life. The only other person in the room was his little brother, Bobby, who was noisily slurping down his “norange” juice.

Nope, no intelligent life whatsoever, Mart thought grumpily.

“Mornin’, Mart,” Bobby cheerfully greeted. The six-year old fed Reddy a bite of his biscuit, and then popped the remaining bit into his own mouth.

Mart stared at his youngest sibling in disgust. “That’s really gross, Bobby. You shouldn’t take a bite of something after Reddy has slobbered all over it.”

“Why not?” Bobby asked with a shrug. “Me an’ Reddy is bestest friends. We share ev’rything. Even our germs.” He happily smiled, revealing his two new grownup teeth that had popped through the day after Christmas.

“Where’s Moms?”

“Don’t worry.” Bobby grinned knowingly. “Even though Moms ain’t here, she lefted yer breafesk in the oven.”

Mart jumped up and opened the oven door. Sure enough, there were two plates in the oven with aluminum foil wrapped over them. He grabbed some oven mitts and pulled one of the plates out. After transferring the bacon, scrambled eggs, and biscuits to a cool plate, he poured a large glass of milk. He sat back down at the table and happily munched on a slice of bacon.

“So, where’s everybody else?” he questioned between bites of food.

“Moms wented to Crimpers to exchange some ugly junk she gotted for Chris’mas. Dad’s at work. Brian’s in the shower ‘cuz Jim is comin’ over an’ they’re gonna do stuff. And Trixie’s sleepin’ ‘cuz she’s a lazy squaw,” Bobby informed him with a grin.

Mart slathered some butter and strawberry jam on his flaky biscuit. “So, how, perchance, was I so auspicious as to acquire the fellowship of my most pernicious sibling? Dare I fantasize that you will bid adieu to our humble domicile and retreat elsewhere for the New Year’s festivities?”

“I ain’t ‘xactly sure whatcha mean, but if you was askin’ why I’m still here, it’s ‘cuz Moms couldn’t take me to Crimpers on ‘count that I sorta did somethin’ bad there last time.”

Mart lifted a sandy brow in query. “What did you do this time? Did you get your shoelaces caught in the escalator again, and they had to shut it down for an hour to free you?”

Bobby shook his head. “No, it was even worser than that. After Thanksgiving some saleslady was standin’ on a huuuge ladder hangin’ ornyments on that honkin’ big tree by the door,” he explained cheerfully. “I actually knockded her off the ladder, and she gotted real mad. She hollered at me reeeeally loud while the ambulance taked her away. Mr. Crimper tolded Moms to keep me away, at least till Mrs. Pritt gets her casts off.

“An’ Brian already tolded me that I can’t go with him an’ Jim to chop wood, ‘cuz last time I almost choppded off Reddy’s tail. An’ as soon as I finish my breafesk, I’m gonna go upstairs an’ wake Trixie up. Moms said since you all wasn’t doin’ nuthin’ ‘portant, you could watch me till she gotted home.”

“Sorry small fry, but Esquire Mangan and I will be departing to the home of Mrs. Gertrude Vanderpoel to assist Tad Webster in his New Year’s Eve Party preliminaries,” Mart announced.

Bobby stuck his lower lip out and ever-so slightly made it quiver. “An’ you don’t want me to holp ya?”

“Alas, you cannot, my puerile comrade. Methinks it would be much more beneficial for you to remain here.”

“Plee-ease, Mart?” Bobby begged. “I won’t bug ya. I’ll just go see ol’ Brom an’ eat windmill cookies.”

“I said no,” Mart replied firmly.

Bobby’s pout turned into a devilish grin as he remembered the silvery object in his pocket. Quick as a wink, he whipped out his brand new handcuffs that he’d gotten for Christmas, and clasped one end on Mart’s wrist and the other on his own hand. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

“Bobby! Take these off right now!” Mart ordered.

“I can’t,” Bobby replied innocently, batting his baby blues. “I losted the key.”

Mart laughed. “You’re lying. I can tell.”

“Am not,” Bobby said with a scowl. He slowly moved his hand over his pocket protectively.

“Are too,” Mart argued. “And if you don’t take these off right this minute, I’m going to yell for Brian to bring me the sock.”

Bobby gulped nervously. “The sock?”

“Yes, the sock.” Mart folded his arms and grinned in satisfaction at the fear in Bobby’s eyes. “And believe me, I’ve been sweating a whole lot more in gym class the past few weeks, so that sock’s even nastier now than it was last time I shoved it in your mouth.”

Bobby sulked, but obediently retrieved the tiny key out of the pocket of his jeans. He remembered all too vividly what Mart’s smelly, putrefied gym sock had tasted like when it had been shoved in his mouth last time.

Mart rubbed his wrists after Bobby had freed him. Suddenly, that devilish Johnson grin split his face. “You know Bobster, you don’t need to go to Mrs. V’s to have fun. What you ought to do is…” and he leaned over and whispered the makings of a sinister plan into his little brother’s ear. Bobby giggled and rubbed his chubby hands together in wicked anticipation.

Mart finished his breakfast, rinsed his plate, and placed it in the sink. Feeling quite proud of himself, he went upstairs to see if Brian was out of the shower. If not, he could bang on the bathroom door to hurry his older brother along.

Bobby hid under the kitchen table out of sight, and tried his best to stifle his giggles as he waited for his sister to come downstairs. He wasn’t disappointed. Just a few minutes later, he heard Trixie clumping down the stairs.

“Moms left you some breakfast in the oven,” Bobby heard Mart call from the other room.

“You actually saved it for me?” Trixie asked sleepily.

“You cut me deep, Trix,” Mart moaned. “I can’t believe you’d actually accuse me of stealing food from my own sister. What kind of brother do you think I am?” His voice faded as Bobby heard more stomping up the stairs.

“The greedy kind,” Trixie muttered as she staggered in the kitchen. She cheered slightly as she inhaled the delicious aroma of Moms’ thick-sliced, hickory-smoked bacon. She grabbed a potholder and retrieved the plate out of the oven.

After what seemed like an eternity to one little boy, Trixie finally sat down at the kitchen table. Bobby, quiet as a mouse, clasped the handcuff on his own wrist. Just as he was reaching for her wrist, he was interrupted by a knock at the back door. She jumped up quickly to answer it. Bobby scowled momentarily, but then an even more devious plan formed in his mind. He choked back a giggle and unlocked the handcuffs from his own wrist. He quickly stuffed the key back into his pocket, as best as he could from a seated position.

Meanwhile, Trixie flung open the door, in her best Trixie-style, to see Jim standing there. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the cold, and he was rubbing his freckled hands together in an effort to keep warm. His hunter green parka emphasized the emerald hue of his eyes, and when he grinned at her, Trixie thought for sure that she’d faint. She had to catch her breath at the woodsy sight before her.

Trixie flushed in embarrassment and ran a hand through her mass of messy ringlets in an unsuccessful effort to tame them a bit. “Good morning, Jim,” she greeted.

Jim’s heart fluttered as he gazed at the picture Trixie made in her snowman pajamas. Her sandy curls were tousled, and his favorite one was dangling in the middle of her forehead, just begging to be tugged. Her china blue eyes sparkled and her cheeks were rosy. He gulped nervously. “Hey, Trix. Is Brian around?”

“I think he’s finishing up in the shower,” she answered. “He should be down any minute.” She nervously stepped aside, allowing Jim to enter the warm kitchen. “C’mon in. Moms made some yummy biscuits this morning. I think there’s some left. And, if you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll share my bacon with you.”

Jim smiled as he bent 0ver to take off his boots. “Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he said, shaking the snow out of his russet hair. He sat down at the table to Trixie’s left and snatched a piece of crispy bacon off her plate.

Trixie pulled a plate out of the cupboard. After handing it to Jim, she opened the refrigerator. “Milk or orange juice?”

“Orange juice,” he answered, discreetly gawking as Trixie bent over to look in the refrigerator. Her snowman pajama pants hugged her bottom, emphasizing her pert figure. After she found the orange juice, she reached up to the high cupboard beside the refrigerator to get a glass. The stretching motion made her matching snowman baby tee ever-so slightly rise above her belly button.

I’ll definitely have to start coming to the Beldens’ at breakfast time more often, Jim thought with a wicked grin.

Trixie found the leftover biscuits and warmed them in the microwave. Finally, she brought the biscuits to the table and sat down. She took her plate and split her food with Jim.

“Moms’ portions are too big, anyway,” she explained. “I’ve got to watch my figure.”

Jim choked on a bite of scrambled eggs. It had been on the tip of his tongue to say that he’d just been watching her figure, and it looked fine to him.

“Cute jammies,” he commented instead.

Trixie blushed. Mentally she kicked herself for not changing, or at least brushing her teeth, before she came downstairs.

Meanwhile, Bobby hunkered under the table, stifling giggles. He forced himself to be quiet. If he made the slightest noise, all of his planning would be in vain. But, he had to be fast. A moment’s hesitation could jeopardize the entire mission. Finally, his golden opportunity came. Trixie’s left hand hung over the chair arm, her wrist dangling enticingly over the end. Jim, who was left-handed, had his right arm hanging beside him. It appeared to be inching closer and closer to Trixie’s hand…

CLINK!

Both Trixie and Jim jumped at the noise, but when they tried to hop up, they got tangled up in each other and landed in a heap on the floor. Trixie looked up, and perplexed blue eyes met triumphant blue ones.

“ROBERT HAROLD BELDEN!” Trixie bellowed. “What have you done??!!”

Jim yanked both his and Trixie’s arm up and studied them. “Handcuffs?” he asked incredulously.

Bobby fell over in a fit of giggles. “Gotcha!” he laughed. “I’ve been waitin’ an’ waitin’ for ya to hold still! I never thoughted I’d get those on!”

Trixie took a few cleansing breaths. “Well, now that you’ve had your fun, maybe you can get the key and unlock us,” she snapped.

“Aw, Trix,” Jim muttered under his breath so only she could hear, “you’ve got to use child psychology. Follow my lead.” He looked up and smiled at the littlest Belden. “You’re just having some fun, aren’t you, Bobster? This was a really funny trick, but I think you’d better let us go. I need to help Brian chop wood.”

Bobby scowled. “You gotta go, too? Ev’rybody goes and does fun junk and just leaves me behind.”

Jim and Trixie glanced at one another nervously.

“Well, I’ll be here Bobby. Maybe we can play Battleship™ after the boys leave,” Trixie promised. “I know how you love to play games.”

Bobby thought about it for a moment, but then shook his head. “Nope. I want Jim to play, too. After we play Battleship AND Monobly™ AND Candy Land™, then I’ll unlock you. If I win.”

“Monopoly takes a long time to play, Bobby,” Jim told him, his voice less confident than it had been minutes before. “Maybe we could just play a quick game of—”

Bobby crossed his arms and pouted. “Then I’m not gonna unlock ya.”

Trixie’s blue eyes smoldered and her lips were drawn closely together. “You can’t use child psychology on monkeys, Jim. Sometimes, you just need a little brute force!” She lunged at Bobby, dragging Jim helplessly behind. Bobby’s catlike reflexes allowed him plenty of time to get out of the way and sit back and giggle as Trixie and Jim landed on the floor under the table.

Unfortunately, Brian picked that precise moment to come into the room. “I thought I heard— Hey! What’re you doing to my sister?!” he growled. All he could see was Trixie laying spread eagle on the kitchen floor and Jim sprawled out on top of her. To make matters worse, Trixie whipped her hands down by her hips to prop herself up, which made Jim’s face land on her chest.

“Why you…” Brian pounced to their side, ready to protect his sister’s honor. “You’d better get up before I beat the crap out of you, Frayne!” he threatened fiercely.

“Fight! Fight!” Bobby squealed in delight, gleefully hopping up and down and waving his arms.

“I would if I…” Jim began, trying to raise himself off of Trixie. However, at that moment, she raised her and Jim’s hands above her head. Jim, in the precarious position he was already in, lost what was left of his balance and flew back into Trixie’s chest, face first.

Luckily for Jim, Brian saw the handcuffs. After quite a bit of sputtering, he helped his sister and his best friend to their feet. “Do I even want to know how you got in this position?” he asked, his dark brown eyes dancing in amusement.

Both Trixie and Jim looked over at Bobby. Bobby assumed his famous angelic expression, then knowing it wasn’t working, bolted for the door. “Gotta blast!” he exclaimed.

Brian used his ninja reflexes and grabbed the youngster by the back of the shirt. “Not so fast, Mudflap! Are those your handcuffs?”

“What handcuffs?” Bobby inquired, batting his eyes angelically.

Brian bit his tongue and practiced his best Dad voice. “The handcuffs that are on Trixie and Jim.”

“Oh, those handcuffs! Yup, they belong to me,” Bobby nodded.

“Well, take… them… off… now,” Brian ordered slowly, all amusement gone from his eyes.

Bobby sighed deeply and stomped his foot. He tried very hard to squeeze out a tear, but to his dismay, his tear ducts were clogged. Bobby may not have been able to cry, but he could whine. And whine he did.

“Aw, Brian! If I letted them go, Jim’ll go chop wood with you and I’ll be stuck here with dumb ol’ Trixie!”

“Gee, thanks,” Trixie muttered.

“Well, I’m sure all the Bob-Whites will come here later and play with you, if you unlock Jim and Trixie now,” Brian offered.

“No, ya won’t! Yer all goin’ to that dumb party later,” Bobby grumbled. “I’ll unlock ‘em after we play.”

“What offensive measures have been taken?” Brian asked Jim and Trixie.

“Child psychology didn’t work,” Jim replied.

“Neither did brute force,” Trixie admitted.

“Okay, time for a little blackmail,” Brian said, clapping his hands. “Bobby, what would you do if I told Moms that you recorded over their wedding tape with the ‘Love in an Elevator’ music video?”

Bobby lowered his eyebrows in confusion. “I didn’t do that. That was Mart.”

“Well, you know that, and I know that, and Mart knows that, but Moms and Dad don’t know that.”

Bobby narrowed his eyes and suspiciously studied his oldest brother. “Ya wouldn’t really tell Moms that, would ya, Brian?”

“That’s a chance you’ll have to take,” Brian said with a shrug.

Bobby let out a deep breath, knowing he had no choice. Moms and Dad would never question Brian. Being responsible had to have some perks, after all. He stuck his chubby hand in his pocket and rummaged around.

“Hurry up, dork!” Trixie hissed. “I have stuff I need to do!”

“I’m lookin’!” Bobby yelled. “Uh, Brian, I can’t find my key. It’s losted.”

“Very funny,” Jim said, smirking. “Unlock us, Bobby. Brian and I have a lot of work to do before the party.”

“I’m not jokin’!” Bobby cried. “I actually losted it!”

“Accidentally or actually?” Trixie questioned, knowing Bobby’s penchant for confusing the two words.

“ACTUALLY!” Bobby hollered. “It’s gone! I sticked it right in my pocket when I was under the table, but it ain’t there!”

Brian crawled under the table and searched for the missing key. “It’s not here. Maybe we can pick it with a bobby pin.”

Trixie shook her head. “You can’t pick the lock on those cuffs. They’re guaranteed to be pick-proof.”

“Are you sure?” Brian asked.

Trixie nodded and shrugged. “I was the one that bought them for him for Christmas.”

“Does your Dad have a saw?” Jim questioned.

“They’re cut-proof, too,” Trixie mumbled. “They’re top of the line, you know.”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.” Brian grabbed his little brother and flipped him upside down and started shaking him.

At first, Bobby giggled, but after several minutes of shaking, he began to cry. “I’m gonna puke, Brian! Let me down!”

Brian sighed and set a wobbly Bobby onto his feet. “This has to be the craziest thing you’ve done yet, Bobby!” he griped.

Bobby stumbled around a bit, still dizzy from all the shaking. “It wuddn’t my idea. Mart was the one who—”

“Mart is the one who what, small fry?” Mart chose the perfect moment to enter the kitchen. He grabbed an apple and took a big bite out of it.

“Tolded me to put the handcuffs on Trixie,” Bobby sobbed.

“Did you do it?” Mart asked, oblivious to Trixie and Jim’s predicament.

With her free hand, Trixie smacked her middle brother upside the head. “So this is your fault!” she hissed.

“Hey!” Mart exclaimed, rubbing his head. “For what reason has my xanthous-haired kinswoman opted to employ such warfare upon her hapless, unsuspecting, devastatingly handsome fraternal sibling?”

Without a word, Trixie jerked up her and Jim’s handcuffed wrists and shoved them under Mart’s nose.

Mart looked at his little brother. “Did you do this?”

Bobby merely nodded.

Mart doubled over in laughter. “Sweet, Bobster! That’s even better than my original idea!” He held out his hand for Bobby to high five. Bobby smacked his middle brother’s palm, his pout replaced by a proud smile.

Mart was rewarded with a firm smack from both Jim and Trixie. “Hey!” he yelped. “Methinks my acquisition of such disapprobation is misguided, at best!”

“This is all your fault!” Trixie stormed.

“Dear Beatrix, may I dogmatically connote that you are perhaps making much ado about nothing?” Mart questioned, still unaware of the seriousness of the situation. “May I propose that you ascertain the key and insert it into the lock, thus effectively liberating you from said helotry?” He turned to Jim and studied him with one sandy brow raised in speculation. “Or are you relishing being in bondage with my flaxen-haired sister?”

“We can’t just ‘ascertain’ the key,” Jim retorted. “Bobby has ‘losted’ it.”

Mart snickered. “Bummer. Tell me, James, per se, how much circulating medium did it set you back to get Bobby to (here he used those famous finger quotes) ‘lose’ the key, so you could remain constrained to the fair Beatrix?”

Jim’s face turned even redder than his hair. If his green eyes had been a light saber, poor Mart would’ve met an untimely demise.

“Mart!” Trixie sputtered. “I suggest you help get us out of this mess before Moms gets home, or we’ll all be in trouble.”

“True,” Mart added with a twinkle in his eyes. “However, I’m more intrigued what the patriarch of the Belden clan will say come time to slumber. Jim, I hope you like the left side of the bed.”

“You’re not helping,” Brian barked. “If you can’t think of a solution, could you at least shut up so the rest of us can?”

Mart feigned a hurt expression. “I am truly offended by that callous remark. It almost makes me forget the veritably brilliant solution conjured up by my immensely superior cerebellum—”

Jim stuck a finger directly in front of Mart’s nose. “Spit it out or die, Belden.”

“Would Trixie’s handcuff keys work?” Mart asked simply.

“Maybe,” Trixie answered thoughtfully. “They’re in my room. I’ll go get—”

“Whoa!” Brian said, blocking the doorway. “You’re certifiably insane if you think I’ll let Jim go up to your bedroom alone with you. I have a better idea. Mart, you and Bobby get the key. I’m going to start chopping firewood so we can go to Tad’s party tonight. Jim can come out and help me when he’s free.”

Mart snorted. “How am I supposed to find one single key in the cataclysmic chamber more commonly called ‘Trixie’s room’? Bobby and I could get ‘losted’ in there.”

Trixie sniffed indignantly and tossed her curls right into Jim’s face. “I had them in my jeans’ pocket. Those jeans are on the floor, right in the middle of my room.”

Mart chuckled as he led Bobby out of the kitchen. “All right, squaw. But if we aren’t back by sundown, send in a St. Bernard. Got your compass, Bobster?”

After Mart and Bobby left, Brian crossed his arms and assumed his most serious expression. “Now that they’re gone, I think it’s necessary for me to lay down a few rules,” he lectured. “Rule number one, no going into any of the bedrooms.”

Trixie and Jim rolled their eyes.

“Rule number two,” Brian continued, “keep your hands to yourself, as much as possible. If you have any itches in awkward places, deal with it.”

Jim chuckled. “I think we heard the ‘keep all hands, feet, and objects to yourself’ lecture in kindergarten, Brian.”

“Rule number three, no going to the bathroom,” Brian said, pointedly ignoring his best friend.

“Oh great, Bri!” Trixie exploded. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I know I’m gonna have to pee. Thanks a lot!”

“Rule number four, no showering or bathing or removing clothes for any reason,” Brian went on.

“What if they catch on fire?” Trixie asked with an impish twinkle in her eyes.

“Even if they catch on fire, they are not to be removed,” Brian clarified sternly. “If they do catch on fire, you are directed to stop, drop, and roll. But try not to touch each other when you’re rolling. And under no circumstance are you permitted to remove clothing.”

Trixie started giggling. “How would we even get our clothes off, Bri? Would we leave our tops dangling on our handcuffed wrists?”

“Relax, Brian,” Jim soothed. “Go ahead and get started on the wood, and I’m sure Mart will be right down with the key.”

“Okay,” Brian relented. “But don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That secures my virtue,” Trixie muttered sarcastically as Brian left. “Poor Honey even stood under the mistletoe—” Remembering Jim was right there, she purposely left her sentence hanging.

However, Jim’s curiosity was piqued. “Did Honey want Brian to kiss her?”

Trixie merely shrugged her shoulders and ignored the question. “Well, I guess we should sit down and wait for Mart. I’m sure it won’t take him long to find that key,” she said instead.

Trixie and Jim sat at the kitchen table in awkward silence. Thankfully, a knock broke the unbearable quiet.

Dan opened the door and poked his head through. “Anybody home?”

“Come on in, Dan,” Trixie called. “Mart’ll be down in a minute.”

Dan, knowing Mrs. Belden’s penchant for early morning baking, searched the countertops until he found a leftover biscuit. He poured himself a glass of milk, put the biscuit on a napkin, and sat down across from Trixie and Jim at the table.

Immediately, Dan noticed the handcuffs, but he didn’t say a word. For several minutes, he happily munched and slurped. After he’d drunk the last bit of milk and wiped away some stray crumbs, he leaned back in the kitchen chair and placed his hands behind his head.

“Kinky,” he said, with a lecherous grin and a wink.

“Daniel William Mangan!” Trixie bellowed. “Get your thoughts out of the gutter!”

Dan put up his hands to shield himself from any further insults. “What?” he asked innocently. “If you’re into bondage, that’s none of my business. If it’s OK with Mr. and Mrs. B., then it’s OK with me. Handcuffs aren’t my thing, but—”

“Bobby put them on us,” Jim explained. “Then, he ‘losted’ the key. He and Mart are looking for the one that goes with Trixie’s set, to see if it will work.”

At that moment, Mart and Bobby returned. “Found it,” Mart replied, holding up the key triumphantly. He inserted it into the lock, and turned it, but nothing happened.

“Are you doing it right?” Trixie demanded.

“Yes!” Mart snapped, jiggling the key. “It’s not going to work.”

Trixie sighed. “What’re we going to do?”

Mart walked to the door and put on his boots. “Well, beloved sister, I’m accompanying Esquire Mangan to the abode of the benevolent Mrs. Vanderpoel, where we shall assist Esquire Webster with the garnishments for his New Year’s Eve festivities.”

“Mart!” Trixie thundered. “You aren’t just going to leave us like this, are you?”

“Yup. There’s nothing else I can do. Bobby, you keep looking for that key. Trixie, you try not to kill Bobby. Jim, you behave yourself.” Mart’s friendly wink told Jim that he wasn’t nearly as spastic as his older brother. He put on his coat and opened the door.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Dan teased as they left.

“Well, at least we have several more options there than with Brian,” Trixie joked, remembering her brother’s words earlier.

Deciding that now would be a good time to attempt an escape, Bobby hopped up and bounded for the door.

“Whoa!” Trixie exclaimed. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna play with my new huly hoop,” Bobby told her.

Trixie grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “I don’t think so. If I can’t play with a hula hoop, you can’t play with a hula hoop.”

Bobby looked up at his sister sweetly. “You can borrow my huly hoop if ya want, Trixie.”

Trixie glared down at her brother and raised her and Jim’s shackled wrists. “Does it look like I can play with a hula hoop?”

Bobby scratched his head and thought. “Yeah. You an’ Jim could both get inside and wiggle it.”

Jim’s eyes twinkled at the thought of him and Trixie gyrating while they were so close together. “Well, Bobby, that sure is nice of you to offer, but Brian wouldn’t like it. We’d be breaking rule number two.”

“Okey dokey!” Bobby grinned, trying to squirm away. “Hey, Trixie! Let me go! I wanna go play!”

“No way!” Trixie growled. “If I can’t play with your hula hoop, you can’t play with the hula hoop.”

“Do you even wanna play with the hula hoop?” Bobby asked meekly.

“No, I don’t want to play with the hula hoop!” Trixie exploded, flapping both her and Jim’s arms all over the place. “It’s the principle of the thing!”

“I thoughted Mr. Stratton was the principal,” Bobby corrected.

“Bobby, you’re not going anywhere or doing anything until you’ve found that key, or I will kill you,” Trixie threatened in her most ominous voice.

“That ain’t fair!” Bobby whined, stomping his foot. “I don’t hafta listen to you. You ain’t my boss!”

“All right, Bobby,” Trixie said, her tone totally nonchalant. “But if you don’t find that key, I’m telling Dad you were the one who sent him the Viagra sample for his birthday.”

Bobby shook his head in confusion. “I didn’t give Dad the Niagara samples for his birthday. That was Mart.”

Trixie smiled sweetly at her baby brother. “Well, you know that, and I know that, and Mart knows that, but Dad doesn’t know that. It’s two against one.”

Bobby howled as a fresh stream of tears trickled down his chubby cheeks. However, the blackmail worked, and he resumed his search for the key.

“So, what do we do now?” Jim asked.

Trixie shrugged. “Well, I really need to go upstairs to the bathroom and—”

“We can’t!” Jim protested. “Brian said not to go to the bathroom.”

Trixie sighed deeply and attempted to cross her arms. However, that action caused Jim’s hand to rest against her right breast. Startled, she dropped her arm and turned a bright crimson. If possible, Jim was an even brighter shade of red.

“I don’t need to go to the bathroom!” she snapped. “I didn’t brush my teeth this morning, and my mouth feels yucky.”

“Okay,” Jim relented. “But what happens if you do need to go? I mean, you’re a girl, and girls have to pee every hour on the hour.”

“We do not!” Trixie disagreed. “Have I once had to go in the middle of a mystery? Hello! I held it for hours on that boat on the Mississippi.”

“I know, but—”

“I may be short, but I’m 75% bladder,” Trixie matter-of-factly stated. “So, you worry about your liquids, Frayne, and I’ll worry about mine.”

Jim grinned. Only Trixie could turn urination into a contest. “All right. Now, let’s go reduce the risk of cavities and fight some tartar build-up.”

All went according to plan, until they tried to ascend up the narrow staircase leading to the second floor. It wasn’t quite wide enough for two people to go through.

“Here! Let me go first!” Trixie said in exasperation. She attempted to stand in front of Jim. However, that caused his handcuffed hand to rest against her backside.

“Whoa!” Jim screeched. “Rule num—” However, as Jim jumped back, he caused Trixie to lose her balance. They toppled to the ground. “Ooomph!” he exclaimed as Trixie landed on top of him. “—ber two!” he finished.

“Did you get those tattooed on your hand so you could read them to me repeatedly?” Trixie inquired grumpily. Carefully, they untangled their limbs and precariously stood to their feet. “Let’s stand with our backs to the wall and sidestep up the stairs.”

“That should work,” Jim replied. Carefully, they scaled the staircase wall, and made their way to the second floor of Crabapple Farm.

Once in the bathroom, another challenge arose. The bathroom sink was against the western wall. In order for Trixie to stand in front of the basin, Jim had to be squished against the wall with Trixie pressed against the front of his body.

“Rule number two!” Jim reminded, his voice cracking a bit.

“Jim! Will you shut up about those stupid rules!” Trixie yelled. “I have to brush my teeth! And I have to be right in front of the sink. My spit has bad aim.”

“Why didn’t you brush them as soon as you woke up?”

Trixie sighed. “I didn’t want my orange juice to taste yucky. Now, help me squirt some toothpaste on my toothbrush.” She handed Jim the toothpaste, which had lost its cap long ago. She held out her toothbrush while Jim applied a generous amount on the bristles.

“Now, close your eyes,” Trixie ordered.

“Why?” Jim asked, totally confused.

“Because I don’t want you to see me brush my teeth. It’s private.”

Jim rolled his eyes, but complied with her request. Minutes later, he heard Trixie spit, rinse, and gargle.

“Okay, you can look.”

Jim opened his eyes and saw Trixie opening a little bag. “Now what’re you doing?”

Trixie innocently batted her eyes. “Just freshening up.”

“You said that all you needed to do was brush your teeth,” Jim reminded. “You didn’t say anything about ‘freshening up’.”

“What’s wrong? Are you claustrophobic or something?”

“Something like that,” Jim muttered, wishing desperately he could adjust himself. Being pressed so tightly against Trixie for such a long time was making his pants fit a bit snugger in certain areas.

Trixie sighed deeply. “Well, there’s a makeup mirror in my room. We can go in there.”

“Rule number one,” Jim squawked.

“Do you always obey all the rules?” Trixie asked in a teasing tone.

“Not always,” Jim answered defensively. “I remove all the ‘do not remove’ tags from my pillow. Sometimes, I don’t wash apples before I eat them. And believe it or not, I actually watched a PG-13 movie when I was only twelve.”

Trixie giggled. “You wild man, you!” She pulled out her container of loose powder and unsuccessfully tried to open it. “Jim, can you hold this?”

He stared at the pink object in Trixie’s hand with disgust. “No.”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “It’ll only take a second. Is this about rule number two?”

“No, I just don’t want to hold your makeup.”

“You won’t get any on you!” she promised. “Just hold it so I can open the top.”

Willing to do almost anything to remove himself from the close quarters, Jim gritted his teeth and grasped the pink container in his hand. Trixie pulled on the top, but it was stuck. Not being deterred, she wiped her sweaty hand off on her pajama pants, firmly grasped the lid, and gave a good yank. Loose powder went airborne, landing on the sink, in the floor, on Trixie… but mainly all over Jim.

“Holy crap!” Jim bellowed, trying to shake the offensive particles off him. “I knew this would happen!”

“Relax,” she giggled. “It’s not like its radioactive or anything. It won’t make your skin rot off or cause you to grow another finger.”

Jim glared at her. “I don’t want this girlie crap on me. It smells funny.”

“What’re you talking about? It’s makeup. It doesn’t have a smell.”

“Yes, it does!” Jim insisted. “It smells all girlie, and weird.”

Trixie sniffed indignantly and tossed her curls, making Jim’s previous problem even worse. “I do not smell weird.”

Jim sighed, and removed the proverbial foot from his mouth. “I didn’t say you smell weird. On you, that junk smells… good. But, on a guy, it smells weird.”

Trixie sniffed once again, but helped Jim wash his hands. With her free hand, she squirted soap in his left palm and helped him lather up. After all the soap and powder was rinsed off, she dried his hand with the hand towel.

Afterwards, Trixie applied some of the powder that remained in the container to her face. That being done, she pulled out a tube of lipgloss from her makeup bag.

“What’re you putting that stuff on for?” Jim asked.

Trixie turned and looked at him with her snippiest expression. “Aren’t you the one who told me that I needed lipstick?”

Jim inwardly groaned. For the millionth time, he regretted his little speech in Iowa. I can’t believe she remembers that…

Determined to apply the gloss to her lips, Trixie leaned up to the sink, bringing Jim with her.

“Why do you have to get so close to the mirror?” Jim questioned.

She held out the tube of gloss to Jim. “Do you want to do this?”

He vigorously shook his head. He was determined to keep his mouth shut. But then, he saw some little fuzzy objects inside the makeup bag, and the curiosity boiling up in him was too great.

“What do you use cotton balls for?” he queried.

Trixie looked at Jim with a perplexed expression on her pretty face. “What?”

“Cotton balls,” he repeated. “What do you do with them?”

Trixie slowly applied the pink gloss to her lips. “Lots of stuff.”

Jim picked one of the cotton balls out of the bag, careful to avoid all the other “crap”. He held up the tiny white ball and studied it. “How can something so insignificant be so vital to your beautification process?”

Trixie giggled. “This is really bugging you, isn’t it?”

Jim nodded, his green eyes focused on the mysterious object. “I have no cotton balls. I’ve never used a cotton ball. I’ve never been in a situation where I thought, ‘Boy, I could really use a cotton ball right now.’ ”

“You’ve never used a cotton ball?” Trixie asked incredulously.

Jim shook his head, still spellbound by the puffy object he held in his hand. “Never. I’ve never had a need for them. I know they must be important. Whenever I go in Mother’s or Honey’s bathroom, I see millions of these things in their trashcans. They always look like they’ve been through some horrible experience. I’ve tried and tried to figure out what they do with them to make the cotton balls look so bad, but I can’t come up with anything. So, what do you use them for?”

Trixie leaned closer to Jim. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” she said in her most serious voice.

Jim made a face, but couldn’t help but think how adorable Trixie was when she teased. Finished with her lipgloss, Trixie put it in the bag, zipped it up, and put it in the cabinet. She opened the drawer by her and pulled out a pick. She ran it through her unruly curls, in an attempt to bring them under subjection. However, it was a futile effort.

Mesmerized by Trixie’s shiny hair, Jim didn’t notice the can she grabbed. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a hiss, followed by a cloud of hazy fumes.

Jim began choking and gagging. “BLECH! Quit with the chemical warfare!”

“It’s just hairspray,” she replied. “If I don’t put a little on my hair, it goes wild. After all, I don’t want to need to comb it later on.”

A deaf man could’ve heard the slight cattiness to Trixie’s voice. Once again, Jim wished Iowa had never happened. “I’ve got that junk on my tongue,” he complained. “I need a drink.”

“Let’s go downstairs,” Trixie suggested.

Jim happily complied. Sooner or later, these close quarters were going to force him to break one of Brian’s rules

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