Chapter One
Who's the Lucky Bride?"Guess what, Pete?" my brother, Fudge, said. "I'm gettingmarried tomorrow."
I looked up from my baseball cards. "Isn't thiskind of sudden?" I asked, since Fudge is only five.
"No," he said.
"Well ... who's the lucky bride?"
"Sheila Tubman," Fudge said.
I hit the floor, pretending to have fainted deadaway. I did a good job of it because Fudge startedshaking me and shouting, "Get up, Pete!"
What's with this Pete business? I thought. Eversince he could talk, he's called me Pee-tah.
Then Tootsie, my sister, who's just a year and ahalf, danced around me singing, "Up, Pee ... up."
Next, Mom was beside me saying, "Peter ... whathappened? Are you all right?"
"I told him I was getting married," Fudge said."And he just fell over."
"I fell over when you told me who you were marrying,"I said.
"Who are you marrying, Fudge?" Mom asked, as ifwe were seriously discussing his wedding.
"Sheila Tubman," Fudge said.
"Don't say that name around me," I told him, "orI'll faint again."
"Speaking of Sheila Tubman ..." Mom began.
But I didn't wait for her to finish. "You're makingme feel very sick ..." I warned.
"Really, Peter ..." Mom said. "Aren't you overdoingit?"
I clutched my stomach and moaned but Mom wentright on talking. "Buzz Tubman is the one who told usabout the house in Maine."
"M-a-i-n-e spells Maine," Fudge sang.
Mom looked at him but didn't even pause. "Andthis house is right next to the place they've rented fortheir vacation," she told me.
"I'm missing something here," I said. "Whathouse? What vacation?"
"Remember we decided to go away for a fewweeks in August?"
"Yeah ... so?"
"So we got a great deal on a house in Maine."
"And the Tubmans are going to be next door?" Icouldn't believe this. "Sheila Tubman ... next door ...for two whole weeks?"
"Three," Mom said.
I fell back flat on the floor.
"He did it again, Mom!" Fudge said.
"He's just pretending," Mom told Fudge. "He's justbeing very silly."
"So I don't have to marry Sheila tomorrow,"Fudge said. "I'll marry her in Maine."
"That makes more sense," Mom said. "In Maineyou can have a nice wedding under the trees."
"Under the trees," Fudge said.
"Tees ..." Tootsie said, throwing a handful ofGummi Bears in my face.
And that's how it all began.
Chapter Two
Pete and FarleyThat night we went to Tico-Taco for supper. I wasn'tvery hungry. The idea of spending three weeks nextdoor to Sheila Tubman was enough to take away myappetite. I wish the Tubmans would move to anotherplanet! But until that happens there's no way to avoidSheila. She lives in our apartment building. We go tothe same school.
I kind of groaned and Dad looked at me. "What isit, Peter?"
"Sheila Tubman," I said.
"What about her?" Dad asked.
"We're getting married," Fudge said, his mouthfull of chicken and taco shell.
"I'm not talking about your wedding," I said. "I'mtalking about spending three weeks in Maine nextdoor to the Tubmans."
"It won't be as bad as you think," Mom said.
"You don't know how bad I think it will be!"
"Sheila's older now. She's finished sixth grade,same as you."
"What's age got to do with it?" I said. "She'll stillbe the Queen of Cooties."
"What's cooties?" Fudge asked.
When I didn't answer he tugged on my sleeve."What's cooties, Pete?"
"Since when am I Pete?" I asked, shaking him off.
"Since today," he said.
"Well, I prefer Peter, if you don't mind."
"Pete is a better name for a big brother."
"And Farley is a better name for a little brother!" Ifigured that would shut him up since his real name isFarley Drexel Hatcher and he's ready to kill anybodywho calls him that.
"Don't call me Farley!" he said. Then he really letgo and yelled, "I'm Fudge!"
The waiter, who heard him from across the room,came over to our table and said, "Sorry ... we don'thave any tonight. But we do have mud pie, which isalmost the same thing."
Dad had to explain that we weren't talking aboutdessert. And Mom added, "We never eat dessert untilwe've finished our main course."
"Oh," the waiter said.
But before he had a chance to get away, Fudgelooked up at him and said, "Do you have cooties?"
"Cooties?" the waiter asked. "For dessert?" Helooked confused. Especially when Tootsie banged herspoon against the tray of her baby seat and sang, Cootee ...coo-tee ..."
I could tell Fudge was about to ask the same questionagain, but before he had the chance I clampedmy hand over his mouth. Then Dad told the waiter wedidn't need anything else right now.
The waiter walked away shaking his head and Itook my hand away from Fudge's mouth. As soon as Idid, he was back in business. "What's cooties?" Thistime the people at the next table looked over at us.
"They're like nits," Mom told him, quietly.
"What's nits?" Fudge asked.
"Head lice," Dad said, almost in a whisper.
"Head mice?" Fudge asked.
"Not mice, Turkey Brain," I told him. "Lice. Littlecreepy, crawly bugs that live in hair." I snapped myfingernails at his head the way Sheila Tubman used todo to me.
Fudge yelled, "I don't want creepy, crawly bugs inmy hair!"
Now everyone in the restaurant looked over at us.
"That's enough, Peter," Dad said.
"Well, he's the one who wanted to know."
"That's enough," Mom said. It came out soundinglike eee-nuff, which got Tootsie going.
"Eee-eee-eee-eee ..." Tootsie shrieked, bangingher spoon.
This is the way it's going to be all summer, Ithought, only worse. So I put down my taco and said,"Maybe I should go to camp in August."
Dad got this really serious look on his face. "Wedon't have the money this year, Peter. We wouldn't begoing away at all if it weren't for Grandma, who'spaying more than her share."
"But if you want, you can bring a friend," Momsaid.
"A friend?" I asked. "You mean like Jimmy Fargo?"They both nodded.
Jimmy is my best friend in New York. We've alwayswanted to spend the summer together.
"What about me?" Fudge asked. "Can I bring afriend, too?"
I held my breath.
"You'll find a friend in Maine," Mom told him.
"Suppose I don't?" Fudge asked.
"You're getting married," I reminded him.
"Does that mean I don't get a friend?" Fudgeasked.
"Of course not," Mom told him. "I'm married andI have friends. Daddy's married and he has friends."
"What about Uncle Feather?" I said. Uncle Featheris Fudge's myna bird. "He's your friend, isn't he?"
"I can't play with Uncle Feather," Fudge said."He's not that kind of friend. And I can't marry himeither. If he was a girl bird it would be different."
"People don't marry birds," I told him.
"Some people do."
"Name one," I said.
"The guy who's married to Big Bird on SesameStreet."
"Big Bird's not married," I said.
"That's how much you know!" Fudge shouted.
He's learned to say that every time someone disagreeswith him. It's a real conversation stopper. "Igive up!" I said, going back to my taco, which was gettingsoggy.
"Up," Tootsie repeated, holding out her arms."Up ... up ... up."
Dad lifted her out of the baby seat and shesquirmed until he put her down. Then she took off,toddling through the restaurant, stopping at everytable. Fudge scrambled off his chair and ran after her.Eating out with my family is not exactly relaxing.
"Here, girl ..." Fudge said, as if he were calling adog. "Here's something just for you." He lured herback to our table and dropped some of his taco onher tray. "Yum ..." he said to her. "Yum ... yum ...yum ..."
Dad put Tootsie back into her seat. She stuffed thechicken pieces into her mouth.
"I always know what Tootsie wants," Fudge said."That's why I'm her favorite brother."
"Tootsie doesn't have favorites," Mom told him."She loves both her brothers."
"But she loves me best!" Fudge said. Then helooked at me and laughed. When he did, half the foodin his mouth wound up on my shirt.
I called Jimmy Fargo as soon as we got home. I askedhim to come to Maine with us.
"Three weeks next door to Sheila Tubman?"
"The houses are really far apart," I said. Nobodytold me this but I was hoping it was true. "You won'teven be able to see her house. There'll probably be aforest separating us."
When he didn't say anything I added, "And don'tforget ... Sheila's scared of dogs so we can get Turtleafter her anytime she tries to give us trouble." Turtleis my dog. He's big enough to look scary but he'dnever hurt anybody. Lucky for us, Sheila doesn't knowthat.
Jimmy laughed. "Maybe I can come for a week."
"A week isn't long enough!"
"Hey, Peter ... no offense ... but a week with yourfamily can feel like a long time."
That's because Jimmy's the only kid in his family.His parents are divorced. He lives with his father,Frank Fargo, who's a painter.
"How about two weeks?" I said.
"Is your brother bringing his bird?"
"Yeah ... Uncle Feather's part of the family," I toldhim. "Same as Turtle."
"So it will be your mother, your father, Fudge,Tootsie, Turtle, Uncle Feather and you?"
"Right," I said. "And my grandmother's comingtoo."
"The one who taught you to stand on your head?"
"Yeah." Grandma Muriel is Mom's mother. Sheran a gymnastics camp before she retired.
"You think she could teach me?" Jimmy asked.
"Maybe," I said.
"I'll talk to my father," Jimmy said. "I'll let youknow tomorrow."
He called back the next morning. Mr. Fargo likedthe idea of Maine. He liked it so much he said he'ddrive Jimmy up and camp out in the area himself.
"That's great!" I said. Maybe three weeks in Mainewouldn't be as bad as I'd thought.
Chapter Three
The Most Disgusting of Them AllIt took ten hours to drive to Southwest Harbor,Maine. Ten hours in the backseat of an old Blazerwith Fudge, Tootsie, Turtle and Uncle Feather, whowouldn't shut up. Some myna birds don't talk at allbut Uncle Feather's not one of them. He'll repeat anythingyou say. Finally, I dropped the cover over hiscage, hoping he'd think it was nighttime. "Go to sleep,stupid!" I told him. Stupid is one of his favorite words.
But that didn't work either. "Go to sleep, stupid ..."he chanted, until even Turtle lost patience and startedbarking. Grandma is really smart, I thought. She'sflying up to Maine.
As we got closer to our destination, Mom startedreading to us from a guidebook. "Southwest Harboris on an island called Mount Desert." She pronouncedit de-sert.
"Ice cream, cookies, brownies, pudding ..." Fudgesang.
Mom kept right on reading. I don't know whyshe thinks Fudge pays any attention to her lectures onhistory. He hears only what he wants to hear. Everythingelse goes right by him.
"Founded in 1905, the town of Southwest Harbor ..."You call this a town? I thought, as we drovethrough it. There was one street with a couple ofshops. And that was about it. But I could tell Momwas really excited. She put down her guidebook andsmiled at my father. "Oh, it's so quaint," she said."Isn't it quaint, Warren?"
And my father smiled back and said, "It's perfect,honey."
Fudge chucked Tootsie under her chin. "It's perfect,honey," he said, imitating my father.
Then Uncle Feather started. "Honey ... honey ...honey." For some reason Tootsie thought that waswildly funny, and she laughed until she got the hiccups.Mom passed a bottle of water to the backseatand I stuck it in Tootsie's mouth.
"Take a left here, Warren," Mom said to Dad. Weturned onto a dirt road, then pulled into a graveldriveway and parked in front of an old, weatheredwood house. The first person I saw was the Queen ofCooties herself. She was standing on the seat of a ropeswing. It hung from the branch of a big tree in thefront yard.
She was swinging pretty high when I opened theback door of the Blazer and Turtle jumped out. It hadbeen almost four hours since I'd walked him andhe really had to go. He raced for the woods behindthe house but Sheila thought he was heading straightfor her.
"Help!" she screamed, wobbling on the swing."Somebody please heeelp!" She lost her balance andfell to the ground. What a dork!
Mom jumped out of the car and ran to her rescue."It's all right," she said, helping Sheila to her feet."Turtle just had to wee-wee." How could Mom haveused such an embarrassing expression?
By then Mr. and Mrs. Tubman, who had also heardSheila's screams, came running out of the house. "Areyou okay?" Mrs. Tubman asked Sheila.
"I'm fine," Sheila said, brushing herself off. "It wasjust that disgusting dog!"
Before I had the chance to tell her who wasreally disgusting, a man with white hair called,"Lemonade ..." We all headed for the house and gatheredaround the table on the porch. "I'm Buzz Tubman'sfather," the white-haired man said. He pouredeach of us a glass of lemonade. "Call me BuzzySenior."
I polished off my drink really fast. Buzzy Seniorpoured me another. I gulped it down. "Long trip uphere, isn't it?" he asked.
"Ten hours," I said, wiping my mouth with theback of my hand. He filled my glass again.
I didn't even notice Fudge watching until then."You must be really thirsty, Pete."
"Yeah," I said.
"Remember that time you drank too much IslandPunch and you ..."
I clamped my hand over his mouth. He stilldoesn't get the difference between stories you tell tostrangers and stories you keep to yourself. I looked atBuzzy Senior. "Fudge knows a lot about dinosaurs," Isaid, hoping to change the subject.
But as soon as I took my hand away from hismouth Fudge laughed. "And Pete knows all aboutcooties."
"Well, you can't know too much about cooties, canyou, Pete?" Buzzy Senior said, smiling at me.
"And guess what else?" Fudge said. "I'm gettingmarried under the trees."
"Do I know the bride?" Buzzy Senior asked.
"It's Sheila Tubman!" Fudge said.
"Oh, my granddaughter," Buzzy Senior said.
Continues...
Excerpted from Fudge-A-Maniaby Judy Blume Copyright © 2002 by Judy Blume. Excerpted by permission.
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