Stanley, Flat Again! Read online

  “Miss Elliott tells me you seem troubled.” Mr. Redfield lowered his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure, actually,” Stanley said.

  Mr. Redfield picked up a pad and a pen. “Speak freely. Whatever comes into your head. Anything special happen lately?”

  “Well, I got flat,” Stanley said.

  Mr. Redfield made a note on his pad. “I do see that, yes. How did that make you feel?”

  Stanley thought for a moment. “Flat.”

  “I see.” Mr. Redfield nodded. “This flatness, it’s come upon you before, I’m told. Is it possible that somehow, without even admitting it to yourself, you wanted it to happen again?”

  “No way!” Stanley said firmly. “The first time, it was kind of fun for a while. Flying like a kite, and being mailed to California, things like that. But then I got, you know, tired of it. And now I might get put off the soccer team.”

  Mr. Redfield nodded again. “You take no pleasure now in your unusual shape?”

  Stanley thought for a moment. “Well, sometimes.” He told about being a sail, and helping Ralph Jones win a race.

  Mr. Redfield made another note. “I see. This dream of being a sail, have you dreamed it before?”

  Stanley stared at him. “It wasn’t a … it really happened! I’m just tired of being different, I guess.”

  Mr. Redfield pressed his fingertips together. “Different? How do you feel different, would you say?”

  Stanley wondered how Mr. Redfield could be a good guidance counselor if he had both terrible eyesight and a terrible memory.

  “Well, I’m the only one in my class who’s flat,” he said. “The whole school, actually.”

  “Interesting.” Mr. Redfield made another note and glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid our time is up, Stanley. Would you like to see me again? Just let Miss Elliott know.”

  “Okay,” Stanley said politely, but he didn’t think he would.

  5

  Why Me?

  Stanley had looked sad all evening, Arthur thought. At bedtime, as they lay waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Lambchop to come say good night, he wondered how to cheer his brother up.

  It was raining hard, and he remembered suddenly the rainy evening that Stanley had snacked on raisins, and by morning had become invisible. A little-known consequence, Dr. Dan had explained, of eating fruit during bad weather.

  “Hear the rain, Stanley?” he said. “Better not eat any fruit.”

  “Ha, ha, ha.” Stanley sounded cross. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

  “Stanley’s in a terrible mood,” Arthur told Mr. and Mrs. Lambchop when they came in. “He won’t even talk to me.”

  “What’s wrong, my boy?” Mr Lambchop asked.

  “Nothing.” Stanley put his pillow over his head.

  “If my picture was in the newspaper practically every day, I’d be happy,” Arthur said. “I mean, why—”

  Mrs. Lambchop hushed him. “Stanley, dear? What is troubling you?”

  “Nothing. Nothing,” Stanley said from under the pillow, and sat up. “But why me? Why am I always getting flat, or invisible or something? Why can’t it just once be someone else?”

  “I wouldn’t mind, actually,” Arthur said. “Just for a while. I—”

  “Hush, Arthur!” Mrs. Lambchop put out the overhead light, lit a corner lamp, and sat by Stanley on his bed. Mr. Lambchop sat with Arthur. The gentle patter of the rain against the windows, the glow of the little lamp, made the bedroom cozy indeed.

  “I do see what you mean, Stanley,” Mr. Lambchop said at last. “Why do these things happen to you? Your mother and I don’t know the answer either. But things often happen without there seeming to be a reason, and then something else happens, and suddenly the first thing seems to have had a purpose after all.”

  “Well put, George!” Mrs. Lambchop squeezed Stanley’s hand. “What we do know, Stanley dear, is that we’re very proud of you, and love you very much. And we understand about the flatness, and all the other unexpected happenings, how upsetting it must be.”

  “It sure is!” said Stanley. “How would you like never knowing when you might get flat? Or invisible? Maybe someday I’ll wake up ten feet tall or one inch short, or with green hair, or a tail or something!”

  “I know… .” Mrs. Lambchop said softly, and Mr. Lambchop came and patted Stanley’s shoulder. Then they kissed both boys, switched off the lamp, and went out.

  Arthur spoke into the darkened room. “Stanley?”

  “I’m trying to sleep,” said Stanley. “What?”

  “I was just thinking,” Arthur said. “If you got invisible, and then you got flat, how would they know?”

  “Huh? I don’t—” Stanley laughed. “Oh, I get it! About the flatness. Good one, Arthur.”

  Arthur laughed too.

  “Quiet, please,” said Stanley. “I’m trying to sleep.”

  “Okay,” Arthur said, but he chuckled several times before he fell asleep.

  6

  Emma

  Mr. Lambchop came home early the next afternoon, full of excitement.

  “Guess what?” he said. “The old Merker Department Store downtown? Eight floors, all emptied out, waiting to be torn down? Well, last night most of it fell down by itself!” He switched on the TV. “News time! Let’s get the latest!”

  “… more on the Merker building collapse!” a newscaster was saying. “It’s just a mountain of rubble now, folks! Three workmen have been treated for minor bruises, but no other injuries are reported. The public is requested to avoid the area until—”

  A young woman ran on, handed him a slip of paper, and ran off again.

  “Hold on! This just in!” The newscaster read from the slip. “Wow! A little girl is trapped under all that wreckage! Emma Weeks, daughter of local businessman Oswald Weeks!”

  “Emma Weeks!” Stanley exclaimed. “She’s in my class! No wonder she wasn’t at school today!”

  “Emma’s not hurt, it appears,” the newscaster continued. “Firemen called to the scene can hear her calling up through chinks in the wreckage, demanding food and water! But Fire Chief Johnson has forbidden any rescue efforts! Any disturbance, any shifting of the wreckage, he says, might bring the rest of the building crashing down! Now, here’s Tom Miller!”

  The TV screen showed a reporter with a microphone standing by the wrecked building.

  “Emma Weeks!” shouted the reporter, holding his microphone up to a crack. “Do you hear me? Are you all right?”

  Emma’s voice was faint but clear. “Oh, sure! I’m just great! I hope a building falls on me every day, you know? C’mon, get me out of here!”

  Mrs. Lambchop sighed. “Such an unfortunate tone! She is under great strain, of course.”

  “Emma’s always like that,” Stanley said.

  Half an hour later, while Mrs. Lambchop was preparing supper, a siren sounded outside, then died away. Opening the front door, Mr. Lambchop saw a Fire Department car at the curb. On the doorstep stood Fire Chief Johnson and a very worried-looking man and woman.

  “Mr. Lambchop?” said Chief Johnson. “I’ll get right to the point, sir. I reckon you heard about little Emma Weeks, trapped in the Merker wreck? Well, Mr. and Mrs. Weeks here, and me, we’d like a word with you folks.”

  “Of course!” Mr. Lambchop led the visitors into the house and introduced them to his family.

  “Oh, Mrs. Weeks!” Mrs. Lambchop cried. “Your poor daughter! You must be dreadfully worried!”

  “We are indeed!” said Mr. Weeks. “But Chief Johnson thinks your Stanley might be able to save Emma!”

  “Who, me?” and “Who, Stanley?” said Stanley and Arthur.

  Chief Johnson explained. “Problem is that if a policeman, or one of my firemen, tries to dig his way in to Emma, the whole rest of the building could crash down on ’em! Too bad we don’t have a flat fireman, I was thinking. Flat fella could squeeze through all those narrow openings we know are there, ’cause we hear Emma when she cal
ls. Then I recollected the newspaper story, with a picture of Stanley here. Hit me right away! That boy could maybe wiggle in to Emma!”

  For a moment, everyone was silent. Then Mrs. Lambchop shook her head.

  “It sounds terribly dangerous,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I must say no.”

  “It is a tad risky, ma’am,” said Chief Johnson. “But we’ve got to remember the boy is already flat.”

  Mrs. Weeks sobbed. “Oh, poor Emma! How are we to save her?”

  Mrs. Lambchop bit her lip.

  Stanley remembered something. “I was just thinking.” He turned to Mr. Lambchop. “The other night? When I got mad about all the crazy things that keep happening to me? Remember what you said? You said that sometimes things happen that nobody can see a reason for, and then afterwards some other thing happens, and all of a sudden it seems like the first thing had a reason after all. Well, I was just thinking that me getting flat again was one crazy thing, and that maybe Emma getting stuck where I’m the only one who can try to save her, that might be the second thing.”

  Mr. Lambchop nodded, and took Mrs. Lambchop’s hand. “We should be very proud of our son, Harriet.”

  Mrs. Lambchop thought for a moment. “Stanley,” she said at last. “Will you be very, very, careful not to let that enormous building fall on you?”

  “Okay. Sure,” Stanley said.

  Mrs. Lambchop turned to Mr. and Mrs. Weeks. “We will allow Stanley to help,” she said. “He will do his best for Emma.”

  “Fine boy we got here! Brave as a lion!” shouted Chief Johnson. “Now listen up, folks! Mrs. Lambchop, you help me get things ready! Then Stanley can go right in after Emma! Got that? Everybody meet us at the Merker Building, thirty minutes from now!”

  7

  Where Are You, Emma?

  In the late afternoon sunlight, at the remains of the old Merker building, the Lambchops and the Weekses watched Chief Johnson prepare Stanley for his rescue attempt. Flash Tobin, the Daily Sentinel photographer, was there too, taking pictures.

  Mrs. Lambchop had supplied two slices of bread and cheese, each wrapped in plastic, and her grandfather’s flat silver cigarette case filled with grape soda. Chief Johnson taped the bread and cheese packets to Stanley’s arms and legs, the cigarette case to his chest, and gave him a small, flat flashlight.

  Then he led Stanley up to a tall crack in the wreckage. “Emma!” he shouted. “Fella’s coming to help you! When he calls your name, you holler back ‘Here!’ so he knows which way to go. Got that?”

  Emma’s voice came faintly. “Yeah, yeah! Hurry up! I’m starving!”

  Chief Johnson shook Stanley’s hand. “Good luck, son!”

  The evening sunlight glowed warmly on the red bricks of the fallen building as Stanley stepped close to the crack. Mrs. Lambchop waved to him, and Stanley waved back. How handsome he is, she thought. How brave, how tall, how flat!

  Stanley took two steps forward and disappeared sideways through the crack. A moment later they heard his shout. “Hey! It’s really dark in here!”

  “Hay is for horses, Stanley!” Mrs. Lambchop called back. “Oh, never mind! Good luck, dear!”

  This was a dark greater than any he had ever known. Stanley could almost feel the blackness on his skin. He clicked on his flashlight and edged forward without difficulty, but then the crack narrowed, slowing him. The bread slice on his left leg had scraped something, loosening the tape that held it. Pressing the tape back into place, he wiggled forward until he came to what seemed a dead end, but a little swing of the flashlight showed cracks branching right and left.

  “Emma?” he called.

  “Here!”

  Her voice came from the right, so he moved along that branch. “Emma?”

  “Yeah, yeah! What?”

  “When I say your name, you’re supposed to say ‘Here!’”

  “I already did that!”

  He followed another crack to the left. “Emma?”

  There was no answer. Stanley managed a few more feet and then, quite suddenly, the crack widened. He called again. “Emma?”

  “Bananas!”

  “Keep talking,” he shouted. “I need to hear you!”

  “Bananas! Here! Blah, blah! Whatever! Hey, I can see your light!”

  And there she was. The crack had widened to become a small cave, at the back of which sat Emma. Her jeans and shirt were smudged with dirt, but it was most surely Emma, squinting against the brightness of his light.

  “You!” she exclaimed. “From school! The flattie!”

  Don’t lose your temper, Stanley told himself. “I was the only one they thought could get in here. How are you doing, Emma?”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Oh, just great! A whole building falls on me, and they send in a flattie! And now I’m starving to death!”

  Stanley untaped the slices of bread and cheese, and handed them over.

  “Cheese, huh?” Emma put her sandwich together and took a bite. “I hate cheese. Got anything to drink, flattie?”

  “Please don’t call me flattie. Here.” He held out the silver cigarette case.

  Emma rolled her eyes again. “I’m not allowed to smoke.”

  “It’s soda.”

  She opened the cigarette case and sipped. “Blaahh! I hate grape!”

  Chief Johnson’s voice rose from a hole in the wall behind her. “Stanley? You there yet?”

  Emma jerked a thumb at the hole. “It’s for you, flattie.”

  “I’m here, Chief!” Stanley called. “Emma’s okay.”

  He heard cheering, and then the Chief’s voice came again. “See a way out, Stan?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to look around yet. Emma’s eating.”

  “We’ll wait. Over and out, Stan!”

  “You too!” Stanley called.

  He waited until Emma had finished her sandwich. “Emma, how did you get into this mess? What made you come in here?”

  “I just came over to look,” Emma said. “And they had all these signs! ‘Danger! Keep out!’ All over the place, even behind in the parking lot. ‘Keep out! Danger! Danger!’ I really hate that, you know? So there was this door, and it was open, so I went in.” She finished the grape soda. “Okay, let’s go.”

  “Not the way I came in,” Stanley said. “I could just barely squeeze through. And we have to be careful, because—”

  “I know!” Emma interrupted. “Chief whatshisname kept telling me: ‘Don’t move around! The whole rest of the building might crash down!’ So am I supposed to live down here forever?”

  “This door you came through,” Stanley said. “How far did you come to find this sort of cave we’re in?”

  “Who said anything about far? I just got inside, and there were these crashing noises, and the whole building was shaking, and I fell down right here! The crashing went on forever! I thought I was going to die!”

  “Calm down.” An idea came into Stanley’s head. “Just where was this door? Do you remember?”

  “Over there somewhere.” Emma pointed into the darkness of a corner behind her.

  Stanley swung his light, but saw only what seemed to be a solid wall of splintered boards, rock, and brick.

  Emma pointed a bit left, then right. “Maybe there … I don’t know! Was I supposed to take pictures or something? What difference does it make?”

  “We might be just a little bit inside that door,” Stanley said. “And what we want is to be just outside of it.”

  Moving closer to the corner, he saw that a jagged piece of wood protruded at waist level. It came out easily when he tugged, followed by loose dirt.

  Emma stood beside him. “Why are you making this mess?”

  He poked in the hole with the stick. “Maybe I’ll find—”

  Dirt cascaded from the wall, covering his shoes. He saw light now, not just the little circle from his flashlight, but daylight! Unmistakably daylight!

  “Oooohhhh!” said Emma.

  Stanley made the hole still larger,
and they saw that a door lay on its side across the bottom of the hole, wreckage limiting the opening on both sides. But it was big enough! They would be able to wiggle through! He ran back to the wall from which Chief Johnson’s voice had come.

  “We’re on our way out!” he shouted. “We’ll be in back, in the courtyard!”

  “Got it!” came the Chief’s voice. “Great work!”

  Stanley turned to Emma. “Let’s go!”

  “I’ll get all dirty, silly,” Emma said. “Maybe we could just—”

  “Come ON!”

  “Don’t yell!” Emma said, but she crawled quickly through the hole with Stanley right behind her.

  8

  Hero!

  There was much rejoicing in the courtyard. Mrs. Lambchop kissed Stanley and Arthur. Mrs. Weeks kissed Emma, and then everyone else, even Flash Tobin, who had arrived to take pictures. Mr. Lambchop shook hands with Mr. Weeks and Chief Johnson, who announced several times that Stanley was a great hero.

  Flash Tobin took a group picture of all the Lambchops. “Need one more,” he said. “Emma, just you and Stanley. Your hero, right? Saved your life!”

  “I could have got out by myself,” Emma said. “I just didn’t know exactly where the door was.” But she went to stand by Stanley.

  “Smile!” Flash Tobin took the picture. “Yes, that’s good!” He gave Stanley a cheerful slap on the back, just as Emma’s elbow jabbed hard into Stanley’s ribs.

  “Owww!” Stanley yelled.

  Emma grinned. “That’s for you, Mr. Hero!”

  “Are you crazy? What—” Stanley stopped. Everybody was staring at him. He felt peculiar, as if— Yes! He was getting round again!

  “Wow!” Emma said. “How do you do that?”

  “Hooray for you, dear!” shouted Mrs. Lambchop, and more cries rose from the others in the courtyard. “Do you see what I see? … He’s blowing up! … Are we crazy or what?”

  Flash Tobin aimed his camera again. “Hold it, kid!”