eat enough blueberries," I told her.
"Really, Peter..." Mom said. "Let's not make this any worse than it already is."
Dad missed the blueberry adventure. He'd gone to the town dock right after breakfast to see about renting a sailboat. By the time he got back Mom had carried Fudge to the porch, where he lay on the old wicker couch. Everyone gathered around the blueberry boy. Everyone had a suggestion for him.
"Lie on your tummy, Fudge," Mrs. Tubman said. "That's what I do when mine hurts."
110
"A hot-water bottle," Mr. Tubman said. "That'll fix it."
"Make beautiful pictures in your mind," Buzzy Senior suggested.
"Just throw it all up!" Mr. Fargo said.
Sheila was about to say Eeeuuuw... disgusting, when Dad ran up the porch steps. "I've rented a nice little nineteen-footer!" he announced. You could tell he was really excited. "We can take a picnic lunch." He stopped when he saw Fudge. "What's wrong with Fudgie?" he asked Mom. "Why is he all blue?"
"It's a long story," Mom said. "I'll tell you about it later."
Dad paused for a minute and shook his head. Then he said, "Well... I've got the boat from noon to four and I can take up to six passengers. I know Peter wants to come... how about the rest of you?"
"I've never been sailing," Jimmy said.
"No problem," Sheila told him. "I'm an expert. I'll explain everything to you."
Somebody should tell the Guinness Book of World Records about her, I thought. Since she's the world's leading expert on everything.
"Count me in," Grandma said.
"Count me out," Buzzy Senior said.
"Buzzy..." Grandma said. "You don't like sailing?"
111
"About as much as a fish likes being out of water."
Mr. Fargo said, "Thanks, but no thanks."
Mrs. Tubman said she really wasn't into water sports, but she'd go if Mr. Tubman would. Mr. Tubman said he had no sailing experience but he'd always wanted to give it a try.
"What about Fudge?" Sheila asked Mom.
"Fudge isn't going anywhere!" Mom said.
"Except to the bathroom," Jimmy whispered to me. And we both cracked up.
All seven of us piled into the back of Mr. Fargo's truck. "Have a good sail!" he called when he dropped us off with our gear.
The boat Dad rented was tied to the dock. It looked kind of small, especially next to the really big boats that were moored in the harbor. As soon as we were on board Dad handed out life jackets. There was one for each of us and Dad's rule was we had to wear it the whole time.
Then he started to explain the man-overboard rule.
"Excuse me, Mr. Hatcher..." Sheila said, "but couldn't we call it the person -overboard rule? I mean, man overboard sounds so sexist."
"Okay," Dad said. "The person -overboard rule." He appointed Mrs. Tubman and me official spotters.
112
If anyone fell into the water our job was to point. No matter how the boat turned, no matter how it rocked, the spotter had to keep pointing so the person overboard didn't get lost.
"Maybe I should just wait here," Jimmy said.
"Nah... once we get going you're going to like it," I told him.
"I don't know," Jimmy said. "I'm not the world's greatest swimmer."
"Nobody's going swimming," I said. "This water's so cold you'd have hypothermia in a couple of minutes."
"Hypo-who?" Jimmy said.
"Hypothermia," I said. "That's when your body temperature falls really low. Most people who die when they fall in the water die from that, not from drowning." I think Jimmy would have jumped back onto the dock if we hadn't sailed away right then.
"Oooh... my hat," Mrs. Tubman cried, as we got going. "The wind took my hat." We watched as it slowly drifted down into the water.
"Sorry, Jean," Dad said. "You should have pinned it to your hair."
"I didn't know," Mrs. Tubman said.
"Now you do," Dad told her.
"I really liked that hat," Mrs. Tubman mumbled. I don't think Dad heard her. He was at
113
the tiller, which is the stick that steers the boat.
Soon we were moving along really fast, for a sailboat. I liked the whoosh whoosh sound as the boat cut through
"Really, Peter..." Mom said. "Let's not make this any worse than it already is."
Dad missed the blueberry adventure. He'd gone to the town dock right after breakfast to see about renting a sailboat. By the time he got back Mom had carried Fudge to the porch, where he lay on the old wicker couch. Everyone gathered around the blueberry boy. Everyone had a suggestion for him.
"Lie on your tummy, Fudge," Mrs. Tubman said. "That's what I do when mine hurts."
110
"A hot-water bottle," Mr. Tubman said. "That'll fix it."
"Make beautiful pictures in your mind," Buzzy Senior suggested.
"Just throw it all up!" Mr. Fargo said.
Sheila was about to say Eeeuuuw... disgusting, when Dad ran up the porch steps. "I've rented a nice little nineteen-footer!" he announced. You could tell he was really excited. "We can take a picnic lunch." He stopped when he saw Fudge. "What's wrong with Fudgie?" he asked Mom. "Why is he all blue?"
"It's a long story," Mom said. "I'll tell you about it later."
Dad paused for a minute and shook his head. Then he said, "Well... I've got the boat from noon to four and I can take up to six passengers. I know Peter wants to come... how about the rest of you?"
"I've never been sailing," Jimmy said.
"No problem," Sheila told him. "I'm an expert. I'll explain everything to you."
Somebody should tell the Guinness Book of World Records about her, I thought. Since she's the world's leading expert on everything.
"Count me in," Grandma said.
"Count me out," Buzzy Senior said.
"Buzzy..." Grandma said. "You don't like sailing?"
111
"About as much as a fish likes being out of water."
Mr. Fargo said, "Thanks, but no thanks."
Mrs. Tubman said she really wasn't into water sports, but she'd go if Mr. Tubman would. Mr. Tubman said he had no sailing experience but he'd always wanted to give it a try.
"What about Fudge?" Sheila asked Mom.
"Fudge isn't going anywhere!" Mom said.
"Except to the bathroom," Jimmy whispered to me. And we both cracked up.
All seven of us piled into the back of Mr. Fargo's truck. "Have a good sail!" he called when he dropped us off with our gear.
The boat Dad rented was tied to the dock. It looked kind of small, especially next to the really big boats that were moored in the harbor. As soon as we were on board Dad handed out life jackets. There was one for each of us and Dad's rule was we had to wear it the whole time.
Then he started to explain the man-overboard rule.
"Excuse me, Mr. Hatcher..." Sheila said, "but couldn't we call it the person -overboard rule? I mean, man overboard sounds so sexist."
"Okay," Dad said. "The person -overboard rule." He appointed Mrs. Tubman and me official spotters.
112
If anyone fell into the water our job was to point. No matter how the boat turned, no matter how it rocked, the spotter had to keep pointing so the person overboard didn't get lost.
"Maybe I should just wait here," Jimmy said.
"Nah... once we get going you're going to like it," I told him.
"I don't know," Jimmy said. "I'm not the world's greatest swimmer."
"Nobody's going swimming," I said. "This water's so cold you'd have hypothermia in a couple of minutes."
"Hypo-who?" Jimmy said.
"Hypothermia," I said. "That's when your body temperature falls really low. Most people who die when they fall in the water die from that, not from drowning." I think Jimmy would have jumped back onto the dock if we hadn't sailed away right then.
"Oooh... my hat," Mrs. Tubman cried, as we got going. "The wind took my hat." We watched as it slowly drifted down into the water.
"Sorry, Jean," Dad said. "You should have pinned it to your hair."
"I didn't know," Mrs. Tubman said.
"Now you do," Dad told her.
"I really liked that hat," Mrs. Tubman mumbled. I don't think Dad heard her. He was at
113
the tiller, which is the stick that steers the boat.
Soon we were moving along really fast, for a sailboat. I liked the whoosh whoosh sound as the boat cut through
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