4. Climbing Mt. Fred

"Get him off me!"

"Huh? What?" Toad had been dozing on the couch (well, the arm of the couch—Lance had another of his headaches and was taking up the whole couch), but the shout had woken him up. "What?"

"Tad! Get him off me!" Fred repeated.

Sure enough, on top of Fred's massive tummy was a sleeping baby in Teletubby PJs.

"How'd he get up there? A ladder?"

"Very funny."

"He can't hurt you! He's only a baby!"

"He makes me feel fat!"

"News flash, Freddy: you are fat," said Lance. Then he ducked a hurled plastic cup thrown at his head by an enraged Blob. It hit Todd on the nose.

"Ow!"

"Serves you right, jerk."

"What did I do?"

"You didn't stop Lance from calling me fat!"

"Uh . . . I hate to break it to you . . ." Toad said, and ducked.

"I AM NOT FAT!"

"Oh boy," Toad moaned. There were few things more frightening than an angry Blob. He leaped out of the way before Fred squashed the couch.

Lance was not so lucky. He got flattened, which didn't help his headache much. "Ouch! Get off me!"

"Sorry." Fred got up, leaving Lance sprawled out on the floor. "Want me to help you up?"

"Okay." That was the thing about Fred's temper tantrums: they never lasted long.

"Hey, where's Tad?" Toad asked.

"I put him on the cushion over there."

Tad was awake, looking around but not making a sound. Todd picked him up. "Maybe I should put you in your crib?"

"Gah bah," said Tad.

Pietro came rushing in, brandishing a newspaper. "OhmyGodyougottareadthis!" he exclaimed.

"What?"

He shoved the paper in their faces. In the upper-left-hand corner was the headline, FROG BABY CHOKES ON DRAGONFLY.

Even though he knew Tad was fine, Todd still couldn't help feeling anxious. "Oh no!" he said, flipping through the paper to find the story.

"Hey, turn back," Lance said. "I wanna see the Page 5 Girl."

Todd glared at him. "You can have it when I'm done." He finally found the story, towards the middle.

"Is he dead?" Fred asked.

"No, he's okay. His mom got him to the emergency room in time. She's not letting him out of her sight until he's old enough to know better."

"Yeah, you shouldn't try to swallow anything bigger than your fist," Pietro said.

Tad looked over his brother's shoulder at the alleged photo. (Weekly World News photos tend to look like drawings, mostly because most of them are.) "Gee goo!" he gurgled, trying to touch the other baby. "Bah gee gah!"

"Yeah, that's the frog baby. Isn't he cute?" Toad said.

"I bet he doesn't sleep on other people's tummies," Fred grumbled.

"Oh, will you give it up? He's a baby, it's not like he's gonna hurt you!"

"He's got a crib! Why does he have to sleep on me?"

"Because you've got the softest tummy of everybody in this house," Lance said.

"Why, I oughta--!"

Mystique came back from the store. "What's going on?" she demanded.

"Tad keeps sleeping on me!" Fred complained.

"Well, put him in his crib!"

"But he's not asleep now!" Todd said, and then looked down. Tad's little head was leaning on his shoulder, and his eyes were closed. "Guess he is now."

"See? What have you got to complain about?" Mystique started putting away the groceries. "You know, you could help me."

"Or we could not," Pietro smirked.

Mystique gave him her I-haven't-got-time-for-this glare. "Take the frozen stuff down to the freezer," she ordered him.

"Aw, why me?"

"Cause I'm putting Tad to bed," Toad whispered.

"I'm not feeling good," Lance said, and went to lie down again.

"Well, what about Freddy?" Pietro whined.

"He can help too—NO!" Mystique looked over to see Fred helping himself to an entire package of Ding Dongs. "Put those back!"

"I can't! There's none left!"

"You're supposed to put the food into the cabinets, not your stomach!" She took a break from berating Fred to give Pietro a glare that suggested he might want to put that frozen stuff away now.

Pietro picked up the heavy paper bag and lugged it down the stairs, muttering threats and curses against Mystique under his breath.

Later that night, Pietro hit upon the perfect plan. If he could get at least one person in the house on his side, maybe they could get rid of the blue witch before she drove them all crazy.

He tiptoed into Lance's room, where Tad's crib was currently set up, and planted a small tape player under the baby's pillow. He pushed PLAY, and then hurried out of the room before anyone noticed he was gone.

"Uncle Pietro is the greatest guy in the world . . . he's way smarter than anyone else around here . . . Uncle Lance is a loser . . . Fred eats too much . . . Auntie Mystique is a fascist . . ."

It might have worked, except for one small thing—Mystique coming in to check on Tad. She heard the recording and recognized the voice.

"Why that little--!" She stalked out of the room, marched down the hall into Pietro's room, and proceeded to rudely awaken him, and then drag him by the hair into the bathroom and try to drown him.

At least that's what he claimed. Mystique's side of the story was that he had slipped and fallen into the tub, and his flailing arms accidentally turned the water on. Fortunately, it was cold water, but his screams awakened everyone in the house.

Mystique told everyone to go back to bed (she even rocked Tad a little and patted his bottom till he went back to sleep), and when they had all gone, she turned back to Pietro with fury in her eyes.

Uh oh.

"What was that business with the tape recorder all about?"

"I was just—"

"You were just calling me a fascist."

"Well, that's what you are!"

"You do not have the right to call me names! I take care of you, I put food on your table and a roof over your head. Don't you dare disrespect me!"

"Fine! Don't order me around!"

"If we didn't have rules in this house, it wouldn't be standing very long, would it?"

"That doesn't mean you need to be mean about it."

"Getting mean is the only way to get you off your butts and actually do something."

"So what? It'd kill you to say please once in a while? C'mon: you treat us like five-year-olds, we're gonna act that way. You treat us like adults . . . maybe we can get somewhere."

She stared at him in surprise. "Who are you and what have you done with our Pietro?"

"What, I can't have an original thought once in a while?"

"All right, you have a deal. I'll try to be nicer, and you . . . leave Tad alone."

"Okay."

"Here." She tossed him a towel. "Dry yourself off and then go to bed."

The next day, the boys took Tad for a walk.

At least that was the theory. The problem was that Tad's stroller was an old model, bought second-hand; one of the wheels didn't move at all, and another spun freely on its own. It took two people (or one Fred) to push the stupid thing.

It didn't help that the street was so hilly you practically needed mountain-climbing equipment to get from one end to the other.

Lance, Fred, and Toad were grumbling as they lifted the stroller (which weighed a ton as well) over yet another pothole.

"*@#$!" Lance cursed. "Stupid thing!" He would have kicked it, but didn't want to break his foot.

"Hey, watch your mouth around Tad, yo!"

"Sorry."

For half an hour, they dragged Tad around town, wrestling the stroller over curbs and trying to steer out of people's way, but having trouble. The defective wheels wouldn't go the way they wanted—not without kicking them, anyway.

Finally they got back home. Tad, miracle of miracles, had managed to sleep through all the lifting and cursing and kicking. Todd carried him in on his shoulder, and put him into his crib, which was in Fred's room today.

"At least he's not on top of me," Fred said.

"Are you still going on about that?" Mystique sighed. "You act like he weighs a ton. He's not that heavy!"

"I can't go anywhere when he's on top of me! What if I have to go to the bathroom? Or if I need to get something to eat? I'll drop him!"

Mystique rolled her eyes and said, "Trust me, I don't think he'd fall off that stomach."

"Hey!"

"C'mon, you have to admit, you're not exactly svelte," Lance said.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean everyone can just climb all over me!"

"True," said Pietro.

Everyone looked at him. Was he actually being nice for once?

"With all that blubber, nobody could even get a foothold."

Guess not.

Mystique quickly stepped in before Fred could react. "Pietro, do you remember what we talked about?"

"Not using your hair gel?"

"No, the other thing we talked about."

He looked blank.

"Last night?"

"Oh! Last night!"

"What I said goes for everyone in this house. Even Fred."

"Aw, but—"

"If he says he's sorry," Fred said, "I'll forget about it."

Pietro gulped. "Uh, sorry, Fred."

"Like you mean it!"

"I do mean it!"

"Okay."

And that was the end of that. An understanding was reached: Fred would not be used as a cushion, and he in turn wouldn't sit on anyone. Even if they deserved it.

There was still the problem of Tad's stroller, however. There was no way they could get by with the one they had, but they didn't have the money for a new one.

"So we steal it," Toad suggested, his solution for everything.

"No!" Lance said. "Didn't you promise Mystique you wouldn't any more?"

"Yeah, but she doesn't have to find out, yo."

"If only," Fred said, "we knew someone who had a lot of money. Or maybe, we knew someone who knew someone with money . . ."

They all looked at Pietro, who looked uncomfortable. Ever since they had found out that Magneto was Pietro's father, they had tried to use his connections to get more money and better stuff. So far, it hadn't worked.

"He's out of the country," Pietro said.

"Where? Some place they don't have phones?"

"I don't know. But he told me not to call him unless it's an emergency."

"And this doesn't count?" Toad demanded. "What if that thing breaks and Tad gets hurt? That's an emergency!"

"He won't think so."

"Why don't we just ask Mystique?" Fred said.

They looked at him.

"Yeah, you ask her!" Lance said. He had an idea of his own, but he didn't want to bring it up. It would sound dumb out loud, and he didn't want them laughing at him . . .

"Well, we gotta get the money some way, yo!"

"How? Robabank?"

"What if I could get it?" Lance found himself saying.

Toad looked interested. "How?"

"Trust me. I just have to ask someone . . . she should say yes."

"She?" Now Pietro was intrigued. "Who?"

"Kitty."

TO BE CONTINUED . . .