Judy Blume - Fudge-a-Mania

I kind of groaned and Dad looked at me. "What is it, Peter?"

"Sheila Tubman," I said.

"What about her?" Dad asked.

"We're getting married," Fudge said, his mouth full of chicken and taco shell.

"I'm not talking about your wedding," I said. "I'm talking about spending three weeks in Maine next door 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 still be 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!" I figured that would shut him up since his real name is Farley Drexel Hatcher and he's ready to kill anybody who calls him that.

"Don't call me Farley!" he said. Then he really let go and yelled, "I'm Fudge!"

The waiter, who heard him from across the room, came over to our table and said, "Sorry... we don't have any tonight. But we do have mud pie, which is almost the same thing."

Dad had to explain that we weren't talking about dessert. And Mom added, "We never eat dessert until we've finished our main course."

"Oh," the waiter said.

But before he had a chance to get away, Fudge looked up at him and said, "Do you have cooties?"

"Cooties?" the waiter asked. "For dessert?" He looked confused. Especially when Tootsie banged her spoon against, the tray of her baby seat and sang, "Coo-tee... coo-tee..."

I could tell Fudge was about to ask the same question again, but before he had the chance I clamped my hand over his mouth. Then Dad told the waiter we didn't need anything else right now.

The waiter walked away shaking his head and I took my hand away from Fudge's mouth. As soon as I did, he was back in business, "What's cooties?" This time 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. Little creepy, crawly bugs that live in hair." I snapped my fingernails at his head the way Sheila Tubman used to do to me.

Fudge yelled, "I don't want creepy, crawly bugs in my 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 sounding like eee-nuff , which got Tootsie going.

"Eee-eee-eee-eee. " Tootsie shrieked, banging her spoon.