Hamster Magic by Lynne Jonell Page A

Hammy the Third was the smartest of all.”
    “So why did you go and lose him, then?” said Derek.

    Celia was crying at last, but under the stairs, where no one could see her. It was true that she could turn on the tears as needed. But when she was crying for real, she liked to be private.
    She really did miss Hammy. Unlike Hammy the First, he did not hide and snuffle under a cloth all day long. And he was not stupid enough to walk off a table when she let him out for a little exercise, like the hapless Hammy the Second. No, Hammy the Third was different.
    Maybe it was because they hadn’t gotten him from a pet store. They had found him on moving day. He was cowering in the cellar behind a bag of Woofies dog biscuits the previous owner had left behind. A corner had been chewed open and a biscuit pulled out, and Celia thought this was clever of Hammy.
    A hamster that had lived on its own just had to be smarter, in Celia’s opinion. Hammy the Third was an alert little rodent who always listened carefully when she talked. He had never talked back, but Celia was sure that was only because he was shy.
    She had been trying to teach him how to open the door of his cage. She had thought he would be grateful. And if a hamster was grateful, maybe he would say “thank you.” And then he would not be shy anymore, and she would have someone to talk to who was littler than she was.

    Celia wanted that very much. She was tired of being the baby of the family. But now that Hammy had opened the door of his cage by himself and escaped, she was still the baby—only hamsterless.
    Celia stopped crying, hiccupped, and sniffled twice. Her last sniffle seemed more like a squeak, for some reason. She paused, thinking about this, and the squeak came again.
    It was close. It sounded like Hammy.
    Celia felt around in the dark beneath the stairs, where the suitcases were stacked in a row. The squeaking was louder now, and she heard a small bumping noise. She put her ear next to the small suitcase her mother used for short trips and listened. It sounded very much like a tiny voice squeaking “Lemmee out! Lemmee out! Lemmee out!”
    Celia sat back on her heels. Then she went to find a flashlight.
    It took a long time, and she ran into her mother, who made her pick up some toys she had left out. Then her father told her to fetch him some masking tape. Next, Derek caughther in the hallway and pretended to punch her, and she had to pretend to punch him back or he would say she was soft. But at last she was under the stairs once more, shining the light on the small suitcase.
    The bumping had stopped, but from within the case came a faint sound of panting. Celia snapped open the latch and lifted the lid. Inside was a small, golden, slightly sweaty ball of fur.
    “What took you so long?” said the hamster. “It’s not my fault the lid fell shut!”
    Holding the pocket of her pants firmly closed, Celia climbed the stairs to the third floor. This was where the children’s bedrooms were, one on either end of a long open space with five windows. Above, wooden rafters held up a high, slanting roof. This room was the best thing about the house, they had all agreed, and it was theirs to set up as they liked. They called it the Loft.
    They hadn’t finished with it yet, though. Abner was putting together shelves out of bricks and boards, Tate was sorting books to put on the shelves, and Derek was digging in a box of sports gear when Celia came through the door.
    “I found the hamster,” she said. “And he talks.” She pulled Hammy gently from her pocket and held him out with pride.
    Tate and Abner glanced at each other. Derek, less careful of her feelings, dropped a hockey stick and snorted.
    “He does!” Celia prodded the hamster with her finger. “Say something, Hammy.”
    The hamster looked annoyed. He lifted his back, twitched his nose, and was silent.
    Derek laughed out loud.
    Celia lifted the hamster up and stared him right in the eye.