My Big Fat Zombie Goldfish by Mo O’Hara Page B

ran to the bathroom.
    â€œCome on, fish. Hang on. You’ll be OK now,” I muttered as I ran.
    The fish was covered in the green gunk and it was flipping about in my hands. At least it was still moving, but it wouldn’t last long, all gunked up like this. I tried to hold it in one hand while I turned on the tap and tried to wash it, but I could feel it wriggling through my fingers.
    Then, slurp! It flipped out of my hand and landed in the toilet.
    Splash!
    I dropped down next to the bowl. The fish kind of bobbed around and swished its tail, but then it went still and leaned over. Our other goldfish all did that leaning thing too, just before they went belly up and died.
    I raced to my bedroom and got my walkie-talkie. “Tom to Pradeep. Come in, Pradeep. Over,” I said.
    â€œRoger,” Pradeep answered. “I mean Roger, Tom—or Tom, Roger. Anyway, I’m here. Over.”
    â€œPradeep, it’s a Code Red!” I shouted. “Over. Quick!”
    We have this code of important stuff we both agreed on when we were back in first grade.
    Yellow is stuff like: Girls are nearby.
    Blue is stuff like: There’s a dog digging up the gross food from our lunchboxes that we buried.
    Orange is stuff like: There’s a teacher/parent coming.
    Red is the most important stuff you can imagine, like: Aliens are invading the neighborhood. Or escaped elephants are trampling the playground. Or somebody is murdering a goldfish.
    If you’re trying to figure out the system, it’s not like traffic lights or anything. It’s the color of jelly beans from least good to best.
    â€œI’ll be there on the double,” Pradeep said and hung up.

    I was still staring at the leaning fish in the toilet when Pradeep ran up the stairs. “In here,” I called.
    â€œWhat’s up?” he asked.
    I pointed to the fish.
    Pradeep bent down and looked closely at it. “Did you go to a fair?” he asked.
    â€œNo, it’s Mark’s,” I said. “Part of his EVIL SCIENTIST plan to murder a goldfish with green EVIL SCIENTIST stuff.”
    We leaned over the toilet bowl and stared at the fish again.
    â€œDid you learn anything on your Cub Scout first-aid day that could help him?” I asked hopefully.
    â€œWe didn’t do goldfish,” he said.
    The fish tilted to one side, then the other, then onto his back.
    â€œOh no, he’s going belly up!” I shouted. I reached into the toilet and turned the fish right side up, but he just floated upside down again when I let go. “Pradeep, we need to do something! Quick! I told him he’d be OK. He’s counting on me.”
    â€œIt needs CPR,” Pradeep said. “On a person you would press on their chest and count or you would shock them with those battery packs attached to paddles that they have in hospitals. I saw it on TV.”
    â€œWe have batteries,” I said. I ran into my room and took the battery out of my alarm clock. Then I raced back to see Pradeep laying the fish on the shelf by the sink. I put the openish end of the battery on him and FLIP! The fish jerked. I looked at Pradeep and I did it again. FLIP, FLOP! This time the fish started wriggling like it did when I first grabbed it out of the bowl. We quickly filled up the sink and dropped the fish in.
    And it started swimming around!
    â€œWe did it!” I said. Pradeep and I did our secret celebration high five. Two slaps up, two down, elbow bumps, knees, fist bumps, left, right, left, right, then “We rock!” said at the same time as we bumped fists in the middle.

    â€œYou shocked him back to life,” said Pradeep. “Like Frankenstein in that movie. Hey, let’s call him Frankie—after the monster.”
    â€œHello, Frankie,” I said, tapping the side of the sink. He stopped swimming and slowly turned around. And that’s when I swear he looked me right in the eye and winked.

 

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