Nanny X by Madelyn Rosenberg

of a strawberry, and I wondered if he had a button on him someplace, because he looked like he was about to explode.

19. Alison
Nanny X’s Bag of Tricks

    Nanny X opened up the diaper bag.
    â€œBoris, children: Choose your weapons,” she said.
    Boris grabbed the copy of
Moo, Sweet Cow
. “For old times’ sake,” he said.
    Nanny X grabbed a jar of beef-and-gravy baby food.
    â€œWhat do these do?” asked Jake, grabbing a bunch of yellow pacifiers, the ones that were labeled Stinky Binky.
    â€œStink bombs,” Nanny X explained. Jake handed some to me.
    Stinky, of course, was still doing the tango with Francis, so he didn’t grab anything, even though the pacifiers sort of had his name on them.
    â€œNow,” said Nanny X, “squeeze and heave.”
    I squeezed the bulb of the pacifier, and right away smoke started pouring out. I threw it toward Big Adam. Soon the room smelled like hard-boiled eggs. Really old hard-boiledeggs. Which was disgusting but made me kind of hungry at the same time.
    Jake threw his pacifier, aiming for Stinky and Francis. I hoped Stinky could get at least one hand free so he could hold his nose. But then, he was used to bad smells.
    Big Adam’s other assistant came charging toward us, and Nanny X turned to face him. “Untie Mr. Strathmore and his friend,” she told us. “I’ve got this.” She opened the jar of baby food. It looked like ground-up erasers. Then she crouched, the way a tiger crouches—or a special agent—and pulled a small metal spoon from her gardening hat.
    â€œBack off,” she said. “Or else.” The man slowed his advance, but he didn’t stop.
    Meanwhile, I studied the knot that was holding Mr. Strathmore’s wrists. It was actually a series of knots—a square knot on top of a granny knot and then another square knot. But the rope was pulled tight and my fingernails were too short to get in there, from biting them. I pulled a barrette out of my hair and started prying apart the bits of rope.
    â€œThank you,” he said. “Miss . . .”
    â€œAlison,” I said.
    â€œThank you, Alison,” said Mr. Strathmore. “I didn’t fancy getting sent to an island in the Pacific. I love it in Lovett!”
    I closed my eyes so I could focus all of my powers of persuasion right on Mr. Strathmore. Then I opened my eyes, and I opened my mouth up, too. “You won’t love it in Lovett for very long if you let people clog up the park with a bunch of factories,” I said.
    â€œYou don’t understand the complexities,” Mr. Strathmore said. I had worked through the first two knots and was starting on the third. “Not that I support this particular business anymore, but there might be others—”
    â€œOur park doesn’t make anybody cough.” I interrupted him, even though I’m not supposed to interrupt. I talked fast. “Don’t you think the park’s pretty?”
    â€œOf course,” he said.
    â€œDon’t you think the kids need a place to play?”
    â€œWell of course I do.”
    â€œDo you know what I think?” I asked as I undid the last knot.
    Mr. Strathmore looked me square in the eye, the way grown-ups look at other grown-ups. “What?”
    â€œI think you should give the factories a park of their own and leave Blue Slide Park alone.” I didn’t mean for it to rhyme, but it did. I pulled out the bib and the Blazing Binky and showed him, in the purple light, a spot in Lovett where there was an empty lot beside a factory that made potato chips.
    â€œThat,” he said, rubbing his chin now that his hands were completely untied, “is a thought.”
    â€œI agree,” said the man beside Mr. Strathmore, who was waking up now, too. He held out his hands so I could untie them next. “You,” he said to me, “should run for a seat on the planning commission.”
    Mr.