Puppet Wrangler by Vicki Grant Read Free Book Online

neither of us was about to admit it.
    â€œSo got any other theories?” I said, figuring his mood had improved.
    â€œWhaddya mean? About ‘how the Incredible Bitsie came to be’? I don’t know! How did you come to be?”
    I wasn’t sure if he was ready for this. But hey, I wasn’t ready for a talking puppet. He’d just have to brace himself.
    â€œWell, basically, the female body produces eggs and the male body produces…”
    I didn’t have time to finish.
    â€œStop! Stop! Please! I’ve seen the Health Channel!” He made a “don’t-make-me-gag” face. “You people look at puppets like we’re the weirdos! At least we’re not oozing fluids all over the place.”
    â€œHey, you asked!”
    â€œThat’s not what I meant. I was talking about the bigger picture. Not where did you come from. But where did the first egg and…whatever…come from.”
    I hate thinking about things like that. Mum and Dad fell in love, had Bess and then had me. That I can understand—though the part about having another kid after Bess always throws me a bit.
    But trying to figure out how the whole thing started, how the first person started—that’s too big. It’s like swimming in the middle of the ocean. You could paddle around forever and ever and never reach the place you’re trying to get to.
    â€œWell?” he said, all smart-alecky again.
    â€œI don’t know. Some higher being made them I guess.
    God or something.”
    â€œAnd so why couldn’t He…”
    â€œLet’s say She…” I can be obnoxious too.
    â€œOkay, why couldn’t She have made a talking puppet?
    It’s not the strangest thing She came up with. She made platypuses. She made those hairless cats, not to mention people who actually find them cute. Hey…She made your Aunt Kathleen!”
    We both laughed.
    â€œGood point,” I said. “So is that really what you think happened? Some god made you?”
    Bitsie sighed. “Who cares?!? We can sit around here figuring out the meaning of life—or we can go out and actually try to live one.”
    On one hand, that sounded pretty good—in an Oprah Winfrey kind of way. (I could tell Bitsie was really proud of it too. Like he was Mr. Inspirational or something.) On the other hand, it sounded a lot like the type of thing Bess does.
    By which I mean scary and/or illegal.
    There was a long pause (by Bitsie standards, anyway). I figured he’d said everything he was going to say.
    Oh, right. Like that would ever happen.
    â€œAnyway, in answer to your question, I do have three theories about how I came to be. One: I’m a freak of nature. Sort of the five-legged frog of the puppet world.
    Don’t look so shocked! I’m perfectly fine with that. If that’s who I am, that’s who I am. Theory two: I’m a figment of your imagination.”
    Oh boy, that made me mad. I practically attacked him.
    â€œWhat?! You just spent all this time bullying me into believing you’re real, and now you’re telling me I just made you up!”
    Bitsie rolled his eyes at me, which, frankly, no figment of my imagination would ever have the nerve to do. My imagination was the one thing I had any control over. Or at least I used to.
    â€œHey, it’s just a theory. I thought you’d be pleased. If you ask me, as figments go, I’m way more interesting than your little under-the-bed world. Think of me as a sign you’re improving!”
    That was just mean and there was no way I was going to ask the little know-it-all creep what his third theory was.
    As if I’d have to.
    â€œTheory three: You’re a figment of my imagination. That’s the theory I like best because it means I don’t have to waste anymore time talking about this crap.” He gave me a phony smile and turned away.
    Fine.
    Jerk.
    Neither of us said anything for a