“Do you think they turn on?” Nina asked.
“Of course they do. But we don’t have any power,” Joel replied, crossing his arms. “And we don’t need to freeze this room if there are no penguins in it anymore. Electricity is expensive.”
Nina disappeared around the back of one of the cooling devices. “There’s a space back here. I can almost fit—wait, what’s that? Whoa, I almost crushed it!”
“Crushed what?” Joel asked, shining the flashlight on his sister. He couldn’t see what she’d found, though. Her body was casting a shadow over it.
“Hold on—there’s another one!” Nina turned around, with something in each hand.
“What are those?” Joel asked.
She worked her way out from behind the coolers. She was speechless as she lifted her hands up into the light.
It was very unusual for Nina to be speechless.
But in an instant, Joel could see why.
Cradled in each hand was an egg. They were grayish and faintly speckled and too big to be chicken eggs.
They had to be penguin eggs.
NINA AND JOEL BUILD A NEST
“KIDS?” MRS. POPPER asked from the top of the basement stairs. “What’s going on down there?”
“Nothing!” Joel called up brightly. He whispered furiously in Nina’s ear. “Put those eggs back.”
“Why?” Nina protested. “We’re going to love these eggs and maybe sit on them and hatch them, and then we’ll have penguins!”
“Mom has enough to trouble her without also worrying about the penguin eggs in our basement,” Joel whispered.
“Are you kidding? Mom will be excited, too! She loves animals.”
“She might make us send them off to whatever zoo the Penguin Pavilion birds wound up in,” Joel said. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
That quieted Nina down. She shook her head soberly.
To be honest, Joel wasn’t sure what they should do next. He just knew he didn’t like any unexpected complications in his life, and this was definitely an unexpected complication. At least these penguin eggs would probably never hatch. In any case, a few more hours in a corner of the basement wouldn’t change their fate. He’d debate about what they should do overnight and then come up with a plan in the morning when he was thinking more clearly.
“Kids?” their mom called down. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, fine!” Nina called as she carefully returned the eggs to their hiding place. She gave Joel a thumbs-up and winked. Only she hadn’t really learned how to wink yet, so it was more like an exaggerated eye scrunch.
Joel didn’t sleep much that night. He lay in his strange new bed, looking out at the orange streetlight that shone through the broken slatted blinds of his room, and considered his options.
By morning, he was pretty sure he had a workable plan.
At breakfast, he and Nina sat in a corner of the kitchen, cereal bowls in their laps (they hadn’t unpacked any tables and chairs yet). Their mother was in the bathroom, trying to unclog the toilet. It wasn’t going well—they kept hearing grunts and strange gurgling sounds. Joel didn’t dare peek into the bathroom to see what was going on.
Gloop. Joel coughed. “Mom, Nina and I have to go to our new school on Monday, as you, um, as you know, of course, but did you know they sent a letter to our old house about what we needed to read for class?” Glork. “Well, they did, and I memorized it, so, um, I was wondering if Nina and I could go to the library we passed on the way in and get out the books we need. It’s just a couple of blocks, and we’ll be right back, you’ll barely miss us? I’m sure the librarian will be nice and give us a card.” Glup.
“Sure,” their mother called absently. Glip. “You’re old enough. I’ll have this fixed by the time you’re back.” Glook.
Joel and Nina were already halfway out the front door, pulling their shoes and jackets on. They dressed as they ran, hopping until they had all four shoes on all four feet. “We’re looking up how to care for penguin eggs, aren’t we?” Nina said excitedly.
Joel nodded and held open the library door for his sister. Once they were inside, Joel and Nina went straight back to the reference section, avoiding the curious gaze of the librarian. They didn’t want anyone asking difficult questions.
“Penguins are 598.47,” Joel said. “I hope that’s a low shelf.”
“How do you know the Dewey Decimal number for penguins?” Nina asked.
“I remember stuff, I don’t know,” Joel said. “Here we go!”
Joel sat on the floor, legs crossed, and pulled books into his lap. “Okay, eggs in the index, page twelve, here we go. Incubation temperature is 96.5 degrees.”
“That’s really hot, right?” Nina asked.
Joel nodded. “It’s been a hot September, but not that hot. We need to get those eggs some heat. I hope it’s not too late.”
“There was probably heat coming out the back of the machines, back when power was on,” Nina said. She flipped open her own penguin book and sounded out the captions under the photographs. “‘The parents take turns in… in… incubating the eggs.’ I guess the little chicks inside like the feeling of being sat on. We should sit on them, too.”
Joel snapped his fingers. “Hot-water bottles! We have some from when we were sick last winter.”
“‘Sometimes penguin parents wind up being two boys or two girls,’” Nina read out loud. “‘Other penguins will adopt eggs if the original parent goes missing.’ That’s so sweet.”
“Anything else? We should get back and warm those eggs. I wish we could bring the books with us, but of course they won’t give library cards to kids without an adult present.”
“I don’t know why Mom didn’t think of that,” Nina said.
“She’s an artiste,” Joel replied. “That means she doesn’t bother about small things.” Like having the power turned on before they arrived at their new home.
Joel started reshelving the books. “Get your coat on, Nina.”
“I didn’t even take mine off!” Nina said.
