The Unbelievable Oliver and the Sawed-in-Half Dads Read online

  For the Phenomenal Phillip —P.B.

  For my Marvelous Mom and Dependable Dad —S.P.

  ★

  Dial Books for Young Readers

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York

  Text copyright © 2020 by Pseudonymous Bosch

  Illustrations copyright © 2020 by Shane Pangburn

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Dial & colophon is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Visit us online at penguinrandomhouse.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  Ebook ISBN 9780525552376

  pid_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0

  INTRODUCTION (The Invitation)

  Chapter One: The Grand Cake Tasting

  Chapter Two: Bon Voyage

  Chapter Three: Magic Shopping

  Chapter Four: The Rehearsal for the Rehearsal Brunch

  Chapter Five: Showtime!

  Chapter Six: What Did We Forget?

  Chapter Seven: Define Missing

  Chapter Eight: Runaways

  Chapter Nine: Hostage Negotiations

  Chapter Ten: Rabbit Run

  Chapter Eleven: From Maze to Mansion

  Chapter Twelve: Secret Passages

  Chapter Thirteen: Guests and Guesses

  Chapter Fourteen: Getting Ready (to Call It Off)

  Chapter Fifteen: Rabbit Down the Hole

  Chapter Sixteen: Cutting the Cake

  Chapter Seventeen: The Reception

  AFTER-PARTY (How to Perform Oliver’s Trick)

  INTRODUCTION

  Welcome.

  How wonderful to see you.

  You’re here for a book. Am I right?

  Don’t ask how I knew.

  An author never reveals his secrets.

  Do you want to read it now?

  Very well. The book is yours.

  Just say the magic words.

  No, not please or thank you.

  Not even abracadabra.

  Just say . . . I do.

  Did you say it? Good.

  You may now kiss the book.

  Oh, did I say kiss the book?

  I meant read the book.

  You’re not marrying it!

  The Grand Cake Tasting

  “Try this one.”

  The twins, Bea and Teenie, had insisted that Oliver come with them to the cake tasting.

  “He’s a cake expert,” Bea told their fathers. “He’ll be a big help.”

  “Yeah, he really, really loves cake,” said Teenie.

  So far, Oliver hadn’t been even a tiny help. He loved each cake equally. Each flavor got the highest possible score.

  The twins’ fathers were beside themselves. Of all the wedding planning they’d had to do, the cake tasting was supposed to be the easy part. “Why, oh why did we bring the children into this?” Simon asked (just as he’d asked when they debated the dinner menu and the flowers and the music).

  Miguel tried to make the best of the situation.

  “Now, Oliver,” he said. “Isn’t there one cake that you prefer?”

  “Nope,” Oliver said with his mouth full. “They’re all perfect. Thanks for taking me here, Mr. Dad and Mr. Papa.”

  Oliver never knew what names to call adults. He just went with what Bea and Teenie called them. Plus Mr. to be polite.

  “Simon and Miguel is fine,” Simon told Oliver, not for the first time.

  “Okay, Mr. Simon and Mr. Miguel.”

  “No, I meant just—oh, never mind.”

  The girls weren’t helping much either. Having given up on choosing the cake’s flavor, they had decided to focus on design. They were leafing through a binder full of more and more extravagant cakes.

  Teenie held up a photo of a pirate ship. It had licorice cannons, a candy-cane mast, a marzipan sail, and a giant gummy squid attacking the deck.

  “That one floats,” the baker chimed in.

  Jacques Fondant had been a baker to the stars for twenty years now. He’d designed cakes for YouTubers, presidents, and reality-show hosts. But he never let it go to his head. He still made cakes for anyone and everyone. No cake too small or too big.

  The twins wanted a big cake.

  “Can this one have more floors?” Bea had started sketching their dream dessert, which looked something like a Japanese pagoda crossed with the Empire State Building. She taped two sheets together for height.

  “You mean more stories?” asked Teenie as Bea climbed onto Teenie’s shoulders to properly display her creation.

  “The word is tiers, but forget about that,” said Miguel. “We want something simple.”

  “Vanilla buttercream,” Simon added. “Two tiers.”

  “UGH! THEN WHAT’S THE POINT?” Bea theatrically fell from her sister’s shoulders.

  “Girls,” Miguel said, “we’re glad you want to help, but this is our wedding.”

  “WAIT!” Oliver nearly spat out one of three bites of cake he was currently chewing.

  Oliver had known Simon and Miguel his whole life. Of course they were married. They had children. They shared a house and a car.

  “I know,” said Bea. “Can you believe it? In the olden days, two dads couldn’t get married.”

  “It’s kind of like how they didn’t use to have cell phones,” Teenie explained. “Now they can marry and we’re finally making it official.”

  “We are,” Miguel specified. “The fathers.”

  “And we’d like you to be the ring bearer!” said Teenie.

  Oliver had never been to a wedding and his only knowledge of ring bearers came from The Lord of the Rings. It seemed like too much responsibility. “I couldn’t, honestly. I can’t bear anything.”

  “Nonsense,” said Simon. “You’ll do great. And the girls will be there to help.”

  “That’s right!” said Bea. “We’re going to be flower girls. Or flower scientists, really.”

  “Well, she’s a flower scientist,” said Teenie. “I’m a flower assassin.”

  Oliver was confused. “So you kill flowers?”

  “Right. I pick them off one by one. And we’re both . . .”

  The girls attempted a drumroll on their empty plates. (It ended up being more of a crumb roll.)

  “Magician’s assistants,” announced Teenie.

  “Magician’s executive assistants,” amended Bea.

  “But there’s no magician. W-wait . . .” Oliver stammered, realizing the terrifying implications of this. “You want me . . . at your dads’ . . . ?”

  They nodded, smiling.

  Bea and Teenie considered themselves managers of local magic talent the Unbelievable Oliver. Their friend was in high demand after the rousing success at their classmate Maddox’s ninth birthday party three months before.

  “We’re getting dozens of requests, Oliver,” said Bea. “DOZENS!”

  “But we thought it was only fair to give our dads your first—well, second—official show!” said Teenie.

  Their dads looked a
t each other.

  “It’s not that we don’t want our wedding to be magical,” said Miguel gently. “We do. It’s just—”

  “It’s just that it’s our wedding,” Simon finished.

  “But it was our idea!” protested Bea. “You were going to go to City Hall.”

  “Well, it’s our idea now,” Miguel said. “You gave it to us.”

  “Exactly,” Simon agreed. “So no magic tricks. And a simple two-tier—”

  Oliver wanted to be polite, but he too wanted a larger cake, so he just grumbled “more cake please” under his breath. The baker, who was similarly at a loss for words, slipped him a piece.

  “Fine, three tiers,” Simon said, to stop the girls’ shouting. “Vanilla Velvet—”

  “Double Chocolate!”

  “Strawberry Bubblegum!”

  “Four tiers,” Simon compromised. “Cherry Jubilee, Caramel Sunset, After-Dark Chocolate, and Passionate Passion Fruit. But no more.”

  The girls made their saddest puppy dog faces, which they had perfected by practicing in the mirror. Teenie could even cry on command.

  But the two dads had practiced as well, challenging each other to resist all sad faces. Miguel, a photographer, had even made flash cards. Simon, who wrote the words for advertisements, had added dialogue:

  The brave fathers were immune to further demands and the girls knew four tiers was the most they were going to get.

  “Deal,” Bea said, holding out her hand.

  To make it official, Teenie spat on her hand before extending it. “AND a magic show.”

  “NO! Not at the wedding,” said Miguel.

  “But we worked out a whole routine,” said Bea. “It’s incredible. You should see: the Unbelievable Oliver, the Brilliant Beatriz, and the Marvelous Martina.”

  This was news to Oliver.

  “We’re still working on the names,” Teenie said. She didn’t like being called Martina, even a marvelous one.

  “No, absolutely not,” said Simon.

  “Please . . . please . . . please . . . please . . . please . . . We’re going to keep saying it . . . please . . . please . . .”

  “Well, maybe at the rehearsal brunch,” Miguel said.

  Bea raised a fist in victory. “Yes!”

  “And at least five tiers!” added Teenie, fist-bumping her sister.

  “Do you have an extra piece of carrot cake for my friend?” Oliver asked the baker as the others made their way out.

  If he was going to do another magic show, he was going to need help.

  Help from somebody who loved carrots almost as much as Oliver loved cake.

  Bon Voyage

  From the bed, Oliver could reach his desk or really any part of his room, including the ceiling if he jumped. His bedroom was small, but it filled all of Oliver’s needs: a rack for his jacket and top hat, a drawer for his three identical shirts and seven pairs of underwear (one for each day of the week), and another drawer for his slowly growing collection of magic supplies.

  Today, his desk was crowded with printouts of various magic tricks, all well beyond his skill level.

  A rabbit lounged on the bed nearby, surrounded by carrot cake crumbs. Contented, he made a sound that might have been a burp or a fart. (With a rabbit, it’s sometimes hard to tell.)

  “Can’t we just do a card trick?” Oliver asked. “The Four Jokers was a big hit last time.”

  “A modest hit,” the rabbit, who was named Benny, corrected him. “You’ve got to go bigger this time!”

  He tossed off a few ideas, each more alarming than the last.

  “Oliver, you don’t actually saw anybody in half. That’s why they call it a trick.”

  “What if I just pull you out of a hat?”

  “I’m a professional, Ollie. Not just something you pull out of a hat. I’m not dandruff!”

  In fact, when Oliver met Benny, the rabbit had been living in a hat. (The longtime magician’s rabbit had just escaped from Las Vegas and was hiding out in the hat when Oliver bought it at a local magic shop.) But Oliver didn’t think it would be nice to correct him.

  “Besides, I won’t be there,” said Benny. “One wedding was enough for me! And a magician never gets top billing. It’s all about the sappy couple getting married.”

  “I thought it was happy couple. What does sappy mean?”

  With the barest hint of a knock, Oliver’s mother opened his bedroom door. Oliver shook his head, trying to cut Benny off, but once the rabbit started on weddings, he really got on a roll.

  “You know, sappy. Syrupy. Corny.”

  Oliver’s mother, Diane, held a load of laundry, fresh and warm from the dryer. She tossed it on the bed and, mercifully, over Benny.

  “Help me fold these clothes, please,” she said. “Who were you talking to just now?”

  “No bunny, Mom.” Oliver slapped his forehead. “I mean, no-body.”

  As Oliver’s mother sorted laundry, a single T-shirt mysteriously crept off the edge of the bed.

  “I must be hearing things,” she said. “I need a vacation. You want to go on a cruise, Oliver?”

  “Sure.”

  “Aw, who needs a cruise? I’m just glad I have a weekend off for once. Thank goodness for this wedding. Told the hospital I’m out of town. Can’t be reached. A whole weekend off, Oliver. Can you imagine?”

  Oliver folded a shirt in one swift motion. “I can imagine.”

  Before Bea and Teenie had started booking him as a magic act, Oliver had had nearly every weekend off. At his mother’s insistence, he’d tried T-ball, basketball, and even ballroom dancing. But, thankfully, he failed at most extracurricular activities.

  Besides, his mother was almost always too busy to drop him off. Except for Hebrew school. (For some reason, she was never too busy to take him to Hebrew school.) So he had plenty of weekends to himself, practicing home-based hobbies, like magic and folding laundry.

  He’d gotten very good at it. Laundry, that is. Not magic.

  OLIVER’S LAUNDRY TIPS

  1. Pinch shirt at shoulder and chest.

  2. Move right hand to hem. Pinch fabric below also. Do not move left hand.

  3. Uncross your arms and lift the shirt like so . . .

  4. Then lay it down to fold one more time, and VOILA!

  “Well, I’m off to visit the living room. I may even sit down. A whole weekend, Oliver!”

  Oliver waved goodbye to his mother and wiped his sweating brow with an unfolded sock.

  “Benny, that was close. Do you think she suspects that you can talk?”

  “I suspect she does, kid. That woman is a lot smarter than you.”

  “Well, what do we do?” Oliver asked.

  The rabbit nodded thoughtfully. “Good question. If she finds out about me, she might make me pay rent. And between you and me, my credit isn’t too good. We better play it cool.”

  With another nearly silent knock, Oliver’s mother entered the room again, and handed him another load of laundry.

  “Oliver,” she said. “What’s going on? I could swear I heard that rabbit swear.”

  “Oh, Benny never swears.” Oliver slapped his forehead again. “Or talks. How could he swear? He can’t talk. He’s a rabbit.”

  “I must be going mad,” said his mother. “Maybe it runs in the family. You’re talking to yourself. I’m hearing things.”

  Diane picked up the rabbit off the floor and deposited him on the bed.

  “Well, you and your rabbit are on your own preparing for this show. My vacation starts now. Bon voyage.”

  Oliver scratched his head. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say to you?”

  Magic Shopping

  Oliver didn’t want to go to the Great Zoocheeni’s Magic Emporium. Not after what the Great Zoocheeni did to them at Mad
dox’s party, framing Oliver and the twins for Grand Theft Robot. It was only through clever casework and magic that they’d cleared their names, confronted the guilty parties, and found the stolen birthday present.*

  “You’re still mad about that?” Teenie said. “It was months ago. Almost.”

  “And besides,” Bea added, “it’s the only magic shop in town.”

  “And Papa says we should support local businesses.”

  Oliver couldn’t argue with the twins, their papa, AND the value of local entrepreneurship.

  In the short time since his last visit, the Great Zoocheeni’s Magic Emporium had somehow grown shabbier. It seemed like there was an extra year’s worth of dust on the rubber chickens and Magic 8-Balls.

  Once the door chimes woke him up, Oliver’s cousin Spencer greeted them with a yawn. “’Sup, Oliver, Beatriz, Martina. Let me know if you need any help.”

  “Look—don’t our dads need those?” Bea nodded toward a row of dusty neckties hanging next to a few old Halloween costumes.

  “Definitely! They love Halloween,” said Teenie, picking out one tie with a spider pattern and another decorated with worms. “These will be perfect for the wedding.”

  “Oh, hey, what about the music?” asked Spencer.

  He was going to be the DJ for the wedding, as well as the valet parker and Miguel’s photo assistant. At any given time, Spencer worked about seventeen jobs. He was trying to buy a car and also to create an app that would connect young video game players with corporate sponsors.

  “Are your dads more into house or trap?”

  The twins blinked.

  “Norwegian death metal?”

  “They really like embarrassing us,” noted Bea. “What music do you have that’s embarrassing?”