Toys Come Home by Emily Jenkins

StingRay.
    “How do you win?”
    StingRay doesn’t know, but she’s embarrassed about the lack of soapy water and ginger ale and doesn’t want Lumphy to lose faith in her. “Whoever’s got the most round things,” she answers, with false confidence.
    “But isn’t everyone sharing round things?”
    “No.”
    “Oh,” says Lumphy. “I thought they were, because. Um. They’re sharing them. See? The Girl is using the same one the boy with the red hair used.”
    “They only
look
like they’re sharing them,” explains StingRay. “It’s a very complicated thing that’s going on.”
    “I still don’t see the point,” says Lumphy.
    When the rolling of round things is done, everyone moves to a room in the back of the building where they eat pizza and then chocolate peanut-butter birthday cake with frosting roses. The Girl opens her presents in a flurry of colored paper and curls of ribbon.
    “Will there be a new friend in there?” Lumphy asks StingRay.
    “How should I know?”
    “I thought you knew almost everything,” the buffalo says, mildly.
    “Oh.” StingRay is pleased. “Well. Thank you for noticing. But I can’t predict the future.”
    The Girl unwraps a game called Uncle Wiggily, two Barbie dolls with blank motionless faces, several glittery Barbie dresses and a shiny pink box to keep them in, markers, a beading kit, and a nightgown.
    “Nobody,” says Lumphy, forlornly.
    “Nobody,” echoes StingRay.
    Lumphy thinks maybe now there will be the hats and haircuts and the drumming and washing feet, but no. Some people have seconds on cake, some people are playing with the discarded ribbon, and some people are jumping on the seats, yelling.
    And then—the party is over. Each kid gets a paper goody bag to take home. Children pull out swirly lollipops, sticker books, and red bouncy round things.
    The Girl gets a goody bag, too, even though she is the hostess. When they leave the bowling alley, she shoves it into the backpack along with Lumphy and StingRay.
    Once they are in the trunk of the car, the round thing in the goody bag begins to wiggle.
    And roll a tiny bit.
    Boing, boing!
    It even bounces—tight small bounces inside the bag.
    Every time it moves, it’s making a papery crinkling thump.
    Boing, boing, crackle!!
    Crackle, boing, boing, BOING!
    It appears the round thing is somebody.
    Not nobody after all.
    It will not stop bouncing and wiggling and trying to roll. Inside the paper bag, inside the backpack, inside the trunk of the car.
    “Excuse me,” says StingRay, finally. (Lumphy is sick to his stomach and doesn’t feel like talking.) “Excuse me, but you are bonking us in here. There’s not enough room for you to be so hyper.”
    “Good morning!” cries the round thing.
    “It’s afternoon.”
    “Good afternoon!”
    “Don’t feel bad you missed the party,” says StingRay, kindly. “It doesn’t really matter.”
    “Party party party!” says the round thing, spinning in place.
    “No. You
missed
the party,” says StingRay. “But don’t feel bad.”
    “Isn’t this a party?” the thing asks.
    “No.”
    “But isn’t a party when three or more people have a good time together? I don’t really know, but somehow I think that’s what a party is!”
    “I suppose so, yes.”
    “Then it’s a party!” cries the thing. “One person, me. Two person, the large guy with legs I can feel over on my left—”
    “Buffalo.”
    “And three person, you, you nice soft plushy—”
    “Marine animal,” says StingRay.
    “Mammal!” cries the thing. “And we’re all here together having an excellent time. Party party party!”
    “Not mammal. Fish,” corrects StingRay.
    “It’s my first party,” says the round thing, bouncing softly. “Lucky me!”
    . . . . .
    The Girl tries several names for the round thing.
    Maria.
    No.
    LopLop.
    No.
    Snickers.
    No.
    Plastic! The Girl says it over and over, as if she likes the sound.
    “How about Penny?” says the mother. “Short