Without a word, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor walked into the middle of the dancing fish and began dancing the Cha Cha. The fish looked on in admiration. They flapped their fins together and bopped up and down. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor bowed. And then Mrs. Taylor made an announcement.

"It's Conga time!" she declared.

The fish flapped harder and bopped higher.

"Quickly! Quickly!" Mrs. Taylor ordered. "Get in line. Let's form a Conga Line. And one! And two! And three! Let's Conga!"

Hannah and Nicky watched as the fish undulated behind Mrs. Taylor. The Conga line moved across the backyard and into the house. It snaked through the kitchen, into the living room, up the stair, into Hannah's bedroom, past Nicky's, and into Mr. and Mrs. Taylor's bedroom. It snaked back down the stairs and out through the backdoor, circling the backyard once, twice, three times, each time more and more frenzied.

And then Mrs. Taylor jumped into the pool. One by one, each fish followed.

Mr. Taylor was ready. First he helped Mrs. Taylor out of the pool. And then he quickly covered the pool with a huge, thick sheet of tarpaulin. The fish were trapped.

"That takes care of them!" Mr. Taylor declared. "Why, Martha, what's wrong? Why are you crying, sweetheart?"

"My house," she cried. "My house. Look at my beautiful house!"

The house was a disaster. All the drawers were topsy-turvy. Everything was wet and slimy. Shiny scales covered the furniture and floor.

It took the Taylors a very, very long time to clean up the house. And it always smelled just a bit fishy.

What happened to all the fish? Clever Mrs. Taylor turned them into fish sticks. They had fish sticks for breakfast, fish sticks for lunch, fish sticks for dinner. The storage freezer was packed full of them.

Hannah and Nicky no longer loved fish sticks.

©J.A. Pak