Milton had never been inside a human-size leaf-trap before. He doubted anyone had, in fact, even Sea Hawk (although Dear Lady DeeDee had once gotten trapped in the very sticky nectar of a pitcher plant, and Sea Hawk had had to find a horde of tree shrews to drink every last drop in order to free her).
Milton had hidden in a few places that year though.
He had hidden in the school bathroom, which was gross but also kind of cozy and surprisingly almost always empty (did no one pee at school?).
He had hidden in his room under his covers, sometimes while his parents had argued and sometimes while his parents stayed silent, seemingly forgetting, in both cases, that Milton was there at all.
He had hidden in Isle of Wild.
But still, bathroom stalls and blankets and virtual realities were one thing. The gooey, stifling, ripe-smelling innards of a carnivorous flora were quite another.
“HELP!” Milton screamed. “HELP!”
He could hear the faint sound of running feet and then Rafi’s muffled voice calling, “Where are you?” He sounded, Milton was pleased to note, appropriately concerned.
“I’m in here!” Milton yelled, his own voice extraordinarily loud in the cramped space.
“Sea Hawk, are you—are you in the plant?” came Fig’s voice, much closer.
“Yes!” Milton cried. “And I would like to exit immediately. Bring some tree shrews!”
“Yikes!” he heard Gabe chirp. “Is Sea Hawk inside that ginormous plant-mouth? How’d he get in there? Sea Hawk, why’d you go in the plant-mouth?”
“It was entirely unintentional!” Milton shouted back. “I was trying to procure us some dinner, and I ended up becoming dinner. And now I want out!”
“Hold on,” Fig said. “I’m looking it up in the guide.” There was silence except for some muted rustling, and then Fig cried, “Okay, listen! Like its diminutive cousin the Venus flytrap, the Menu-You Bush will begin digesting its prey after five movements. The trap cannot be pried open from the outside, so if you happen to be on the Menu-You’s menu, act with speed and deliberation and apply pressure to the petiole.”
Milton had held his breath and remained motionless so that he could hear every word and now he was glad he had. Digestion! He was going to be digested! And how many times had he already moved?
“Sea Hawk, did you hear what you have to do?” Fig’s voice was very slow, loud, and calm. “The petiole is the place where the trap connects to the stem. If you press on it, the trap will open. But you can’t make too many movements.”
Milton wanted to take a deep breath, but the smell of overly ripe mango and decomposition made him feel like pressure was already being applied—to his stomach. Now that his eyes were adjusting to the darkness, he could make out the rows of interlocked teeth in front of him and the mushy husks of ginormous insects stuck to the sides of the trap.
“I don’t want to be digested,” he said, hysteria beginning to overtake him in spite of Fig’s best, soothing-voiced efforts.
“Sea Hawk!” Rafi yelled. “Pull it together. Apply the pressure.”
“Shall Sea Hawk perish thus?” Milton howled, while remaining perfectly still.
“Sea Hawk!” Gabe screeched. “Get out of that plant-mouth.”
“Who am I kidding?” Milton cried. “I’m no Sea Hawk! What kind of Bird Brain gets chomped up by foliage? This is the most totally, terribly, horribly, heinously rotten thing that’s ever happened to me. Let me out!”
“Sea Hawk P. Greene.” It was Fig again, and she sounded like she meant business. “Listen to me, you kook. We can’t let you out. You have to do it yourself. You can do it yourself. But you have to do it now.”
Milton’s heart was in his throat, and his stomach was in there too. But he trusted Fig. If she thought he could save himself, well, then he could (probably … hopefully). Listening to her didn’t fix everything, of course (being that he was still trapped inside a carnivorous flora), but he started to feel … not Sea Hawkian exactly, but not Bird Brainy either.
Somewhere in between, maybe.
He didn’t adjust his glasses because that would be an unnecessary movement that might lead to his immediate digestion, and he still couldn’t take a deep breath for blerghing reasons. Instead, he crouched down in the trap (one movement), found the little dip where the trap met the stem (two movements), and pressed with all his might (three movements).
The trap snapped open, and Milton and a whole lot of glunk and glop came spilling out.