Here is the list of everything I have to get done this weekend:
But before I got started on my list of things to do, I had to go with Sarah Forte-meyer, Teenage Girl Space Alien babysitter, to Goodwill to get my worms back.
Sarah was waiting for me in the driveway when I got home from school on Friday. She was leaning against my mom’s minivan, jingling the keys. My mom and Lyle had taken Lyle’s car on their trip, leaving the van for Sarah in case there was an emergency situation.
“Hop in the van, Stan,” she said. “The Goodwill people called five minutes ago. Somebody found your worms when they were sorting through clothing donations. Lucky for us, the manager your mom talked to was working, so he called right away.”
This was the best news I’d heard all week. It almost made up for having to spend twenty-four hours straight with Sarah Fortemeyer.
Almost, but not quite.
“Let’s go!” I yelled. I threw my backpack on the front steps and jumped in the van. Margaret was already in her car seat and looking at her favorite book, Mr. Monkey Makes a Milk Shake.
Before I became a scientist, Mr. Monkey was my favorite book too.
This is not something I advertise.
For a Teenage Girl Space Alien, Sarah Fortemeyer is an okay driver. The only problem about being in the van with her is that she has this sort of purple smell, which is either her perfume or her natural Teenage Girl Space Alien scent. Either way it makes me itchy. Fortunately, we made it to Goodwill before my body broke out in red, scratchy hives. My weekend was already going to be rotten. There was no need to add hives to the mix.
When I got my worms back at Goodwill, ten of them were missing. “They must have fallen out of the box when the lid was taken off,” the manager said. He shrugged, like ten missing dried worms was no big deal.
To me, it was a big deal.
Do you know how hard it is to find dried worms? Oh, maybe if you live in Australia, it’s not a problem. But where I live, finding a dried worm is a major event. Especially if it’s not smushed beyond recognition.
“I’ve got to find those worms!” I said. “They’re scientifically important to me and to worm collectors everywhere!”
“I’m sorry,” the manager said. “Only Goodwill employees are allowed in the sorting areas.”
“You don’t understand!” I yelled, but the manager just shook his head. You could tell he wasn’t going to budge.
“Don’t worry about it, Mac,” Sarah said. “I personally guarantee that I’ll find you ten worms this weekend to make up for the ones you lost.”
“Dried worms?” I asked.
Sarah nodded. “Dried worms.”
“Okay,” I said. At least that would keep Sarah out of my hair. She’d have to spend the whole weekend searching high and low.
It has been a bad fall for dried worms.
When we got home, Sarah immediately turned on the TV to some talk show. I thought about watching, just because I never get to watch anything at my house besides Polly Puppy and Her Puppy Friends. But after one minute I learned a valuable lesson.
There are some shows even stupider than Polly Puppy.
I know. It’s hard to believe.
Besides, I needed to make some penicillin, and fast. Aretha said if I didn’t have something growing by Monday, she wouldn’t put her name on Ben’s presidential ticket.
“I need to use the computer,” I told Sarah. “I have some scientific research to do.”
“Are you allowed to use the computer, Scooter?” Sarah asked. “I thought your mom had a ‘No computer’ rule.”
“Actually, it’s a ‘No computer on school days until after dinner, and then only if all homework has been completed and all teeth have been brushed’ rule,” I explained. “Besides, my mom has about two million filters downloaded. It’s not like I can actually do anything fun on the computer.”
“Okay,” Sarah said. “As long as you can’t have any fun, I guess that’s all right.”
Sarah Fortemeyer and my mom are two peas in a pod.
I sat down at the computer on my mom’s desk in the family room and typed “penicillin” in a search engine. In about two seconds I got a return of 6,140,000 hits.
Maybe I would need to narrow my search specifications.
I typed in “How to grow penicillin.”
I got 550,000 hits.
That would have to do.
The first thing I learned was that to make penicillin, you have to grow a mold called penicillium. Penicillium produces a liquid that is made into penicillin. All I needed was a lemon, a milk carton, and some dust.
In our house finding dust would not be a problem.
The lemon and the milk carton, on the other hand, would take a little more work.
I stuck my head in the fridge. I found a half-full plastic milk jug with no lid and not one single lemon. There was a carton of smushy, oozing cherry tomatoes, three chunks of cheddar just beginning to show green spots, and something in a plastic container that I couldn’t recognize. There was even a plastic lemon that at one time had held lemon juice but was now empty. But no real lemons or citrus fruit of any kind.
We would have to go to the store. That meant another car trip with the Teenage Girl Space Alien. Which meant more purple smells. More potential for red, scratchy hives breaking out all over my body.
I picked up the phone and called Ben. “You have to help me,” I said. “I need a lemon and a milk carton, and I need them fast.”
“No prob,” Ben said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, tops.”
