Eddie’s eyes bugged out as he stared at the great school hallway. Never had he seen anything like it!
How could he have? When his family moved into Ferny Creek Elementary, he had been a very young bug. He couldn’t remember the Big Woods at all, and except for short jaunts in the classroom, he had spent his whole life behind a chalkboard.
What he saw now was a shock.
“Where does it end?” he wondered, gazing around. Above him, nothing but space, fading into infinity. To the left, a vast soaring tunnel that went on and on, disappearing into a square of hazy light. He turned to the right. Another lofty tunnel. More nothingness.
Eddie sank slowly to the floor. At least the floor was still there, solid and reliable. He lay flat on its surface, trying to gather his courage, which seemed to have rolled right out of him onto the long wooden floorboards.
“Don’t panic,” he told himself. “Grandpa George did it. So did Aunt Min.”
Aunt Min! Suddenly he missed her terribly. They were supposed to do this together. She had promised to take him to the Library. “When you’re old enough,” she always said.
Was he old enough now?
Was he?
Looking around, he was struck by another thought. Aunt Min had talked about the hallway. She said it led to the Library—and yes, that it was like a tunnel. But she’d never mentioned that it went in two different directions.
Which way should he go?
“To the north,” Aunt Min had said. Where was “north”?
Letting out a whimper, he sank even flatter.
Time passed. Eddie couldn’t have told you how much time, but it was enough to realize that he couldn’t just lie there, flopped like a worm on the floor.
He forced himself to stand. Then he forced himself to think. He remembered something else Aunt Min had said: “The moment I get through the classroom door, I can smell the Library.”
Smell! Eddie was good at smells. But what did the Library smell like? It took only a second to figure it out. Books, of course. Eddie knew what a book smelled like.
He wiggled his antennae, trying to pick up a scent. First left. Then right.
Left! It definitely smelled more booky.
One step at a time. That was how to get there. Or rather, three steps at a time. Like other six-leggers, Eddie moved three legs forward when he walked—front and back on one side, and middle leg on the other.
Staying close to the wall, he set out.
He glanced back at his raisin. A shame to leave it. But it would slow him down, and he had wasted enough time already. A thin yellow light washed over the end of the hallway ahead. It wouldn’t be long. . . .
He trekked on. One foot after another. After another. After another. After another. After another.
It wasn’t working. He was too slow. His legs had never walked this far. They were starting to tremble.
Eddie had his head down, concentrating, when he heard a loud sound.
CLANG!
He recognized it immediately. He heard it every morning. It meant that the big front door of the school had just opened and slammed shut, letting in—a Squisher!
Oh no, thought Eddie. So soon?
A tall shape, like a moving tower, came marching down the hall. Eddie scampered to the wall and shrank against its baseboard. As the shape got closer, he saw that it was an adult Squisher, carrying an armload of folders. She swooshed right past him without slowing.
Eddie stared at the baseboard. It ran all along the bottom of the hallway wall, and when he noticed the color, his heart sank.
White.
He looked down at his body. Green. But not just any green. Eddie’s exoskeleton was the kind of bright, vibrant green that stood out against a white baseboard like an emerald on snow.
This is bad, he thought.
The door CLANGED again.
Eddie’s mind raced. He wasn’t going to reach the Library in time—that much was clear—and the great flood of Squishers was about to come rushing in, as it did every morning. Soon the hall would be thick with them.
Somewhere to hide, he thought. Just till it’s over.
He scurried along the baseboard, searching wildly. A crack? A hole?
Nothing but smooth white wood.
The front door was opening regularly now—CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! There were voices, young and old, and a great roaring THUD, THUD, THUD as feet went thundering past. The floorboards shook.
Oh no, thought Eddie. No!
He scuttled faster. Wasn’t there a tiny crack anywhere?
As the hallway grew more crowded, the danger rose. The Squishers couldn’t all walk down the middle. Some had to walk on the sides. Close to the walls. Close to Eddie! The closer they came, the more frightened he got.
An enormous blue running shoe slammed down—WHAM!—right next to him, so close he could have touched it.
That did it.
For one brief panicky moment, Eddie tried to run in every direction at once. Then he jammed himself against the baseboard, pulled in his head and legs, and froze. If he was going to get squished, it would happen right here. He waited . . . expecting at any second . . . the giant crushing foot!
Instead the THUDs faded.
The hall grew quiet.
Eddie took a breath. He stepped slowly away from the wall.
CLANG!
A last, late Squisher. A young one, racing down the hall. THUD! THUD! THUD! She was almost past Eddie when—CRASH!—an untied shoelace took her down, along with her bag full of stuff. Pencils, notebook, sandwich went flying. A hard, flat object skittered across the floor and settled beside Eddie.
He stared.
A book.
It had fallen open.
“Don’t!” he told himself.
But he couldn’t hold back. He darted to the book. Scrambling onto the open pages, he raced across these words, reading as he ran:
roared their terrible roars
and gnashed their terrible teeth
Oh my gosh! Eddie knew this story. Where the Wild Things Are! Aunt Min could tell it from memory. It was a brilliant story.
Then he remembered.
Looked up.
Gasped.
The Squisher was right there! Kneeling on her great, colossal knees. Snatching up her belongings.
I’m done for, thought Eddie. He couldn’t believe his own foolishness. Here he was, facing certain death—and trying to read a book!
“Oh, Ma,” he thought. “You’re right. I am a nincompoop.”
But Ma would never know she was right. Because looming above Eddie, staring straight down, was—the Squisher!
“Ick!” said the Squisher. “A bug.”
The last words I’ll ever hear, thought Eddie.
He wished he had eyelids, so he could close them. He waited for it. The Big Squish. Would she take her shoe off to do it? Use her fist? Or would he end up like Grandpa George, squashed between the pages of a book?
He waited.
And waited.
“Hmm,” said the Squisher. “Go on, little greenie. Go home.”
Instead of a shoe, a huge finger came down. Flick! Eddie tumbled onto the floor. The book disappeared.
So did the Squisher. THUD. THUD. THUD.
Eddie was alone, the Squisher’s words still ringing in his ears.
Go home?
Suddenly he wished he could. He wished it more than anything.