chapter fourteen

My name is Phineas L. MacGuire.

But you can call me Mission Specialist MacGuire if you want to.

In fact, I’d kind of prefer it.

It’s what the guys on Team Gemini call me. Or at least it’s what they’ll call me when I get to Space Camp.

Which should be in two hours.

In case you were wondering, so far I haven’t thrown up on the plane, even if it is my first time riding on one. I think this is good news if I’m going to be an astronaut. The fact is Corey Anderson is not the first person to have thrown up in a space-simulator situation. It happens to a lot of people.

But I really, really don’t want it to happen to me.

When the plane lands, I will be picked up at the baggage carousel by Wanda J. Lupino, my mother’s college roommate, whom supposedly I met once when I was three and liked a lot. My mother says that Wanda J. Lupino and I bonded immediately, whatever that means.

The important thing is I won’t have to ride in a taxi to Space Camp. For some reason I got nervous every time I thought about that. It’s one thing to ride in an airplane all by yourself. It’s another thing to get in a taxi and try to get somewhere. What if the taxi driver had never heard of Space Camp? What if it turned out I didn’t have enough money to pay him? What if he made me work at a restaurant washing dishes until I made enough money to pay him?

In my book, Wanda J. Lupino is a life-saver.

“Now, Mac, be sure to ask the flight attendant to walk with you to the baggage claim,” my mom told me as we waited for my flight to be announced. “I’ve already talked with the airline people, and they say that’s no problem. If I know you, you’ll want to find the baggage claim yourself, but please don’t. Will you promise me that, honey?”

“I promise,” I told her. I tried to sound annoyed, like I couldn’t believe she was making me do such a babyish thing. But really I didn’t mind. My only goal was to get to Space Camp without getting lost.

Also, I preferred to get there without my mother having a nervous breakdown.

“Do you think you have enough money, honey?” she asked, digging through her purse for her wallet. “Because you might want to buy a souvenir T-shirt or something.”

“I’ve got money, Mom,” I assured her. “I have fifty dollars that Dad gave me.”

My mom sniffled a little. “I can’t believe I’m letting you fly down there all by yourself.”

Lyle put his hand on her shoulder. “Mac will be fine. He’s a sensible kid. And Wanda will be waiting for him. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“Except if the plane crashes,” I pointed out.

My mom burst into tears.

Lyle sighed. “The plane isn’t going to crash, Mac. Flying is perfectly safe.”

“I know that,” I said. “I have a better chance of having a heart attack and dying on the plane than the plane crashing. The odds are completely against it. I’m not worried at all. Besides, you fly at least four times a year, Mom. So you of all people should know how safe it is.”

My mom sniffed and tried to smile. “That’s right, honey, it’s perfectly safe.”

Fortunately my flight was announced before my mom could think up another good reason to cry. We all did a bunch of hugging, and my mom blew her nose a couple of times, really big honker blows, and then we waved and said good-bye, just like in the movies.

It wasn’t until I was walking down that little hallway that leads to the plane that I remembered something very important. I ran back to my mom and Lyle. “Do you know those petri dishes that are on my desk?” I called out.

“What about them?” my mom asked. She sounded suspicious.

“Well, they’re full of bacteria, so would you mind cleaning them out and running them through the dishwasher?”

My mom’s mouth fell open in a huge O. Lyle put his hand on her back to steady her. “Sure, Mac, no problem. I’ll take care of it tonight. Is it any kind of bacteria in particular? I mean, do I need to take any precautions?”

“It’s just the kind that grows in slobber,” I said as I started to turn back for the plane. “I’m pretty sure it’s not dangerous. You might want to use gloves while you’re disposing of it, though, just in case.”

Lyle gave me a weak wave. “Great, Mac. I’ll do that.”

After I got on the plane and buckled in, I leaned back and thought about the bacteria growing in the Petri dishes back home. Sometimes thinking about germs can calm you down when you’re feeling nervous about stuff. Mostly I was nervous about getting sick on the plane. I really didn’t want to be known at Space Camp as the kid who tossed his breakfast on Flight 432. But once I started thinking about our slobber experiments, I forgot about throwing up entirely.

When the bacteria had started growing in the petri dishes six days after we’d set up the experiments, we just couldn’t let it stop, even though we knew we’d have to get rid of it eventually. Bacteria isn’t like slime mold. It’s not like a plant you can keep around and enjoy to your heart’s content.

Still, it’s pretty cool when you see it growing in a petri dish on top of your desk.

The minute he heard the bacteria was growing, Ben rushed over with his camcorder. “I want to document this,” he said. “And then we can send it off to the Science Channel.” He moved closer to the desk and began doing his voice-over whisper. “Ladies and gentlemen, the great genius scientist Phineas L. ‘Mac’ MacGuire has finally proved something that no scientist before him has ever proved.”