“Duuuuuuude!” Fen yelled.
“I know,” I said. “It’s the grossest. And thank you for making me feel even worse.”
“What is that thing?!”
“I have no idea!” I said. “And you’re not helping!”
For the first time since the terror in my armpit arrived in my life, I felt like crying. I’m pretty sure my chin started to wobble.
“Don’t worry Jen-Jen, we’re going to figure this out,” Fen said. “I promise.”
“Are you sure?”
If anyone on planet Earth needed assurance, it was me, but I wasn’t that kind of kid. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d asked for help or wished for a compliment. Needing someone’s help felt almost as bad as having a creature living in my armpit.
“One hundred percent,” Fen said. “Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill. So you’ve got a . . . a . . . thing hanging from your armpit. It’s not even that big.”
“It’s bigger than a bowling ball.”
“You’re right. That thing is gigantic.”
“You don’t have to agree with me!”
“You’re right again. It’s not that big. I doubt anyone would even notice it.”
“This is a disaster,” I said. I sat down on the grass and covered my face with my hands.
Fen sat down beside me and touched my shoulder, but I shrugged him away. The terror in my armpit groused and grumbled like it was trying to speak.
“This can’t possibly get any worse,” I said, which I should not have said, because right after I said it the terror in my armpit farted.
“That wasn’t me,” said Fen. “In case you were wondering.”
“This is officially the worst day of my life,” I said.
“Hey now, don’t say that,” said Fen. “All we have to do is figure out how to get that thing off your armpit. Easy peasy.”
I peeked out between my fingers so Fen could only see one of my eyes.
“You really think so?” I asked. Inside I was screaming, You don’t need help, Jenny! Clearly, my voice had other plans.
“Absolutely!” Fen said. “First, we have to make it through the rest of the day. Can you keep this thing in your backpack for a couple more hours?”
I wasn’t remotely sure I could do that.
“Maybe?” I answered.
“If anyone can do it, Jen-Jen can!”
“My name is Jenny.”
“Okay!”
“You’re not going to stop calling me Jen-Jen or Jenster are you?”
“Probably not. But I will be your sidekick until we get this figured out. Meet me right after school and we’ll get to work. We got this!”
“If you say so.”
The terror in my armpit tried to climb the side of my face, but it slipped and landed in my backpack.
“This is getting super awkward,” I said.
Okay, enough procrastinating. Now is about as good a time as any to tell you what the terror in my armpit looks like. I’ve waited this long, but you’re going to find out eventually. Will we still be friends after this? I give it a fifty-fifty chance.
Here are four details I think you should know:
- The terror in my armpit is orange and fuzzy.
- So far, it’s sprouted seven ghastly limbs of various sizes. They’re like dangly rubber bands that shoot out in every direction and, apparently, help it climb the side of my face.
- It has one hideous eyeball and it’s not small. It’s about the size of a tennis ball, it’s furry, and it’s staring at me.
- So far it doesn’t seem to have a mouth, but that could change. It does have four or five horrible holes that randomly open and close. Is it breathing?
The terror in my armpit is obviously turning into some sort of monster, and it’s getting heavy. It helps to keep it in my backpack so the weight rests in there instead of pulling on my armpit. Which brings up another detail I should probably tell you. The one-eyed menace in my backpack is hanging from something that’s gotten thicker and longer and stretchier. I basically have a bungee cord stuck to my armpit, with a horrible orange blob stuck to the other end.
So, yeah, I’m having a totally normal day.
Luckily, I’m a self-sufficient go-getter who jumps over garbage cans and hurls insults at Naddy Burns. I can handle this. And I have Fen Stenson to help me, but I’m going to be honest: I need to avoid Barker Mifflin at all costs. I’m 100 percent sure Barker’s solution to this problem would be immediate removal by force, and I can’t even begin to imagine him pulling on the bungee cord in my armpit like a tug of war. I just can’t.
Nope, at least until I get home, I’m hiding this thing in my backpack.