Chapter 35

“And in this corner . . .”

Spencer was seated on the fourth row of the staircase bleachers, Daisy and Sach on either side. Alan put a comforting arm around Daisy’s shoulders as she wrung her hands in anxious anticipation over the impending fight.

Dr. Bernard Weizmann stood at the corner of the staircase, as close to the arena as he could get. Bookworm crouched in front of him, and the garbologist massaged the Thingamajunk’s trash-bag shoulders.

“I’m your cornerman,” Bernard said. “You’re speedy and you’re smart. We’re going to use that to our advantage. I’ll be spotting for weaknesses in the Hoarder and tending your injuries. Check back with me as often as you can.”

At the mention of injuries, Bookworm seemed to slump down a bit. Across the arena, the Hoarder reared up and shrieked, pounding its garbage arms against its kitchen-table chest.

Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Behind them, the spectator Thingamajunks took up a wild noise. It was like an extreme sporting event, with a violent aspect that was reminiscent of ancient Rome and the Colosseum gladiators.

Like a boxing announcer, Bernard stepped forward. “In the far corner we have . . . the Hoarder! He’s violent, he’s mean, and he’s rather ugly.”

As the Hoarder’s shriek subsided, Bookworm rose to his full height, Bernard staggering back as the Thingamajunk bristled his trash to look as bulky as possible. He roared and banged his chest the same way he’d done when he accepted the Hoarder’s challenge.

“And in this corner . . .” Bernard shouted. “Bookworm the Brave! He’s fast, he’s smart, and he’s shaking like a leaf in the wind!”

The arena fell strangely silent. The spectator Thingamajunks held perfectly still, not even daring to rustle their garbage bodies.

The Hoarder charged, galloping with all four limbs as it churned up trash. Bookworm, his trembling visible even from the staircase bleachers, met the charge, sprinting directly at his opponent.

The two Thingamajunks collided in the center of the arena. The Hoarder’s fist pounded directly into Bookworm’s chest, knocking loose more than a dozen pieces of his body. Daisy winced and the spectator Thingamajunks grunted.

Bookworm immediately crumpled to a pile of trash, reappearing a split second later at the edge of the field next to Bernard.

“You’re doing . . . great,” the garbologist said unconvincingly. “Just keep your head protected. You can always make another body; just don’t let him get your head!”

The Hoarder was coming, clearly anxious to squash Bookworm and reestablish its territory in front of all the Thingamajunks watching.

Bernard backed up, finding himself a little too close to the action as Bookworm ducked the Hoarder’s next punch. The Thingamajunks circled a few times, Bookworm taking several desperate swings that yielded nothing but air.

“Behind the left knee!” Bernard shouted. Spencer squinted but he couldn’t see anything unusual. “There’s a half-gallon plastic milk jug. Looks like it’s keeping his whole leg structured.”

Bookworm gave a quick thumbs-up to show that he understood. Then he took a heavy punch to the shoulder, breaking off his entire arm. The Hoarder reared back, whirling lawnmower blades seeming to laugh. The one-armed Bookworm rolled between his opponent’s legs and delivered a swift kick to the back of the Hoarder’s left knee.

The small milk jug collapsed and the Hoarder’s leg buckled. Grunting in surprise, the vicious Thingamajunk dropped to one knee.

This small victory won the loudest reaction from the spectator Thingamajunks. Several even leapt to their feet, hands slapping together in a spray of trash.

“I think we know who the crowd is cheering for,” Spencer said.

“Bookworm, of course,” agreed Daisy. “Nobody wants the mean guy to win.”

The Hoarder turned its face to the crowd, truck bumper peeling up in an angry snarl. It was clearly a glare, and the spectator Thingamajunks reacted by falling instantly silent.

Bookworm followed up with a roundhouse kick that would have made Penny proud. But just before his foot made contact, the Hoarder reached around and grabbed Bookworm’s leg in both hands. Squeezing, it broke the leg to pieces, and Bookworm went scattering across the arena.

The Hoarder stood on its injured leg. Reaching down, it seized the crumpled milk jug and plucked it out. Scooping up a handful of loose trash, the Hoarder packed it into the hole, reinforcing the leg and eliminating the weak spot.

Bookworm rose up once more, having two new arms, two new legs, and a fresh body of trash. The Hoarder leapt at him, but Bookworm turned, sprinting away across the arena.

“He’s scared,” Daisy muttered.

“Can you blame him?” Sach said. “If Bookworm loses, his head becomes an ornament.”

The Hoarder matched Bookworm’s sprint, slowly gaining. It looked like a game of cat and mouse as Daisy’s Thingamajunk ran in zigzag patterns. But the Hoarder anticipated the moves, cutting the corners a little faster.

Spencer wiped his sweaty palms on his coveralls. The only two advantages that Bookworm had were speed and wits. Now it seemed they could cross one off. The Hoarder was definitely faster than Bookworm.

The Hoarder lunged, catching Bookworm’s heels and dragging him into a headlock. The enemy’s fist came down, slamming into Bookworm’s lunchbox.

“Cover up!” shouted Bernard from the corner of the arena.

Bookworm’s arms flew up to cover his head. The Hoarder continued punching, blow after blow, while Bookworm’s legs flailed as he tried to wriggle free.

The repetitive pounding was shredding Bookworm’s arms. Once that defense was gone, Spencer wondered how many blows he could take to the head.

Daisy leapt to her feet. “Come on!” she shouted like a soccer mom. “Get out of there!”

Finally maneuvering himself into a better position, Bookworm intentionally broke apart. He re-formed in Bernard’s corner once more.

“Okay,” the garbologist said. “We can’t rely on speed anymore.” Bernard reached up and gently grabbed the Thingamajunk’s head. The lunchbox was a bit more dented and slightly wobbly where it had been fused onto the textbook. Removing a wad of chewing gum from his mouth, Bernard tacked the lunchbox down so it didn’t wiggle.

“Let’s go for wit,” the garbologist said. “Can you outthink this guy?”

Bookworm shook his head in despair, still jittery from his recent pounding.

“Yes you can!” Daisy shouted from the staircase. At hearing her voice, Bookworm straightened a bit. He gave her a forced smile and turned back to the arena where the Hoarder crouched, slamming both fists against the ground for intimidation.

“Try coming up underneath him,” Bernard suggested. “If you knock him off balance, you can get him while he’s down.” He shoved Bookworm gently on the arm, encouraging him to get back out there.

Bookworm took two loping bounds before dropping into the trash-littered arena. Spencer held his breath, waiting to see where the Thingamajunk would surface. The Hoarder didn’t seem concerned, and Spencer figured it would be easy to take the enemy by surprise.

Bookworm’s head suddenly appeared, rising out of the trash directly below the Hoarder. But to Spencer’s astonishment, the bigger Thingamajunk seemed ready for him. The Hoarder caught Bookworm’s head in one hand, holding it down to prevent him from forming.

Desperate, Bookworm quickly sank back into the arena and tried to come up behind the big Thingamajunk. The Hoarder anticipated again, swiveling quickly and seizing Bookworm’s head once more.

Daisy was biting her nails and muttering nervously. Sach looked down, even his determined nature dwindling as the fight wore on.

The Hoarder plucked Bookworm out of the ground like it was picking a tulip. It tossed its challenger into the air, spun around once, and slugged Bookworm in the jaw as he fell.

The stubby pencils that served as Bookworm’s teeth sprayed outward, the cover of his textbook jaw wrinkling. Bookworm sailed through the air and landed in an unmoving heap several yards away from the Hoarder.

Daisy stood up abruptly. She took a deep breath, and then started descending the stairs toward the arena.

“What are you doing, Daisy?” Spencer cried. The Hoarder was treading slowly toward its downed opponent, ready to finish Bookworm with a fatal strike.

“We were counting on Bookworm to be faster and smarter,” Daisy answered. She unbuckled her janitorial belt and dropped it on the bottom stair. “The Hoarder is too fast, and Bookworm can’t seem to outwit him.”

Spencer didn’t know where Daisy was going with this. When she reached the edge of the arena, Spencer got up to stop her.

“But Bookworm has another advantage,” she said. “He has something that the Hoarder will never understand.” Daisy balled her hands into courageous fists. “Bookworm cares about me!”

Then, completely unarmed, Daisy Gates sprinted out into the arena.