The Third Mushroom

by Jennifer L. Holm

  Fly away?

  I actually run to the science lab. And when I get there, I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

  Because in the jar that had the axolotl, the flies have…wings!

  Talk about a Happening!

  I stare at the jar in shock. Was this how Fleming felt when he saw the mold on his petri dish?

  My grandfather walks in a moment later.

  “I’m starving,” he says. “Maybe we can stop by that pizza parlor on the way home today?”

  “They have wings!” I tell him.

  He makes a face. “I’m not a fan of hot wings. They give me indigestion.”

  “The fruit flies have wings!”

  “But that’s not possible,” he says.

  I point to the jar. “Look!”

  He peers into the jar and his eyes widen.

  “They have wings,” he whispers.

  “I know,” I say.

  He turns to me and grabs my shoulders, his face bursting with excitement. If he was a balloon, he would pop.

  “They have wings!” he shouts.

  “They have wings!” I echo.

  We jump around like crazy people, laughing and shouting.

  Until the door to the science lab opens. A teacher pokes her head in and we freeze.

  “Everything okay in here? I was walking by and heard shouting…,” she says, her voice trailing off.

  My grandfather and I share a look. He recovers first.

  “Yeah, we’re fine,” he says. “Just raising fruit flies. It’s very thrilling.”

  “Fruit flies? Interesting. Well, have fun. And keep it down.”

  The door shuts. There’s a beat as my grandfather and I look at each other.

  Then I say, “That was totally a Hollywood moment.”

  “Perhaps,” he agrees.

  * * *

  —

  My grandfather is eager to take a closer look at our flying fruit flies under the microscope. He picks up the jar of flies and walks out of the science lab.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” I rush to catch up to him.

  “The teachers’ lounge.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they probably have a refrigerator.”

  My grandfather walks into the teachers’ lounge without any hesitation. I hover in the doorway as he heads straight to the refrigerator and sticks the jar of flies in the freezer section.

  “What are you doing?” I demand.

  “Cold is fruit fly anesthetic. They won’t die. They’ll just stop moving.”

  “Oh,” I say. The room is empty, so I step inside and close the door quickly behind me.

  After a bit, he takes them out. Nothing is moving.

  Back in the lab, my grandfather shakes some fruit flies onto a petri dish and slides it under a microscope. He peers into the lens.

  “Incredible,” he murmurs.

  “Can I have a look?” I ask, and he steps aside.

  I do that weird wink thing and squint into the microscope. Most of the flies have wings. Not all of them, though. Some just have little stubs.

  “I guess my hypothesis was right after all,” I say.

  “If our axolotl can grow wings on flies, it may be able to regrow other body parts! Organs, tissue, blood cells. Think of the scientific applications!” my grandfather says excitedly.

  I don’t know about the scientific applications, but I am sure of one thing.

  “The fruit flies are waking up,” I say, pointing to the petri dish, where wings are stirring.

  We put them back into the jar.

  “Good news,” my mom tells me. “Prospero is finally remembering his lines!”

  “That’s great,” I tell her.

  We’re in her bedroom folding laundry. She has the biggest bed in the house, so it’s easy to spread out. Jonas is curled up in a pile of towels still warm from the dryer.

  She folds a shirt into a perfect square with a few quick movements. My mom is great at folding clothes; she worked at the Gap in high school.

  “Anything exciting happening with you these days? I feel like I’ve been neglecting you with this play,” she confesses.

  I want to tell her about the winged fruit flies, but it feels like it’s me and my grandfather’s secret. We’re like the cats who sneak into the house when the humans are away. No one knows what we’re up to.

  “Just hanging out with Grandpa,” I say instead.

  Jonas’s tail twitches in his sleep as if he’s dreaming.

  “He’s so cute,” I say.

  “Speaking of cute,” my mother replies, waggling her eyebrows. “Are you interested in anyone?”

  I hesitate. “Well, there is one boy I’m kind of interested in….”

  Her eyebrows rise. “Really? Who?”

  “This boy right here!” I pluck Jonas out of the towels and hug him. He gives me an annoyed look and leaps out of my arms and runs out of the room.

  “Very funny,” my mom says.

  But the truth is that ever since the chess meet, it feels like something has changed between Raj and me. I try to think of it scientifically.

  What is the Hypothesis of Us?

  We met, became friends, and then became best friends. But could we change into something more?

  “Funny how your grandfather’s dirty clothes always seem to mysteriously appear in our laundry.” My mother holds out one of his polo shirts.

  “He knows you’ll end up washing them,” I say.

  “I don’t know how my mother put up with him all those years,” she says, shaking her head.

  “Did you know Grandma liked romance novels?”

  “That’s right, she did. She always had a stack of them next to her bed.” Mom looks at me curiously. “How did you know that?”

  “Grandpa still has some of them,” I tell her.

  “Huh,” she says.

  “What kind of cancer did she have?” I ask.

  “A bad one. Pancreatic. It moves fast.” Mom looks down. “Although not fast enough in the end.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her cancer was very advanced when it was discovered. Your grandfather wanted to try every last chemotherapy and radiation and experimental treatment under the sun, and I just wanted her to enjoy the little time she had left in her garden. She loved being outside with her flowers.”

  I remember my grandfather’s blog. All the photos of flowers.

  I see you everywhere.

  My mom sighs. “It was a bad time for your grandfather and me. We fought a lot.”

  “What did Grandma want?”

  My mom’s face shuts down.

  “I think she just wanted us to be happy. But no one was happy in the end. Because she died.”

  She shakes herself and gives me a lopsided smile. “Enough of this heavy talk. We have an important mission.”

  “Mission?”

  She holds up the pile of my grandfather’s clothes, a sneaky look on her face.

  “We can’t encourage bad laundry behavior! We need to ‘lose’ these clothes in a garbage bag with something stinky. I think that old cheese in the back of the fridge will work just fine.”

  I can’t help but wonder who’s really the teenager in this house.

  * * *

  —

  The next day at lunch, Raj and I watch as my grandfather stuffs two pieces of pepperoni pizza into his mouth in less than five minutes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody eat so fast. Talk about a scientific achievement.

  When the last bit of crust is gone, he stands up and burps.

  “Are you getting more pizza?” I ask.

  “I’m going to the library!”

  “What’s the rush?” Raj asks.


  “I have research to do!”

  Then he grabs his backpack and is gone.

  “Wow, Melvin is on fire,” Raj observes. “Guess he got his mojo back.”

  My grandfather is like a new person. He’s literally got a spring to his step. He’s excited and bouncy and constantly jotting things down in his notebook.

  I’m starting to think that the wings aren’t even the most important discovery. It’s like my grandfather has found his old self again.

  “Is this because of your science project?” Raj asks.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  He shakes his head. Then he says, “There’s a new horror movie opening on Friday.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Zombies.”

  “Ooh,” I say. I love a good zombie movie.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to go see it,” he says. His voice shakes a little. “You know, like a date.”

  It feels as if the ground moves beneath me, even though everything is still. This is an earthquake.

  Raj is asking me out on a date!

  I feel the same twinge of anxiety I felt when I debated getting the streak in my hair. Except this is way bigger than dyeing my hair.

  “Just us?” I ask.

  He looks momentarily unsure. “Uh, we could make it a group thing, I guess.”

  That sounds easier to me somehow.

  “Let’s do that,” I say quickly.

  “Okay,” he says.

  “What time’s the movie?”

  “Nine-twenty. Maybe we could go get something to eat before? There’s a new restaurant near the theater. It’s supposed to be pretty good.”

  “That sounds great,” I say.

  He cocks his head. “Who do you want to ask to come?”

  I think for a moment.

  “Leave it to me.”

  * * *

  —

  I ask Brianna in gym. We’re stretching on the grass.

  “That sounds like fun,” she says. “Who else is coming?”

  “Just me, you, and Raj so far,” I say.

  “We need one more person.”

  She’s right, of course. Three is a weird number. My mom always hated playdates with three kids when I was little.

  “What about Melvin?” Brianna suggests.

  I groan inside. I know she has a little crush on him. But I really don’t want to go on my first date with my grandfather.

  “It’s not really his thing…,” I start to say.

  “He doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends,” she says. “It might be nice for him.”

  I say to myself: How bad could he be? He’s a grown-up, right?

  “Sure,” I say.

  The gym teacher blows her whistle. “Let’s get going! Time to start laps!”

  I groan.

  “I’ll run with you,” Brianna says.

  I give her a look. “Are you sure you want to go that slow?”

  Brianna pulls me up and grins. “Come on.”

  “I thought we were just going to dinner?” my grandfather says.

  We’re taking the bus to the movie theater. I’ve never been on a bus this late at night. I feel like I’m breaking the law or something.

  “Dinner,” I tell him. “And then a movie.”

  I didn’t exactly “ask” him if he wanted to go tonight. I explained that my mom has rehearsals at the theater and doesn’t want me taking the bus by myself, which is why he has to come with me. I figured it was easier than asking him if he wanted to hang out with Raj and Brianna. I knew he’d come with me if I appealed to the whole safety aspect; he is my grandfather, after all.

  The restaurant has a 1950s diner theme. There’s a soda fountain counter. A jukebox blaring fifties music. And the waiters and waitresses look like they walked out of the wardrobe closet for Grease.

  Brianna and Raj are already there when we arrive.

  “Hi, Melvin!” Brianna says with a little wave.

  My grandfather is polite. “Hello.”

  We’re seated in a red vinyl booth with a Formica-topped table.

  “This place is great!” Brianna says. “My family came here when it opened.”

  The waiter comes over to get our drink order. I look at the back of the menu. They have flavored sodas and milk shakes and something called malteds.

  “What’s a malted?” I ask.

  My grandfather perks up. “They have malteds? I haven’t had one in years! They’re delicious.”

  “We make vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry malteds,” the waiter helpfully suggests.

  My grandfather’s face lights up. “I’ll have a chocolate one.”

  “Me too,” I say.

  “Me three?” Brianna says.

  “Root beer for me, please,” Raj says, and the waiter disappears.

  Brianna leans forward. “The trailer for the movie is really good!”

  “What’s this picture about, anyway?” my grandfather asks.

  “It’s an end-of-the-world apocalyptic thing. Everyone turns into zombies,” Raj says.

  “Humph,” my grandfather says. “Sounds like middle school.”

  Brianna bursts out laughing. “You’re so funny, Melvin!”

  The waiter reappears with our drinks.

  My grandfather takes a sip of the malted, and a look of utter happiness crosses his face.

  I try mine. It’s like a milk shake, except thicker, and tastes like malted-milk balls.

  “Can I take your dinner order?” the waiter asks.

  “I’ll have the veggie burger with everything,” Raj says.

  I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu, so I order the same thing. I figure Ben would approve.

  “Cheeseburger for me,” Brianna says.

  “How would you like it cooked?”

  “Medium rare.”

  “And you, sir?” the waiter asks my grandfather.

  “Hamburger with pickles and lettuce. Well done. Did you hear that? Well done.”

  “Well done,” the waiter repeats.

  After the waiter leaves, my grandfather turns to Brianna.

  “It’s not a good idea to order food medium rare,” he says.

  “But that’s how I’ve always ordered it,” she tells him.

  “Well, would you also like a nice case of salmonella? It’ll make you vomit and give you diarrhea.”

  Brianna pales. But my grandfather’s just getting started.

  “Or how about listeria? That’s an interesting one, too. Fever. Convulsions. And you have a one-in-five chance of dying if you’re diagnosed with it.”

  “I can die from a cheeseburger?” she asks.

  This is not going how I’d hoped.

  I hold up my cell phone. “Oh, um, Melvin. Mom texted. She needs you to call her back.”

  I drag him outside the restaurant.

  “Give me the phone so I can call your mother,” he says, holding out his hand.

  “She didn’t call!” I say. “You have to stop!”

  “Stop what?”

  “All the gross talk!”

  “I’m a scientist. I’m just pointing out the facts,” he says.

  “Well, the fact is that you’re ruining dinner!”

  He frowns. “Fine. No more talk of vomiting or dia—”

  I cut him off. “Grandpa! I mean it!”

  As we walk in, he mutters under his breath, “Don’t blame me if your friend dies a painful death.”

  * * *

  —

  My grandfather is more subdued when we get back to the table. Raj gives me a wink, and I know the date isn’t ruined.

  “So, Melvin,” Brianna asks in a bright voice, “do you play a sport?”

 
“Do I look like I play a sport?” he asks.

  “You look like a surfer,” she says.

  “It’s your long hair,” I tell him.

  “I wouldn’t waste my time with such nonsense.”

  Brianna tries again. “Well, what music do you like?”

  He looks baffled for a moment. “The music that’s playing now is excellent.”

  “I mean, is there a specific singer or band you like?”

  “Andy Williams, I suppose,” he finally says.

  “Huh,” Brianna says. “I don’t know him.”

  She looks at her phone and does a quick search.

  “Oh, wait! My grandmother listens to this guy. Isn’t that old-people music?” she says, confused.

  Raj chokes on his soda.

  “It’s not old,” my grandfather insists. “It’s classic!”

  Brianna tries to engage my grandfather by asking him questions. What television shows does he watch? (None—they’re a waste of time.) What apps does he have on his cell phone? (What’s an app?) What cell phone does he like? (None—they’re a waste of time.)

  It’s painful to watch. He’s not rude exactly, but he makes it absolutely clear that they have absolutely nothing in common apart from being living organisms.

  Finally, the waiter comes to the rescue with our food.

  “How’s your burger, Melvin?” Brianna asks.

  “It’s very well done, thank you,” he says.

  Then my grandfather looks around the restaurant. “I’d really like some more water. I hate how they never give you water these days unless you ask.”

  But it’s busy, and our waiter just got started with a big party. He passes by us twice and ignores my grandfather both times.

  My grandfather stands up, holding his empty glass.

  “Excuse me,” he calls out loudly. “Can we have some water, please?”

  I’m totally embarrassed and stare down at the table. Maybe the floor will swallow me up. Then I hear a glass shatter and look up.

  A hush falls over the restaurant.

  My grandfather stands there, clutching his stomach, an expression of agony on his face, the glass in shards at his feet.

  “Melvin?” Brianna asks. “Are you okay?”

  His eyes roll back.

  And he crashes to the floor.