Bobby dropped a live cricket into the tank. Thelma turned, raced over, and jumped on it. She sank her fangs into the cricket and began to feast.
"Whoa," Bobby whispered.
He reached into the terrarium, carefully removed the burrow tube, and peered again at the Thelma inside. When he tipped the tube a brittle shell fell into his hand. Empty.
Suddenly it all made sense. Thelma had molted!
He raced downstairs.
"Look!" he cried in the kitchen. "Thelmas molted!"
"Congratulations," Breezy said from her perch at the breakfast bar. "Is that contagious?"
"Very funny."
"Is she all right?" Mom asked.
"Yeah, she's fine," Bobby said, showing them the spider shell. "Its kind of like how a snake sheds its skin when it gets too small, except this isn't skin, its skeleton. See, spiders have their exoskeletons on the outside. When they get too big for their shells they just climb out and grow another. Baby spiders molt four or five times a year, big ones about once a year. You should see Thelma. Shes beautiful!"
"I seriously doubt that," Breezy said.
"Yeah, well, she just ate a cricket. And it's practically the first thing she's eaten since we moved here."
"That's wonderful," Mom said. She hugged him. "Wonderful."
***
In school he hurried into Mr. Niezgocki's lab to show him Thelma's shell.
"Isn't that something?" Mr. Niezgocki said, turning the shell over and over.
"That's the exoskeleton, right?" Bobby asked.
"Yes, but I also want you to look up the word carapace," Mr. Niezgocki said. "Here. I'll write it down for you."
"You should see Thelma now. I mean, she looks so different. Younger. And she's got her appetite back."
"She's done what we all try to do," Mr. Niezgocki said, shaking his head. "Started over. Climbed out of her tired, old self and into a sleek new body. She's reinvented herself. Wouldn't it be great if it were that easy for us?"
Bobby nodded.
"Say, I've got to run for a meeting," Mr. Niezgocki said. "Do you have the time?"
Bobby glanced down at his watch. The digits flashed 7:43 A.M., Naperville time.
"It's really eight forty-three," Bobby said. "This watch is wrong."
***
After lunch he went outside. Another sunny day, colder than before. Bobby sat down on the grass and closed his eyes, letting the sun's rays warm him.
"Hi."
He opened his eyes and blinked up. Lucky.
"Mr. Niezgocki told me about Thelma. That's great."
"Yeah, and you should have seen her eat the cricket."
"I'm glad, Bobby I know you were worried about her."
"I feel different today," he said.
"Yeah? Good different or weird different?"
"I dont know. Good different, I guess. Its hard to explain."
"Does that mean you're coming to the Halloween dance?"
"Ill consider it," he said.
They walked across the field. He looked over at the far edge of the rec field, thousands of brilliant leaves fluttering against the blue sky. That morning on TV Roland Prescott had said that the fall foliage was at its peak in terms of colors.
A football bounced on the ground and rolled up to his feet. Bobby picked it up. When he raised his head he saw a bunch of kids coming toward him: Chick Hall, Scott Shanahan, a big kid named Gary Levinson, and several others.
"We need one more to make five on a side," Gary said. "Ballenger, you wanna play?"
"No way!" Chick yelled. "If he plays, I'm quitting."
"Go ahead, its a tree country," Gary told him. "We can play four on four."
Chick swore loudly.
"Look, Chick, the bell rings in, like, ten minutes," Gary told him. "You in or out? C'mon, lets get this game rolling."
"Oh, what the..." Chick threw up his hands and stomped over next to Scott Shanahan.
"How 'bout it, Ballenger," Gary said. "You playing or not?"
Bobby looked at the football. He felt its solid weight. Its blunt ends. The raised seams under his fingertips.
"Okay," he said, tossing the ball to Gary.
"Okay," Gary said. "Well take Ballenger, you take Rothrock. One quarterback sneak per series. Four plays, no first downs. You gotta score. Well kick."
Bobby lined up on the right side of the field. Chick caught the kickoff and ran it back to about the middle of the field. On the first play, Scott tried a short pass but Gary cut in front of the receiver and came up with the ball.
"Interception!"
"Okay, lets stick 'em," Gary said in the huddle. He had a crew cut and long ropy muscles in his arms. "Vinny, take five steps and buttonhook. Justin, do a down-and-out, eight steps, and cut toward the sidelines."
He looked at Bobby.
"I'll do five steps and a quick slant in," Bobby told him. "Give me a pump-fake then look for me long."
"All right, go long and try to get open," Gary said.
"Ill be open," Bobby said. "Just make sure you throw it far enough."
"If you're open, I'll get you the ball," Gary said. "On sixteen."
Bobby lined up as the wide receiver on the right side. Chick lined up in front of him.
"Don't even think about it," Chick said softly.
"Six! Sixty-two!" Gary yelled. "Forty-seven! Sixteen!"
Bobby broke from the line of scrimmage, Chick running right with him. He was a good athlete, fast and agile. It's not about being fast, the coach had said last year. It's about being quick and making the right choice.
At five steps, Bobby looked right and let his head move right an instant before he cut in toward the middle of the field. The head fake seemed to surprise Chick and throw him off balance for a second. Bobby stopped and whirled around, motioning for the ball. Chick committed himself and lurched forward just as Bobby turned and broke, running full tilt toward the end zone while Chick tried to recover. Bobby ran as fast as he could, figuring Chick for maybe a step and a half behind him, closing fast. He looked back over his left shoulder and saw the ball racing after him in a beautiful arc, tightly spiraling, a friendly UFO humming against the blue sky Chick made one last attempt to close the gap, but the ball soared beyond him. Bobby reached out without breaking stride and gathered it in. Touchdown! On the sidelines Lucky had both hands raised.
"Yes!" Gary shouted. "Yes, yes, yes, yes! Put that one on the highlights!"
"Not bad," Bobby told him, high-fiving him. "Not bad at all."
***
After school Dad took him to Exotic Pets. They had several new tarantulas, including a female baboon spider.
"That's one impressive spider," the man said to Dad.
"Yes," Dad said uncertainly. "He seems to have a lot of character. Nice hair, too."
"It's a female," the man said. "Full-grown, shell be the size of a dinner plate, with her legs spread out."
"No kidding," Dad said.
The baboon spider cost sixty dollars.
"Well?" Dad asked Bobby when the man walked away. "We've still got the money from Mr. Hall. She sure looks healthy—she's even bigger than Monk."
"There will never be another Monk," Bobby said.
"Don't think of it as replacing Monk. Think of it as something different. Something new. What do you think?"
Bobby straightened up and looked at him.
"Dad, I think I want to play football."
"Football?" His father looked at him. "Well, great. You love football."
"No, I mean tackle," Bobby said. "They're going to start a new league for kids twelve through fifteen.
"So what's the problem?"
"It's Mom," Bobby said. "You know she's against tackle football. Says it's too violent, too many injuries. But, I mean, we'll be wearing full equipment, pads, everything. Plus, they have rules so the biggest kids can't carry the ball. It's, like, totally safe."
"I don't have a problem with it, as long as it's well supervised," Dad said. "Why do
n't you bring it up tonight at supper?"
Sixteen
October 31
Today I read about a kind of parasitic wasp that preys on spiders. Its worse than a horror movie. The wasp flies down and scares the spider so badly it just freezes. Then the wasp lays its eggs on the back of the spiders body. Pretty soon the wasp eggs hatch and tiny larvae start digging down into the spiders body. All this happens while the spider is still alive, trying to go about its business spinning webs and catching bugs, poor thing. The wasp larvae slowly eat the inside organs of the spider until finally the spider is dead. By this time the baby wasps are big enough to leave the spiders empty body and fly away.
Reading this reminded me of how much I hated Chick after he killed Monk. I'd never hated anybody before, and I could feel that hate eating at me like those wasp larvae, from the inside out.
But after Thelma molted, something happened inside me. I don't really understand it, but all of a sudden I didn't hate Chick anymore. We'll never be friends, but I don't hate him, and I guess I'm glad about that. Hating someone all the time takes too much work.
I had another meeting with Miss Davenport yesterday. Said she just wanted to see how I was doing. Miss Davenport said that in a way I owe Chick Hall something because if it wasn't for him I might have stayed in my shell for months, maybe all year. She says Chick made me stand up for who I am.
Maybe. But I don't think I'll send Chick Hall a thank you letter.
I called Mike on Oct. 28 at 4 P.M. Naperville time, just like I promised. It was weird talking to him. On the phone we both were quiet a lot, like we didn't know what to say. I told him all about Thelma molting. Then he told me about a birthday party where some kid's father bought eighteen cases of pop. It sounded funny hearing Mike say pop. Here in New Paltz the kids all say soda.
I told Mike all about Monk. He was such a great spider. In sports they're forever talking about how this pitcher or that quarterback has "a lot of heart." Well, Monk had a lot of heart, too.
One day right after I got Monk I almost lost him. I brought him down to the garage thinking I'd let him get some exercise. Big mistake! Monk bolted, took off on me. He just flew across the cement floor. It was like watching a video stuck on fast forward. Monk sped over to the wall and disappeared behind some boxes. The whole time I was cursing myself something fierce. I figured I'd never see him again.
But about five minutes later I found him in back of a box pigging out on a big grasshopper he'd caught himself! I couldn't believe it. It's one thing to eat crickets somebody puts into your cage but Monk went out on his own and hunted down his own food. Wild food. I let Monk spend a few minutes sucking the juice from the grasshopper before I got him back into his cage.
That's how I'll always remember Monk. A true hunter. An Earth Tiger.
I still miss him. I miss that unusual color his hair had when the sun shone on him. I miss the way he looked, all poised and crouched first thing in the morning. He always looked so alert, so ready to take on anything and anyone he would meet.
Thelma's doing great.
After I talked to Mike he mailed me a rubber tarantula that's amazingly realistic, right down to the hairs on the legs. Never seen anything like it.
MOM IS GOING TO LET ME PLAY TACKLE FOOTBALL!!!! First practice in two days—I can't wait!
Last night I went to The Seventh Grade Halloween Dance. Big surprise: I actually had a good time. At first I mostly hung around with Butch at the refreshment table, eating M&Ms and watching kids on the dance floor.
Lots of kids wore Halloween costumes. Lucky says that the great thing about a costume party is that you can be whoever you want. Or you can just be yourself. I decided I'd just be myself.
Miss Terbaldi and Mr. Niezgocki were both there as chaperones. She came dressed as some kind of gypsy; Mr. N came as an alien robot complete with antennaes and flashing lights. One time we saw them dancing together, and it was the strangest dance I'd ever seen.
"They're doing the Monkey," Lucky yelled over the music. We both rolled our eyes at exactly the same moment and started laughing, and then Lucky pulled me out on the dance floor. I was laughing too hard to resist.
But as soon as we got onto the dance floor the fast music turned slow and me and Lucky were slow dancing. It felt funny, like the first time I went rollerskating or skiing. I didn't have any idea what to do, so I just tried to rock back and forth like the other kids and hoped I didn't look too stupid.
Then the DJ put on a fast song and everybody started fast dancing, popping around like grease on a hot griddle. Boy can Lucky dance! I didn't have a clue about what I was doing out there on the dance floor. But so what? I had a blast jumping around to the music along with everybody else.
Seventeen
At 10:30 Saturday morning Butch and Lucky joined Bobby in his bedroom and started hauling out all the boxes he had never gotten around to unpacking. Next they started in on the furniture.
"You wont recognize this place when we're done with it," Lucky said.
"I want to bring Thelma downstairs," Bobby said, pointing to the terrarium. "Butch, can you take the other end?"
"Uh, well..." Butch took a step back. "I don't think I should."
"Why not?" Bobby asked.
"Well, see, I had a hernia operation in fourth grade," Butch said. "I'm not supposed to lift anything heavy."
"It's not heavy," Lucky said.
"I can't take any chances," Butch said.
"Oh, brother," Bobby said, bending down again. "Lucky, can you grab the other end?"
During the next hour they carried out furniture, laid down newspapers, and put masking tape along the windows. Finally they were ready to start painting. Butch and Bobby painted the ceiling; Lucky worked on the closet with the built-in shelves.
"What about the walls?" Lucky said. "You pick a color yet?"
"I want them blue, dark blue, but Dad's against it. He wants me to use this extra paint he still has from painting the den. Celery green. The idea of waking up every morning to that..."
Bobby mimed putting his finger in his throat and gagging.
"What are you going to do with these shelves?" Lucky asked.
"I got it all planned," Bobby said. "Trilobites on the top shelf, arrowheads on the second one, crystals on the third, snakeskins on the fourth."
"You'll still have four more," Lucky said, pointing. "Down here you could make, like, a gallery for your most terrifying spider photos. That would give Butch nightmares for the rest of his life."
"Very funny," Butch said.
"Well, we wouldn't want to traumatize you or anything." Lucky winked at Bobby.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Butch said.
"Then how come you wouldn't help move the terrarium?"
"Told you. I had a hernia in fourth grade," Butch insisted. "I'm not allowed to lift anything heavy. Doctor's orders."
"Doctor's orders!" Bobby laughed.
"I saw the look on your face," Lucky told Butch. "Like—no way you were going within ten feet of the terrarium!"
"You guys got me dead wrong," Butch said, dipping his brush into the paint. "I love my eight-legged buddies. I am a friend to all spiders."
"Yeah, right," Bobby said. "Ever see an Arachnophobia?"
"Saw it twice," Butch retorted. "Liked it even better the second time."
"You lie like a rug," Lucky told him.
Suddenly Bobby started to smile, one of those grins that come from the inside and push out. With an effort he made his expression normal again.
"Hey, you guys hungry?" Bobby asked.
"I am," Lucky said. "Got any munchies?"
"Sure," Bobby said. "How 'bout a sandwich? We've got lunch meat. Ham. Turkey, I think."
"Turkey with a little mayo," Butch said. "See if you got any chips."
"Ham," Lucky said. "Wheat bread. No mustard, no mayo."
He skipped downstairs. Mom and Breezy were drinking coffee in the kitchen. Bobby took out six slices of bread.
"Great," he said. "You're really going to be surprised."
"Not too surprised, I hope."
He went into the den and opened the closet door. Inside a small box, he found the rubber tarantula Mike had sent him. It was big, hairy, and even more realistic than Bobby remembered. A heart-stopper all the way. He brought it back into the kitchen. While Mom and Breezy watched, he put two slices of turkey on top of one piece of white bread. He put the other piece of bread on top, and the rubber spider on top of the bread.
"Oh, God," Mom said. "You're not going to do that, are you?"
"What do you expect?" Breezy asked cheerfully. "He's a pre-adolescent boy."
"Very funny," he said.
"I'm serious," Breezy replied. "This is considered normal behavior for a boy your age."
"Butch says hes got no fear of spiders," Bobby said. "Well, I want to prove it, one way or another, so I'm conducting a little experiment. Don't get freaked out if you hear a scream."
"This is reminding-me," Breezy said, "of another stunt you pulled."
Bobby grinned as he wrapped each sandwich in a napkin. He wrote an H on his sandwich and on Lucky's. On Butch's sandwich he wrote a T.
"Is that a T for turkey?" Mom asked. "Or tarantula?"
"Take your pick," Bobby said. He loaded the sandwiches, three glasses of milk, a bowl of chips, and a dozen cookies onto a large tray.
"You're absolutely terrible," Mom said.
"I know," he replied.
"Listen, don't stay up there too long," Mom said. "Those paint fumes can do a number on you. Open the windows."
"Okay, okay" He lifted the tray and started up the stairs.
"Are you going out later on?" Mom called.
"Nope, I'll be home," he said, carefully balancing the tray so he didn't spill anything. Home. The word echoed in the staircase, and in a space inside him. For the first time in a long time it sounded like the right word.
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