by Anna Kerz
THE
MEALWORM
DIARIES
ANNA KERZ
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
Copyright © 2009 Anna Kerz
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Kerz, Anna, 1947-
The mealworm diaries / written by Anna Kerz.
ISBN 978-1-55143-982-2
I. Title.
PS8621.E79M43 2009 jC813'.6 C2008-907305-3
Summary: Loss, grief and an annoying classmate
make Jeremy’s adjustment to life in a new city
particularly difficult.
First published in the United States, 2009
Library of Congress Control Number: 2008940977
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Design by Teresa Bubela
Drawings and hand lettering by Bruce Collins
Cover photography by Dreamstime
Typeset by Bruce Collins
Author photo by Frank Kerz
Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 5626, Stn. B
Victoria, BC Canada
V8R 6S4
Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 468
Custer, WA USA
98240-0468
www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.
Printed on 100% PCW recycled paper.
12 11 10 09 • 4 3 2 1
To my students,
for making the workweek feel too short,
and to my family and all my friends
who kept saying “Yes, you can.”
Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY – ONE
TWENTY – TWO
TWENTY – THREE
TWENTY – FOUR
TWENTY – FIVE
TWENTY – SIX
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ONE
Jeremy gasped, his throat tight with the need to scream, as blood splattered his face and icy water washed over his body. His arms and legs thrashed as he struggled to escape. Then, gasping for air, he bolted into a sitting position. The room was dark, his bed soaked with sweat and…He groaned. No. Not again.
He knew he had to get up, change his pajamas and pull off the wet sheets before they got cold. He knew, but he wanted so much to slip back to the happy moment, the one that came before the bad part of the dream. He closed his eyes, reaching for it. There had been sunshine and wind from the sea, the smell of gas and leather, the sound of an engine roaring…and something… something else.
The hallway light sliced across his face, cutting off the dream images.
“Are you wet?” His mother’s voice: soft, tired.
He squinted. “Yeah,” he said.
He heard her cross the room and open a drawer. Something landed on his bed. Clean pajamas.
“Wash up and change. I’ll take care of the sheets.” She was already pulling off the quilt.
Jeremy slid out of bed and duck-walked to the bathroom, his flannel hockey pajamas dangling wet and heavy between his legs. When he came back, the sheets lay bundled by the door. He dropped his pajamas on top, walked over and climbed into bed.
“Same dream?” she asked, settling down beside him.
He nodded. “Was I screaming?”
“Just groaning a little. Do you want to tell me about it?” He heard the worry in her voice.
“I don’t even remember,” he said as he crossed his arms on his chest and tucked his hands into his armpits.
“Something happen today?” More of that worry. It was hiding behind the softness of her voice.
He shook his head, but when he looked up, he saw bracket lines form around her mouth. He couldn’t fool her. He sighed and dropped his hands into his lap.
“Is it the new school? One of the kids? The teacher?”
“School’s okay.” He began making accordion folds with the edge of his blanket.
She waited.
“There’s this guy in our class,” he finally offered. “His name’s Aaron. The kids call him Aaron Cantwait.”
“What’s his real name?”
“I dunno. He talks a lot. You know. Can’t wait for his turn. He has to sit by himself at the front of the room.”
“Anybody else?”
“I kinda made friends with the guy beside me. His name’s Horace.”
“Horse?”
Jeremy grimaced. “Not horse. Hor-ace.”
“That’s not a name you hear a lot.”
“I guess. He’s Chinese. There’s kids from everywhere in this class.”
“Big cities are like that. Anybody else?”
He shrugged. There was the girl who sat across from him. Karima, the nametag on her desk said. He had checked. And there was another boy, Tufan, who sat beside Karima in the fourth desk in their group. Tufan didn’t talk much in class, but he talked plenty in the schoolyard.
“Left field, Shrimp,” he had called to Jeremy when the boys set up teams at recess. Tufan was bigger than most of the kids in class, and he had that look that said he could be mean if he wanted to be.
Jeremy decided his mother didn’t need to know about Tufan or Karima yet. “It was only the first day.”
She nodded and he hoped she was done, but she went on. “What about the teacher? Mr. Collins?”
“He’s okay. He’s into science, big time. The whole room is filled with aquariums and things he calls vivariums. He has fish and turtles and a snake and a couple of frogs.”
“He looked young,” his mother said. She reached out to push a strand of hair off his forehead.
“He rides a bike—a bicycle,” he hurried to clarify. “Horace and I saw him when he was locking it to the rack in front of the school. And he has this cool helmet. All black with flames on the sides. Horace said he’s a dirt-bike racer.”
His mother yawned, and that made Jeremy yawn too.
“Are you sorry you came?” she asked. “’Cause you know Nana and Grampa would take you in a flash.”
“I’m not sorry,” he said quickly. “I want to stay with you.” He grabbed for her hand.
“All right.” She smiled. “I hear you. Lie down now.”
Jeremy stretched to give her a quick peck on the cheek before he slid under the quilt. His mother bent and kissed his forehead.
“Mom? I’m sorry I woke you. I’m okay. Really.”
She stroked his cheek, then his hair, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of her fingers. Then she left, and he was alone, searching the dark behind his eyes, trying to find the filmy strands that might lead back to the happy part of his dream.
TWO
“We’re going to start a new unit today,” Mr. Collins said as he picked up a blue plastic dishpan. “It’ll give you a chance to do some sc
ientific investigations.”
“Is it gonna be a dishwashing unit? Is it a dishwashing unit?” Aaron was bouncing up and down in his chair.
Mr. Collins ignored him and went on. “As scientists, you will observe and record what you see in words and pictures.”
“You mean like with a camera? Can we use a camera?” Same kid.
“Not with a camera, Aaron,” Mr. Collins said. “Use your eyes and draw your own pictures.”
“What’re we gonna investigate?” Aaron again.
“You might want to investigate the art of listening,” Mr. Collins said. “The rest of the class will study mealworms.”
There were snickers. If Aaron heard, he didn’t seem to care; he kept moving. His legs jiggled. He tapped his pencil on his desk. He hummed. His head bopped from side to side as if he was hearing music.
Weird kid, Jeremy thought.
Karima raised her hand. “Mr. Collins? What are mealworms?”
“Good question, Karima. Don’t let the name fool you. They’re worms, but they’re not long or wet or slimy like garden worms. These are tiny, cute, little fellows.”
Karima’s nose wrinkled but she smiled, and Jeremy found himself studying the dimples that appeared in her cheeks.
“They’re sold in pet shops as food for different kinds of reptiles,” Mr. Collins went on. “You’ll like them.” He winked and Karima giggled. Then she turned to Jeremy, and he looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring.
“I’m going to come around and introduce each of you to your own mealworm,” Mr. Collins said. “Think of today as a ‘get to know you’ session. Choose a name for your mealworm, and while you’re at it, think about any investigations you might use to find out as much as you can about them.” He raised his voice a little as he added, “Keep in mind that this is a living creature and you don’t want to do it any harm.”
“I wanna dissect mine. Can I dissect mine?” Aaron called across the room.
“No, Aaron, you can’t.” Jeremy heard a sigh in the teacher’s voice. That kid really was a pain.
Mr. Collins moved from one person to the next. At every desk he leaned down and cupped the student’s hand in his own. When the hand lay open and relaxed, Mr. Collins reached into the bin and pulled out a little squiggly thing that he placed into the waiting palm. Everybody had a different reaction.
“Cool!”
“Ewww!”
“Gross!”
“It tickles!”
“I’m gonna hurl.”
The teacher stayed, holding each hand until he was sure that the kid was going to be comfortable with the mealworm before he went to the next person.
“This little guy looks like he could use a friend,” he said as he came to stand beside Jeremy.
Jeremy flinched. Is he talking about me? He looked up, relieved to see Mr. Collins waiting to hand him a mealworm. He opened his fingers and allowed the teacher to place the worm into his waiting palm. The mealworm whipped back and forth a few times before it lay still and Mr. Collins moved on.
The mealworm was small and kind of yellow—not even as long as Jeremy’s little finger. It was thin and dry to the touch. Jeremy noticed that each time he moved his hand, the mealworm folded itself in half and whipped around again. After a bit it wriggled into a crack between two of his fingers and slid through. Jeremy caught it in his other hand. No problem. The mealworm didn’t move all that fast.
“I’m going to call mine Superman,” he heard Aaron say when Mr. Collins reached his desk. “Yeah, Superman!”
The teacher was speaking softly, waiting for what seemed a long time before he put a mealworm into Aaron’s palm. He stayed, holding Aaron’s hand for a while longer before he let go. Even then he didn’t walk away.
Jeremy put his own mealworm down and leaned forward, his chin on his desk, and stared. He noticed a small brown dot, like a freckle, on his mealworm’s body, just behind its head. “I’m gonna call you Spot,” he whispered. The mealworm squirmed. Jeremy waited for it to lie still again, and then he blew on it gently. He noticed that the mealworm wriggled each time a breath of air hit its body.
His observations were interrupted when Aaron shouted, “Fly, Superman, fly.” And before Mr. Collins could stop him, Aaron’s hand whipped back and his mealworm came sailing across the room in a long arc. Without thinking, Jeremy reached up and caught it.
“Fly ball! You’re out, Aaron!” Tufan called. Kids laughed and clapped.
“Great catch, Jeremy,” Horace said.
Jeremy flushed. He glanced at Karima. She was smiling.
Aaron began making hyena noises as if what had happened was the funniest thing ever. He jumped up and down beside his desk; then he fell into his chair and rocked back and forth, clutching his belly as if it hurt.
“New score, Aaron,” Mr. Collins said when the class was settled again. “Jeremy two, Aaron nothing.”
Aaron looked confused. “What? What does that mean?”
“It means,” Mr. Collins said, measuring out his words, “that you’ve tossed your mealworm away. Since Jeremy caught it, I think it’s only fair that he keep it.”
There was a howl of protest from Aaron and snickers from some of the kids, but Mr. Collins ignored them.
Jeremy reached out to corral the two mealworms that were now making their way toward opposite sides of his desk.
THREE
It wasn’t fair. Mr. Collins had said, “I’d like you to work with a partner,” and the next thing Jeremy knew, everybody was talking and pairing up. Jeremy turned toward Horace, but he was nodding at some other kid who had called, “Horace! Horace!” from across the room, and when he looked at Tufan, all he got was a frown.
A sick feeling settled into his stomach. Voices swirled around him, but not one of those voices spoke his name. He saw Karima look his way and felt his windpipe close. For one terrible second, he thought she might ask him to be her partner, but she turned to another girl just before he had to gasp for air. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.
The classroom noises settled, and still nobody came to say, “Do you want to work with me?” They were all paired up.
Fine, Jeremy thought. I don’t care. I don’t need a partner. But even as he lifted his chin, he felt his shoulders droop. A prickly feeling at the back of his eyes forced him to blink. He took a deep breath and sat up. I am not gonna cry. Not on the second day in this school. Not ever.
He glanced up to find Mr. Collins watching. Would he say, “We’re going to rethink the partners you’ve chosen”? Or something else…anything that would mean he wouldn’t have to be the one left over.
Mr. Collins’ gaze turned to Aaron. Oh no. No. Not Aaron. The teacher raised an eyebrow. “Well, Jeremy,” he said, “you and Aaron seem to be the only people without partners. Since you’re the keeper of Aaron’s mealworm, you get to decide if you’re willing to work with him or if you’d rather keep both worms and work alone.”
There was a howl of protest from Aaron, but Mr. Collins kept his eyes on Jeremy, who was beginning to feel that everybody else was watching too.
“Loser,” Tufan called out.
Jeremy’s stomach clenched at the word, but it was Aaron who began to screech, “Am not! Am not! Am not a loser! I’m smart. I’m smart! I’m smarter than you are!”
There were snickers.
“That’s enough,” Mr. Collins said firmly, and he frowned at Tufan. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said. Then he turned back to Jeremy.
“Well, Jeremy?” he asked.
Jeremy looked over at Aaron, who was now tapping his pencil against the edge of his desk. “Can…can I work alone?” Jeremy began. “Can I work alone if it turns out we don’t work well together?”
“I can live with that,” Mr. Collins said. “Can you, Aaron?”
Aaron shoved the eraser end of his pencil right up inside his nose and grinned like a gargoyle.
FOUR
As it turned out, Aaron wasn’t all that bad to
work with. Not if you ignored the fact that he repeated everything he said, and if you didn’t mind that he jiggled like a Jello boy. He never sat still. But he had ideas. He was full of ideas.
“Count the sections. Count them,” he said, as he hovered over Jeremy. “How many are there? How many?”
“I don’t know. More than ten. It’s hard to tell,” Jeremy said. “It moves all the time.” Just like you, he thought.
Aaron bent down to see too, his nose so close to the mealworm it was almost touching. “Lookit his legs. Lookit his legs. Can you see them? Can you see them? Can you?”
“Not with your head in the way,” Jeremy said. He was surprised when Aaron actually moved aside and gave him a chance to examine the mealworms with the magnifying glass. “I think there are six,” he said.
“Six? Six legs? So it’s an insect. It’s an insect. Insects have six legs. Here. Lemme see.” Aaron grabbed the magnifying glass.
Jeremy sucked in a mouthful of air. His fingers curled into fists. This kid was such a pain. In his old school, he’d never have worked with anybody like Aaron. He’d have told him to get lost, or drop dead, or…well, maybe not.
He remembered the time he’d threatened to punch out Charlie Hill because Charlie shouted, “Jer, Jer, the Teddy Bear,” after him in the schoolyard. His father had chuckled when Jeremy complained at home.
“Life is easier if you ignore the dipsticks,” he had said. So Jeremy did his best to ignore the teasing, and after a while Charlie got tired of calling him names and stopped. He sighed. Maybe he could ignore this kid too.
Aaron didn’t make it easy. “It pooped. It pooped. Lookit. Lookit. See? My mealworm pooped right on your desk.”
When Jeremy looked, there was a black spot in the middle of his desk, smaller than the period you’d put at the end of a sentence. Was it a mealworm dropping?
Other kids came over to examine the spot too, until Mr. Collins called out, “That’s enough now. Let’s get back to work.”
But Jeremy heard, “Ewww. Right on his desk,” and there were giggles.
After a while the teacher came around again, handing out small metal pudding tins, the lids peeled away. Each tin had a little bit of brown stuff at the bottom. “Bran,” Mr. Collins explained.