Owen Foote, Mighty Scientist

by Stephanie Greene

  "Don't be such a wimp," said Owen. He stuck his net out and started prodding the mass of eggs. Joseph crouched down on the bank and held the bucket in the water near the eggs.

  The eggs were slippery. They kept bobbing away from Owen's net in the shallow water. Every time he started to lift them out slowly, they slipped back over the edge of the net. They were floating farther and farther away from the bank.

  "What are you doing, Joseph?" Owen said. "Bring the bucket closer."

  He grabbed a root sticking out of the bank and leaned out as far as he could. Cold water seeped into his shoes and surrounded his toes. The dense smell of mud was heavy in the air.

  "I can't go any farther," Joseph said next to him. "My sneakers will get wet."

  The eggs slipped back into the water again. "Darn!" Owen sat back and felt a cold shock as the water met the seat of his pants. "So?" he said impatiently. "Let them get wet. If we don't get these things, we have no experiment."

  "It's just that they're kind of new," said Joseph. Owen turned to look at him. Joseph had a streak of mud on his forehead where he had scratched. A small twig was sticking up out of his hair like a horn.

  Joseph hated being dirty. Owen knew he was miserable. But right now he really didn't care.

  "Just hold the bucket closer," he said, grabbing the root again. "I'll push the eggs into it."

  Joseph hesitated. Then he stepped into the water and tipped the bucket closer to the eggs.

  This time it worked. Owen pushed the eggs safely over the rim and Joseph tilted it upright.

  Together they lifted the bucket onto the bank and sat down on either side of it. Owen was wet and dirty, but happy. Even Joseph looked excited.

  "How many do you think we got?" he said. "It looks like a lot."

  They peered at the inert blob floating in the bucket. It looked like a huge, dirty jellyfish with black chicken pox.

  "There isn't much going on now, but there will be soon," said Owen. Any day now, the specks would start twitching. Tiny tadpoles would work their way free of the jelly like dancing commas.

  Owen had seen it happen every year. It always amazed him.

  He stuck his finger into the water and frowned. "It's freezing. We'd better get this into my room to speed things up. I can put it near the radiator."

  They started back through the woods, carrying the bucket between them. Owen was short and Joseph was tall. No matter how carefully they walked, dirty water sloshed up over the sides of the bucket with every step.

  By the time they reached the path they were sopping wet from the knees down.

  "Maybe that could be our experiment," Owen said as they staggered along. "We could put some of the eggs in hot water to see if they hatch faster. And maybe some in the freezer."

  "That would kill them," said Joseph. "I don't think we should hurt them just for a science experiment."

  Owen didn't respond. He had suddenly remembered two photographs he saw in his nature magazine a few months ago. One was of a two-headed snake.

  The other one was of a frog with three legs.

  He hadn't shown them to Joseph. Joseph didn't even like photographs of normal snakes. Owen knew a picture of a snake with two heads, shaped like a "Y" at the top, would freak him out.

  But Owen had been fascinated. The article with the photographs talked about the effects of fertilizers and pesticides on nature. It said chemicals were seeping into underground waterways. That animals in streams and ponds were growing up deformed.

  Farmers and large companies weren't the only ones doing it, the article said. Gardeners all over the United States were guilty.

  Gardeners like his dad, Owen suddenly realized. In his mind's eye he could see the fertilizer his dad sprinkled on their lawn. The bag was leaning against the garage wall behind the lawnmower.

  Owen was so excited, he tripped over a root. A sweep of dirty water slopped up over the sides of the bucket like a tidal wave.

  "Hey, watch it!" Joseph yelled.

  They put the bucket down and looked at their feet.

  "My mom's going to kill me," said Joseph.

  Joseph's new sneakers were more brown than white. His shoelaces were caked with mud. Owen felt a pang of guilt.

  "Mine are wet, too," he said.

  "Yeah, but yours are old. Besides, your mom doesn't care." Joseph picked up the bucket. "It'll be easier if I carry this by myself."

  Owen held the branches carefully as he led the way through the woods. It probably wasn't the best time to tell Joseph about his idea, he realized. He would work it out by himself first. Then he'd tell him.

  It definitely wasn't the right time to bring up the photographs.

  Owen wasn't sure whether Joseph would be more freaked out by a lizard that pooped in your hand or by a three-legged frog.

  He bet it would be a close race.

  5. All Handfuls Aren't the Same

  Owen dumped his wet sneakers in the mudroom and burst into the kitchen. It was empty. He ran into the family room. His mom was standing in front of the picture window.

  "Guess what?" he said. "We finally got an idea for our science project."

  "Hi, Owen. I'm glad you're home." Mrs. Foote turned around. Owen realized she was standing in front of Chuck's aquarium. Owen had moved it into the family room the day before. He said Chuck needed more light.

  "I think Chuck might be sick," his mom said.

  Something thumped in the bottom of Owen's stomach. "He's okay," he said.

  "I don't think he is." His mom turned back to Chuck. "I looked at him when I got home from work. He doesn't look good."

  Owen didn't move. "He'll be okay."

  "Owen?" said his mom. She sounded puzzled. As if she expected him to act more concerned. Rush to Chuck's side or something, instead of just stand there.

  "Would you come over here, please, and tell me if you think there's something wrong?" she said.

  Owen didn't have to look to see if something was wrong. He knew there was. Something had been wrong for about a week. That was why he had brought Chuck downstairs.

  Chuck had been acting listless. He had practically stopped eating.

  His stomach, though, kept getting fatter and fatter. It had started to look like a balloon. Owen was terrified he was going to be woken up one night by the sound of Chuck exploding. Even though he knew Chuck was sick, he hadn't picked him up to check.

  Owen hadn't picked Chuck up since that day with Joseph.

  He walked slowly across the room and stood next to his mom. It was just as he had feared. The balloon was ready to explode.

  "Has he been eating normally?" his mom said, crouching down to get a better look.

  "Kind of." Owen shrugged uneasily. "Actually, not really."

  "What does 'not really' mean?" she said impatiently.

  "He hasn't eaten anything."

  "That's what I thought." His mom stood up. "I think we'd better take him to that reptile hospital you got the name of. When an animal stops eating, it means there's something wrong."

  "I can't go now," Owen said. "Joseph and I got tadpoles. I have to—"

  His mom cut him off.

  "Correct me if I'm wrong, Owen," she said, "but a few weeks ago you thought getting Chuck was the most important thing in the world."

  "It was."

  "Then before you start taking on more animals, you need to take care of the ones you already have," she said. "What's going on here?"

  Owen looked at his feet. He didn't know how to explain it. He didn't really understand it himself. Ever since Chuck's "accident," things had changed.

  Owen didn't trust Chuck anymore. He didn't want to train him. Or get to know him. Or hold him.

  He especially didn't want to hold him. And that made him feel like a wimp.

  "You don't want him to die, do you?" said his mom.

  "Want who to die?" said Lydia. She dumped her armload of books onto a chair and came over to where they were standing. "Wow. Owen was right. A lizard can get fat on
lettuce."

  "He's not fat, he's sick," said Mrs. Foote. "Owen and I are taking him to the vet. If we're not back by five, please put the meatloaf in the oven at three-fifty."

  She picked up her car keys from the coffee table. "Come on, Owen. Let's go."

  ***

  "He was what?" Lydia said blankly.

  "Bound." Mrs. Foote took off her coat and draped it over the back of the couch. Owen opened the small cardboard box with Chuck inside and dumped him into the aquarium. Chuck made an angry dash for his cave.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" said Lydia. She looked from her mom to Owen and back to her mom again.

  "Oh, my gosh." She put her hands over her mouth. "That is so gross. You mean constipated, don't you?"

  "Lydia, please," sighed Mrs. Foote. "I've had about all I can take for one day."

  "It does! It means constipated! That is so disgusting!" Lydia started hopping up and down and flapping her hands in front of her face as if she was trying to fly. "Gross! I can't stand it! I think I'm going to throw up! That is so gross!"

  Suddenly, she stopped. She looked back and forth between her mother and Owen again. "You had to give him a laxative, didn't you?"

  This time she didn't wait for the answer.

  "That is so gross!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs. "I can't believe it! That is so disgusting! Oh, get me out of here!"

  Owen and his mom listened in silence as she

  pounded up the stairs. Then Mrs. Foote gave Owen a weak smile.

  "I guess this means she doesn't want to be a vet," she said.

  His mom sank down into the couch, rested her head against its back, and closed her eyes.

  "Having animals isn't for the faint of heart, right, Owen?" she said.

  "Right."

  For a minute neither of them said anything. Then his mom's eyes popped open and she smiled. "You wanted to tell me about your science project before all of this happened," she said encouragingly. "What did you and Joseph decide?"

  "We're going to do something with tadpoles," said Owen. "We got a bunch of them at the swamp this afternoon."

  "That's a good idea," said his mom. "What are you going to do with them?"

  "I don't know." Owen knew his mom was trying to make him feel better, but it wasn't working. The vet didn't say it was Owen's fault Chuck was sick. But they both knew it was.

  Owen hadn't been giving Chuck enough to eat.

  "All handfuls aren't the same size" is what the vet said. It seemed to Owen he glanced quickly at Owen's hand when he said it. "I'll give him something to take care of the problem right here and now. But from now on, I'd give him two large handfuls a day."

  His mom didn't say "I told you so." She didn't even act mad when she had to write the vet a check for fifty-five dollars.

  Having her be so nice made Owen feel even worse.

  "I have an idea, but I haven't talked to Joseph about it yet," he said.

  "Why don't you go and call him," said his mom. "We'll have dinner when Dad gets home. And Owen..." He stopped in the doorway and turned around. "Don't worry about Chuck. He's fine."

  "I know. I'm not."

  "Good."

  Owen walked slowly up the stairs.

  He wasn't worried about Chuck. He was worried about himself. What if he had turned into a lizard wimp? Mr. Wozniak wouldn't want him in his class.

  He didn't want kids who just wanted to look at the lizards. He wanted kids who were willing to do things with them.

  Like feed them. And clean their cages.

  And pick them up.

  Owen went into his parents' bedroom and sat down on their bed.

  Impressing Mr. Wozniak was more important than ever now. Somehow, Owen had to find the nerve to show Joseph the photographs. If Joseph wanted to bolt when he saw them, then Owen had to find a way to make him stay.

  If it meant convincing him that frogs with three legs were happier because they could jump higher, that's what Owen was going to do.

  He picked up the phone.

  6. The Perfect Project

  "Wait till you see my volcano," said Ben. He put his lunch tray on the table across from Owen and slid into his seat. "It's awesome."

  "There'll probably be about a million volcanoes," said Anthony. "I bet there won't be another blood project."

  Owen ignored him. "Maybe you could do something to make it different," he said to Ben. "I always thought it would be cool to build a town at the base of the volcano. The lava could flow over it and destroy it."

  "Yeaaah." Ben's eyes lit up. "I could put people in it, too, and show how lava melts them."

  "I don't think baking soda and vinegar will produce lava that hot," said Joseph. He put his

  crumpled cookie wrapper in his lunch box and pulled out his sandwich. "It'll probably just make them white."

  "People will still get the idea," Owen said. "It will be like the volcano that erupted in Italy a long time ago. The one where they found those petrified bodies thousands of years later. The lava covered them so fast, some of the bodies were still at the table, eating."

  "That's so amazing," Joseph said.

  "Yeah, I bet no one else will have a project like that," said Ben.

  "What about blood?" said Anthony. "No one else is going to have blood."

  "They'd better, or they'll be dead," Joseph said.

  Owen and Ben laughed.

  "You know what I mean," said Anthony.

  "What's the big deal about blood?" said Owen. "All you're going to have is pictures."

  "No, I'm not. My dad's bringing home real blood tonight. He dried it and put it on slides. I'm going to have a microscope for people to look through."

  "Big deal," Owen said. But he knew dried blood was cool. So was a microscope.

  "What are you guys doing?" Ben asked him.

  "We got some tadpoles from the swamp," Owen said. "We're doing an experiment about how pollution affects their growth. Right, Joseph?"

  "Right."

  More than anything, Owen wanted to tell them about the pictures. He knew they'd think a three-legged frog was cool. Anthony might even stop bragging about his dried blood.

  But he couldn't. He hadn't showed them to Joseph yet.

  Owen had meant to show him when they set up their experiment at his house on Saturday. He had the pictures in his drawer, ready to pull out.

  It hadn't worked out that way.

  When they went up to Owen's room to check on the eggs, they found a bucket full of tadpoles. The water was thick with them.

  Joseph had bonded with them right away.

  "They look too tiny to even be alive, don't they?" he said, peering into the water. "Some of them even have eyes."

  He sounded so excited that Owen knew he couldn't put off telling him about his idea any longer. If Joseph got too fond of the tadpoles, he'd never agree to do anything that might harm them.

  "Hey! I have a great idea," Owen said. He hadn't planned on having it come out as if he'd just thought of it. But it did.

  "What?" Joseph looked up at him so trustingly, Owen almost stopped. Then he took a deep breath, and went on.

  "I just remembered this great article I saw a few months ago," he said. He took his time talking about farmers and crops. He talked about gardeners using fertilizers. He described how they seeped into underground waterways and ponds.

  It felt weird. He wasn't exactly lying, but he wasn't telling the truth, either. When he got to the part about the frogs, he was vague.

  "What do you mean, they didn't grow normally?" said Joseph.

  Owen shrugged. "I guess some of them were kind of funny."

  "Funny? You mean deformed?"

  Joseph had a weird expression on his face. As if he knew there was something Owen wasn't saying but he couldn't figure out what it was.

  "We won't use anything like that much fertilizer," Owen said quickly. "We'll use a tiny amount. Probably nothing will even happen."

  "But what if it does?" said Joseph. "I don
't want to do anything to hurt these guys. I really think I should do something on my own, Owen."

  "No way," Owen said. He felt a sudden sense of panic at the idea of Joseph leaving. "You and I always work together. I'll just use a tiny bit. They'll only be in the water for a week. Nothing will happen, Joseph. I promise."

  He said they would use a few of the tadpoles and throw the rest back. He promised they would put the ones in their experiment back as soon as the fair was over.

  The minute Joseph agreed, Owen sprang into action. He ran downstairs and got two glass bowls from the kitchen. He went into the garage and put a small amount of fertilizer into a plastic bag.

  When he got back upstairs, they put twelve tadpoles in one dish and twelve in another. They wrote CONTROL on a piece of tape and stuck it on one dish.

  They wrote FERTILIZER on the other dish.

  "Maybe we should write 'doomed' instead," Joseph said.

  Usually, Joseph was as enthusiastic about Owen's plans as Owen was. Now he was being very quiet. Owen was eager to get the fertilizer part over. He knew Joseph would relax when they started to write their report.

  Owen dipped the tip of a toothpick into the fertilizer and held it up for Joseph to inspect.

  "See? There's hardly anything on it."

  He quickly swirled it around in the water.

  "Do you think they felt anything?" Joseph said anxiously. "I think they're okay, don't you? They look okay."

  The tadpoles were flitting around cheerfully. None of them was writhing in pain.

  "It's not going to happen that quickly," said Owen. "Probably nothing's going to happen at all. I hope they're at least a little smaller by the science fair, or it won't look like we did anything."

  "I guess we should write down the first stage," said Joseph.

  "Right." Owen grabbed his notebook. He felt much better now that it was over. There was no turning back. "They're in my bedroom, so I'll keep track of them," he said.

  "Maybe it should be my job to feed them," said Joseph.

  "They're right next to my bed," Owen said. "I'll toss in a bit of food first thing in the morning. You wouldn't believe how easy it is to overfeed these things."

  "Then what do I do?" Joseph said.