“How do you pronounce it?” asked Flossy Parmigiano.
“Just the way it’s spelled,” P.W. said with a straight face.
Everyone laughed. P.W. grabbed the bag, took a deep breath, and read the name in its entirety:
“Krungthepmahanakornamornratanakosinmahintarayutthayamahadilokphopnopparatrajathaniburiromudomrajaniwesmahasatharnamornphimarnvatarnsathitsakkattiyavisanukamprasit.”
“Most impressive,” said Mr. Sparks.
“We usually just call ’em Bangkok chips,” P.W. said. “Basil and pork is my favorite flavor, but my mom goes for these green tea ones.”
“Hey, is this language class or science?” Lumpkin complained.
“Perhaps you have a point, Henry,” said Mr. Sparks. “We should get started on today’s assignment.”
The lesson began as soon as everyone was seated.
“Does anyone know how many different species of living things there are in the world?” Mr. Sparks asked.
Hands shot up.
“Thomas?”
“A million?” Thomas Warchowski ventured.
“Multiply that number by a hundred, and you’d be about right.”
“A hundred million?”
“Give or take,” said Mr. Sparks. “Now, as you might imagine, it’s easy enough to distinguish, say, a panther from a python, or a mushroom from a muskrat. But some differences are harder to detect. For instance, take birds. How do you tell a yellow-bellied flycatcher from a yellow-bellied sapsucker? The biologist’s answer is: You learn how to classify and how to create a key. That is today’s assignment.”
“I bet the yellow we’ll be studying isn’t bird bellies,” P.W. speculated.
“How right you are,” said Mr. Sparks, beckoning the class to join him around his desk. “Time to brainstorm properties of potato chips,” he said as he lined up eight bags from his stockpile. “Can anyone come up with a yes or no question that will distinguish some of these chips from others?”
“How about, ‘Is the chip flavored?’” suggested Lily-Matisse.
“Excellent,” said Mr. Sparks. He wrote down FLAVORED and NOT FLAVORED. “Anyone else have a mutually exclusive property that will help us classify our thin-sliced deep-fried tubers?”
“How about shape?” said Thomas Warchowski.
“Turn that into a yes or no question,” said Mr. Sparks.
“‘Is the chip crinkle cut?’”
“Perfect,” said Mr. Sparks. He wrote down CRINKLE CUT and NOT CRINKLE CUT.
The question-and-answer session continued until he had a long list of properties that helped differentiate each brand of chip from the others.
“Right,” said Mr. Sparks. “Now let’s see how we can use this information. Suppose I say to you, Thomas, I have a non-crinkle cut, flavored, non-low-fat potato chip. Can you tell me which of these eight it might be?”
Thomas looked at the pile and said, “Nope.”
“You can’t?” said Mr. Sparks disappointedly.
“Well, I know which one it is. I just can’t say it,” Thomas explained. “It’s P.W.’s chip—the one with the superlong name.”
“Fair enough,” said Mr. Sparks. “But you see my point? By coming up with yes/no questions that isolate differences, we can create a key that enables us to classify potato chips.”
“Cool,” said Thomas. “Does that mean I get to eat all the chips in the bag?”
“Afraid not,” said Mr. Sparks. “We’ll be using these samples in next week’s experiment.”
“That stinks!” Lumpkin grumbled.
“I feel your pain,” said Mr. Sparks. “But you can take comfort in knowing that the ability to classify—to draw distinctions—is crucial to the scientist’s understanding of the natural world. Without that ability, we couldn’t tell a potato chip from a lump of coal.”
Or a lump of coal from a Lumpkin, Leon said to himself. Mr. Sparks’s lesson got him thinking. If classification could aid the scientist in understanding the natural world, maybe it could help with the supernatural, too.
THIRTEEN
One, Two, Three … Spit!
Leon, as it turned out, wasn’t the only one who drew insight from the first potato chip assignment. Lily-Matisse and P.W. also connected the science class to Pumpkinhead 2.0. So much so that the three had a powwow about the lesson at lunch the following day.
“I think we’ve got to work up a classification of the spitting images to figure out why one worked and one didn’t,” said P.W.
Lily-Matisse paused between bites of an open-faced grilled-cheese sandwich. “The difference is pretty obvious,” she said. “One worked, the other doesn’t.”
“Still P.W. has a point,” said Leon. “If we can isolate the key differences in construction, we might be able to figure out why Pumpkinhead isn’t functioning.”
“I guess,” said Lily-Matisse, not all that convinced.
“Okay, then,” said P.W. “Here’s what we know. Point one. Last year Leon made a mini-Hag that looked exactly like Miss Hagmeyer. Point two, Lumpkin got hold of that spitting image and stained it with teacher’s spit. Immediately after that—this is point three—Leon here discovered that moving the spitting image of the Hag moved the Hag herself.”
“Right,” said Lily-Matisse. “Remember when—”
“Hey, don’t interrupt,” said P.W.
Lily-Matisse ignored him. “Remember, Leon, when you used the Hag doll to make the real Hag do pull-ups on the jungle gym?”
“That was pretty sweet,” said Leon. “But personally, I liked the food fight better. How often do you see teachers throwing cottage cheese at each other?”
“Give me a break!” said P.W. “How can you compare pull-ups and projectile lunch food to Leon’s supremo move?”
“Which was what, in your humble opinion?” said Lily-Matisse.
“The septuple twist,” said P.W. “Man oh man. Seeing the Hag complete a 2520 while jumping rope! Now that was something!”
They all laughed.
“Too bad we don’t have that power right now,” said Lily-Matisse. She glanced over at Lumpkin, who was planted in front of a steam table, ladling mounds of ground beef onto a grinder roll.
“If we had Pumpkinhead two-point-oh working right now,” said Leon, “that beef wouldn’t be going on a roll.”
“Well, he’s not working,” said Lily-Matisse.
“Which is why we should get back to the scientific analysis,” said P.W. “Now where was I?”
“Point four,” Leon prompted.
“Thank you, point four. You spent the summer working on a spitting image of Lumpkin, which—”
Leon finished the sentence. “Which hasn’t done diddly.”
P.W. nodded. “Now let’s run through differences and similarities between the real Lumpkin and his spitting image.”
“We should work our way from the top down, starting with the hair,” Lily-Matisse suggested.
Leon retrieved the pouch from his backpack and, after checking that the coast was clear, pushed up on the bottom to expose the head of the inactive action figure.
“Tell me his hair color doesn’t match,” said Leon.
P.W. and Lily-Matisse glanced back and forth between the spitting image and the bully.
“It’s perfect,” Lily-Matisse acknowledged.
“I agree,” said P.W. “So it’s not the hair that’s causing the interference. What about the jacket? Are you sure you got the right specs?”
Lily-Matisse looked puzzled. “Specs? Lumpkin doesn’t wear spectacles.”
“Specifications,” P.W. clarified.
“I got the right specs,” said Leon. “Check for yourselves.” He removed Pumpkinhead 2.0 from the pouch. Again Lily-Matisse and P.W. ping-ponged their glances between the supersized bully and his pint-sized clone.
Once more they were in total agreement—the two jackets, except for the obvious difference in size, were identical.
“Okay, so the jacket passes,” said P.W. “What abo
ut the pants and the boots?”
“The pants seem fine to me,” said Lily-Matisse, “but it’s impossible to compare boots from over here.”
“I’m on it,” said P.W. He walked over to where Lumpkin had seated himself and dropped a spoon on the floor. While picking it up, he sneaked a peek at the bully’s army-issue footgear.
Back at the table, P.W. shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible, Leon. Even the laces match—eight perfect crisscrosses!”
“I told you,” said Leon. “I customized everything.”
“So it’s definitely not the clothing that’s causing problems,” said Lily-Matisse. “How about the insides? Maybe the stuffing isn’t absorbing the spit the same way.”
“It can’t be that,” said Leon. “I used the Hag’s old panty hose for both spitting images.”
“So that leaves only one variable,” said P.W. He started making moist smacking sounds with his lips.
“Spit?” said Leon.
“Roger that,” said P.W.
Lily-Matisse winced.
“No way,” said Leon. “I applied teacher’s spit from the exact same source—Coach Kasperitis.”
“Hey! Wait a minute!” said P.W. “That’s it.”
“What’s it?” said Leon.
“Think!” said P.W. “If you need teacher’s spit to activate the spitting image of a teacher, then it only makes sense that to control a kid you would need …”
“Kid spit!” said Leon.
“Exactimundo,” said P.W. “Using the coach’s spit on Pumpkinhead two-point-oh is like using triple A batteries in a Game Boy. It’ll never work.”
“I’m afraid to ask,” said Lily-Matisse. “What’s next?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” said P.W. He drained his milk, disappeared under the table, and resurfaced moments later, holding a milk carton that was no longer empty. “Someone grab a straw.”
“Gag me,” said Lily-Matisse.
Leon fetched a straw and returned to the table. “Here you go,” he told P.W. “I’ll let you do the honors.”
P.W. suctioned up some spit, which he dabbed on the stomach of Pumpkinhead 2.0. He then tapped the straw on each shoulder of the spitting image and said, “I dub thee Pumpkinhead two-point-one.”
Moments later the three fifth graders (and the recharged, renamed doll) regrouped behind a tray station, where they observed the ugly spectacle of a lunching Lumpkin.
“Look at the way he’s inhaling that sloppy joe,” said Lily-Matisse.
“Yeah, it’s disgusting,” P.W. marveled. “Though not as disgusting as when Leon is finished with him.”
“Am I in range?” Leon asked.
“Absolutely,” said P.W. “You’re in spitting distance of the target.”
“Ha-ha,” said Lily-Matisse.
“Okay, now,” said Leon as he prepared to take aim.
“One sloppy Lumpkin coming up!” P.W. wisecracked.
“Shush!” Leon ordered. He leveled Pumpkinhead 2.1 at the unsuspecting target and began to move the figure’s tiny arms so that Lumpkin would stick his ground beef sandwich into his own right ear.
The sandwich suddenly disappeared. Sadly for Leon, it did so into Lumpkin’s mouth.
“Well, we know my spit doesn’t work,” said P.W. “You’re up next, Leon.”
Back at their table, Leon ducked down and harvested some saliva. After a quick reapplication and renaming ceremony (“I dub thee Pumpkinhead two-point-two,” P.W. intoned), it was back to the tray station for another round of tests.
Again nothing happened.
Leon and P.W. looked at Lily-Matisse.
“No way,” she said before they even asked. “I’ll barf.”
“But your spit has to work, Lily-Matisse,” P.W. said.
“Why does my spit have to work?”
“Think about it,” said P.W. “The Hag is a woman, the coach is a man. They’re opposites. We used man spit on a woman figure. It makes sense that a boy figure needs girl spit.”
“C’mon, Lily-Matisse,” urged Leon.
“Hock a loogie for the team,” P.W. cajoled. Lily-Matisse tried to resist, but her friends’ begging soon overwhelmed her. “Enough already. I’ll do it, but not in public.”
“Fair enough,” said Leon.
Lily-Matisse went to the girls’ room and returned a minute later looking a little green. “Take it,” she said, holding out a small paper cup.
P.W. looked inside. “Is that all you could come up with?”
“Hey, I’m not a seasoned professional like some folks I know.”
Leon glanced into the cup. “Don’t worry, Lily-Matisse. There’s plenty.”
Lunch was winding down, so they had to act fast. Leon poured some girl spit onto the already damp belly of Pumpkinhead 2.2. While they waited for the liquid to absorb, P.W. re-re-re-renamed the action figure Pumpkinhead 2.3.
It took some doing, but Leon managed to find a spot close to where Lumpkin was bussing his tray. He raised Pumpkinhead 2.3 and fired off a shot.
“You see that!” P.W. cried out.
“See what?” said Lily-Matisse.
“Lumpkin twitched.”
“I didn’t see any twitching,” said Lily-Matisse.
“Leon?” said P.W.
Leon moved the arms of Pumpkinhead 2.3 up and down to verify P.W.’s wishful analysis. “False alarm,” he said at last. “The jerking was Lumpkin all on his own.”
FOURTEEN
The Great Potato Chip Flameout
The failures of Pumpkinhead (versions 1 through 2.3) weighed heavily on Leon as he entered the science lab. It was all fine and dandy to undertake rescue and repair, but unless he could master the third R—reanimation—the whole salvage operation would provide no payoff whatsoever, and Lumpkin would keep behaving like Lumpkin.
“Okay,” Mr. Sparks chirped. “So we’ve learned about the importance of classification, right?”
“Right!” the class shouted.
“And we’ve analyzed all the qualities a potato chip can possess, right?”
“Right!”
“Wrong!” Mr. Sparks shot back. “There are tons we haven’t considered.”
“Like what?” said Thomas Warchowski.
“Well, have we asked ourselves whether any or all potato chips can burn?”
“Du-uh,” said Lumpkin. “Of course potato chips burn. Everything burns.”
“‘Du-uh’ and ‘of course’ are terms scientists tend to shy away from,” said Mr. Sparks.
“I think Henry’s wrong,” said Antoinette Brede. “If chips could catch on fire, grown-ups wouldn’t let us near them.”
“Some parents don’t,” said Flossy Parmigiano.
“Sorry to break it to you, girls,” said Thomas Warchowski, “but Henry’s right. Chips do burn. I mean, think about it. Potato chips are food, right? And all food is energy, right? And all energy burns, right? Therefore … potato chips burn.”
“Except potato chips aren’t food,” said Flossy Parmigiano. “At least not according to my dad.”
“Flossy and Antoinette are right,” said P.W. “Who ever heard of a potato chip catching fire?” He grabbed a bag and looked it over. “I don’t see anything on the label that says, ‘Warning: Keep away from flames.’”
“Seems to me class opinion is pretty divided,” said Mr. Sparks. He walked over to the blackboard and wrote:
“Whenever a scientist is faced with two contradictory hypotheses, it is often best to confront the problem experimentally.” Mr. Sparks reached under his bench and pulled out a pair of safety glasses. “Well, what are you pyromaniacs waiting for? Grab eye protection, tie your hair back if it’s long like mine, and gather around!”
Once the whole class was properly goggled, Mr. Sparks placed a sturdy ring stand on his bench top and fitted the stand with an alligator clip. “Hmm, let’s see.
Perhaps we should start things off with one of these green tea chips from Bangkok—you’ll forgive me, P.W., if I don’t say the f
ull name.”
“No problem,” said P.W.
Mr. Sparks plucked a green tea chip from the bag and gingerly clamped it between the jaws of the clip. He then pulled out a box of safety matches and, without fanfare, struck a match. Everyone watched as he placed the match underneath the chip. It lit up like a candle.
“Boo-yah!” Lumpkin yowled, gyrating his rump like a running back showboating after scoring a touchdown.
“I welcome enthusiasm,” said Mr. Sparks. “But before you get too excited, Henry, perhaps we should see if other chips generate the same illuminating reaction. After all, proving a hypothesis requires repeatable results.”
Mr. Sparks removed one of Flossy’s salt-free, low-fat kale chips from its recycled paper bag and clipped it in place. He struck another match and directed the flame under the kale chip. It smoldered and blackened but refused to catch.
“Hey, wait a minute!” said Lumpkin. “That chip must be defective.”
“Let’s try another from the same bag,” Mr. Sparks said calmly. He repeated the procedure. Again the kale chip refused to ignite.
“Maybe the first chip was defective,” said Lily-Matisse.
Mr. Sparks removed another green tea chip, clamped it in place, and struck a match. Once more the chip caught on fire, producing a steady, yellow flame that burned for nearly a minute.
“So what can we conclude?” Mr. Sparks asked the class.
“That not all chips are created equal?” Leon suggested.
“Correct,” said Mr. Sparks.
“But what’s making my chip fireproof?” asked Flossy Parmigiano.
“Ah,” said Mr. Sparks. “If I answered that question, you wouldn’t have a chance to set all these chips on fire. Now break into groups and test the flammability of the chips we classified last week. See if you can isolate the variable that explains why some chips burn like bandits and others only smolder.”
Mr. Sparks outlined the procedure. “Take a chip from each bag. Burn it—or try to—and write down your observations. The height and color of the flame. The brightness. The duration. You can measure the burn time using that big old wall clock above the door.”
Leon and the Champion Chip Page 6