The Word Eater (7 page)

The threat scared many a SLUG, even though they hadn't done a thing. Bobby responded to his note by folding it into an ultralight glider and hitting the back of Reba's head with it when Ms. Findley wasn't looking.

Lerner had to laugh. She should have been scared by the announcement, but she wasn't. Nothing could bother her. Who cared about after-school detention? If you were Lerner Chanse, you could feed the word
detention
to Fip and it would disappear! Not a bad idea, Lerner thought. Maybe I'll do that tomorrow.

Altogether, it turned out to be an amazing day for Lerner. Her last class, history, went to the library to work on their “Everyday Life in Colonial America” reports. She got her favorite carrel in the back and tried to concentrate on her report, but every time she read a word she imagined
what would happen if Fip were to eat it.
Cotton. Tea. Stockings. Firewood. Ink!

About five minutes into the period, Sharmaine, who was sitting in the next carrel, leaned over and whispered, “I won't tell the MPOOEs. You had something to do with the vending machine and the tests, didn't you?” Her voice was sincere and nicely conspiratorial; there was something in it Lerner wanted to trust.

The thing was—Lerner liked her. Sharmaine didn't put people down the way Reba did. And Sharmaine wrote genuine, Grade-A poems in a spiral notebook, which Lerner often read over her shoulder during Mr. Droan's science class. Lerner also kept a secret journal, which she would consider showing to Sharmaine, if Sharmaine were her friend. The problem was—Sharmaine was a MPOOE. And she couldn't trust a MPOOE.

“Knowledge is power,” Lerner gloated. “I have it, and the MPOOEs don't.”

Mrs. Popocheskovich rolled by with her cart full of books, and Sharmaine ducked back in her own carrel. The librarian shelved a book and leaned in toward Lerner. “It was Francis Bacon who said that knowledge is power, Cookie,” she whispered. “He was a philosopher who said much things to make you run and think. He also said that the appetite for too much power caused the angels to fall.” The librarian patted her twist and pushed her cart to the next aisle.

In the quiet of the library, Lerner thought about what Mrs. Popocheskovich said. Knowledge about Fip was an awesome power. Power that Lerner could use for good—or evil. She shouldn't waste the power on childish things like vending machines and tests—although that had been fun. Fip was a gift to be used for the good of humankind. With a new sense of purpose and righteous excitement, she borrowed a copy of the
Washington News
and scanned through it for ideas.

The newspaper was filled with life-and-death matters. Lerner imagined feeding Fip the word
crime
and watching murder weapons vanish.
Ta Da!
She imagined feeding Fip the word
earthquake
and calming a fault line in mid-tremble.
Hurray!
She could do it. She had the power.

Or did she? What if Fip only had a certain amount of power and it was almost gone? Lerner didn't know that much about Fip, after all. The books on invertebrates that she had borrowed yesterday were no help. Fip didn't look or act like any of the worms described. All she knew was what Fip had done, not what he was capable of doing in the future. Perhaps he was a completely new—or alien?—species. She'd do more
experiments and keep track of her findings in her journal. She needed to stick to things that she could see.
Crime
and
earthquake
were too big: What if the desire to commit a crime is what disappeared? How could she see that? And how could she find out whether or not she had stopped an earthquake from happening?

She needed something specific, a name that only referred to one very immediate thing, something she could see. She needed—what did Ms. Findley call it?—a proper noun. She turned the page and an article caught her eye.

Attackaterriers. That was it! She could delete Attackaterriers. Life without Ripper flashed before her eyes. Imagine! She and Martha could frolic in their own backyard without the constant
growling. Good old Martha could become an outdoor cat again.

Although Lerner should have been writing her “Everyday Life in Colonial America” report, she pulled out her journal and wrote plans for the next experiment:

She could do it after school in her bedroom and see right through her window if it worked on Ripper. She couldn't wait, but she had to. After history class, she had to report to Mr. Droan's room for detention along with everybody else.

The room was packed. Lerner sat in her usual place in the back and pretended to do her homework. The MPOOEs were up to something, passing notes up and down the rows—to MPOOE members only—like a hive of worker bees. Queen Reba sat in the center with her chest sticking out as usual, watching every move.

The top of Mr. Droan's head appeared and
disappeared behind his propped-up grade book with every snore.

Lerner looked over Sharmaine's shoulder. She couldn't see the note Reba had passed her, but she could see the poem Sharmaine had just written in her spiral notebook.

Now this was an interesting development.

Lerner opened her backpack and pulled out a Nutty Munch. As she took a bite, she felt Winny the SLUG's perfectly round eyes on her. Feeling powerful in a saintly kind of way, Lerner pulled out another Nutty Munch and handed it to Winny, who grinned and straightened up in her seat. Lerner glanced at the kids in the room who weren't wearing MPOOE wristbands. Then she, the Good Deed Doer, pulled out a dozen Nutty Munches.
For SLUGs only
she wrote on each wrapper. One by one, she passed them to all the SLUGs. Well, all but Bobby Nitz.

She slipped a note around the last Nutty Munch and passed it to Sharmaine.

The MPOOEs watched silently. Reba looked like she wanted to spit thumbtacks. Bobby pretended not to notice.

School was getting fun.

After detention, Bobby Nitz ran out the door and kept running, fast and hard, until it felt as though his lungs would burst. He hated school. He hated Droan and he hated the other kids. He hated Helmet Head with her stupid candy bars for SLUGs only. He slowed to a walk, the concrete sidewalk slamming up through his thin-soled sneakers. He wished he could run so fast that his feet would leave the ground. He wished his bones were hollow like a bird's so he could fly. He'd fly above Thirty-sixth Street, past the turnoff to his house, past the parkway and the zoo. He'd fly and fly and keep on flying, out of town, out of the world.

Ahead, the stoplight turned red. He pounded right into the intersection, and a car screeched to a stop, honking. The driver got out to yell, and Bobby took off running again, plowing past a group of third graders on the corner who were too scared to protest. When he got home, he ran straight to his father's den and locked the door.

He turned on the computer and called up the Internet.

Outside, Ripper barked. Somebody screamed. Bobby parted his window curtain and looked
out. Helmet Head. She was in the driveway walking over to Ripper's pen, closer than Bobby had ever seen her dare to come. Staying hidden, he eased the window a crack.

“That's the last time you're going to scare me.” Lerner was talking to Ripper. “I've got a little surprise for you named Fip.”

Every cell in Bobby's brain came to attention. What did she mean—a surprise named Fip? Bobby saw her flash a smile at Ripper and walk into her house. No way! Lerner Chanse never smiled at Ripper. The image of Lerner riding on a broomstick with her short blond hair sticking straight up flew in and out of Bobby's mind. Maybe she wasn't a witch, but odd things were happening and she was involved. It all started with the thumbtacks, which he got when he slammed into her. She brought in an article about Jay's Star, and the next day the star disappeared. Then, she used the lunch menu to hold some bug, and the spinach soufflé disappeared. A bunch of coincidences? No way! Today the principal talked about the missing vending machine, and guess who was passing out candy bars like a millionaire? And Lerner was smiling when Droan's tests disappeared. That was definitely odd.

Bobby got his binoculars and tried to see into Lerner's bedroom window. What was going on? And what was this surprise named Fip? No luck. Her curtains were drawn.

Turning back to the computer, he typed in “vending machine.”