Part 5 (1/2)

”No,” Sam said in a small voice.

”Is something wrong?” Mom asked.

Sam reached into his pocket and very quietly felt the package of gum. ”I'm not having a very good day,” he told his mom.

”Oh? Why not?”

A tear slid down Sam's cheek. He pulled his hand, in a fist with the gum inside, out of his pocket. He looked at it and felt all choky.

”Sweetie? What's the matter?” his mom asked.

It was because she said ”sweetie.” That was the worst. Lots of kids at school cried for dumb reasons: because they didn't get to be first for graham crackers at snack time, or because Nicky bit them, or because the carpool car had a flat tire. Sam never cried at things like that. But when your own mother said ”sweetie” and you didn't feel like a sweetie at all because you had this bright red giant-sized pack of Dentyne gum in your hand, and you didn't even like Dentyne gum, or want Dentyne gum, and you weren't having a good day at all, wella”

Sam began to sob. He handed the gum to his mother.

And after they returned to the supermarket, found the manager, explained about the gum, apologized about the gum, paid for the gum, and then went outside and threw the gum away in a big trash can, it began, finally, to be a good day again.

8.

”I want a pet,” Sam said one evening at dinner.

His mom reached over and patted his cheek. ”Oh, Sam,” she said, ”you know how much we would love to have a dog. But Daddy's allergic to dogs.”

”My eyes get all itchy, and I sneeze and feel terrible if I'm anywhere near a dog,” his dad said. ”And I turn grouchy. I snarl at everyone.”

”What abouta”” Sam began.

”Same with cats,” his dad said.

”I had a cat once, Sam,” Anastasia told him, ”when I was younger, before you were born. And Dad was sick for two whole months before we realized it was the cat causing it.”

”Was he sneezy?” Sam asked.

”Yes.”

”And grumpy?”

”Just like the Seven Dwarfs,” Anastasia said.

”Did you have to kill the cat?” Sam asked. He sort of hoped they had. He didn't want anybody's cat to be dead, especially, but for some reason he was very interested in shooting guns and dropping bombs. At nursery school, Sam and his friend Adam always dropped a lot of bombs on stuff until the teacher said, ”Time Out, guys,” and made them stop. Now Sam was kind of wondering about how you would get rid of a cat that was turning you into a Sneezy and a Grumpy. Maybe you would have to drop a bomb on it.

”Of course not,” Anastasia said. ”We gave the cat to my friend Jenny. Later it got run over by a car.”

”Squooshed flat?” asked Sam.

”Yuck,” Anastasia said. ”I suppose so. But I don't want to think about it while I'm eating.”

”Eat your dinner, Sam,” his mom said. ”Chicken's your favorite.”

”Could I maybe have an alive chicken?” Sam asked. ”I really want a pet.”

”No, sweetie. People raise chickens on farms. I think your school is going to have a field trip to a real farm some time soon. So you'll get to see lots of live chickens. But you won't be able to keep one, I'm afraid. A chicken wouldn't be a good pet, anyway.”

Sam scowled and drove his spoon around his plate, pus.h.i.+ng a trail through some peas into a mound of squash. Oh, yuck. Now there were some peas touching his squash. He hated when his foods touched each other. The worst was when spinach juice got onto mashed potatoes and turned them green.

No. The real worst was when beets touched something.

Sam poked at his peas. ”Anastasia got to have gerbils,” he grumbled.

The whole family groaned. Sam giggled. The gerbils had been terrible. They had had babies, and then they had all gotten out of the cage, and there had been gerbils all over the house for a while.

The Krupniks had all been very glad when they finally gave the gerbils away.

Carefully Sam removed three peas from his squash mound and tried to de-squash them with his finger. It didn't work. No one was looking at him, so he put the squashy peas into his pocket. He could throw them away later.

He gnawed on his chicken leg and wished that he could have a pet. If he had a pet, it would be sitting under his chair right now, right this minute. And he could drop peas down and his pet would eat them and no one would ever know but Sam. A good pet would even eat broccoli, Sam thought.

”You stay in the yard, Sam,” his mom said. ”And after I finish the dishes, I'll bring you in for your bath. It's almost bedtime.” She b.u.t.toned his sweater.

Sam nodded. His mom closed the screen door, went back into the kitchen, and left Sam alone on the back porch. It was boring, being outdoors after dinner. There were no kids around. At school, there would be lots of kids yelling and shoving and grabbing and running. Nicky would be biting people, and Adam would be dropping bombs on the castles that other kids would be building in the sandbox, and Skipper would be going down the giraffe slide headfirst, and it would be a whole lot of fun.

But being alone in the back yard was boring. Sam sat for a minute on his tricycle. He pushed the pedals with his feet, rode the tricycle into a bush, got off, and left it there, mas.h.i.+ng the rhododendron.

He watched a squirrel climb the side of a tree trunk. Squirrels couldn't be pets; they always ran away very fast if you came close. A pet should be willing to sit beside you, eat your peas, and listen quietly while your mom read you a story. A squirrel wouldn't do any of those things.

He wandered over to his sandbox, sat down on the triangular corner seat, and reached for a big spoon that was partly buried in the sand and dirt.

When he picked it up, he saw a worm.

Sam wasn't afraid of worms. Sam wasn't afraid of anything much, except maybe the Terrible Twos, which he still had never seen. And Nicky at school, who bit, and left little pink circles of teeth marks on your arm.

But he had never thought very much about worms until now. He picked this one up and examined it. It was long and fat and glistening, and it wiggled in the palm of his hand.

Could a worm be a pet? Sam wondered. He had never heard of anyone who had a pet worm. But maybe no one had thought of it yet.

A worm was small, the way a pet should be.

It was alive.

No one was allergic to worms. He was pretty sure of that. Daddy was allergic to dogs and cats. Sam's friend Adam was allergic to orange juice, so at snack time at school Adam always had tomato juice instead. And Sam's mother was allergic to ironing; he had heard her say that lots of times.

But no one was ever allergic to worms, Sam was quite sure.