They Didn't Teach THIS in Worm School! Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either

  products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2016 by Simone Lia

  Cover illustrations copyright © 2017 by Simone Lia

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted,

  or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means,

  graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and

  recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  First U.S. electronic edition 2018

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending

  This book was typeset in Veronan and WB Simonelia.

  The illustrations were done in mixed media.

  Candlewick Press

  99 Dover Street

  Somerville, Massachusetts 02144

  visit us at www.candlewick.com

  For Timothy

  Chapter One

  My name is Marcus.

  I am a worm, and this is where I live.

  My favorite color is brown.

  That’s because mud is brown and I really,

  really, really like mud.

  My favorite things are other worms.

  And my hobby is digging holes in the ground.

  There is nothing I enjoy more than making a

  complicated underground tunnel system.

  But when I met Laurence,

  everything changed.

  Let me tell you about

  how I met him. . . .

  6

  Then, I dreamed I fell out of a can and into a

  cereal bowl. Staring at me was a scruffy, fat bird

  who looked a lot like a chicken. It was a really

  good dream until it got to the bird part. The

  bird had intense and menacing eyes.

  I was digging a hole, like I usually do (like all

  worms do), but I must have fallen asleep, because

  the next thing that happened was that I was

  flying a spaceship in outer space.

  The spaceship was made

  out of potatoes.

  The worst thing was that the last part of

  the dream wasn’t a dream at all. I really had

  been in a can, and there really was a big fat bird

  staring at me!

  What would you do if you were a worm and

  there was a bird two inches away from your face,

  looking at you with his beak open so wide that

  you could see his tonsils?

  Maybe you would do what I did. I smiled a big

  smile and said in my most cheerful voice,

  Good

  morning!

  8

  The bird looked confused. He mumbled “Good

  morning” back and then opened his beak again

  with his head tilted at a slightly different angle.

  Before he could eat me up, I shouted very

  loudly and quickly, “MY NAME IS

  MARCUS. MY FAVORITE COLOR

  IS BROWN, AND MY HOBBY IS

  DIGGING HOLES IN THE GROUND.

  WHAT IS YOUR NAME, AND DO

  YOU HAVE A HOBBY, PLEASE, SIR?”

  I added a “sir” at the end to be polite.

  The bird seemed taken aback. He closed and

  opened his beak.

  “My name is Laurence,” he said.

  He was about to open his beak wide again.

  “AND WHAT about hobbies?” I asked. “DO you

  have a nice HOBBY, Laurence?”

  Laurence sat down, looked at his fat belly,

  and then looked at me again. “No one’s ever

  asked me that question before,” he said.

  “Really? WELL, take your TIME, and make

  yourself COMFORTABLE,” I said, encouraging

  him to lie down on the sofa. I positioned myself

  a little bit closer to the window. “I’d love to hear

  all about your hobby. I’m sure it is very, VERY

  interesting.”

  10

  I didn’t mean to keep shouting, but I was

  scared, and I didn’t quite know what I was doing.

  Laurence didn’t seem to notice. He obediently

  put his feet up.

  “My hobby is traveling,” he said.

  “How fascinating!” I said, trying not to shout

  as much. “And where have you been to?”

  Laurence thought for a while. “That’s the

  problem,” he explained. “I haven’t been anywhere.

  I’m terrible at map reading. I’d love to visit Kenya,

  in Africa, but it’s such a long way to fly. I would

  definitely need a map to get there.”

  I paused to try to give the impression

  that I was thinking deeply about what he

  was saying. “Why

  Kenya?” I asked.

  While he was

  thinking of his answer,

  I looked out the

  window.

  We were in

  a birdhouse in a

  tall tree. The

  latch on the

  window was

  too high for

  me to reach.

  Even if I could

  have reached

  up and pushed

  the window

  open, I wasn’t

  too thrilled

  about wriggling

  down the tree

  from that height.

  They didn’t

  teach us how

  to do that at

  worm school.

  Laurence was looking at his belly

  again. Why did he keep looking at his

  stomach? Was it because it was large, or was it

  because he was hungry? I decided to keep talking

  to distract his mind from food thoughts. “Tell me

  what it is about Kenya that you love so much.”

  Laurence sat up. “I’ll show you,” he said,

  reaching for a glossy travel book

  from a pile of books on the

  floor. He opened it. “This is

  the Maasai Mara National

  Reserve. Look at these

  beautiful wide-open plains. There are

  so many animals that live in the nature reserves

  in Kenya. You just don’t see animals like that

  around here.” Laurence flipped through pages

  with photographs of lions, elephants, zebras,

  and wildebeest. He stopped at a page that

  had pictures of pink birds

  with skinny legs.

  13

  “This,” he said, slamming his wing on the page

  dramatically, “is why I need to go.” Laurence

  looked at me. “Do you see what I mean?”

  “Hmm . . . yes,” I said, nodding in agreement,

  pretending to understand what he meant.

  “Thank you. I’m glad that you see it too —

  that I am actually a flamingo.”

  14

  A

  FLAMINGO

  LAURENCE

  MY WORM BRAIN

  “A flamingo,” I repeated firmly, trying

  my best not to laugh out loud. Laurence

  doesn’t look anything like a flamingo.

  He looks like a chicken.

  “I don’t belong here with ordinary

  birds. I belong here”— he paused to

  read the caption at the bottom of the

  photog
raph —“in the Lake Nakuru

  National Park, with other flamingos. That is my

  real home, and it is the only place where I can

  truly be happy.” He slammed the book shut and

  clasped his wings together.

  The thing that stopped me from laughing at

  Laurence was the fact that I was in a very bad

  situation. At any moment he would remember

  how hungry he was and slurp me up

  like a piece of spaghetti. I needed to

  use every part of my worm brain

  to come up with a cunning plan

  to escape from the birdhouse.

  15

  “Probably not,” said Laurence, sighing. “It feels

  funny eating you for breakfast now that we’ve

  had a conversation.”

  I almost felt relieved at this, but I was

  not reassured by Laurence’s use of the word

  “probably.” Keeping the conversation going

  seemed like a good idea.

  “What’s to stop you from flying to that park in

  Lake Nakuru?” I asked.

  Instead, I accidentally blurted out my

  worst fear:

  Are you

  going to

  eat me for

  breakfast?

  16

  I wriggled across the floor to where he stood,

  and said softly, “Laurence, you must follow your

  dreams. If Lake Nakuru is where you belong, then

  surely there will be a way for you to fly there. . . .

  There will be a way.”

  “I told you, I can’t read a map. I don’t know

  the way,” said Laurence, standing up and facing

  the wall, unable to meet my eyes.

  17

  Laurence sighed, then looked at me with those

  intense eyes. “Tell me about your hobby again,”

  he said, beckoning me to sit on the sofa.

  You just need

  someone to read

  a map for you.

  It suddenly felt like we were in a movie. It was

  an excellent movie.

  If Laurence did fly to Kenya, then he wouldn’t

  be able to eat me for breakfast or lunch or dinner.

  “There must be a way,” I continued.

  “Umm . . .” I was a little worried about the look

  in his eyes but thought it might be best to keep

  talking. “I like digging holes in the mud. It’s very

  relaxing, and I make escape tunnels to interesting

  places, like near a tree so that I can eat apples

  that have fallen on the ground, or near the

  compost heap, which is fun. It’s a bit like

  going to the beach and —”

  19

  “Don’t you get lost when you’re underground?”

  asked Laurence, interrupting me. “It must be quite

  dark down there.”

  “No. I always know where I am. I just kind

  of feel it.”

  “That’s THAT, then!” said Laurence, laughing

  triumphantly and clapping his wings together.

  “That’s WHAT?”

  I asked, feeling quite

  worried again.

  “You, Marcus,

  with your funny

  ideas and wonderful

  sense of direction —

  you can help me fly to

  Kenya. You can be the

  navigator! And to think

  that I almost ate you

  for breakfast —”

  20

  I was shouting again.

  We were going to fly to Lake Nakuru National

  Park.

  I had no choice.

  It was either that or be eaten for breakfast.

  YES!

  I CAN BE

  YOUR

  NAVIGATOR!

  Chapter Two

  Laurence was packing for the long journey ahead.

  He was excited, singing and whistling as he

  hurried around his birdhouse.

  I sat on the sofa and looked out the window.

  It was a sunny day. I wished that I were outside.

  Or at home, under the ground. Or anywhere

  that wasn’t here on

  this sofa, waiting

  to go somewhere I

  didn’t want to go,

  with someone

  I didn’t want to

  go with.

  22

  There was no way for me to escape.

  I’d just have to fly to Lake Nakuru

  with Laurence and

  start a new life. I’d

  send Auntie and Uncle

  a postcard when I got

  there so they would

  know where I was.

  “I’m just having a DUST

  BATH,” shouted Laurence cheerfully from the

  bathroom. “I’ll be ready SOON. We’re going to

  have so much FUN!”

  “YES,” I said. I was really

  worried now. Not only did

  Laurence think that I could

  read a map, but he also seemed

  to think that I knew how to fly.

  Had he not noticed that I don’t

  have wings? What would he do when he found

  out that I can’t do that, either?

  23

  Laurence was ready. He was carrying a big

  map and a small leather bag. “Here, you’ll need

  this,” he said, throwing the map toward me. “To

  figure out the route.”

  I looked at Laurence’s bag. A thought popped

  into my worm brain. “Do you have everything

  you need in that very small and tiny bag?”

  24

  “I think so. I’ve got a book for reading, a big

  sandwich, and my blanket in case it gets

  cold at night.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “What do you mean ‘oh’?” asked Laurence.

  “Nothing. Well. It’s just that . . . it’s a long

  way, and you might get bored. I thought you

  might need some other things. You know,

  for entertainment.”

  “I see. Well, I could take my yo-yo.”

  “And would you need any of these

  travel books? What’s this one?” I asked,

  flipping through the pages.

  “Yes, I’d better bring that one —

  it’s about Paris. That’s the Eiffel

  Tower. . . . We’ll probably see

  that on the way.”

  “And what about the

  television set?”

  “Do you think we’ll need that?”

  25

  “Yes. They might not have TV at Lake Nakuru.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that,” Laurence said.

  “In that case, I’d better take the computer as well.

  And the printer.”

  “And you might need some

  warm clothes to wear.”

  “But I think it will be hot there.”

  “Well, you’ll definitely need to take an

  electric fan, then. GOSH!” I exclaimed

  loudly.

  “What?” asked Laurence,

  looking worried.

  “Toilets!”

  “What about toilets?”

  “Will there be any on the way?”

  “I don’t know! I’d better take my own toilet,”

  Laurence replied quickly.

  “And what about eating? I mean SEATING,”

  I said, suddenly remembering to avoid food-

  related subjects.

  26

  Laurence looked at

  me and held his wing

  finger aloft.

  “Do you mind waiting in

  here while I pack some more
>
  things, Marcus?”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  “Take your time.”

  Laurence went into his

  bedroom. I could hear him

  opening drawers and cupboards.

  It sounded like he was pushing

  furniture around. Then there

  were clanking noises coming

  from the bathroom as he

  disconnected the toilet

  from the pipes.

  27

  When he returned, he was carrying much

  more than his little travel bag.

  “Do you think that I’m going to be able

  to fly like this, Marcus?”

  I looked at him. “Probably not,” I said,

  shaking my head sadly. “It might be better

  if you don’t go. . . .”

  28

  Laurence laughed. “Of course we’re going to

  go. I probably don’t need most of these things.

  I’ll unpack again. Thanks for thinking of me,

  though,” he said sincerely.

  “No problem,” I said, feeling a bit guilty.

  After several hours of unpacking and

  reconnecting the plumbing, we were ready

  to leave.

  Laurence opened the front door.

  “I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FLY, LAURENCE!”

  I shouted up to him. “DO YOU MIND IF I STAY

  HERE?”

  Laurence laughed

  again. “Silly, I know

  that worms can’t fly!”

  He bent his head

  down as an invitation

  for me to climb up onto

  the back of his neck.

  I wriggled up.

  “Is that comfortable?” he asked.

  “YES!” I said, and I wasn’t lying. I was

  surrounded by a million soft feathers. It was like

  sitting on a cloud in heaven.

  We were ready to leave.

  “I’m going to jump from the platform now,

  Marcus, and then we’re going to fly up through

  the tree. You might feel some leaves brushing past

  you as we go. Are you ready for that?”

  “OK! I’m ready,” I said, closing my eyes.

  “Hold on tight!” he said.