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

Chapter Three

  31

  I could feel Laurence take a hop and then

  a leap. He flapped his wings noisily as we flew up

  into the tree. Twigs and leaves hit me in the face.

  I clenched every part of my worm body tightly.

  After what seemed like ages, I opened my eyes.

  We’d flown up into the sunny blue sky.

  Just to remind you, in case you have forgotten,

  I am a worm. I usually spend my time in the dark,

  under the ground. But now I was sitting on this

  super-soft flying bird cushion. Up high in the sky.

  When I looked down, I could see the trees and the

  houses below getting smaller and smaller. I felt

  so many things at once — amazed, excited, and

  terrified. Part of me wanted to take a little nap

  and forget that this was happening. And another

  part of me wanted to be sick; my worm stomach

  felt really funny all of a sudden.

  “Are you OK?” Laurence asked.

  I couldn’t speak. The wind was flapping

  against my face.

  “If you feel a little FUNNY, look at the

  HORIZON,” Laurence shouted. “Please try not

  to THROW UP on me.”

  I stared ahead at the green and brown fields.

  Looking at the view made my stomach forget

  that it was upset.

  “When you’re ready, Marcus, open up the map

  and tell me which way we need to fly. We have to

  head south toward France. See if you can FIND

  THE WAY TO PARIS.”

  “OK!” I shouted back. There were a lot of

  things to think about. I was almost getting the

  hang of this flying business. I unfolded the large

  map, suddenly feeling confident about my new

  job as a navigator.

  35

  Immediately, a gust of wind caught the map

  and tossed it into the air. I watched as it became

  a small square speck in the distance.

  That’s the end of my navigation career,

  I thought. Without a map I was of

  no use to Laurence. What would he

  do when he found out? Would he eat

  me for his lunch? Or maybe he’d keep

  me for his dinner. There was not a lot I could do

  until he’d made a decision about when to eat me.

  Until then, I may as well relax and enjoy the ride,

  I thought, snuggling deeper into Laurence’s soft

  feathers.

  “We need to cross the English Channel first.

  Have you seen it on the map?” Laurence asked.

  “It’s blue.”

  “Umm . . . oh, yes,” I lied. “It’s on the right.”

  Laurence turned his body, and we flew toward

  some bright yellow fields. That worked pretty well,

  I thought.

  I could see a horse in a far-off field, galloping

  in a pasture. “Fly toward the horse and then turn

  left,” I said.

  Laurence changed direction again. It was

  great! Laurence was doing everything that

  I asked him to do. This was better than flying

  a potato in my potato-spaceship dream.

  “Fly higher!” We went up and up, until

  I could hardly breathe.

  37

  That was a good one. Afterward, I had to

  concentrate on the horizon again.

  W

  h

  e

  e

  e

  e

  e

  !

  “Lower,” I said, and we flew so low that

  the grass swished against Laurence’s fat belly.

  “Now do a loop the loop.”

  38

  “I’ve got a funny feeling about this, Marcus.

  You do know how to map-read, don’t you?”

  I didn’t say anything. I was a little bit worried

  that he might change his mind about eating me

  for breakfast if I told him the truth. Laurence

  turned around to look at me.

  “You don’t even have the map!” He was angry

  now. “THAT’S IT!”

  Laurence didn’t question any of my

  instructions until I said, “Now fly backward.”

  “Does the map really say that?” Laurence

  called up to me.

  Umm . . .

  39

  When I’m sad or frightened, I like

  to burrow into the earth. It’s very

  calming and relaxing being in the

  ground, surrounded by lovely, cool,

  safe mud. Forgetting where I was, I

  flopped over and dug into Laurence’s

  soft feathery wing.

  But digging a hole in the ground

  is not the same as digging a hole in

  the sky. I found this out the hard

  way.

  One moment I was comfortably

  perched on Laurence’s back,

  immersed in a million soft feathers,

  and the next moment, there was

  nothing there at all. It was just air.

  I spun and tumbled, free-falling

  speedily toward the broccoli-looking

  trees. I closed my eyes and tried to

  multiply 2,657 by 6,765 in my head.

  40

  I’m not sure if I did figure out the answer,

  because the next thing I knew, I was sleeping in

  a very comfortable bed that felt like it was made

  out of mashed potatoes.

  I opened my eyes. Laurence was looking at me.

  There was no mashed-potato bed. I was lying on

  my back on the grass, in a field. “Where are the

  mashed potatoes?” I asked Laurence sleepily.

  “There are no mashed potatoes. You must

  have been dreaming. Are you OK?” he asked

  with a worried look on his face.

  “I think so,” I said, sitting up.

  Laurence folded his wings across his front. The

  worried look went away and he was angry again.

  “You told me that you knew how to map-read.”

  42

  “Pfft! You don’t even know where you’re going!”

  Laurence called out to me.

  “No, I didn’t!” I’d said things to Laurence that

  weren’t quite true, but I was sure that I hadn’t

  said I could map-read.

  “You did.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I was beginning to get angry.

  “You’re really mean, Laurence! I don’t want to

  be here anymore. I’m going home.”

  I got up from my bed of grass and wriggled

  farther into the field. I wanted to get away from

  Laurence as fast as I could.

  “Yes, I do,” I said, lying again. I didn’t know

  what to do. I was lost, but I couldn’t turn back.

  I wriggled some more and stopped to think,

  pretending that I was admiring the view.

  As I was pretending to admire the view,

  I noticed that there actually was a view. And

  it looked oddly familiar, just like the cover of

  Laurence’s Paris guidebook. . . .

  Was it?

  It was. . . .

  The Eiffel Tower!

  “Laurence!” I said, forgetting

  that I was upset with him.

  “What? Are you going to

  admit that you’re lost?”

  “I’m NOT lost. I know exactly

  where we are.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I do! We’re in Paris.”

  “No, we’re not,” he said,
hopping

  over to stand next to me.

  We both looked at the Eiffel

  Tower.

  “Oh,” he said with bright eyes and

  a smile on his beak. “So we are.”

  The sun was setting, casting a long

  shadow on this famous landmark.

  It was spectacular.

  We’d been looking at the Eiffel Tower for some

  time. It didn’t look exactly like the picture in

  the book. The shape was similar, but there was

  something that seemed different. At the top

  there were tight wires that connected it to . . .

  other Eiffel Towers. There were Eiffel Towers

  everywhere, as far as the eye could see.

  Things must have changed since the photo in

  the book was taken, I thought to myself.

  Chapter Four

  47

  “That’s progress for you,” I said out loud by

  accident.

  I wriggled my way over to the Eiffel Tower to

  get a closer look, and Laurence hopped after me.

  We stood beneath it, looking up.

  “I must have taken a special shortcut. It didn’t

  seem to take that long.”

  Laurence laughed without opening his beak.

  “Yes, it took no time at all. I don’t even remember

  flying over the Channel.”

  “I think that we did. I saw some ducks,” I

  replied, pleased that Laurence seemed to have

  forgotten about the map fiasco.

  “Oh, I thought that was a pond,” Laurence

  said. He opened up his little bag, which had

  been tucked into his feathers. He took out an

  itchy-looking blanket and shook it roughly. The

  blanket must have reminded him of the map

  that I had lost, because he suddenly remembered

  that he was angry.

  “I’m still upset with you,” Laurence said.

  “You made me think that you were good at map

  reading. It’s only by luck that we ended up here in

  Paris. You’re just as bad at directions as I am!”

  He lay down on the ground and pulled the

  blanket over him so that it was tucked under his

  beak. “I wish that I’d stayed at home.”

  “Well,” I said, lying down next to him, “I didn’t

  even want to come. I’d much rather be at home,

  too.” I pulled some of his blanket toward me and

  turned my back to him.

  “Good night,” I said angrily.

  “Hmph. Good night,” he replied, taking the

  covers back again.

  50

  We’d traveled a very long way. The sun had

  set, and the stars were shining through the

  blackened sky. I thought about a plan for the

  next day.

  I’d get up early before Laurence woke and

  had time to think about what he might eat for

  breakfast. Then I’d have a look around,

  checking out all of the Eiffel

  Towers and seeing if there

  was anything else of

  interest in Paris. I’d send

  a postcard to everyone

  back home to let them

  know that I’d be living here

  now. Then I’d take French lessons and begin my

  new life here in France.

  I began counting the stars. On the four

  hundred and eighty-fourth star, I fell asleep.

  I slept deeply that night, under the stars. Early

  the next morning, I stretched my worm body

  and yawned a great big yawn. I opened my eyes,

  expecting to see Laurence’s grumpy face, an itchy

  blanket, and a row of Eiffel Towers in a field.

  Chapter Five

  53

  But there was no field.

  And there were no Eiffel Towers,

  either. Laurence and I were not

  lying beneath an itchy blanket.

  We were both sitting on a

  leather sofa, and next to us was

  a mole with long, sharp claws.

  He was gently stroking the arm

  of the sofa.

  I looked at Laurence for

  some clues as to what might be

  happening. He had an expression on his face that

  I’d not seen before.

  My worm instincts were telling me that

  something was not quite right.

  The evil-looking French mole, Laurence, and I

  were in some kind of a shelter. It was pretty dark

  in there, but when my eyes adjusted to the dim

  and smoky light, I could see that the roof and walls

  were made from cardboard and plastic bottles.

  The floor was bare soil.

  A scrawny squirrel with

  terrible teeth stood at

  the opening of the shelter,

  staring at me and cleaning

  her front teeth with a twig.

  A creepy-looking crow was

  on the other side of the door.

  He was using a wooden spoon to stir the contents

  of a large metal

  pot that was

  balancing

  over a fire.

  55

  “I’d like to go home now, please,”

  I whispered to Laurence.

  “You need to BE QUIET, Marcus.

  Just try to ACT NORMAL,”

  Laurence whispered back, very loudly.

  The mole overheard our conversation.

  He seemed to understand English. “Relaaax,

  Marcus. And you, chicken bird. We’re making

  breakfast. It’s going to be a delicious stew.”

  He spoke perfect English.

  “I DON’T LIKE STEW,”

  Laurence blurted out.

  “You’ll like this one,” said

  the mole. “It’s a chicken and

  worm stew.” He laughed,

  and then the crow and

  the squirrel laughed too.

  Neither Laurence nor I laughed

  at his joke, because we both knew that he meant

  us (even though Laurence isn’t a chicken).

  56

  “I THINK THAT I NEED TO USE THE

  BATHROOM NOW,” Laurence said loudly.

  Everyone stopped laughing. The crow dropped

  the spoon into the pot. He moved over to block

  the doorway. The squirrel stood behind him with

  her arms folded; she was chewing vigorously

  on her twig.

  “You DON’T need to use the bathroom,” said

  the mole firmly. Everyone looked at Laurence.

  Laurence thought for a moment.

  “You’re right,” he said softly. “It was a false

  alarm.”

  No one said anything. Laurence was now

  gently rocking backward and forward

  on the seat, cradling his head in

  his wings. I daydreamed about

  being somewhere different.

  It would be very nice to

  be wandering around

  Paris right now.

  57

  Perhaps riding a bicycle with

  a wicker basket on the front

  that held a freshly baked

  baguette.

  Then I remembered that I didn’t know how to

  ride a bicycle, and then I remembered where I was

  and whom I was with.

  Ever since I’d known Laurence, all that he had

  ever brought me was trouble. First he almost ate

  me for breakfast, and now, because he looked

  like a chicken and I happened to be sitting next

  to him, I was going to end up as lunch.
>
  He was like a bad-luck charm. I needed to

  get away from him and as far away from that

  cooking pot as possible. An idea floated into my

  worm brain. I cleared my throat.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Mole. I was

  thinking about your stew. Do

  you mind if I give you a tip to

  make it taste even better?”

  ding ding

  58

  “Why should I listen to you about cooking

  tips?” he said gruffly.

  I turned to look at him and said, “My uncle is a

  chef.”

  “Oh,” he responded. “Go on, then, give us some

  of your uncle’s chef tips.”

  “Well,” I began. “If you’re cooking with

  chicken, then you have to add some leeks.

  Chicken-and-leek stew tastes like you are having

  your heart hugged. Would you like your

  heart to be hugged?”

  “A stew can’t hug your heart!”

  “Oh yes, it can, if it has enough

  leeks and lots of cream.”

  The mole scratched his chin with

  his claw. “Hmm, I do like cream, and I do

  like hugs.”

  “And secondly — you probably know this

  already — but when you cook worm, you have to

  add tarragon. You know about tarragon, don’t

  59

  you? It’s an herb.

  You do have some

  for the stew, don’t

  you?”

  The mole looked at the

  squirrel, and the squirrel looked at

  the crow. The crow shook his head.

  “No, we don’t,” said the mole.

  “Oh,” I said, shaking my head too, pretending

  to be sad that they didn’t have any tarragon.

  “What?” asked the mole.

  “Well, if you add worm

  without the tarragon,

  it’s going to ruin the

  flavor of the whole stew.

  And if it ruins the flavor of

  the stew, then you won’t get

  that hug in your heart.”

  “But I WANT my HUG,”

  said the mole, standing up.