“They’re dead, Mr. Lewis. Every one.”
“How?”
“Poisoned.”
“Who would poison ninety mice?”
“I have a pretty good idea,” said Norman.
“Why?”
“It’s a long story,” said Norman. “A long, stupid story.” Norman shrugged the science teacher’s hand from his shoulder and shuffled from the lab.
“Norman, what can I do?”
Norman disappeared down the corridor. Mr. Lewis stood silent for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists. He picked up the ball of RODENT GONE and hurled it across the room. It hit a beaker that toppled to the floor with a crash.
The first law of thermodynamics: The energy going into a system, minus the energy coming out of a system, equals the energy stored in the system.
Chapter 26
Tom Allen flung his locker open.
Norman lurked around the corner, waiting for Tom between Homeroom and first period. He noticed that Tom’s locker wasn’t padlocked. Norman walked up behind Tom and said, “It’s funny how the only kid who doesn’t have to lock his locker is the biggest punk in the school.”
“What’s that noise?” said Tom without turning around. “A mouse? I thought all the mice were dead.”
“I know you killed my mice,” Norman said to Tom’s back. “I’m going to get you, Tom. I don’t know how, but you can’t do things like this.”
Tom turned: “Norman! I thought that since I’d been kicked out of Algebra I wouldn’t be able to socialize with my little nerd buddy, but here you are.”
“You killed my mice.”
“I did kill your mice. Know what else? Your boss sold me that RODENT-GONE. And I kept the poison right here in my unlocked locker.” Tom laughed. “I was planning on stealing the poison, but old McCormick nailed up the chute into the back room. I’m just guessing here, but I’d say you’re the one who rigged it with stink powder?”
“You stink.”
“I did after I crawled down that chute. That was real smart, Norman, fixing the stink bomb so it wouldn’t disperse until after I crawled in, so I’d have to crawl back through it to get out. Very smart.”
“I’m gonna get you, Tom.”
“No you’re not,” said Tom. “You know why?” Tom grabbed Norman’s shirt with his left hand and slapped Norman’s face with his right. Norman tried to duck and squirm away, but Tom slapped him again. Norman’s glasses skittered across the hall. Students, changing classes, glanced at Norman and Tom; several stopped. “I’ll tell you why. Because you are a loser. You were born a loser and you’ll die a loser.” Tom slapped Norman harder. “I killed your mice. I admit it. What are you going to do about it?”
Norman started to speak, then spit in Tom’s face.
Tom punched him, splitting Norman’s lip.
“I’ll get you,” said Norman.
Tom pounded Norman and threw him to the floor. “Loser. Nerd.”
“That’s enough, Tom,” said a voice from the growing crowd.
Norman stood and said, “I’m going to get you, Tom.”
Tom punched Norman in the stomach. “That’s for the stink powder. You ruined my jacket.” He threw Norman to the floor again.
Tom closed his locker. Norman rose and said, “Hit me again, big man. You enjoy poisoning helpless mice and beating on skinny kids so much. Hit me.”
Tom stared at Norman.
“Hit me,” said Norman.
“Yeah,” said a member of the crowd of eighth graders who had gathered. “Are you gonna punch the little guy again, Tommy?”
“Big Bad Tommy,” said another.
“Knock me down again,” said Norman.
The crowd taunted Tom: “Afraid of the little man, Tom? Hit him again. Need some help, Tom?”
Tom turned to walk away. Norman stood in front of Tom, hands by his side. Tom said to the crowd, “I could beat him up easy.”
“But you can’t beat us all up,” said a voice.
“That’s right,” said another.
“Hit me, Tom,” said Norman.
Tom, baffled by a response from Norman other than fear, backed off down the hall. When the crowd of eighth graders started laughing and smacking Norman on the back, Tom turned and ran.
“You got him kid,” said a student, who didn’t know Norman’s name. “Right where it hurts.”
“Notice,” said Norman, “the way I cleverly stopped all his punches with my stomach and face?”
“Don’t worry,” said another, “he’ll never bother you again. Here’s your glasses, kid.”
“Thanks.” Norman took the glasses and exchanged several high-fives.
“What’s going on here?” said Mr. Forrester, who appeared out of nowhere.
“Nothin’. Nothin’,” murmured the group.
“Then get to class, all of you,” said Forrester.
Without cleaning up, Norman walked straight into his first period English class. His split lip had hardened into a puffy scab, and a dried trickle of blood stained his chin. His cheeks were bright red and his wire-rimmed glasses were bent out of shape.
And he was smiling.
Norman took his seat. All around him buzzed: “What happened to Norman? Have you seen Norman?”
Mr. Carlson finally glanced up and said, “Norman? What happened to your face?”
“I crashed my bike on the way to school.”
“You look terrible,” said Mr. Carlson.
“You should see the truck I hit,” said Norman. “They had to have it towed.”
No laughter.
Norman expected at least a chuckle from Chris, who sat straight-backed and serious. I must look terrible, thought Norman.
“Norman,” said Mr. Carlson. “Get to the nurse’s. Now.”
Marcus arrived in the van at lunchtime to pick up Norman.
I could have ridden my bike home,” said Norman. Band-aids covered his wounds. “You didn’t have to skip lunch.”
“The nurse phoned mom. At work. She said you crashed your bike,” said Marcus. He pointed to the Raleigh, locked in the bike rack. “But your bike looks fine. What happened, Sport?”
“I lied.”
Marcus inserted the key in the ignition, but didn’t start the van. “How’d you get all cut up?”
“Would you believe a freak accident during study hall?”
“No.”
Norman inhaled: “Tom Allen beat me up.”
“What?”
“I was disappointed I didn’t do better against him, after all the practicing I’d done with Chris. But boxing is based on the assumption that the other guy fights fair. No kicking, slapping, biting. Things like that.”
Marcus sat, fuming.
“I think I kind of won the fight, Marcus.”
“You either win or lose fights, Sport. Kind of doesn’t cut it.”
“Marcus?”
“When is a fight over?”
“When one fighter can’t continue.”
Norman said, “Then I definitely won. I let Tom beat on me until he couldn’t continue. I won Marcus. And Marcus?”
“What?”
“Stop calling me Sport.”
“And if I don’t, you gonna let me beat on you until I can’t continue?”
“You have to stick with what works.”
Marcus started the van, “I’ll see if I can’t straighten those glasses before mom gets home. Norman.”
“Thanks. Please stop at Mr. McCormick’s?”
“Hey Mac,” said Norman, “how’s business?”
“Right as rain,” said Mr. McCormick, staring at Norman’s lip.
“It’s nothing,” said Norman. “I crashed my bike.”
“I’ve seen worse. I’ve been meaning to ask: How’d you manage with that science project of yours?”
“Actually,” said Norman, “I won.”
“Well then, have your pick of the candy rack, there.”
“Thanks, Mac, but my brother’s waiting
in the van.”
“Nonsense.” Mr. McCormick grabbed a fistful of candy, bagged it, and thrust it at Norman.
“You know what I would really like?”
“Name it.”
Norman walked down aisle three, and removed a bottle of Aqua Velva from the shelf. He returned and showed the bottle to Mr. McCormick. “Is this okay?”
“I noticed you were getting a little furry.” Mr. McCormick rubbed Norman’s chin. “An odd choice, but it’s fine with me. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Norman dropped the Aqua Velva into the candy sack. “Mac, you don’t have to worry about kids breaking in the back.”
“I thank you for that.”
“No sweat. Bye Mac.”
“Bye, Norman,” said Mr. McCormick. “Hey, what do you call an Irishman with two wooden legs?”
Norman halted in the doorway, “What?”
“Patty O’Furniture. Get it? Patio furniture?”
“You still got it, Mac. See ya.”
After Norman left Mr. McCormick grabbed a broom. “First prize. I knew he’d do it. Norman Babbit, Scientist. Has a solid, natural ring to it.”
Chapter 27
Until Chris arrived after school Norman had spent the day reading, sleeping, and fighting back tears. His mice were dead.
Murdered.
Norman knew something was up when Mrs. Babbit ordered a Round Table deep dish veggie pizza and let Chris stay for dinner. Norman and Chris finished dinner and played games on Norman’s computer until after 8:00 P.M. Chris had just finished the entire bag of candy Mac had given Norman. With chocolate slivers from a Butterfinger ringing his mouth, Chris said, “How long have they been in there?”
“Since about seven,” said Norman. “Yeah, that’s right; seven. Mom came home, saw my face and had a pill for her migraine. Her and Marcus have been in her room since after dinner. Talking.”
“Will Marcus say that you crashed your bike?”
“Yeah. But I shouldn’t have asked him to lie.”
“Mr. Lewis talked to me after school today.”
“About your science project?”
“I wish,” said Chris.
“Let me guess,” said Norman. “Dead mice?”
“Yep.”
“Algebra homework?”
“Yep.”
“Tom Allen?”
“Big time yep.”
“What’d you tell him?” asked Norman.
“Everything, Normy. It was weird. When he asked it wasn’t like a teacher asking, you know?”
“No.”
Chris thought a moment, “It’s like when my dad talks to you.”
Norman nodded.
“I think he’s gonna help you straighten out this mess.”
“Except for that poisoned-mice-science-project mess.”
“I told my mom about that,” said Chris. “She started crying.”
“She’s not the only one who cried. It’s weird. All I wanted to do was win and qualify for the Nationals. But, I just miss those mice. They were like my family.” Doris entered, as usual, without knocking. “Maybe closer than family.”
“Mom wants you downstairs,” said Doris. Then she whispered, “Marcus needs to talk to you first.” She looked at Chris, “Alone. Marcus is sitting on the top step.”
“Thanks, Doris.” Norman touched his lucky nickel. Twice.
“I’ve never asked you why that nickel’s lucky,” said Chris.
“No reason,” said Norman. “I just decided it was.”
“Very scientific, Normy.”
“Everyone can always use a little luck,” said Norman. He exited, leaving the door open.
Doris spotted the heap of empty candy wrappers: “Any more candy left, Chris?”
Norman sat down next to Marcus, “Well?”
“I had to tell her about the fight,” said Marcus.
“I know.”
“She called the school. She’s been on the phone for over an hour. She’s calling teachers. At their homes.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know,” said Marcus. “She had me out back doing chores the last half hour.”
“Chores at night? What chores?”
Marcus waved the question away. “Ready Norman?”
“Let’s go.”
They started down the stairs. Chris and Doris, who had heard every word of the brothers’ conversation, trailed behind. Mrs. Babbit sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea. Norman sat one chair away from his mother. Mrs. Babbit patted the chair next to hers. “Sit here.” Norman scooted over. Marcus, Chris and Doris stood around the table.
“So what’s new?” said Norman.
“Please Norman, for once, no jokes.” She sipped her tea and stared at Norman for almost a full minute. “I can’t begin to tell you, Norman, how sorry, and disappointed, and absolutely ashamed I feel.”
Here we go again, thought Norman.
Mrs. Babbit continued: “I can’t understand what would possess anyone to poison your mice.”
“What?” said Norman.
“I just got off the phone with Mr. Lewis. He told me what a difficult time you’ve been having with that student they expelled today.”
“They did it,” said Chris.
“And he also told me, Chris, what a good friend you’ve been to Norman, despite your generally buffoonish behavior.”
Chris said, “Buffoonish?”
“I’ll explain later,” said Marcus.
“Norman,” said Mrs. Babbit, “my discussion with Marcus was also enlightening. He convinced me to treat you more like an adult. A responsible adult. I agreed. And to prove my resolve on this matter.” She motioned at the curtains.
Marcus walked to the curtains and yanked the drawstring. Standing in the center of the patio, all white-steel, glass, and chrome, was Roger Babbit’s huge achromatic refracting telescope. Norman stood, knocking over his chair. He hugged his mom, “Thanks, I’ll take perfect care of it. I will.”
“Marcus assured me you would.”
Norman slid open the patio door: “You knew, didn’t you, Marcus.”
“Setting one of those up at night is quite a chore. Go for it.”
Norman removed both lens caps. The telescope had knobs to adjust the scope’s lateral and up-and-down movements. Norman quickly sighted the moon through the small, piggyback finder scope and glimpsed the nearly full moon through the large aperture scope. “C’mom, c’mon. This is great. C’mon, Marcus. Lift Doris up and let her see first. Chris and Mom, get over here.”
Chris and the Babbit family congregated around Norman and his gorgeous, hand-me-down telescope. Everyone had a long look before Norman hunched over the eyepiece. For the first time in his life he saw and identified features on the moon he’d only seen in books: Regiomontanus, Hipparchus, Autoclus, Fra Mauro. “Hey Marcus?” asked Norman.
“What?”
“If I could borrow your camera I could do time-lapsed photo studies of the seasonal changes on the moon and see how it relates to our weather patterns on earth.”
“Sure,” said Marcus.
“If I start tonight I’ll have almost a year’s worth of data for next year’s science project.”
“Norman,” said Mrs. Babbit, “I think it’s a little late—”
“Mom?” said Marcus.
“For, um, Doris to be out here. Come on in, honey.”
“Who wants to be with boys anyway,” said Doris.
“Don’t be too late, Norman,” said Mrs. Babbit.
“I won’t be,” said Norman. “Probably just another couple of hours.”
THE END
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