The Mealworm Diaries
THE
MEALWORM
DIARIES
ANNA KERZ
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
Copyright © 2009 Anna Kerz
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Kerz, Anna, 1947-
The mealworm diaries / written by Anna Kerz.
ISBN 978-1-55143-982-2
I. Title.
PS8621.E79M43 2009Â Â Â Â jC813'.6 Â Â Â Â C2008-907305-3
Summary:
Loss, grief and an annoying classmate
make Jeremy's adjustment to life in a new city
particularly difficult.
First published in the United States, 2009
Library of Congress Control Number:
2008940977
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Design by Teresa Bubela
Drawings and hand lettering by Bruce Collins
Cover photography by Dreamstime
Typeset by Bruce Collins
Author photo by Frank Kerz
Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 5626, Stn. B
Victoria, BC Canada
V8R 6S4
Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 468
Custer, WA USA
98240-0468
www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.
Printed on 100% PCW recycled paper.
12 11 10 09 ⢠4 3 2 1
To my students,
for making the workweek feel too short,
and to my family and all my friends
who kept saying “Yes, you can.”
Contents
Jeremy gasped, his throat tight with the need to scream, as blood splattered his face and icy water washed over his body. His arms and legs thrashed as he struggled to escape. Then, gasping for air, he bolted into a sitting position. The room was dark, his bed soaked with sweat andâ¦He groaned.
No. Not again.
He knew he had to get up, change his pajamas and pull off the wet sheets before they got cold. He knew, but he wanted so much to slip back to the happy moment, the one that came before the bad part of the dream. He closed his eyes, reaching for it. There had been sunshine and wind from the sea, the smell of gas and leather, the sound of an engine roaringâ¦and something⦠something else.
The hallway light sliced across his face, cutting off the dream images.
“Are you wet?” His mother's voice: soft, tired.
He squinted. “Yeah,” he said.
He heard her cross the room and open a drawer. Something landed on his bed. Clean pajamas.
“Wash up and change. I'll take care of the sheets.” She was already pulling off the quilt.
Jeremy slid out of bed and duck-walked to the bathroom, his flannel hockey pajamas dangling wet and heavy between his legs. When he came back, the sheets lay bundled by the door. He dropped his pajamas on top, walked over and climbed into bed.
“Same dream?” she asked, settling down beside him.
He nodded. “Was I screaming?”
“Just groaning a little. Do you want to tell me about it?” He heard the worry in her voice.
“I don't even remember,” he said as he crossed his arms on his chest and tucked his hands into his armpits.
“Something happen today?” More of that worry. It was hiding behind the softness of her voice.
He shook his head, but when he looked up, he saw bracket lines form around her mouth. He couldn't fool her. He sighed and dropped his hands into his lap.
“Is it the new school? One of the kids? The teacher?”
“School's okay.” He began making accordion folds with the edge of his blanket.
She waited.
“There's this guy in our class,” he finally offered. “His name's Aaron. The kids call him Aaron Cantwait.”
“What's his real name?”
“I dunno. He talks a lot. You know. Can't wait for his turn. He has to sit by himself at the front of the room.”
“Anybody else?”
“I kinda made friends with the guy beside me. His name's Horace.”
“Horse?”
Jeremy grimaced. “Not horse. Hor-ace.”
“That's not a name you hear a lot.”
“I guess. He's Chinese. There's kids from everywhere in this class.”
“Big cities are like that. Anybody else?”
He shrugged. There was the girl who sat across from him.
Karima
, the nametag on her desk said. He had checked. And there was another boy, Tufan, who sat beside Karima in the fourth desk in their group. Tufan didn't talk much in class, but he talked plenty in the schoolyard.
“Left field, Shrimp,” he had called to Jeremy when the boys set up teams at recess. Tufan was bigger than most of the kids in class, and he had that look that said he could be mean if he wanted to be.
Jeremy decided his mother didn't need to know about Tufan or Karima yet. “It was only the first day.”
She nodded and he hoped she was done, but she went on. “What about the teacher? Mr. Collins?”
“He's okay. He's into science, big time. The whole room is filled with aquariums and things he calls
vivariums
. He has fish and turtles and a snake and a couple of frogs.”
“He looked young,” his mother said. She reached out to push a strand of hair off his forehead.
“He rides a bikeâa bicycle,” he hurried to clarify. “Horace and I saw him when he was locking it to the rack in front of the school. And he has this cool helmet. All black with flames on the sides. Horace said he's a dirt-bike racer.”
His mother yawned, and that made Jeremy yawn too.
“Are you sorry you came?” she asked. “'Cause you know Nana and Grampa would take you in a flash.”
“I'm not sorry,” he said quickly. “I want to stay with you.” He grabbed for her hand.
“All right.” She smiled. “I hear you. Lie down now.”
Jeremy stretched to give her a quick peck on the cheek before he slid under the quilt. His mother bent and kissed his forehead.
“Mom? I'm sorry I woke you. I'm okay. Really.”
She stroked his cheek, then his hair, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of her fingers. Then she left, and he was alone, searching the dark behind his eyes, trying to find the filmy strands that might lead back to the happy part of his dream.
“We're going to start a new unit today,” Mr. Collins said as he picked up a blue plastic dishpan. “It'll give you a chance to do some scientific investigations.”
“Is it gonna be a dishwashing unit? Is it a dishwashing unit?” Aaron was bouncing up and down in his chair.
Mr. Collins ignored him and went on. “As scientists, you will observe and record what you see in words and pictures.”
“You mean like with a camera? Can we use a camera?” Same kid.
“Not with a camera, Aaron,” Mr. Collins said. “Use your eyes and draw your own pictures.”
“What're we gonna investigate?” Aaron again.
“
You
might want to investigate the art of listening,” Mr. Collins said. “The rest of the class will study mealworms.”
There were snickers. If Aaron heard, he didn't seem to care; he kept moving. His legs jiggled. He tapped his pencil on his desk. He hummed. His head bopped from side to side as if he was hearing music.
Weird kid
, Jeremy thought.
Karima raised her hand. “Mr. Collins? What are mealworms?”
“Good question, Karima. Don't let the name fool you. They're worms, but they're not long or wet or slimy like garden worms. These are tiny, cute, little fellows.”
Karima's nose wrinkled but she smiled, and Jeremy found himself studying the dimples that appeared in her cheeks.
“They're sold in pet shops as food for different kinds of reptiles,” Mr. Collins went on. “You'll like them.” He winked and Karima giggled. Then she turned to Jeremy, and he looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring.
“I'm going to come around and introduce each of you to your own mealworm,” Mr. Collins said. “Think of today as a âget to know you' session. Choose a name for your mealworm, and while you're at it, think about any investigations you might use to find out as much as you can about them.” He raised his voice a little as he added, “Keep in mind that this is a living creature and you don't want to do it any harm.”
“I wanna dissect mine. Can I dissect mine?” Aaron called across the room.
“No, Aaron, you can't.” Jeremy heard a sigh in the teacher's voice. That kid really was a pain.
Mr. Collins moved from one person to the next. At every desk he leaned down and cupped the student's hand in his own. When the hand lay open and relaxed, Mr. Collins reached into the bin and pulled out a little squiggly thing that he placed into the waiting palm. Everybody had a different reaction.
“Cool!”
“Ewww!”
“Gross!”
“It tickles!”
“I'm gonna hurl.”
The teacher stayed, holding each hand until he was sure that the kid was going to be comfortable with the mealworm before he went to the next person.
“This little guy looks like he could use a friend,” he said as he came to stand beside Jeremy.
