18 - Monster Blood II (4 page)

The next day at school wasn’t much better than the last.

Somehow during free reading period, Conan had crept under the table and tied
Evan’s sneaker laces together. When Evan got up to go to the water fountain, he
fell flat on his face. He scraped a knee, but no one cared. The kids laughed for
hours.

“Evan’s mommy tied his shoes funny this morning!” Conan told everyone. And
they laughed even harder.

In science class, Mr. Murphy called Evan over to the hamster cage. “Look at
poor Cuddles,” the teacher said, shaking his round head solemnly.

Evan peered down into the metal cage. Cuddles was curled up in a corner under
a pile of shavings. The hamster was trembling and breathing in short gasps.

“Poor Cuddles has been like that ever since yesterday,” Mr. Murphy told Evan with an accusing frown. “Cuddles is sick
because of your carelessness.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Evan stammered. He stared hard at the quivering hamster.
You’re faking—aren’t you, Cuddles? Evan thought. You’re faking just to get me
in trouble!

The hamster twitched and stared up at him with mournful, black eyes.

When Evan sat back down in his seat, he felt cold water seep through the back
of his jeans. With a startled cry, he jumped right back up. Someone—probably
Conan—had poured a cup of water on his chair.

That had the class laughing for at least ten minutes. They stopped only when
Mr. Murphy threatened to keep everyone after school.

“Sit down, Evan,” the teacher ordered.

“But, Mr. Murphy—” Evan started.

“Sit down—now!” Mr. Murphy insisted.

Evan dropped back down into the wet chair. What choice did he have?

Andy was waiting for Evan by the trickling brown creek that rolled through
the tiny park. The old sassafras trees bent and whispered in a hot breeze. A
tall Georgia pine leaned over the water as if trying to reach across the creek.

Andy was wearing a bright blue T-shirt over lime-green short-shorts. She had
been staring at her reflection in the muddy creek water. She spun around smiling as Evan
called to her.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he called. He stepped up beside her and dropped his
backpack to the ground.

“How was school?” Andy asked.

“Same as always,” Evan replied, sighing. Then his expression brightened.
“What did you bring?” he asked eagerly.

“You’ll see.” She clasped a hand over his eyes. “Shut your eyes, Evan. And
don’t open them until I say.”

He obediently shut his eyes. But when she pulled her hand away, he opened
them a tiny crack, just enough to see. He watched her go behind the pine tree
and pick up a small brown paper bag.

She carried the bag over to him. “You’re peeking—aren’t you?” she accused
him.

“Maybe,” he confessed, grinning.

She punched him playfully in the stomach. He cried out and his eyes shot
open. “What’s in the bag?”

Grinning, Andy handed the bag to him.

He pulled it open, peered inside—and his mouth dropped open in shock.

The familiar blue can, about the size of a can of soup.

“Andy—you—you—” Evan stammered, still staring wide-eyed into the bag.

He reached in and pulled out the plastic can.

He read the faded label: MONSTER BLOOD.

Then he read the words in tiny type below it: SURPRISING MIRACLE SUBSTANCE.

“I saved it,” Andy said, beaming proudly.

Evan couldn’t get over his shock. “You brought Monster Blood! I don’t believe
it! You brought Monster Blood!”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s empty, Evan. The can is empty.”

His face fell. He sighed in total disappointment.

“But you can show the can to everyone,” Andy insisted. “That will prove you
didn’t make it up. It will prove that Monster Blood really exists.”

Evan sighed again. “What good is an empty can?” he groaned.

He pulled off the top, peered inside—and screamed.

With a trembling hand, Evan tilted the can so that Andy could see inside.

“Oh, no!” she shrieked, pulling her hands to her cheeks.

The can was half full.

Inside, a green glob of gooey Monster Blood shimmered in the sunlight like
lime jell-o.

“But it was
empty!”
Andy protested, staring into the can. “I
know
it was!”

Evan shook the can. The green glob inside quivered.

“There must have been a tiny speck in there,” Evan guessed. “Down at the
bottom of the can. And now it’s growing and growing again.”

“Great!” Andy declared. She slapped him on the back so hard, he nearly
dropped the blue can.

“Great? What’s so great?” he demanded shakily.

“Now you can show this to the kids at your school,” she replied. “Now they’ll
have
to believe you.”

“I guess,” Evan replied in a low voice.

“Oh! I have a better idea!” she exclaimed, her dark eyes lighting up
mischievously.

“Uh-oh,” Evan moaned.

“Slip a little glob of it in that guy Conan’s lunch tomorrow. When he starts
to grow as big as a hippo, everyone will see that the Monster Blood is real.”

“No way!” Evan cried. He cupped the blue can in both hands, as if protecting
it from Andy. “Conan is already big enough!” he told her, taking a step back. “I
don’t want him to grow another inch. Do you know what he could
do
to me
if he became a giant?”

Andy laughed and shrugged. “It was just an idea.”

“A
bad
idea,” Evan said sharply. “A really bad idea.”

“You’re no fun,” she teased. She leaped forward and tried to wrestle the can
from his hands.

He spun around, turning his back to her, and hunched over, protecting the
can.

“Give it to me!” she cried, laughing. She started tickling his sides. “Give
it! Give it!”

“No!” he protested, breaking free. He ran to the safety of a tall evergreen
shrub.

“It’s mine!” Andy declared, coming after him, hands at her waist. “If you’re
not going to use it, hand it back.”

Evan stood his ground. His expression turned serious. “Andy, don’t you remember?” he demanded shrilly. “Don’t you remember
how scary this stuff was? Don’t you remember how dangerous it was? All the
trouble it caused?”

“So?” she replied, her eyes on the blue can.

“We have to get rid of it,” Evan told her firmly. “We can’t let it out of the
can. It will grow and grow and never stop.”

“But I thought you wanted to show it to the kids to prove that it’s real.”

“No,” Evan interrupted. “I changed my mind. This stuff is too dangerous. We
have
to get rid of it.” He locked his eyes on hers, his features tight
with fear. “Andy, I’ve had nightmares every night because of this stuff. I don’t
want any
new
nightmares.”

“Okay, okay,” she muttered. She kicked at an upraised tree root. Then she
handed him the brown paper bag.

Evan clicked the top back on the can of Monster Blood. Then he shoved the can
into the bag. “Now how do we get rid of it?” he wondered out loud.

“I know. Dump it in the creek,” Andy suggested.

Evan shook his head. “No good. What if it gets out and pollutes the creek?”

“This creek is
already
polluted!” Andy exclaimed. “It’s just a big mud
puddle!”

“It isn’t deep enough,” Evan insisted. “Someone will find the can and pull it out. We can’t take a chance.”

“Then how do we get rid of it?” Andy asked, twisting her face in
concentration. “Hmmmm. We could eat it ourselves.
That
would get rid of
it!”

“Very funny,” Evan muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Just trying to be helpful,” Andy said.

“You’re about as helpful as a toothache!” Evan shot back.

“Ha-ha. Remind me to laugh at that sometime,” she replied, sticking her
tongue out at him.

“How can we get rid of it?” Evan repeated, gripping the bag in both hands.
“How?”

“I know!” a boy’s voice called, startling them both.

Conan Barber stepped out from behind a tall shrub.

“You can give it to me!” he declared. He reached out a big, powerful-looking
hand to grab the bag.

Evan swung the paper bag behind his back.

Conan lumbered toward them over the tall grass. His eyes were narrowed
menacingly at Evan.

How long has he been hiding there? Evan wondered. Did he hear us talk about
the Monster Blood? Is that why he wants the bag?

“Hi, I’m Andy,” Andy chirped brightly. She stepped in between the two boys
and flashed Conan a smile.

“Andy is a boy’s name,” Conan said, making a disgusted face. He turned his
hard stare on her, challenging her.

“And what kind of a name is Conan?” Andy shot back, returning his stare.

“You
know
me?” Conan asked, sounding surprised.

“You’re famous,” Andy replied dryly.

Conan suddenly remembered Evan. He stuck out his big paw. “I’ll take the bag
now.”

“Why should I give it to you?” Evan demanded, trying to keep his voice calm
and steady.

“Because it’s mine,” Conan lied. “I dropped it here.”

“You dropped an empty bag here?” Evan asked.

Conan swatted a fly from his blond hair. “It isn’t empty. I saw you put
something in it. Hand it over. Now.”

“Well… okay.” Evan handed him the paper bag. Conan eagerly reached
inside.

His hand came out empty.

He peered inside the bag. Empty.

He stared hard at Andy, then at Evan.

“I
told
you it was empty,” Evan said.

“Guess I made a mistake,” Conan muttered. “Hey, no hard feelings. Shake.”
Conan reached out his big right hand to Evan.

Evan reluctantly stuck out his hand.

Conan slid his hand over Evan’s and began to tighten his grip. Harder.
Harder.

Evan’s fingers cracked so loudly, they sounded like a tree falling!

Conan squeezed Evan’s hand harder and harder until Evan screamed in pain.
When Conan finally let go, the hand looked like a slab of raw hamburger.

“Nice handshake you got there!” Conan exclaimed, grinning.

He snapped his finger against Andy’s nose, then headed off quickly toward the street, taking long strides, laughing to
himself.

“Great guy,” Andy muttered, rubbing her nose.

Evan blew on his hand, as if trying to put out a fire. “Maybe I can learn to
be left-handed,” he murmured.

“Hey—where’s the Monster Blood?” Andy demanded.

“I—I dropped it,” Evan replied, still examining his hand.

“Huh?” She kicked away a clump of weeds and stepped over to him.

“I thought I could shove the can into my back jeans pocket while Conan was
talking to you,” Evan explained. “But it slipped out of my hand. I dropped it.”

He turned, bent over, and picked it up from the tall grass. “Good thing it
didn’t roll or anything. Conan would have seen it.”

“He wouldn’t know what to do with it if he had it,” Andy said.

“What are
we
going to do with it?” Evan demanded. “It’s already caused
us trouble. We’ve got to hide it, or throw it away, or—or—”

He pulled open the lid. “Oh, wow! Look!” He held the can up to Andy’s face.
The green goo had grown nearly to the top of the can. “It’s starting to grow a
lot faster. I guess because we exposed it to the air.”

Evan slammed the lid on tight.

“Let’s bury it,” Andy suggested. “Here. Right under this tree. We’ll dig a
deep hole and bury it.”

Evan liked the idea. It was simple and quick.

They squatted down and began digging with their hands. The dirt beneath the
tree was soft. The hole grew deep before they had worked up a sweat.

Evan dropped the blue can of Monster Blood into the hole. Then they quickly
covered it with dirt, smoothing it out until it was impossible to tell a hole
had been dug.

“This was a good plan,” Andy said, climbing to her feet, playfully wiping the
dirt off her hands on the back of Evan’s T-shirt. “If we need it, we’ll know
where it is.”

Evan’s red hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. He had a wide smear of
dirt across his freckled forehead. “Huh? Why would we need it?” he demanded.

Andy shrugged. “You never know.”

“We won’t need it,” Evan told her firmly. “We won’t.”

He was very, very wrong.

“Hey, Dad, what’s up?” Evan stepped into the garage.

Mr. Ross stopped hammering and turned around. He smiled at Evan. “Want to see
my newest work?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Evan replied. Every weekend, his father spent hour after hour
in his garage workshop, banging away on large sheets of metal, making what he
called his “works”.

He chiseled and hammered and sawed, and put a lot of effort into his
sculptures. But to Evan, they all looked like banged-up sheets of metal when
they were finished.

Mr. Ross took a few steps back to admire his current project. He lowered his
heavy mallet in one hand and pointed with the chisel he held in his other hand.
“I used brass for this one,” he told Evan. “I call it ‘Autumn Leaf’.”

Evan studied it thoughtfully. “It looks like a leaf,” he lied. It looks like
Dad ruined a perfectly good piece of brass, he thought, trying to keep a straight face.

“It’s not supposed to look like a leaf,” Mr. Ross corrected Evan. “It’s
supposed to look like my
impression
of a leaf.”

“Oh.” Evan scratched his curly, red hair as he studied it some more. “Neat,
Dad,” he said. “I see what you mean.”

Then something else caught his eye. “Hey—what’s this?”

Evan carefully stepped over several jagged, bent shards of metal. He made his
way to another metal sculpture and ran his hand over the smooth, shiny surface.
It was an enormous aluminum cylinder that rested above a flat wooden base.

“Go ahead. Spin it,” Mr. Ross instructed, smiling proudly.

Evan pushed the cylinder with both hands. It spun slowly over the wooden
base.