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bed than in it with Grum on guard and Pa in control of the remote. He watches too many horror movies. Besides, I just remembered I’d never hunted down those chickens that Jed’s Stupid Cat had let out. Ma would kill me surer than my mysterious debilitating illness if she did my chores and found out how I’d slacked off.

    If it hadn’t been pouring rain I would have hunted down every last chicken that morning. I did glance around the yard as I ran to the henhouse, but I didn’t see any signs of hens on the loose. Barney and his harem were in the same state as the day before, and I found barely a dozen eggs.

    At breakfast Grum said I’d grown another inch since yesterday and no wonder I felt so achy. Barbie stood back-to-back with me to compare heights, then turned around and glared. I’d caught up with her!

    “Don’t worry, Shish, you’ll always have browner eyes and better grades than me,” I said. “And longer fingernails. What does it matter if I get taller?”

    “I haven’t grown one bit since we got our school clothes this year, Seb. I don’t care if you’re taller than I am. I want to be taller than I am!” At that she ran up the stairs crying.

    “Your sister has growing pains too,” Grum said, nodding wisely.

    Now that I thought about it, half the girls and a few of the boys in sixth grade had outgrown Barbie this year. Now she was just average. Did being tall mean that much to her? Now I felt bad for her, but I didn’t know what to say, so I ate more cereal.

    Ma sent a note to school about my not feeling too good last night, so Ms. Byron didn’t keep me after for detention even though I forgot to get my homework signed and Spiderman didn’t get it finished. Plus, he circled is as a preposition. When is actually isn’t. It’s a verb, according to Ms. Byron, even though it doesn’t show action. I guess she must know. Anyway, she was a little disappointed in me.

    My teachers always act surprised when I do bad in English. They think I’m supposed to be some kind of verbal genius from the way I talk and draw stories and use my imagination. And apparently I actually scored high on some test once. Which I don’t remember taking. Back in first grade the teacher told Ma that I was “gifted and talented,” just like Barbie. Ma told Pa, and he said, “Don’t let that genius malarkey go to your head, son. If you can use your hands you’ll be better off.” I believed him then, my wonderful Pa who could build a castle in the yard. But now that things had changed, I wondered if maybe he was wrong. Maybe I ought to put my mind to learning why is is a verb even though it’s so lazy.

    I thought about all that on the Rust Bus ride home. While ducking Rico’s rattle and digging little shreds of yellow foam out of the ripped seat. Barbie didn’t want to talk; she was busy doing her math. I didn’t have a pencil, but I wouldn’t have done any schoolwork anyway. It was Friday afternoon for crying out loud. I would rather spend the time talking to Cluster, but she’d stayed home from school.

    “Maybe the baby is sick with something contagious, and Cluster came down with it too,” Barbie had suggested that morning after Miss Rosalie gave up waiting for her to float out of the woods. We waited a long time because it was unthinkable that Cluster would miss school. She hated weekends and vacations—they kept her off the Internet.

    Too bad Cluster was indisposed healthwise that day. I wanted to find out the results of the tests Odum’s goons did on the Zenwater.

    Normally when I kicked my way in the front door of our house and the musty smell hit me in the face, it felt like I’d just lost a fight. But that day an unbelievable sweet smell greeted us when Barbie and I got off the Rust Bus. It smelled so beautiful I could hardly stand it, like being stuck behind the Perfume Lady in church. Every time she sits in front of us it makes the sermon seem twice as long. Grum says she must be hiding