To my long-lost Samantha.
I should have listened. The alligators were hungry.
—F. D.
To my brothers, Eulizes and Jonathan
—R. M.
CHAPTER ONE
Dear Wilmer,
You’re almost a seventh grader now! The new school year starts in only two weeks. Oh, son—you’re growing up so fast! Did you know a blue whale baby gains almost two hundred pounds a day? You’re not growing THAT fast, thankfully. We wouldn’t have enough fish in the house to feed you. Your mother and I know you’ll have a great time at the science fair this weekend. Remember, winning isn’t everything. What’s important is that you learn lots of science. So relax. Have fun. And, most of all, observe!
Love,
Dad
Wilmer jammed an extra pair of underwear into his canvas overnight bag, and a spare pair of science goggles. Scientists should never be without enough underwear or goggles, even for a short weekend trip. “Do you think four pairs of underwear is enough?” Wilmer asked.
His best friend, Ernie, sat on Wilmer’s bed. Ernie’s black hair stood straight up, but the rest of him seemed slightly sleepy. He yawned. “We’re going to be away for two days. Are you expecting some sort of underwear emergency?”
Wilmer shot Ernie a dirty look. Still, he packed a fifth pair, just in case. A scientist needed to be ready for anything.
Wilmer wanted to haul even more scientific equipment along for the weekend. But his precious beakers and vials could break, and his magnifying glass didn’t magnify very much. The best scientists in the state would be attending the science fair. Wilmer didn’t want to carry around second-class equipment.
Besides, he had to lug all the materials for his exhibit in a large box, which was already bulky and heavy.
“The Forty-Fifth Annual State Science Fair and Consortium!” Wilmer shot Ernie a big grin. “Aren’t you excited?”
Ernie didn’t answer.
“I said, aren’t you excited?” Wilmer repeated louder.
Ernie cradled an iNoise, his thumbs flicking. He looked up, annoyed. “Ah, c’mon! You made me mess up my game.”
“Don’t you get sick of that thing? You’re on it all the time.”
“Do you get sick of your nose? It’s on your face all the time.”
“Of course not.”
“Exactly. And my iNoise is way cooler than your nose, believe me.” Ernie grinned and turned his attention once again to his small handheld device.
The iNoise played games and music, took pictures and video, had a built-in GPS and voice-activated instant messaging, and, if you put it on bread, made toast. It was the hottest must-have electronic gadget of the summer.
But Wilmer didn’t need or want an iNoise—he had the power of observation! That was all any scientist really needed.
Still, Wilmer may have been the only incoming seventh grader in his entire school without one.
Wilmer zipped his bag and folded the top of his cardboard box shut. He was bringing a slide-show projector, elaborate retractable fiberglass stands with detailed bacteria facts printed on them, a ten-minute video on the history of germs, six jars of glowing foods and one filled with leeches, and a bunch of other disease-based show-and-tells.
Wilmer was especially proud of the leeches—slimy worms used by medieval doctors. They had been difficult to find. Wilmer would put them on his arm and demonstrate how they sucked out blood.
Or maybe not. Thinking of those oozing creatures on his skin made Wilmer squeamish. But he would do just about anything to win first place, even if it meant tolerating slimy blood-slurping.
“I can’t believe you put so much work into your exhibit,” said Ernie, shaking his head.
“You can’t win first place unless you try your hardest. What’s your project?”
“I hooked a potato up with some wires. The energy from the potato turns on a lightbulb.” Ernie held up a shoe box. “I found directions online.”
“That’s not going to win first place.”
“Yeah, but it only took me an hour,” said Ernie, “which meant more time to play games on my iNoise.”
Wilmer sighed. He knew that the other competitors wouldn’t take the contest so lightly. The Annual State Science Fair and Consortium was legendary. You had to be the best of the best to participate. It was by invitation only: a teacher needed to officially nominate you.
Biology teacher Mrs. Padgett had nominated Wilmer. That had been a surprise. Valveeta Padgett, the chair of the school Science Department (co-chair of the school Detention Program, and co-co-chair of the school Chair Cleaning Committee) didn’t seem to like him very much.
The feeling was mutual.
But maybe she had changed for the better. After all, Mrs. Padgett wasn’t just a teacher anymore—she was now a star, appearing in her own weekend television morning show, Padgett!, which mixed biology and online mah-jongg.
It was an odd combination, but somehow, it worked.
“The science fair is in a brand-new location this year,” said Wilmer. He held his official nomination letter. “Don’t you think the place sounds fancy? Ernie? Ernie?”
Ernie looked up from his iNoise. “Oh, come on! You made me lose again!”
“Your brain’s going to turn to mush if you play that too much,” warned Wilmer.
“Cool,” said Ernie. “I like mush.” He kept playing.
“I heard Roxie is go-glighh,” said Wilmer. He meant to say “going,” but the last word caught in his throat and came out as a gurgle. Just thinking of Roxie turned his brain into mush. Roxie had long flowing blond hair, twinkling blue eyes (Wilmer preferred to think of them as low-melanin-pigmented eyes), and white teeth that sparkled like a Bunsen burner. He hadn’t seen her since school ended.
“Did you call Roxie this summer?” asked Ernie.
“No. I was too busy with my science project.”
“Too wimpy, you mean.”
Wilmer didn’t argue.
“Claudius is going to the fair too,” said Wilmer, trying to clear his mind of Roxie. It did the trick: if Roxie made Wilmer think of tulips and rosebuds, Claudius stirred up images of dark, stormy clouds and fungus.
Wilmer and Claudius had worked together to cure the awful contagious colors that had swept through Mumpley Middle School last year. But that didn’t make them friends—far from it.
“I heard two other Mumpley kids are going,” said Ernie, putting his iNoise in his pocket. “A sixth grader and a new transfer student.”
“I just hope we learn lots of science,” said Wilmer. His father always told him that learning was more important than winning.
“That sounds horrible,” groaned Ernie. “I just want to jump on the beds, stay up late eating snacks, and play with my iNoise.”
Wilmer rolled his eyes. “This is a weekend for science, not goofing off.”
“For you, maybe,” said Ernie. “I’m all about the goofing. I don’t even know why Mrs. Padgett nominated me,” he added with a frown.
Wilmer gave his best friend a harmless shoulder punch. “You were nominated because you deserve to go. You helped solve the Mumpley malady last year. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I guess,” said Ernie. “But—”
“No ‘buts,’ ” interrupted Wilmer. “We’ll hang out together all weekend. I’ll make sure you have a good time.”
Ernie threw Wilmer a thankful grin and the two exchanged their secret best friend thumbshake: two pumps followed by a thumbs-up.
“Are you two ready?” called Mrs. Dooley from downstairs. “Your father is waiting!”
“Coming!” yelled Wilmer. He grabbed his overnight bag and inched his unwieldy box toward the door.
“Can you give me a hand?” he asked Ernie.
Ernie smiled. “Electronic potatoes,” he said, tossing his shoe box lightly in the air and catching it. “Who’s laughing now?”
Wilmer nudged his box a few centimeters farther. A weekend of science! It would be magnificent.
So why couldn’t he remove the sneaking suspicion that something was going to go horribly wrong? And that that something wrong had a name: Claudius Dill.
CHAPTER TWO
Science Consortium Packing Checklist
By Wilmer Dooley
Projector
Fiberglass stands
Video player
Jars of glowing foods
14 hungry leeches (in a jar)
Science goggles
Magnifying Glass
Four Five pairs of underwear
The power of observation!
My lucky Albert Einstein socks
Funny science jokes (to impress Roxie)
Mr. Dooley stood next to the family station wagon. He wore a lab coat and no pants or shoes. Wilmer was used to his dad’s absentmindedness, but forgetting to put on pants was a little extreme, even for him.
Mr. Ignatius P. Dooley was a world-renowned scientist, celebrated for the invention of SugarBUZZZZ!, the wondrous line of snacks and drinks that came in twelve fluorescently colored flavors. More recently he had created VeggiBUZZZZ! This new line of glowing vegetables made healthy eating fun, even sort of cool, and had become an immediate sensation.
Wilmer still preferred his plain everyday green spinach to the vibrantly glowing pink variety his dad had created. But most kids strongly disagreed.
“Nice legs, Dad,” Wilmer said.
Wilmer’s father looked down at his bare, hairy limbs. “I had a small polyester fire in the lab. I’m afraid my trousers took the worst of it.” He held up a small swatch of glowing violet fabric. “ClothesBUZZZZ!” he announced. His voice switched to a low radio baritone: “Why wear regular old clothes when yours can glow like a thousand streetlamps? Night jogging has never been safer. Imagine how easy it will be to find your kids at the mall. Make a statement with ClothesBUZZZZ! And that statement is: ‘Look at me! I glow in the dark!’ ”
Wilmer shrugged. “Sounds like a winner, Dad.”
Mr. Dooley nodded his head. “If only the clothes didn’t spontaneously burst into flames. Or cause horrible boils to erupt all over your skin.” He rolled up the right sleeve of his lab coat to reveal a dozen red bumps covering his arm. “Do you think that’s a problem?”
Wilmer nodded. “I think that’s a deal-killer, Dad.”
Mr. Dooley frowned. “That’s what I feared. Well, a scientist’s work is never done. Are you two ready to go to the science fair?”
“We sure are,” said Wilmer with an excited grin as Ernie yawned. “But I still think you need to wear pants and shoes.”
Mr. Dooley sighed and jogged back to the house while Wilmer and Ernie loaded the car with their luggage. Wilmer’s father trotted past Mrs. Dooley, who was walking briskly down the driveway with their younger sons in tow. Wilmer’s short, thin, and rosy-cheeked mother carried a plastic food container. She loved to cook and bake, and her concoctions were always original, sometimes brilliant, but usually dreadful.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving us for a whole weekend!” she wept. She handed her container to Ernie and wrapped Wilmer in a bear hug. “My little Wilmer-Poo is all grown up!”
Wilmer squirmed out of his mother’s grasp, his face turning as red as one of his father’s VeggiBUZZZZ! tomatoes.
Mrs. Dooley turned to Wilmer’s brothers and wagged her finger at them sternly. “Don’t just stand there,” she ordered. “Hug your brother good-bye.”
“Do we have to?” complained seven-year-old Sherman. Mrs. Dooley’s frown answered his question. Sherman put an unenthusiastic arm around Wilmer, who awkwardly hugged him back.
“What’s in here, Mrs. Dooley?” asked Ernie, sniffing the food container she had handed him. “It smells like oranges, vinegar, and horseradish.”
“That’s because they’re orange, vinegar, and horseradish brownies,” said Mrs. Dooley proudly. “With a smidgen of yarn.”
“Onion salt!” yelped her youngest son, twenty-month-old Preston.
“Yes, and a dash of onion salt,” confirmed Mrs. Dooley. “And really, that makes all the difference.” Preston smiled proudly. He often assisted Mrs. Dooley in her cooking.
Wilmer turned slightly green, but Ernie licked his lips. “They sound delicious, Mrs. D.” Ernie loved sweets even more than Wilmer loved creamed spinach.
Preston wrapped both his arms around Wilmer in a heartfelt good-bye hug. “Garlic powder!” he shouted with sincerity.
“Um, you too,” said Wilmer.
The front door of the house banged open and Mr. Dooley bounded toward them. He now wore a bright green-and-blue pair of mermaid-patterned shorts and winter boots. Wilmer didn’t think they were much of an improvement over his earlier wardrobe choices, but at least his dad wouldn’t be arrested.
Mrs. Dooley blew her nose and wiped her tears while Wilmer, Ernie, and Mr. Dooley piled into the station wagon. Soon the three were waving good-bye and heading down the driveway.
“You know,” said Mr. Dooley as they pulled onto the main road, “I entered this same science fair when I was your age.” He scratched his forehead. “No, I’m thinking of the summer I visited your Aunt Ethel’s cattle farm.”
“Aunt Ethel is a truck driver,” said Wilmer.
“Well, something like that.” Mr. Dooley then proceeded to tell a long, boring story about his failed attempts at creating fluorescent livestock.
Ernie popped open the plastic top from Mrs. Dooley’s container. It sat on the seat between them. He lifted a brownie and deeply inhaled its overbearing horseradish scent. “Want one?” he asked Wilmer.
Wilmer’s stomach voiced a loud objection, and he grimaced with disgust. Ernie shrugged and chomped down on the gloppy treat.
“How is it?” asked Wilmer.
Ernie swallowed. “A bit too much yarn.” He picked some string out of his teeth.
Wilmer looked out the window. They still had a couple more hours of driving. He was sure this would be the best weekend of his life, if only that nagging suspicion of trouble would dissolve, like sulfur in a jar of carbon disulfide.
CHAPTER THREE
Dear Journal,
I know I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been trying to learn all about diseases, now that I’ve decided to become a doctor someday instead of a scientist. I almost feel guilty going to this conference for future scientists! But doctors and scientists have lots in common. They both wear white lab coats. One says “Aha!” when making discoveries, and the other says “Ahhhh!” when holding a tongue depressor.
Scientific journals and medical journals are really similar too. Which means that keeping a scientific journal is pretty much the same thing as keeping a medical journal. So no more excuses for not writing.
We’re driving up to the science consortium right now. Ernie is playing on his iNoise. What a waste of time! Why play games when you can do things like memorize the scientific names for birds?
European robin: Erithacus rubecula
American crow: Corvus brachyrhynchos
See? Isn’t that fun?
I’m a bit nervous about seeing Roxie. She’s not entering the science contest. She’ll be reporting for the school newspaper and for Monday Mumpley Musings, her biweekly school-broadcast radio show.
I should have seen her this summer like I promised. I’m just a big chicken. People should call me Jersey Giant, which is the largest breed of chicken, weighing eleven to thirteen pounds.
Scientific name: Gallus gallus domesticus
It’ll be nice to get away from town. Sure, I helped find a cure for that disease. But were the appearance on the evening news, the newspaper articles, and the honorary Wilmer Dooley Day parade really necessary? The papers are calling me ‘The Amazing Wil
mer Dooley’! People keep asking to shake my hand. It’s nice, unless they’ve been picking their nose or eating fried chicken, which is why I usually carry hand sanitizer. It’s weird getting so much attention. I guess this is how celebrities feel.
But I’m not a celebrity. I’m just an observant scientist. And someone who likes clean hands.
Signing off,
Wilmer Dooley
Wilmer, Ernie, and Mr. Dooley stood inside the main lobby of the Sac à Puces Palladium, Lodge, and Resortlike Hotel. The French name was the nicest thing about the place. It smelled like mold. The walls and low ceiling were cracking, the wallpaper was peeling, and the lights were dim and dreary. The brown carpeting was worn and frayed. The framed paintings on the wall were all of sailboats, which was nice until you looked closely and realized the sailboats were sinking, many with sharks close by.
“Man, this place is a pit,” said Ernie. “I thought you said this was a fancy hotel.”
“No, I said this placed sounded fancy,” said Wilmer with a forced smile. Still, his disappointment ran deep.
The lobby teemed with the finest kid scientists in the state: the smartest of the smart, the geekiest of the geeks. Some seemed serious, wearing thick glasses and holding personal science journals or electronic tablets for note-taking. Other kids, however, ran around, yelling and pushing and bumping into people. Wilmer frowned. Future scientists shouldn’t just run amok.
A good scientist was in control of his emotions at all times.
Mr. Dooley rested his hand on Wilmer’s shoulder and gave his son a soft, encouraging squeeze. “Are you sure you have everything? Didn’t forget your toothbrush or hairbrush, your goggles or your pocket protector?”
“I’m good,” said Wilmer.
“Most importantly, don’t forget to observe!”
“I won’t. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll make you proud.”
“You always do,” said Mr. Dooley. He sniffled and wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh, I envy you two!” he exclaimed. “Just you and science, floating in the seas of perception, drowning in the tides of discovery, swimming in the squall of invention, and rolling in the rocking waters of wit! And, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.”
The Amazing Wilmer Dooley Page 1
