Imperfect Spiral Read Free

then,” I said.
    Humphrey looked at the bumblebees and bugged out his eyes. Pointing, he screamed, “New aliens!”
    â€œBut could they be … friendly aliens?” I asked.
    â€œLet’s see,” Humphrey said. He approached the bumblebees slowly. “I come in peace,” he said, stretching out his hands. “Look, Danielle, they want me to ride them.”
    â€œThat’s very friendly,” I said.
    He climbed on the back of a bumblebee that used to be blue—most of the paint was worn off—and rocked himself to get the springy action going. After about a minute he stopped and got off. “Thanks, Bumble-Boo,” Humphrey said. “His name is Bumble-Boo.”
    â€œThat’s a fine name,” I said. “And the planet’s name is …”
    â€œThe planet is Thrumble-Boo,” Humphrey said.
    â€œThrumble-Boo?” I said. “Not Crumble-Boo? Maybe it’s made up of cookie crumbs. Or Strumble-Boo? Maybe everyone here strums a banjo. Or Dumble-Boo? Maybe it’s only for dumb aliens.”
    Humphrey fixed his serious green-eyed stare on me. “It is not for dumb aliens. There are no banjos or cookie crumbs. It’s Thrumble-Boo. It’s Thrumble-Boo because of … the thrumbles.”
    After a return spaceship ride to planet Earth, we set out for the walk home. Quarry Road was crammed with cars, slowly making their way in rush hour. I stretched out my free hand—the one not holding the football against my hip—and Humphrey took it.
    â€œDanielle,” Humphrey said.
    â€œThat’s my name, don’t wear it out.”
    â€œWhen I told you to try something different before, I meantyou should try something different to teach me how to throw a spiral.”
    Huh
, I thought. And here I’d assumed that after sixteen efforts Humphrey had been ready to move on.
    â€œSorry, Humpty,” I said. “I thought you were tired of that.”
    â€œNo, Dumpty,” said Humphrey. “I’m very persistent.”
    â€œYou’re persistent?” I asked. “Are you also a genius? How do you know the word ‘persistent’?”
    â€œI know lots of long
p
words,” Humphrey said.
    Long
p
words?
    â€œLike what else?” I asked.
    He thought. It was one thing to know them, another to remember them.
    â€œUm,” he said. “I forget. And anyway, I’m hungry!”
    Twenty minutes later, Humphrey was sitting at his kitchen table shoveling SpaghettiOs into his mouth, followed by chasers of chicken tenders and cut-up apple chunks. His favorite meal.
    â€œI remember some of my other long
p
words, Danielle,” he said.
    â€œI’m listening.”
    He swallowed before launching into his lexicon:
Particular. Persnickety. Pugnacious
.
    â€œWow,” I said. “You are one smart boy.”
    He thanked me and continued.
    Predictable. Prognosis. Perculiar
.
    â€œ
Pe
-culiar,” I corrected him.
    â€œ
Per
-culiar,” he corrected me back. “My dad told me.”
    I seriously doubted that. I seriously doubted that the esteemed Thomas R. Danker, Esq., a famous lawyer who argues cases in front of the United States Supreme Court, gave his son incorrect instruction on how to pronounce a
p
word.
    â€œIt really is
pe
-culiar, Humpty,” I said.
    â€œI like
per
-culiar,” he said.
    I looked at his SpaghettiOs-stained face and smiled.
    â€œI like perculiar, too,” I said.

4
What about Humphrey?
    After three hours in the emergency room, I’m officially declared uninjured. By this time, my parents are at the hospital. As we emerge from the treatment room to the crowded waiting area, we see Adrian and a bunch of neighbors, including, no surprise, Mrs. Raskin.
    â€œI keep my phone on vibrate, even in the theater,” she is saying to Adrian.
    â€œSometimes you can’t feel it vibrating,” Adrian says.
    â€œI hold the phone right in my hand,”