Phineas L. MacGuire . . . Gets Slimed! Read Free Page B

convince my mom to like it.”
    I knew Ben was right. But I also knew that deep down inside I wasn’t a mold killer. I
like
mold. I think it’s one of the most interesting things in the universe. If I start thinking about it, I come up with all sorts of fascinating questions,like is there mold in outer space? What is mold’s favorite food? Does it like chocolate pudding cups as much as I do?
    The more I thought about it, the more I knew I didn’t want to rid the world of mold. What I really wanted was more mold. I wanted other people to be as interested in mold as I was so I’d have someone to discuss mold with. Maybe I should start a mold appreciation society or a club for mold lovers. I could be the president, and Ben could be vice president, if I could ever get him to like mold too.
    Then we’d both have something to put on our résumés.

My new and improved Fourth-Grade Goal List:
To make everyone like mold as much as I do
To convince Ben not to run for class president
To be the best fourth-grade scientist ever
    I knew that to get everybody else to like mold as much as I did, I would have to come up with some good mold publicity.
    Scientifically speaking, Aretha Timmons was just the person to help me.
    Normally, I am allergic to girls. I am allergic to thirteen things altogether, including nuts, cats, cottage cheese, grape jelly, and anything purple. Also kisses that come with lipstick attached, especially the kind my aunt Tiffany wears, which is not quite purple but close enough to make me break out in hives just thinking about it.
    Aretha Timmons is the only girl I know that I am not 100 percent allergic to. I think it’s because she is a fellow scientist and almost never wears purple. If we had to dissect a frog for fourth-grade science, Aretha would be the first personin line. She would not squeal or scream or cry because the frog was cute. She would get right down to business.
    It’s hard to be allergic to a girl like Aretha Timmons.
    â€œMold is a tough sell, Mac,” she told me on the jungle gym at recess. “Number one, it’s gross and slimy. Number two, nobody is ever excited to see mold.”
    â€œI am,” I said.
    â€œYeah, Mac, but you’re not like everyone else. Listen, last year in Ms. Perry’s class, when we were cleaning out our desks for Spring Cleaning Day, JustinFenner found a bologna sandwich in his desk that he’d forgotten about. It’d been in there for two months, and by Spring Cleaning Day it was just one big square of green mold. Do you think anyone said, ‘Hey, pass that over here so I can see’? Do you think anyone asked to take it home to give to their mom for a present?”

    â€œWell, no,” I said. “But if Ms. Perry would have put the sandwich under a microscope and let everyone look at it, they would have seen how fascinating it was.”
    Aretha shook her head. “Ms. Perry screamed and ran to get Mr. Reid to come take Justin’s desk out of the room. Ms. Perry was more grossed out than anybody.”

    â€œPeople like that should not be allowedto teach,” I said, pulling myself to the top of the jungle gym.
    â€œIt’s true, we never did any interesting experiments in her class,” Aretha said. “When it came to science, mostly we collected leaves.”

    â€œYou know what would be cool?” I asked, dropping down to the ground. “A mold museum. It would be this place where all kinds of different molds were growing, like slime molds and mildew, and you could have information about everything so people would understand just how great mold really is.”

    Aretha nodded. “That’s what you should do, then. You could ask Mrs. Tuttle if there’s a shelf or something in her classroom.Or else ask Mr. Reid if there’s someplace in the basement you could use. I’ll help you get set up. Mold doesn’t bother me a bit.”

    Somehow I knew it