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Authors: K. L. Going
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one. It was almost like Christmas.
Until we found the centipede.
Frita might have forgotten all about centipedes if one hadn’t crawled out of a box right when she was reaching in to take out a camping lantern. I was sitting on the floor, playingwith Frita’s old Matchbox cars, when out scampered a million legs and a slimy body. I jumped up and knocked over the box.
“All right!” Frita said, getting up to follow the centipede over to the wall. I hoped he’d be too fast to catch, but he stopped right by the furnace almost as if he was waiting for her to scoop him up.
“Frita,” I said, “I changed my mind. I don’t need to cross centipedes off my list because I already crossed off spiders and earwigs and I shoulda just written down bugs because that’s what I meant. So, really, I’m done with—”
“Hush up,” Frita said. She was crouching down, positioning her hands around the centipede. I looked away. Next time I peeked, she had her hands cupped real tight.
“Don’t be scared,” she told me. “Centipedes are soft and friendly. Let’s name him so you’ll feel like he’s a pet. Or wait! Maybe I’ll keep him. That way you’ll have Jimmy and I’ll have…” Frita thought it over. “Gilligan.” Frita watched
Gilligan’s Island
reruns on TV every week. “That’s the perfect name!”
She was getting some excited, but I stared hard at her cupped hands. My eyes were huge as saucers.
“Daddy says fear is mind over matter,” Frita told me. “If you don’t mind it won’t matter. Now, put out your hands.”
I squeezed my eyes tight and tried to picture Jimmy in his tank. If he wasn’t so bad, the centipede couldn’t be much worse. I reached out my hands…
Frita plopped that centipede right into my palm and Itried to cup him in there nice and tight, like Frita had, but I was too slow and he was too quick. He was up my arm in a flash.
“GET HIM OFF!” I hollered. I flicked my arm and the centipede fell onto the floor. Then before I even thought about it, I stomped him real good. I was dancing around in a circle, stomping that bug into one big centipede mash.
Only then I caught a glimpse of Frita. Her eyes were huge and both her hands were over her mouth.
“You’re killing Gilligan,” she choked at last. I couldn’t tell if she was going to cry or pound me.
That’s when I stopped stomping.
I looked down at the splotch on the basement floor and all sorts of guilt flooded in. Frita knelt down to look and her bottom lip quivered. She gave me the worst look I’d ever seen.
“You killed my pet,” she said. “He wasn’t even hurting you. He was just crawling around, that’s all.” Then she sniffed hard. “Gabriel King,” she said, “you’re not getting any braver at all!”
Frita turned and marched up the stairs. I heard the front door slam and I knew she’d gone out back to sit in the pecan tree. That’s when my stomach started to churn. I thought about the way Frita’s eyes had gotten big and round like mine did when I was the most scared. Maybe dead things were on Frita’s list.
Then
my
eyes got big and round because I’d killed Frita’s pet just because I was chicken. Maybe she’d never forgive me.
Frita being mad at me was number twenty-three.
There was only one thing to do. I took a little plastic cup out of one of the boxes and even though it was gross, I scooped that squished-up bug into the cup. We’d have a real decent burial for Gilligan. Then I’d promise never to kill another bug again. If that’s what it took to get Frita to forgive me, I’d be Gabriel King, a bug’s best friend.
Chapter 14
CORPSES AND DOBERMANS
F RITA WAS REAL SORE AT ME AFTER THAT—DESPITE THE REAL NICE funeral we held in her backyard. She didn’t call me on the phone or ask me to come over for two whole days, and when we finally did get together, it was another day and a half before things were back to normal. Only they weren’t
exactly
back to normal. Frita didn’t
Until we found the centipede.
Frita might have forgotten all about centipedes if one hadn’t crawled out of a box right when she was reaching in to take out a camping lantern. I was sitting on the floor, playingwith Frita’s old Matchbox cars, when out scampered a million legs and a slimy body. I jumped up and knocked over the box.
“All right!” Frita said, getting up to follow the centipede over to the wall. I hoped he’d be too fast to catch, but he stopped right by the furnace almost as if he was waiting for her to scoop him up.
“Frita,” I said, “I changed my mind. I don’t need to cross centipedes off my list because I already crossed off spiders and earwigs and I shoulda just written down bugs because that’s what I meant. So, really, I’m done with—”
“Hush up,” Frita said. She was crouching down, positioning her hands around the centipede. I looked away. Next time I peeked, she had her hands cupped real tight.
“Don’t be scared,” she told me. “Centipedes are soft and friendly. Let’s name him so you’ll feel like he’s a pet. Or wait! Maybe I’ll keep him. That way you’ll have Jimmy and I’ll have…” Frita thought it over. “Gilligan.” Frita watched
Gilligan’s Island
reruns on TV every week. “That’s the perfect name!”
She was getting some excited, but I stared hard at her cupped hands. My eyes were huge as saucers.
“Daddy says fear is mind over matter,” Frita told me. “If you don’t mind it won’t matter. Now, put out your hands.”
I squeezed my eyes tight and tried to picture Jimmy in his tank. If he wasn’t so bad, the centipede couldn’t be much worse. I reached out my hands…
Frita plopped that centipede right into my palm and Itried to cup him in there nice and tight, like Frita had, but I was too slow and he was too quick. He was up my arm in a flash.
“GET HIM OFF!” I hollered. I flicked my arm and the centipede fell onto the floor. Then before I even thought about it, I stomped him real good. I was dancing around in a circle, stomping that bug into one big centipede mash.
Only then I caught a glimpse of Frita. Her eyes were huge and both her hands were over her mouth.
“You’re killing Gilligan,” she choked at last. I couldn’t tell if she was going to cry or pound me.
That’s when I stopped stomping.
I looked down at the splotch on the basement floor and all sorts of guilt flooded in. Frita knelt down to look and her bottom lip quivered. She gave me the worst look I’d ever seen.
“You killed my pet,” she said. “He wasn’t even hurting you. He was just crawling around, that’s all.” Then she sniffed hard. “Gabriel King,” she said, “you’re not getting any braver at all!”
Frita turned and marched up the stairs. I heard the front door slam and I knew she’d gone out back to sit in the pecan tree. That’s when my stomach started to churn. I thought about the way Frita’s eyes had gotten big and round like mine did when I was the most scared. Maybe dead things were on Frita’s list.
Then
my
eyes got big and round because I’d killed Frita’s pet just because I was chicken. Maybe she’d never forgive me.
Frita being mad at me was number twenty-three.
There was only one thing to do. I took a little plastic cup out of one of the boxes and even though it was gross, I scooped that squished-up bug into the cup. We’d have a real decent burial for Gilligan. Then I’d promise never to kill another bug again. If that’s what it took to get Frita to forgive me, I’d be Gabriel King, a bug’s best friend.
Chapter 14
CORPSES AND DOBERMANS
F RITA WAS REAL SORE AT ME AFTER THAT—DESPITE THE REAL NICE funeral we held in her backyard. She didn’t call me on the phone or ask me to come over for two whole days, and when we finally did get together, it was another day and a half before things were back to normal. Only they weren’t
exactly
back to normal. Frita didn’t
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