Phineas L. MacGuire . . . Gets Slimed! Read Online Free PDF

treatment plant. Believe you me, sewage gets out through an open pipe, you’ll hear about it pronto. But you’ll smell it first.”

    Mr. Reid took a bite of his ham sandwich. I was wondering how he could eat during a conversation about sewage, but I guess if you’re a janitor, you probably get used to gross stuff. It might not affect you at all after a while.
    â€œMy guess is that frog got into the house through the door, same way it got out,” Mr. Reid continued. “Maybe it hopped in on its own, maybe it was in a box or a bag.”
    Realizing that Mr. Reid didn’t seem at all bothered by sewage, I decided now would be a good time to bring up my mold museum idea. I’d already asked Mrs. Tuttle about making a mold museum in the science corner of our room, but she’d said she was pretty sure the state health department had rules about growing mold in classrooms.

    To be honest, she looked a little green when I told her my mold museum idea in the first place. It made me realize how much everyone, even teachers, needs to be educated about mold.
    â€œA basement is an ideal place for it,” I explained to Mr. Reid after I’d told him my basic plan, “since it’s naturally damp.”
    Mr. Reid nodded. “It’s the moisture from the earth seeping in through the walls,” he said. “The only problem is, there’s not much natural light in here. Some molds like a little light.”
    I stared at Mr. Reid. “You know about mold?” I asked. “I mean, real facts about mold?”
    Mr. Reid grinned. “Sure I know about mold. You ever heard of Alexander Fleming?”

    â€œHe discovered penicillin,” I said. I was almost whispering, I was so surprised to be having a two-way scientific conversation about mold. This had never happened to me before.
    â€œThat’s right,” Mr. Reid said. “He was growing bacteria in a petri dish, and some mold got in there.”
    â€œAnd the mold killed the bacteria!”
    Me and Mr. Reid slapped high fives.
    â€œYou get Mrs. Patino’s permission, andyou can have your museum down here,” Mr. Reid told me. “I think mold is pretty interesting stuff myself.”

    I shook my head. I had known Mr. Reid since kindergarten, and this was the first time I’d realized he was a scientific genius.
    It’s pretty cool that there are two of us in the same school.

This afternoon, after school, I rode the bus home with Ben. I needed his artistic-genius help with my mold museum presentation for Mrs. Patino. In return I promised I’d help him work on his campaign strategy.
    The best strategy I could come up with was that Ben should drop out of the race. Immediately.
    â€œCan’t do it,” Ben said. We were sittingon the floor of his bedroom. Ben was working on a new comic book, and I was drawing mold samples in my notebook, using colored pencils. “My dad said if I win, he’ll come visit and stay for the whole weekend, all the way till Monday morning. We’ll stay at a hotel and watch pay-per-view and eat pizza.”
    â€œHe could do that even if you didn’t run for class president,” I pointed out.
    â€œNo, because he has to take off work to come visit, so it’s easier for me to go see him. Him coming here is special.”
    Ben held up his sketch pad so I could see how the story was coming along. In the comic-book series he’s doing, his main guy, Derek the Destroyer, races around the globe saving the world from evil. In this story Derek was thwarting an amazon girls’ volleyball team in theirattempt to take over the White House and force everyone in the country to play volleyball twenty-four hours a day.

    Volleyball, in case you were wondering, is not exactly Ben’s favorite sport.
    â€œThat’s cool about your dad coming here,” I said. “But you’ve got to be realistic about the election. Why would somebody vote for you