How to Eat Fried Worms

Chapter 1; The Bet Hey, Tom! Where were you last night?" "Yeah, you missed it." Alan and Billy came up the front walk. Tom was sitting on his porch steps, bouncing a tennis ball. "Old Man Tato caught Joe as we were climbing through the fence, so we all had to go back, and he made us pile the peaches on his kitchen table, and then he called our mothers." "Joe's mother hasn't let him out yet." "Where were you?" Tom stopped bouncing the tennis ball. He was a tall, skinny boy who took his troubles very seriously. "My mother kept me in." "What for?" "I wouldn't eat my dinner." Alan sat down on the step below Tom and began to chew his thumbnail. "What was it?" "Salmon casserole." Billy flopped down on the grass, chunky, snub-nosed, freckled. "Salmon casserole's not so bad." "Wouldn't she let you just eat two bites?" asked Alan. "Sometimes my mother says, well, all right, if I'll just eat two bites." "I wouldn't eat even one." "That's stupid," said Billy. "One bite can't hurt you. I'd eat one bite of anything before I'd let them send me up to my room right after supper." Tom shrugged. "How about mud?" Alan asked Billy. "You wouldn't eat a bite of mud." Alan argued a lot, small, knobby-kneed, nervous, gnawing at his thumbnail, his face smudged, his red hair mussed, shirttail hanging out, shoelaces untied. "Sure, I would," Billy said. "Mud. What's mud? Just dirt with a little water in it. My father says everyone eats a pound of dirt every year anyway." "How about poison?" "That's different." Billy rolled over on his back. "Is your mother going to make you eat the leftovers today at lunch?" he asked Billy. "She never has before." "How about worms?" Alan asked Billy. Tom's sister's cat squirmed out from under the porch and rubbed against Billy's knee. "Sure," said Billy. "Why not? Worms are just dirt." "Yeah, but they bleed." "So you'd have to cook them. Cows bleed.' "I bet a hundred dollars you wouldn't really eat a worm. You talk big now, but you wouldn't if you were sitting at the dinner table with a worm on you plate." "I bet I would. I'd eat fifteen worms if somebody'd bet me a hundred dollars." "You really want to bet? I'll bet you fifty dollars you can't eat fifteen worms. I really will." "Where're you going to get fifty dollars?" "In my savings account. I've got one hundred and thirty dollars and seventy-nine cents in my savings account. I know, because last week I put in the five dollars my grandmother gave me for my birthday." "Your mother wouldn't let you take it out." "She would if I lost the bet. She'd have to. I'd tell her I was going to sell my stamp collection otherwise. And I bought that with all my own money that I earned mowing lawns, so I can do whatever I want with it. I'll bet you fifty dollars you can't eat fifteen worms. Come on. You're chicken. You know you can't do it." "I wouldn't do it," said Tom. "If salmon casserole makes me sick, think what fifteen worms would do." Joe came scuffing up the walk and flopped down beside Billy. He was a small boy, with dark hair and a long nose and big brown eyes. "What's going on?" "Come on," said Alan to Billy. "Tom can be your second and Joe'll be mine, just like in a duel. You think it's so easy here's your chance to make fifty bucks." Billy dangled a leaf in front of the cRockwell, Thomas is the author of 'How to Eat Fried Worms' with ISBN 9780440219408 and ISBN 044021940X.