The Bully Bug by David Lubar Page A

would become cold cuts.
    â€œWait. It would be better if you removed your shirt,” he said.
    I just stared at him.
    â€œReally,” he said.
    I pulled it off.
    â€œYou’ll be fine,” he told me. “Promise.” He closed the door.
    It got as dark as it could get. The dark hit me so fast, I didn’t even notice the cold right away. For a second, I felt myself getting real worried. Then I had trouble turning on the flashlight because my fingers were stiff.
    I had to be crazy, trusting the nerd. Well, at least I had comic books. I stood there and started reading. It seemed like I was in there forever. Finally, he opened the door back up.
    â€œYou got a big family?” I asked as I followed him back up the stairs.
    â€œNo. Just me, Mom, and Dad,” he said.
    â€œWhy the giant freezer?”
    â€œOh. Mom’s a caterer. She makes food for all kinds of parties and banquets and stuff. She’s always cooking.”
    â€œSounds like my mom,” I said. “She cooks tons of stuff every day, but just for the family.”
    Back in his room, he took another picture. Then he put it in the computer.
    â€œOkay,” he said after he’d hit a couple of keys and slid the mouse around. “Good news. As I’d expected, a cold environment slows the rate of change. Now we have to see about heat.”
    â€œYou aren’t going to chuck me in the oven, are you?” I thought about the big ovens in the kitchen.
    He shook his head. “No. This will be localized. I suspect heat accelerates the process. So we’ll minimize the area.”
    He ran off. I didn’t bother asking him what he meant. He came back a minute later with a hair dryer. He switched it on and pointed it at my chest. The warm air felt great to me after I’d been in that freezer. But as we watched, the shiny black tips of more hairs popped through my skin where the hair dryer was blowing on it.
    â€œHeat is bad,” he said, switching off the dryer. “I better take some skin samples.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a wooden box. Inside, he had a bunch of glass slides, like the kind you use with a microscope, and a couple small knives.
    He took out a knife and moved it toward my chest.
    Next thing I knew, my hand was clamped on his wrist.
    â€œOw! Come on. I’m just going to scrape a small sample. It won’t hurt. Honest.”
    I let go and he yanked his hand back. Then he reached forward again.
    â€œOuch. You’re breaking my wrist.”
    I looked down. I’d grabbed him again. I’d done it without thinking. I mean, my teachers were always yelling about how I never thought about what I did, but this was different. I really didn’t think about grabbing his hand. It was the same as when I’d been eating the leaves. My hand acted like it had a brain of its own, and it didn’t bother telling my brain what it was planning to do. I let go.
    â€œLook, just close your eyes for a second. Okay?” He stepped away from me. “You’ve got insect reflexes. You’ll defend yourself against any attack you can see coming.”
    â€œYeah. Sure.” I closed my eyes and waited, wondering how much it would hurt.
    â€œOuccchhhh! Let go!”
    I opened my eyes. I’d locked my fingers around his wrist. “How’d I do that?”
    â€œOther sense organs,” he said. “Those hairs can probably detect motion. Look, we don’t have time to investigate all of this.” He handed me the knife. “Here. You do it. Just scrape off a little bit.”
    I wiped away the hair goo on a small spot, then took the knife and scraped it over the hard stuff on my chest. It didn’t hurt. I got a little on the tip of the knife and handed it to him.
    â€œNow what?” I asked.
    â€œI need a little time to think about this and do some research,” he told me.
    â€œCan you help me?”
    â€œI hope so,” he