Spider Boy Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author's Note

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Copyright © 1997 by Ralph Fletcher

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Sandpiper,

  an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  Originally published in hardcover in the United States

  by Clarion, an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

  Publishing Company, 1997.

  SANDPIPER and the SANDPIPER logo are trademarks of

  Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  For information about permission to reproduce selections

  from this book, write to Permissions,

  Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,

  215 Park Avenue South,

  New York, New York 10003.

  www.sandpiperbooks.com

  The text of this book is set in 11.5/15-point New Aster.

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:

  Fletcher, Ralph J.

  Spider Boy / by Ralph Fletcher

  p. cm.

  Summary: After moving to another state, seventh grader Bobby deals

  with the change by telling people at school made-up stories

  and then retreating into his world of pet spiders

  and books about spiders.

  [1. Moving, Houshold—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction.

  3. Honesty—Fiction. 4. Spiders—Fiction.]

  I. Title. PZ7.F634Sp 1997

  [Fic]—dc20

  ISBN: 978-0-395-77606-3

  ISBN: 978-0-547-24820-2 pb

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  MV 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

  For my brother Tom

  who first revealed to me

  the terrible beauty of spiders.

  Author's Note

  Before I wrote Spider Boy I did a lot of research in several books. The following three books about spiders are pretty difficult but fascinating:

  The World of Spiders by W. S. Bristowe. London: Collins. 1971.

  American Spiders by Willis J. Gertsch. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold Co. 1977.

  Arachnida by Theodore H. Savory. New York: Academic Press. 1977.

  If you are interested in studying more about spiders, these books might be a good place to start:

  Spiders and Scorpions by J. L. Cloudsley-Thompson. New York: McGraw-Hill. 1974.

  The Guinness Book of Records, edited by Peter Matthews. New York: Oxford. 1993.

  Amazing Spiders by Alexandra Parsons. Eyewitness Junior Series. New York: Knopf. 1990.

  Arachnomania: The General Care and Maintenance of Tarantulas & Scorpions by Philippe de Vosjoli. Advanced Vivarium Systems, Lakeside, Calif. 92040. 1991.

  One

  September 15

  I just got a new spider book and the first sentence is: "Spiders are the serial killers, the Jack-The-Rippers, the greatest and most famous predators of the insect world."

  This may be true but it misses the point. The incredible thing about spiders isn't that they're killers. It's all the amazing ways they go about getting their food.

  People don't understand spiders. They think of them as bloodthirsty vampires. The truth is spiders make the world a better place. They try to give us a bug-free environment. Spider experts estimate that the insects eaten by spiders in one year weigh more than fifty million people!

  Spiders are pretty fearless. They eat mostly insects. But they'll also eat fish and amphibians, lizards, young snakes, even birds and small animals.

  Most spiders use webs to catch their prey, but not all. Jumping spiders don't use any webs at all. They stalk their prey as slow and secret as a cat. Jumping spiders have awesome eyesight which makes sense—they've got eight eyes.

  Tarantulas aren't web spiders. They only use their webs to line the burrows of their hiding places or to keep their eggs warm.

  I'm worried about Thelma—still not eating. My book says captive tarantulas don't have to be fed too often. They can go weeks and even months without eating but

  "Bobby!"

  Bobby blinked and looked up from the journal. "Yeah."

  "Time for school! Breakfast! Shake a leg!" Bobby glanced over at Thelma. The tarantula lay scrunched up and motionless in a corner of the terrarium. She'd been like that for weeks. Ever since Dad got the new job, which meant more money but which also meant having to move from Naperville, Illinois, to New Paltz, New York.

  "I'm not hungry," he called to his mother.

  "Come on!" she called back. "Its almost quarter of. You better put something into that skinny belly of yours."

  Sighing, Bobby closed the journal and tucked it inside the bottom drawer of his desk. He bent down to the terrarium and looked at Thelma.

  "So long, girl," he said in a quiet voice. Bobby reached in and gently touched one of the tarantulas legs. "Ill see you this afternoon."

  On the way out of the bedroom he slammed into the door. Again! He kicked it, yanked it toward him, and lurched into the hallway. How long would it take before he learned that this door opened into the bedroom, not out like the bedroom door back in Naperville?

  Bobby rumbled down the stairs. Strong breakfast smells in the kitchen: coffee, bacon, frying eggs.

  "Morning," Breezy said from the breakfast bar. His sisters real name was Brianna, but a couple of years ago she started telling everyone to call her Breezy. And everybody did except for Bobby, who still called her Brianna whenever he wanted to needle her. Which was about ten times a day. Breakfast for Brianna always meant the same seat within reach of the telephone, the same scrambled eggs and toast, the same Ann Landers column in the newspaper. And now that she was in eleventh grade, a cup of coffee with milk and lots of sugar. A creature of habit.

  "How can you drink that stuff?" Bobby asked, eyeballing her coffee. Beneath his belt his stomach made a strangled sound of protest. "Hey, where's Dad?"

  "Your fathers already at work and I've already done my run," Mom said, smiling at him and sipping her coffee. She was wearing a gray sweat suit with a white headband. "So what are you going to eat?"

  "Nothing."

  "You can't go to school without breakfast," she said.

  "Studies have shown—" Breezy said.

  "Studies have shown," Mom shot back, glaring at Breezy. "You skip breakfast, you might as well kiss the morning goodbye. Kiss the morning goodbye, you might as well kiss the day goodbye."

  "Kiss the day goodbye," Breezy put in, "you might as well kiss your life goodbye."

  Bobby stumbled over to the toaster and put in a slice of bread. Ever since they'd moved to New York four weeks earlier he hadn't had much of an appetite.

  A car honked.

  "That's my exit cue," Breezy said, jumping up. She grabbed her books and kissed her mother on the cheek. On the way out she bent down and kissed Bobby's cheek, too.

  "Hey!" he cried, twisting away from her.

  "Wish me luck with tryouts!" she yelled. Breezy was auditioning for her high school play, West Side Story.

  "Break a leg!" Mom called, while Bobby tried to wipe the greasy kiss off his cheek.

  ***

  He stayed quiet during the ride to school. While Mom made small talk (tennis lessons, an argument between two nurses at wor
k, Breezy's try out), Bobby stared out the window. None of his friends in Illinois had even heard of New Paltz when he first told them he was moving there. It sure looked different from Illinois. He missed the flatness of the Midwest. It was hilly and wooded here in upstate New York, a riot of rocks, bushes, and trees. New Paltz had so many trees you only caught glimpses of sky when you drove around. He missed riding bikes with Mike and Cody and Chad, all those afternoons when there was nothing between them and a huge dome of midwestern sky.

  "Bobby?"

  He realized Mom was talking to him. She gave him a funny look.

  "I said, have you made any friends yet," she said softly.

  "Nope." He cracked the window an inch; he barely knew any of the kids' names.

  "Well, that'll come," she said. "I shouldn't worry about you, should I?"

  "Hey, Mom, you're not working today, are you?"

  "No, it's my day off. Why?"

  "I was wondering if you could take me to the pet shop after school. Thelma really needs a bigger tank. I mean, she doesn't fit in there. She needs to stretch out."

  "Don't we all," Mom said.

  "I've got the money," he said as they pulled into the circular driveway in front of the school. Mom leaned her head against the steering wheel and looked at him.

  "All right," she said. "Now that we've got a bigger house, I suppose Thelma deserves one, too. Listen, I'll be here at two fifty-five on the dot. Don't dawdle."

  "Okay." He swung out of the car and waved goodbye.

  "Dad packed you an extra-big lunch," she called after him.

  "Okay, okay," he said, hurrying into the school. Everything felt different in New York. The air felt strange. His clothes didn't quite fit. Doors didn't open the right way. Sentences, even words, came out sounding all twisted. Dawdle. What genius invented a dumb word like that?

  ***

  Bobby had been assigned to Miss Terbaldi's seventh-grade homeroom. When his guidance counselor had first spoken the name, he heard it as Mr. Baldi, and it came as a shock the first day to see a woman standing in front of the class. He figured Miss Terbaldi was probably in her forties. She was tall and thin, with bony shoulders bent forward like folded wings.

  Bobby took the last seat in the fourth row and watched the other kids filing into the classroom. His school in Naperville had been ninety-eight pecent white; this school had lots of minorities.

  "Looks like a healthy mix of blacks and Asians," Mom had said on the first day of school, making it sound like a bowl of human salad.

  One boy entered the room slowly, kicking his backpack in front of him. Miss Terbaldi told him to pick it up. He did so, shuffled over to his desk, flopped down, and drew the hood of his sweatshirt tight around his head so his face wasn't visible at all. Another boy, tall with gleaming black hair, strolled over to his desk and shook his head, sending a spray of water from his hair all over the kids sitting around him.

  "Mr. Hall," Miss Terbaldi said sharply. "Stop that."

  "Yes, ma'am," the boy said with a smug smile.

  So began the day. The Pledge of Allegiance was followed by the principals voice running down the days announcements—the schools placing second in an Odyssey of the Mind tournament, an upcoming Invention Convention, the new honor system, the seventh-grade dance. Bobby tried not to listen.

  The bell rang. He walked the halls and went to class like everyone else, as if it all mattered to him. English, social studies, health. Mr. Niezgocki was the math and science teacher. He had a crew cut, and he started each class with a short lecture. Today he talked about "living like a scientist." Then he handed out a thick packet of information with the words CELL DIVISION printed on top.

  "This homework is due tomorrow," he said. "If you don't hand it in, I'll put a little zero next to your name in my grading book. All right? When you get two little zeroes, Mom and Dad get a phone call. Is that clear?"

  The whole class sighed. It was as clear as it was going to get.

  Lunchtime. He ate in the "cafetorium," an enormous room that served as a combined auditorium and cafeteria. Bobby made his way through the line and bought two cartons of chocolate milk. Cafetorium, he thought, what a stupid word. Who came up with stuff like that? So far the school lunches had been pretty awful. Today there was a choice between an evil-looking meatball sub and a patty-shaped UFO—Unidentified Fried Object. He felt grateful Dad had packed him a lunch. He grabbed a chair at an empty table and sat down.

  "Hey this is our table."

  Bobby swallowed and looked up. He saw a black-haired boy; Bobby recognized him as the kid in homeroom who shook his head like a wet dog trying to dry himself. Two other boys stood beside him.

  "Really?" Bobby asked. "I didn't see anybody's name on it."

  "Yeah, well, we always sit here," the black-haired boy said, smirking. He was good-looking, with regular white teeth. Bobby took an instant dislike to him. "It's kind of like a tradition."

  Bobby looked at them, trying to gauge how much trouble they'd be.

  "Mind if I sit here?" he asked.

  The three boys looked at one another.

  "Guess not." The black-haired boy scowled. The other two boys put their trays down at the opposite end of the table and proceeded to ignore him. That suited Bobby fine. He finished lunch and glanced at his afternoon schedule: music, then P.E.

  "You're not from around here, huh?" the black-haired boy asked loudly.

  "Nope."

  "If he's not from around here," another boy put in, "he must be from nowhere." The boys snickered.

  "I'm from Naperville, Illinois."

  "You from Illinois?" the black-haired boy asked, making the last part of that word rhyme with noise. "You like da Bears, huh? You like da Bulls?"

  "I don't watch much sports on TV," Bobby admitted.

  "You don't?" He looked genuinely amazed. "What kind of stuff you like?"

  Bobby shrugged.

  "Football. And science."

  "Science," the black-haired boy repeated, glancing at his friends. The three of them shared a look before they got up to go.

  "Well, see you later, Illinoissss," the black-haired boy said. They started walking away. When they were not quite out of earshot Bobby heard one of them say:

  "That geek oughta start saving up his money so he can buy himself a brand-new face." The three of them looked back, cracking up.

  ***

  That afternoon Bobby's mother took him to the library, where he found two spider books he'd never before seen: The World of Spiders and Web of Intrigue. Next they drove over to Exotic Pets to price terrariums. In one tank Bobby saw a tarantula with beautiful black and orange markings on its legs.

  "Sweet," he muttered, his face close to the glass. The sticker on the top of the tank said

  MEXICAN RED-KNEE TARANTULA

  SALE PRICE: $45

  "They make wonderful pets," the man behind the counter told Mom. "Strong but gentle. That one's a feisty little feller."

  "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?" Mom asked Bobby.

  "I think I'd better start saving my money," Bobby murmured.

  "We already have a tarantula," Mom told the man. "We just need a larger tank."

  "I see," he said. "What kind is it?"

  "The hairy kind," Mom said. "Lots of hair."

  "It's a Chilean rose tarantula," Bobby told him. "A female."

  "A good, dependable tarantula," the man said, nodding.

  "The only thing is," Bobby said, "she hasn't eaten anything in the past month or so."

  "That's not so unusual," the man said. "Lots of tarantulas in here go a month, month and a half, without eating. I wouldn't worry yet."

  They looked at five different terrariums before Bobby finally settled on a thirty-gallon tank complete with sand, three big rocks, and a screen top. It soaked up every dollar he had.

  "I'd suggest you think about a submersible heater," the man said. "Rose tarantulas thrive in warm, fairly moist conditions."

&n
bsp; The heater cost twenty-nine dollars.

  "All right," Mom sighed. "Well take the heater, too. That'll be my contribution."

  "Thanks, Mom."

  "Nothing but the best for our Thelma," she replied.

  On the way home the car began coughing and sputtering just as they pulled up to a red light. Mom managed to get the car restarted, but it didn't go a quarter mile before it started lurching again. Luckily there was a gas station in the next block. They pulled in and found a mechanic to take a look at the car.

  "I'll go call Dad," Mom said. She went into the gas station. A minute later, a mechanic came out and jumped into the car next to Bobby. He was young and muscular with a tattoo of a cobra on his right forearm.

  "How're ya doin'?" the man said, snapping his gum and turning the ignition key. The engine revved but didn't turn all the way over.

  "Pretty good," Bobby said.

  "Getting a snake or lizard or something?" the young man asked, motioning at the terrarium.

  "Tarantula," Bobby said. "I already got one."

  "No fooling." He tried again to start the car. No luck.

  "I had a tarantula in that terrarium," Bobby explained, "but it got out about five minutes ago. Its in the car somewhere. They're real good at hiding."

  The man froze.

  "In here?"

  "There's nothing to worry about," Bobby said. "People have the wrong idea about tarantulas. Really. They're gentle pets, not poisonous at all."

  Without another word the man got out and backed away from the car without closing the door. Mom stepped out of the gas station.

  "Anything wrong?" she asked the mechanic.

  "I'm not going back in that car," the man said. "No way."

  "Why not?"

  "Kid says there's a tarantula in that car! No, ma'am. I'm crazy but not that crazy!"

  Mom looked at Bobby Hard.

  "Bobby, you've got something to say to this man, don't you?"

  "Sorry," Bobby mumbled. "I was just, like, kidding."

  "I can assure you there's no tarantula in the car," Mom explained. "Old coffee cups and wrappers, yes. Maybe even a stale bagel or two. But no tarantula. On that I give you my word. I'm sorry. You know how it can be with a boy's imagination."