Challenger Deep by Neal Shusterman Read Free Book Online Page A

the fact that the foodstuffs have decayed into something other. He creates a new navigational chart based on the movements of flies swarming around the barrel. “Their motions are more truthful than the stars,” he tells me, “because common flies have compound eyes.”
    “Why does that make a difference?” I dare to ask.
    He looks at me as if the answer is obvious. “Compound eyes confound lies.”
    I can see why he and the captain get along so well.
    The parrot lands on my shoulder as I do my endless shuffle across the deck. “Crewman Bosch! Hold fast, hold fast!” He then peers into my ear with his unpatched eye, bobbing his head as he does. “It’s still there,” he says. “Good for you! Good for you!”
    I assume he’s talking about my brain.
    He flies off to check in the ear of another sailor. His low whistle betrays disappointment at what he finds—or fails to find—between the boy’s ears.
    “There is nothing to fear but fear itself,” the captain announces from the helm, “and the occasional man-eating monster.”

31. Is That All They’re Worth?
    Although the pesticide residue is gone from our house, I can’t stop thinking about termites. If antibacterial soap creates super germs like they say, what if toxic tenting creates super insects? I sit with my sketch book in this New Age kind of rocking chair we have in the living room—a piece of furniture left over from when Mackenzie and I were babies, and Mom breast-fed us. I’m sure I must have some old sense memory, because when I sit in the chair and rock, I usually feel a little more relaxed and content—although, thankfully, the memory of breast milk has been lost in the tunnels of time.
    Today, however, I’m not feeling relaxed at all. I can’t stop thinking about squirming things evolving. I begin drawing what’s in my head, as if maybe by drawing it, it will exorcise the super bugs from my brain.
    After a while I look up to see Mom standing there, watching me. I have no idea how long she’s been there. And when I look down again, I see that the page is still blank. I haven’t drawn anything at all. I even flip the page back to see if maybe the drawing is on a previous page, but no. The bugs are still in my head, and won’t come out.
    She must see something unsettling in my face because she says, “A penny for your thoughts?”
    I don’t feel like sharing my thoughts, so instead I challenge the question. “Really? Is that all they’re worth? A penny?”
    She sighs. “It’s just an expression, Caden.”
    “Well, find out when the expression was thought up, and then adjust for inflation.”
    She shakes her head. “Only you would go there, Caden.” Then she leaves me to stew in thoughts I refuse to sell.

32. Less Than Nothing
    I read somewhere that they’re going to be doing away with pennies entirely one of these days, because I guess thoughts are all they’re good for. Bank accounts will be rounded to the nearest nickel. Fountains will reject copper. Purchases will be required by law to end in either zero or five. Nothing in between will be allowed. Except that there is something in between, even if everyone denies it.
    It’s like all those subway tokens that became obsolete when New York started using magnetic cards instead. No one knew what to do with those tokens. It was like this dragon’s hoard of worthless brass that not even Smaug’s underachieving brother would want—and with real estate being so expensive in the city, the cost of storing them was probably astronomical. I’ll bet they just hired the Mafia to dump them into the East River, along with the body of whatever city planner thought MetroCards was a good idea.
    If pennies become worthless, does that devalue our thoughts to less than nothing? It makes me sad to think about it; billionsof copper bits spinning down the yellow funnel into oblivion. I wonder where they’ll go. All those thoughts have to end up somewhere.

33. Weakness Leaving the Body
    I