Phineas L. MacGuire . . . Gets Slimed! by Frances O'Roark Dowell Read Free Book Online

the computer,” I told Sarah. “I have some scientific research to do.”
    â€œAre you allowed to use the computer, Scooter?” Sarah asked. “I thought your mom had a ‘No computer’ rule.”
    â€œActually, it’s a ‘No computer on school days until after dinner, and then only if all homework has been completedand all teeth have been brushed’ rule,” I explained. “Besides, my mom has about two million filters downloaded. It’s not like I can actually do anything fun on the computer.”

    â€œOkay,” Sarah said. “As long as you can’t have any fun, I guess that’s all right.”
    Sarah Fortemeyer and my mom are two peas in a pod.
    I sat down at the computer on my mom’s desk in the family room and typed “penicillin” in a search engine. In about two seconds I got a return of 6,140,000 hits.
    Maybe I would need to narrow my search specifications.
    I typed in “How to grow penicillin.”
    I got 550,000 hits.
    That would have to do.

    The first thing I learned was that to make penicillin, you have to grow a mold called penicillium. Penicillium produces a liquid that is made into penicillin. All I needed was a lemon, a milk carton, and some dust.
    In our house finding dust would not be a problem.
    The lemon and the milk carton, on the other hand, would take a little more work.
    I stuck my head in the fridge. I found a half-full plastic milk jug with no lid and not one single lemon. There was a carton of smushy, oozing cherry tomatoes, three chunks of cheddar just beginning to show green spots, and something in a plastic container that I couldn’t recognize. There was even a plastic lemon that at one time had held lemon juice but wasnow empty. But no real lemons or citrus fruit of any kind.
    We would have to go to the store. That meant another car trip with the Teenage Girl Space Alien. Which meant more purple smells. More potential for red, scratchy hives breaking out all over my body.
    I picked up the phone and called Ben. “You have to help me,” I said. “I need a lemon and a milk carton, and I need them fast.”
    â€œNo prob,” Ben said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, tops.”

Forty-five minutes later Ben showed up at my front door.
    He had two plastic bags dangling from his bike handles. In one there were three cartons of milk. Full cartons.
    In the other there were about forty lemons.
    â€œThe great thing about living in an apartment complex is that somebody always has what you need,” Ben said,carrying the bags into the house. “Especially when about nine out of ten people who live there are senior citizens. Senior citizens have the best supplies. They’re totally organized.”
    â€œWhy’d you get so much stuff?” I asked. “I mean, one lemon and one empty milk carton would have done it.”
    â€œYeah, I know,” Ben said. “Only, when Mrs. Markowitz heard that Mrs. Grimes was giving me a lemon, she swore she had an even better lemon, and Mr. Penderthal said he had the best lemons of all. It went on like that for about twenty minutes.”
    â€œWell, all we need is one little lemon wedge,” I said.
    Ben thought about this for a second. “Maybe we can donate the rest to charity,” he said.

    We spent the next ten minutes drinking milk and eating cookies. Then I washed out the empty milk carton and sliced a lemon wedge.
    â€œStep one,” I said, “is putting dust on the lemon.”
    I swiped the lemon wedge on top of our fridge. It came back loaded with dust.
    â€œStep two,” I said, “the lemon wedge goes in a plastic Baggie, and we add five drops of water.”
    â€œAnd step three,” I said after I’d put the lemon wedge in the bag and Ben had used an eyedropper to drop five drops of water in with it, “is putting the Baggie in the milk carton and sealing the carton.”
    â€œHow long will