y name's Theo, and I live in Franklinville, Kansas. It is theexact center of the continental U.S., and our hotels andtourist shops will tell you that. It is also a small farmingtown of predominantly white Protestants, and the centers of

life are Main Street and the Grange Club. Franklinville is about the onlyplace in the U.S. where you can still get a Coke for five cents. We've gota population of about 600 people. We live about twenty miles fromTopeka. A lot of people commute to Topeka every day, and wheneversomeone new comes into town, everyone knows about it. It's probablythe only town where everyone still has rotary phones, and the crime rateis as low as Greenland's.

Main Street is one of the two major points of life here in Franklin­ville. Main Street consists of a gas station, a grocery store, a hardwarestore, a bank, a police station/fire station (the policemen are also the fire­men), a barber shop, a small restaurant, and a dilapidated pet shop.

The pet shop was a source of curiosity in the town until last year.Town gossip had it that the pet shop had a tank of piranhas in the farreaches of the store. This tank was said to have as many as twenty blood­thirsty piranhas in it. Supposedly, the owner's brother lost his arm whenthe owner, Mr. Wong, forced it into the tank during a drunken fight.Nobody went near the pet shop because they were afraid. In fact, therewas quite a bit of speculation as to how the shop stayed open.

Billy Arbuckle (nicknamed Fatty because he's 250 lbs. and onlytwelve-no relation to Fatty Arbuckle, actor and murderer) swore he sawa hand in the Dumpster behind the pet store and formed a theory thatMr. Wong's pet shop stays open because the Mob gives him money. In

exchange, he processes dead bodies by feeding them to the piranhas. Weall questioned Fatty as to why Mr. Wong would throw out the hand, andFatty said the piranhas didn't like all the little bones so they spat it out.

Well, we all had a good laugh that day, but as for that theory, it didn'trest easy in my mind. For a week after Fatty's great theory was proposed,I still couldn't get over it. I questioned my father twice, but he said theMob was only in places like the East Coast. I asked about the WestCoast, but he said the only things on the West Coast are knife-wieldingcelebrity murderers.

A couple of days after that, Fatty, Willy (Fatty's twin brother, who is

Adam Castaldo wrote this story in-eighth grade at Davisville MiddleSchool in his hometown of NorthKingstown, Rhode Island. Adam likes torun cross-country, act in plays, andwatch television.

4 MERLYN'S PEN MIDDLE SCHOOL EDITION OCTOBER / NOVEMBER 1996

don't accept, you'll be

fbr~[(l}dcedchicken."a

AAI got a

challengefor you. If

you

ately began making plans so I could blow town in themiddle of the night.

"What, are you freakin' crazy?" exclaimed Jackpolitely.

"Yes, but I'm a maniac with twenty more dollarsthan you."

It was beginning to sink in that I was going tohave to do it, or at least catch some terminal diseasewhich would kill me-quickly.

"Do it. Go on in there and see the piranhas," saidJean.

I thought quickly and said, "No. Tomorrow I'lldo it. Something this big needs some preparation."

One night of worrying made me wish I had doneit in the afternoon and gotten it over with, but no,my feeble brain had once again deceived me. Then atabout 3: 00 A.M. I had my first decent thought in thepast twenty-four hours. Why not just go in there andfake it? I figured I would go in there, dip my hand inthe water of some goldfish tank, and go outside pre­tending I had dipped my hand in the piranha tank.

We all met behind the store at 9:30 A.M., and Iwas about to go inside when Willy said something forwhich I will always hate him: "Wait! Someone shouldgo in there and be a witness."

When he said that, my hopes of pulling a fast oneon my friends shattered. I began to get nervous until Irealized I could bribe whomever I went in with, ex­cept Jean, to go along with my plan. So I said, "OK,let's shoot to see who is going to be my companion."

"OK," agreed everyone. They all did their routineof rocks-scissors-paper-shoot, and it ended up thatFatty was going with me.

"Looks like it's just you and me, Fatty," I said,and he punched me. I recovered and was about topunch him back when Jean slapped bothFatty and me on the backs of ourheads.

"Break it up, you losers,and go see the piranhas," shecommanded.

Fatty and I started towardthe storefront, me sweatingbullets. I looked over and

saw that Fatty was sweatingtoo, but I realized the slightestmovement for people of Fatty'ssize made them sweat.

At the storefront where the kids

couldn't see us, I considered pulling Fatty away to­ward the train station where we could hitch a train to

Topeka and live the rest of our lives as street bums,but instead I pushed him toward the door. I was re­lieved when Fatty pulled open the door, and I didn't

tall and skinny), Jack, Jean, and I were sitting in theaile behind the pet store. Jean was the only girlwhom we allowed to hang around with us becauseshe ould beat all of us up, except for me. I was ourringleader because I was the oldest. It was a Saturdaymorning, and the mercury had just passed 100 andkept on going. It was definitely a scorcher.

We were all sitting under the shade of the Dump­ster in which Fatty claimed to have seen the hand. Wewere just sitting there thinking of things to do, whenFatty got his second brainstorm-which was probablya big fuse-blower for his simple, single-digit-IQ brain.

Fatty was being sort of quiet, but then he sat upand said to me, "Theo, I got a challenge for you, andif you don't accept you'll be branded as a chicken andprobably hide in your house for the rest of your life!"

Everyone sat up and eyed me. I knew I had betteraccept because being called a chicken was a seriousinsult in Franklinville, considering that our town hadonly grain farms and that the neighboring town ofDespinville was a poultry farming town, and theywere the real chickens-not to mention our town'sdire enemies.

So I responded, "OK, Fatty, what has your brainell boiled up this time?"

"I dare you to go into the pet shop and stick yourhand in the piranha tank!"

At that moment I really loathed Fatty because, ifour roles were reversed, he sure as heck wouldn't goin there and stick his hand in the tank. The only rea-on he dared me was so he could prove me a chicken.

You see, Fatty wanted to get even with me for thetime I yelled, "All-you-can-eat buffet at the CoffeeShack!" and he broke his ankle rushing down the lad­der of our tree house to get to the Coffee Shack.

"What's in it for me?" I asked.

I knew perfectly well that he realized his perfectplan for revenge had a big hole in it. We all knewFatty didn't have much to offer except for his prizedollection of 132 uneaten Twinkies.

"I'll give you, uh, uh ... a ... " he stammered,and then Jean broke in.

"He won't give you anything, but I'll give youtwenty dollars."

Everyone's mouth dropped open. Twenty dollarswas a lot in Franklinville, considering gas was onlyfifty-eight cents a gallon and Cokes were only fiveents.

Without thinking at all about the fact that theh value of my limbs was more than twenty dollars,

I said one word which I will regret all my life:'" I"ure.

"There, that's settled then," she said calmly.When I realized what I had agreed to, I immedi-

OCTOBER / NOVEMBER 1996 MERLYN'S PEN MIDDLE SCHOOL EDITION 5

"I juss snoticed that your frenss went inta thastore," he slurred.

The piranhas surfaced,

their jaws snapping,teeth gnashing,

bod ies ~DD~@[J1JD[J1J~,

tails SvviShing.

tank marked The Piranha Pit, we stopped. I wasafraid to look. To us it seemed like time had stopped;all was completely silent as a slight mist,hovering over the tank, seemed to driftjust ever-so-slightly under our noses. Ifinally breathed and pulled myself to­gether. Fatty and I leaned an inch at a timeover the tank. Our faces pierced the mist, and we hada slight glimpse of the stagnant water in the tank.

Within an instant, piranhas had surfaced, theirjaws snapping, teeth gnashing, bodies glistening, andtails swishing. As a fine spray of fetid water splashedFatty and me, I thought perhaps piranhas werea cross between fish and the Antichrist.

Then our primitive reactions kicked in afew seconds too late, and we jumpedbackwards into a rack, knocking somefishbowls to the floor.

Just as we screamed, the group outside openedthe door and froze in the doorway. The strain wastoo much for Fatty and he fainted. As he was falling,I jumped out of his way, smashing my hand throughthe side of a tank containing snapping turtles. Iinstantly recoiled, but it was too late. One of theturtles, probably the only nonlethargic one andalso the biggest, grabbed my middle finger, bit,and held on. I screamed in a tone I thought had dis­appeared with puberty. Blood squirted from the sidesof the turtle's mouth and into the misty Piranha Pit ashe bit deep into a major artery. At this point Mr.Wong came running in to help me, but I waswaving my arms in a wide are, and, inone frantic blur, I decked him with theturtle. Mr. Wong fell right on top ofFatty, also unconscious.

Meanwhile, the blood in the Piranha Pitdrove the piranhas crazy, and the water churned asthey swarmed. The disturbance in the tank caused thewater to slosh until thingsbegan to spill out, thingslike small bone bits.That's when one of the

piranhas flopped outand landed on Fatty. Itwrithed violently in aseizure of oxygen de­privation, and then itbit right through Fatty'sgeneric size 13 sneaker, through his raggedy old sock,and deep into his big toe.

Well, that woke Fatty up, and he stood andscreamed in a tone which left mine far behind, allwhile his arms flailed wildly. His foot hit one of theshelves holding tanks laden (continued on page 24)

have to.

Outside, Jean, Willy, and Jack were all leaningagainst the building when old Mr. Potter came out ofthe shadows. Mr. Potter was the town vagrant whowas always drunk. He was harmless, but all the kidswere warned to stay away from him. Of course, thatonly made us more curious about him. We all likedhim because he told good stories. He leaned againstthe wall about a foot away from Jack and started tospeak.

"Yeah, so, what's so badabout that, Mr.

Potter?" asked

Jack."Wellsth, 1 wouldn't

go ins there, con­shidering that Misher

Wonk ish a skiller

for the Mob," hemuttered.

"What!" cried Willy,dodging the spit that flew from Mr. Potter's mouth ashe slurred.

"Yupss, he'sh a skiller, awls right," Mr. Potter saidmatter-of-factly and then promptly passed out.

As soon as Fatty pulled the door open, we walkedin. 1was not prepared for what 1 saw. On the wholeleft side of the building were shelves filled with bagsof pet food. We weren't talking the little one-week­and-they're-empty bags; we were talking about theone-decade-and-then-they're-empty ones. The middleconsisted of about six racks filled with pet products.On the right side was a counter, a register, and adoorway covered with a curtain. The back of thestore had pet cases and many aquariums.

1 almost had a coronary when 1 saw it-a free­standing tank in the middle of the floor in the back.It was about 5 x 5 feet and about 31/2 feet tall. A signhanging above it read: South American River Pira­nhas-$10.00 each. Aggressive Fish. Do not touchaquarium. There was also a very pungent odor ema­nating from the tank. It smelled like something died.1 heard a small voice ask us, "May 1help you boys?"

My head whirled toward the counter, and therewas a tall, but definitely Chinese, man. It was hard tounderstand what he said, with his accent and all, buthe made a comment about the weather as he waited

for our response. 1 elbowed Fatty, and he said, "No,we're just looking." We hurried to the back of thestore, dripping sweat all the way.

My heart felt like it was going to burst, and Fattylooked even paler than usual. When we reached the

SOUTH

AMERICAN $ 00PIRANHAS- 10.- each.

AGGR[SSIV[ fiSH.DO NOT

TOUAQUARIUM.

6 MERLYN'S PEN MIDDLE SCHOOL EDITION OCTOBER / NOVEMBER 1996

The Pet Shop(continued from page 6)

.!

One of the piranhas

flopped out

and landed on Fa.~;size 13 sneaker.

the partial role of MSG from all the Chinese food healways ate.)

By then Jean had started to hyperventilate, andJack had also keeled over. I was still spurting bloodinto the churning Piranha Pit, and Fatty kept trying topull himself out from under Willy and Mr. Wong.The fish on Fatty's toe, meanwhile, had its jawslocked in a severe case of rigor mortis. It was aboutthen that I fainted at the sight of the bloody stumpthat had once been my well-used middle finger.

When I woke up, I was in the Topeka Hospital,lying in a bed in one of those obscene floral hospitaljohnnies. On beds next to me were Willy, sufferingfrom a concussion, and on the other side Fatty, whohad lost half his big toe. Mr. Wong was unaccountedfor, missing in action.

For the next few weeks we speculated about whathappened, for we had plenty of time, seeing as we'dall been grounded for two months. There was noother consequence because most Franklinvillers were

prejudiced t9ward Asian people. Mr. Wong's storewas closed and quicklysold to some guy whoopened a cafe.

Well, looking backon last summer,which I spent inmy room, Ilearned a lot, andI'm sure everyoneelse in our gang did too. I lost a finger and Fatty losta toe, but neither stump looks particularly grotesqueand they're not all that noticeable.

Since that summer we have broken apart. Fattyjoined the band and became a band nerd. Willy tookadvantage of his tall, skinny body and joined thecross-country team. He became a jock by winning theMidwest Championships. Plus, Jean went on to bepretty and popular, so we didn't talk much to her.Jack and I were the only ones who stayed together.We're pretty much nobodies. We're not known forbeing nerds, but we're not known for being popular,either.

Thus ends my saga of a little mishap in a smallfarming town. It turns out that Mr. Wong wasn't aMob man after all. Mr. Potter was wrong when he in­formed us of Mr. Wong's occupation because, beforehe spoke to us, he had become a little too acquaintedwith his good friend, Jack Daniels.

I don't know what lies ahead, but it can't be toobad, even though I can only count to 91/4 on my fin­ger~. So now it's Saturday morning, and the mercuryhas just passed 100. Looks like it'll be anotherscorcher. *

with fish, and exactly 12 twenty-gallon glass tankscrashed to the hard floor and smashed with an equiv­alent in decibels to that of a Spinal Tap concert. Glassshrapnel flew in every direction, covering everything

like the first light snow of winter.Fish were flopping allover Fatty, who had

fainted again. Graveland aquarium equipment

were abundant on the floor,where the water level ap­peared to be rising, as if

some sort of mysterious del­uge was occurring. There was not one spot which hadnot been covered with something. People werescreaming and glass kept shattering as more and moreobjects sailed through the air and crashed to thefloor. I was scared out of my mind. It looked like Iranhad tested its nuclear weapons here instead of onsome small island.

At the front door our supposed saviors unfrozeand rushed forward. Just then the turtle let go andflew through the air, smacking Willy right in the kiss­er. Falling into the pig pile atop Fatty and Mr. Wong,Willy knocked over one rack, which in turn knockedover all the rest like a small but amusing setup ofdominoes. Pet toys, animal care products, animalfood, and goldfish joined the tremendous mess al­ready sloshing on the fully trashed floor.

Mr. Wong lifted his head and glanced warilyaround. His usually neat hair now rose in punk-like

spikes, shiny with sweatglobules. H~ shook hishead very slowly, like

someone with a massive

headache, as bits of glassand a small fish droppedfrom his face and neck.

Though still somewhatdisoriented, he seemed

to realize what had hap­pened to his store. Hewidened his bloodshot

eyes in one spasmodicburst of energy ... andpromptly fell into a stateof shock. (Later speculationquestioned whether the

sight of his wrecked storewas the total cause of his dis­

tress; some theories advanced

I Sf1realned in a tone

I thought haddisappeared

with puberty.

24 MERLYN'S PEN MIDDLE SCHOOL EDITION OCTOBER / NOVEMBER 1996