Worms in Danger

I was finishing dinner when the alarm sounded. “Worm in danger!”

A rescue operation! I dropped my leaf and slithered out of our tunnel. The Safety Squad raced by me, rushing to the surface to save someone from a hungry robin. “Clear the way,” the captain shouted. “Worm in danger!” I tried to follow them, but Mom caught my tail.

“Where do you think you're going, Shorty?” she asked, tugging me back inside.

“Um, to help?”

“Exactly how would you help the Safety Squad?”

She had me there. I was too small for feather-pulling or pop-up teasing or any other bird defense maneuvers. I wasn't even allowed aboveground without a grown-up. But I was dying to do something exciting for once. “I could cheer them on,” I said.

“Time for homework, you,” Mom said.

“Please?”

“You heard me, Shorty.”

“Oh, fine.” Mom never changes her mind about homework.

Of course homework had to be Apple Boring, my worst subject. It took me forever to bore into an apple, especially the sour kind. I always got stuck on the peel, and when I tried to push loose, I rolled the apple over myself. So I imagined saving a baby worm from a sharp beak while my big brother chewed through his Granny Smith.

“Beat you again!” he said, with apple bits on his face. “Hey, guess who's going to Compost Mountain tomorrow!”

“Ooh. Hard one.” Not. “You?”

“Yep,” he said, grinning. “Scout field trip!”

I'd never been to that delicious mound of turnip green, baked bean, bagel crust yumminess. He knew I'd wanted to go there forever. But you needed full aboveground permission to be in Worm Scouts, and I was, yeah, you got it: too small.

“Want to bring me in your backpack?” I joked.

“Dude, no way. But if you give me your seed collection, I'll bring you back an eggshell.”

“You are an eggshell,” I said.

Mom is my brother's troop leader, so the next day my grandpa came to babysit me while the scouts went off to have fun. When Grandpa opened his newspaper, I crawled up to the ceiling, bit onto a root, and tried to stretch my tail down to the floor.

“What under earth are you doing?” Grandpa asked.

I let go and landed with a puff of dirt. “Um, getting taller?”

Grandpa shook his head. “Shorty, you only need to do two things to grow. One: eat compost for breakfast. Two: never be breakfast.”

I saw my chance. “Speaking of food, could we please take our own field trip? Pretty please? With mulch on top?”

“Well,” he said, putting down his paper, “I could go for some coffee grounds.”

I love my grandpa.

A few minutes later, we crawled topside and slithered off through thick grass and a cool drizzle. Soon we smelled lettuce and pasta and coffee.

I raced ahead. I could not wait to tunnel through compost, yummy compost! But then the ground started rumbling like gigantic robins were dancing on it.

I circled back to Grandpa. “Um, what's happening?”

Grandpa climbed a blade of grass to survey the area. I climbed another beside him.

It wasn't birds. It was an enormous furry thing, scratching at the side of Compost Mountain.

“Burrow, Shorty!” Grandpa yelled. “It's a puppy!” Puppies looked way smaller when we studied them at school.

Then the alarm sounded. Only this time it was my mom's voice shouting, “Worms in danger! Worms in danger!”

The furry thing was about to dig up everyone on my brother's scout trip.

“Shorty! Burrow!” Grandpa yelled. “I'll come back for you!” Then he slid to the ground and crawled straight for that thing, calling, “Here, puppy! Here, puppy, puppy!”

My five hearts pounded like hail. But I couldn't just hide. I had to do something! So I followed Grandpa.

The ground rumbled louder. Chunks of compost flew. Then the enormous paw scratched right in front of us. My whole body shook.

Grandpa stretched up tall and shouted, “Come here, you furry earthquake!”

But that puppy just sniffed at something round and green. An apple...that looked like a ball. Puppies chase balls.

“Worms in danger!” Mom yelled from close by.

I slithered past Grandpa, past the giant nose, and I chomped into that sour Granny Smith and tried to push loose. The apple started rolling downhill. Yes! Only I was still stuck on the peel.

The world spun. Mulch. Clouds. Mulch. Clouds. Huge sharp teeth!

I pried loose with all of my strength and tumbled to the ground just before those teeth munched me. The puppy thundered away with the Granny Smith in its jaws.

When its paw-steps faded, I found everyone tunneled safe inside Compost Mountain.

“Dude!” my brother said. “Awesome apple move!”

“Shorty! Shorty!” his troop cheered.

“That's my grandworm,” Grandpa said.

“Come here, you,” Mom said and hugged me tight.

Breakfast was delicious.

Later, the captain of the Safety Squad stopped by our tunnel to ask if I'd like to help their new Puppy Protection Division design some defense maneuvers.

“Mom, please?”

“Hmm,” she said. “OK. After you finish your homework, of course.”

“YES!”