After giving the paterfamilias my answer to his question, I started walking and ended up at Arno’s house. I just couldn’t be in my house after that. Arno was happy to have someone help him paint each of his two thousand tabs with a mixture of blue and red food coloring.

I was headed for the kitchen to get something to drink when I remembered the built-in bar in the den where Mr. Exley makes his vodka martinis. I poured myself a nice big glass of orange juice and added some vodka. Or maybe I poured a nice big glass of vodka and added some orange juice. Anyway, I was headed back to Arno’s room but wound up in his parents’ bathroom instead.

It smells nice and perfumy in here. And there are all these little brown bottles filled with pills.

Wonder what would happen if I took two of each?

One for the money,

Two for the show.

Swallow with vodka,

And away we’ll go.

It’s getting dark. Arno grips Lucas the Unstable’s arm, walking his friend along the foggy sidewalk. Lucas stumbles, the toe of his boot catching on the rough concrete. Feels like he’s wearing ankle weights. It’s bad luck to step on the cracks, but Arno keeps tugging.

This summer the Invasion of the Tent Caterpillars has been worse than ever. In the trees lining the sidewalk their silky nests have grown large, filled with plump, creepy-looking caterpillars. Any leaves that haven’t been gnawed away completely are riddled with holes. (Defoliation. Instead of napalm, why doesn’t the military drop tent caterpillars on Vietnamese jungles?) When Lucas was younger, he used to pretend that the caterpillars and their nests were actually colonies of alien invaders from outer space. The paterfamilias encouraged him to prune the tented branches, douse them in gasoline, and burn them at the curb. Lighting fires was always fun, but the odor of burning alien larvae was sour and yucky.

Maybe Lucas should ask Milton if they could put a nest in the Radarange and see what happens. How cool would it be if the caterpillars blew up? Then Lucas has an idea! He points at the nests and says to Arno, “We should get Mr. Fischer to build a Radarange laser gun with one of his special grips. Then we could blast those suckers right out of the branches.”

“Sure,” Arno grunts.

Lucas the Exterminator wants to slow down and study these wormy invaders from Planet Tent in the Larval Galaxy, but Arno the Annoying is still tugging at him.

“Lay off!” Lucas’s attempt to wrest his arm from Arno’s grasp feels sluggish and weak.

Arno yanks him along.

It occurs to Lucas that they must be going somewhere. “Where are we going?”

“Your house.”

“What? I don’t wanna —” Lucas tries to dig his heels in and nearly topples over.

“No stopping.” Arno tightens his grip and holds him up.