So there's this kid in my Social Studies class, Whit Whitman. He's a pretty cool kid, all things considered. I mean, with all of the weird kids and goings on in Pluto, it's kind of neat to have a kid who's just...well...normal. Kind of.
Whit's been living in Pluto longer than most of the denizens of our fair but bizarre town. His parents moved here when he was two, so he's grown up surrounded by the weirdness that is us. Maybe that explains why he's always so calm about everything that happens. And yeah, weird happens in Pluto on any given day, at any given time. But looking at Whit, you'd never guess he lives at the center of all things strange and bizarre.
Whit looks like the all-American boy from those old TV shows way back in the fifties and sixties. You know, blonde, blue-eyed, freckles. The works. He's also a good student. He gets pretty much straight Bs, with the occasional A thrown in. In Social Studies, we're both at the top of our class. Well, if you take Zack Zanto out of the picture. That guy gets straight A pluses without even trying, but then again he is an alien. Everyone knows it, but no one'll say it out loud. I dunno. I think we're all afraid that if we acknowledge it out loud, we'll all be swept up in some kind of beam to a spaceship hovering about just outside earth orbit. Zack's an awesome guy though, for an honest-to-goodness space alien, so everyone pretends not to know that he's from Outer Space.
Anyway, back to Whit. Like I said, he's a pretty cool kid.
Until a couple of weeks ago.
Something happened to Whit then. Something that changed him. And I don't mean changed him like argh...he's a monster! I mean, changed him like, he's different from anyone else at school. Yeah, yeah I know. At Planet Nine Elementary, everyone's different from each other. Like in a major way. But that's not what I mean. I mean, something happened to Whit that's changed him so he doesn't eat and drink anything...and I mean...anything...in the cafeteria, anymore.
At lunchtime, he shuffles in, and I do mean shuffle. Like he's kind of dragging one foot behind the other. Before last week, Whit walked normally. In fact, he was a pretty cool athlete. Looking at him shuffle into the cafeteria, you'd never guess that he used to go out for track. He was pretty fast too. He still holds the record for the fastest time at our school.
Wiggy, Fatty, Wiley and I are sitting at our usual table by the window, and Wiggy is staring at Euclid emptying the salt shaker into his mouth (we're pretty sure Euc's an alien too), when Whit shuffles over.
"Hey," he mumbles.
"Hey," we chorus back.
Silence. The four of us look at each other, then up at Whit, still standing there, kind of hunched over. He is looking at us with eyes that look like they've kind of sunk into their sockets. Come to think of it, he doesn't look so good all over. The four of us shift in our chairs, waiting for Whit to say something, until I can't take it anymore.
"Man, you need some sun," I blurt out. "Look at you? You're all pale and...stuff."
"Yeah Whit. And what's with your foot?" Wiley says. "You should have the school nurse check it out."
Whit blinks at us, shakes his head. "Wouldn't do any good," he says. His words are slurred so it's kind of hard to understand him.
"Ummm...you gonna join us?" Wiggy asks, pushing his meat sauce around on his plate.
"Whit shifts his attention to the meatballs. "Those look good," he mumbles. "Kind of like brains." A gross-looking blackish tongue flicks out and he licks his lips.
"Did-did-did you s-say b-b-b-brains?" Wiggy stammers.
"Yeah," Whit says. He rubs his stomach with a hand that actually has dry skin flaking off it in chunks. It's gross. "Nice juicy cow brains. Man, there's nothing better." There is actual drool sliding down a corner of Whit's mouth.
Just like that, my appetite is gone. I push my plate away. "Ummm...Whit? Is everything okay? I mean, you...you don't seem like yourself. You know?"
Whit turns those weird, dead eyes on me, and I have to grip my chair to keep from springing up and taking off for home. "I know Beaker," he says. "I know." He flashes me a smile, and I notice his teeth are all yellow and stuff. Like he hasn't brushed them in a while.
He moves away from the table and we all stare after him. Then, suddenly he turns, and Wiggy jumps. "I'm not myself," he says. "I'm better." And he smiles again.
As he shuffles off, we hear him muttering "braiiiinnss, braiinnss..."
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