Read Phineas L. MacGuire . . . Gets Slimed! for Free Online

pretzel slime, scrambled-egg slime, raspberry slime, and cotton-candy slime.
    It only took an hour to come up with an amazing poster presentation. Ben drew four of the most beautiful molds known to humankind:
Ceratiomyxa fruticulosa,
otherwise known as white coral slime;
Pulcherricium caeruleum,
which is blue and sort of velvety;
Licea sambucina,
a slime mold made up of really tiny orange balls; and another slime mold,
Lamproderma granulosum,
that looks like greenish soap bubbles.
    There’s probably nothing more beautiful on the whole planet Earth than a colorful slime mold.

    Mrs. Robbins, Ben’s mom, stuck her head in the doorway. She manages the apartment complex where she and Ben live, and when she’s working, she always calls from the office or comes by every thirty minutes or so to check on Ben and make sure he isn’t getting into trouble.
    About 85 percent of the time he is.
    â€œWhat’s that?” she asked, pointing to Ben’s mold pictures. “It’s really beautiful. Like flowers, almost, but not quite. Undersea plants, maybe?”
    â€œIt’s mold,” Ben said, coloring in some
P.
caeruleum
with a blue Magic Marker.
    Ben’s mom put her hand over her mouth like Ben had just told her he was drawing dog poop. “No way!”
    â€œYep!” Ben grinned. “It’s for Mac’s big science project.”
    I could tell he was starting to enjoythe way that just talking about mold could freak some people out.
    Ben’s mom shook her head. “Comic books and mold. You boys make quite a team.”
    After his mom left, Ben got quiet for a minute. Ben is always quiet when he’s drawing, but when he’s not drawing, usually he’s talking. In fact, it’s pretty hard to shut him up. So when he’s quiet and not drawing, watch out.
    When he suddenly jumped on his bed and started dancing around, I knew I was in serious trouble.
    â€œI just came up with a fantastatomic plan!” he yelled, like I was in Alaska instead of sitting five feet away from him. “Why don’t you run for vice president on my presidential ticket? You could pick out the snacks every day if youwanted to, and you could be in charge of punishing the people who rebel against our administration!”

    I thought about this plan for approximately three seconds. To be honest, I didn’t actually need three seconds to know the answer was no. I am a scientist, not a politician.
    But right as I was about to open my mouth and deliver the bad news, I had one of my famous Big Mac attacks. I could not believe my own personal geniosity at that very moment.
    My brain had come through, just like I knew it would.
    â€œI’m not the one you need to run as your vice president,” I told Ben. “But I know who is.”

“Forget it.”
    Aretha popped her pencil on her desk about ten times, like she wanted us to understand how serious she was about saying no.
    â€œNumber one,” she said, “I have no interest in politics. Number two, I am much too busy with extracurricular activities, such as trombone lessons, Girl Scouts, and soccer. And number three,I am not the vice presidential type.”
    Aretha had a point. She is not exactly the sort of person who takes orders from other people.
    Especially other people like Ben.
    â€œI’ll trade you something for it,” Ben said, leaning over from his desk. “I could do an awesome drawing of you. A vice presidential portrait. They could hang it in the principal’s office. Or you could give it to your mom for Christmas.”
    For a minute it looked like Aretha was considering this. Having a good drawer offer to draw a picture of you is hard to turn down. Also, it’s a bonus not to have to figure out what to give your mom for Christmas. A couple of years ago, for example, I couldn’t think of anything to give my mom. I ended up buying her a big jar of red wiggler worms soshe could compost all