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we’ll need better chances,” said Marilee. “I finally found out what Henry Helmsby is doing for his science project. He’s crossing a Maine potato with a red turnip. I think we should be worried.”
    â€œAre you kidding?” I asked. “What’s to worry about?” I was very worried. Henry adores Gregor Mendel, that monk who first discovered that plants have genes and peas taste good if you put butter on them. Okay, I made up that last part, but you know who I mean.
    â€œHe’s calling it the Helmsby Poturn,” she added. “You’ve got to admit that Henry is brilliant.”
    â€œSure, but so is Venus. When was the last time Venus won anything?”
    â€œSilly,” said Marilee, grinning. “Venus is a planet.”
    â€œSo is Henry Helmsby,” I said. “At least, he moves in a different orbit than earthlings do.” It was true. Brains and common sense don’t always march hand in hand.
    â€œI hope you’re right,” said Marilee. “He gives me the creeps. Every night I can see him from my bedroom window. He even wears a lab coat and goggles when he goes out to his mom’s greenhouse. How weird is that?”
    â€œHonestly, I can’t see his project winning,” I said, wanting to reassure her. “I mean, who is going to walk into the River Café and say to Darlene, ‘Give me the mashed poturns and gravy, with meatloaf and a side of corn?’ Who is going to play with a toy called Mr. Poturn Head? Is Joey Wallace a couch potato or a couch poturn ?”
    â€œBut the judges are all science geeks,” said Marilee. “They don’t even know about Mr. Potato Head.”
    â€œWell then, think of this fact,” I pushed on. “What girl in the county will be excited to be crowned Miss Maine Poturn Blossom Queen at the state fair?” I think that last one hit home. I mean, even the science geeks turn out every potato harvest to watch the queen ride by in Sherry Sullivan’s pink Cadillac convertible, the one she got by selling the most cosmetics in New England.
    â€œYou’re right,” Marilee said. “I never thought of it that way. Aliens are a lot more exciting than potatoes and turnips anyway.”
    I should be a lawyer. I really should.

6
    The Setup
    And then I quickly brought my plan for revenge back to the front burner. Before the press conference, I had asked my mom about Marilee and me using the four-wheelers, hers and Dad’s. As I said, this is timber country. Huge trucks loaded with logs and headed to the paper mills are a daily sight on our highways. My dad, and just about every man in town, works for the P. G. Irvine Lumber Company, the biggest one in Maine. Dad operates heavy logging equipment such as a de-limber and a skidder. We’re also in pickup-truck heaven since that’s the most practical vehicle for this place. The roads have a lot of potholes due to wear from the big trucks driving over them. And they also have frost heaves, those mounds that push up under the tarred surface, thanks to our strenuous winters.
    We’re also known for snowmobiles in the winters and four-wheelers in the summers. Just about every family in town has a four-wheeler or two. Mom and Dad are members of a club so our family owns two. I taught Marilee how to drive one shortly after she moved to town, and now she handles it as well as any other country kid. The machines are used mostly for recreation. But on this day, I needed the family four-wheelers for business, not pleasure. And with everyone still arguing over what Sheriff Mallory saw, and with Grandma still making Grandpa jealous, we were free to fly.
    â€œWear helmets!” Mom yelled out the window when she heard me start up Dad’s machine. I hate a helmet, but I’m no fool. My head is just another watermelon if it hits the tarred road at thirty miles an hour. With Marilee on Mom’s smaller machine and pulling up