said. “You’re ‘The Guy Who Knows.’”
“Yeah.” Blake nodded. “Knew you’d come when you got my letter.”
“Hard to resist,” he said. “So how’s your kite coming along?”
“Still building it.”
“Biggest one ever was 5,952 square feet,” J.J. said.
“Yeah, I know. I’m not going for that one.”
“Oh yeah? What’s your record going to be?”
“You’ll see,” Blake said.
“Sure you don’t want to tell me?”
“Nah. Not ready yet.”
An old tractor puttered down the street. The farmer at the wheel tipped his cap.
“So,” J.J. said, “what’s it take around here to get some information about Wally Chubb?”
“My science teacher is his best friend,” Blake said. “Mr. Schoof helped build the magic machine in the barn.”
“What magic machine?”
“The grinding machine. It’s how he eats the plane. He grinds it into powder and puts it on his food.”
“So you know Wally?”
“Yeah, I help him bring in the crops. He pays pretty good. None of the other kids will work on his crew. They think he’s weird, but I like him.”
“He wasn’t very friendly when I went out to see him,” J.J. said. “You think you could help me get to know him?”
“Sure thing. I’ll help you if you help me.” Blake slurped on the straw, finishing the shake. “You know, I wrote you for a reason.”
“The kite?” J.J. asked.
“Like I said, you’ll see.”
The TRESPASSERS WILL BE VIOLATED sign was
there for a reason. Wally didn’t like people coming on his land. He didn’t like distractions. He had acres to plant, the wind was blowing hard from the east and that meant rain was coming. There wasn’t much time to get the seed in the ground. And now the guy from the record book was back. Why didn’t he take no for an answer?
“I told you once, I’ll tell you again, I’m not interested,” Wally said, sitting atop his green tractor, like a toy under his huge frame. He wore Key overalls and a Pioneer baseball cap.
The record guy and young Blake stood side by side staring up at him like they’d never seen a farmer on a two-banger before. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead, then he climbed out of the seat and jumped to the ground. He stood just a few feet from J.J. and stared down into his eyes.
“Listen to me. I don’t want your record.”
“Come on,” Blake said. “It would be so cool.”
“Cool? You know I don’t care about that, and neither should you.”
“Look,” J.J. said, “all I’m asking is that you let me verify what you’re doing so it can go into The Book. I need to see how you eat the plane. I need to photograph the process. I need to be here when you finish the last bite so it can be official.”
“You need a hearing aid,” Wally said. “I’m really not interested.” He glowered at Blake. “I don’t know why you brought him back here! You’re smarter than that.”
“Come on, Wally,” Blake said. “If you get the record, you’ll be famous!”
Wally climbed back up onto the tractor. “Both of you! Get off my land.”
“Okay,” J.J. said, “I’m leaving.” He paused. “One last thought. A world record sure would impress Willa.”
“Yeah,” Blake said. “All the girls would be impressed!”
Wally scrunched his massive forehead. “Who said anything about Willa? Don’t bring her into this.”
“If you want her attention, break a world record,” J.J. said.
“I don’t want a world record.”
“But you’ll be a hero,” J.J. said. “You’ll put Superior on the map. People will come from around the world. You’ll be on television. In magazines.”
“You got the wrong guy. I’ve got everything I need right here.” He put one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the throttle. “Go watch Blake fly his kite. I’ve got seed to drop—”
“Wait,” J.J. said. “Have you ever heard of Michel Lotito?”
“Who?”
“Michel Lotito. A friend of mine. The world’s greatest omnivore.”
“What’s that?” Blake said.
“We call him Monsieur Mangetout. Means Mr. Eat Everything in French. He’s from a village near Grenoble and he’s swallowed metal and glass for 35 years. Eats a few pounds every day. I’ve watched him munch 18 bikes, 15 grocery carts, 7 TV sets, 6 chandeliers, 2 beds, a pair of skis, a bronze coffin, a computer—”
“Cool,” said Blake.
“Ain’t got nothing to do with me,” Wally said.
“Actually, it does,” J.J. said. “I verified Michel’s greatest accomplishment. In Caracas, I saw him eat a Cessna 150. That’s a two-seat private plane.”
“So what?” Wally shrugged. A Cessna hardly compared to a 747.
J.J. continued. “Michel has gotten all sorts of female attention because of