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How could her own father shove this horrid stuff into his mouth?

The stuff inside the bag smelled sour, like fertilizer. Margaret took a deep breath and held it. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Staring at the bag, she couldn't help but imagine what the disgusting muck inside must taste like.

Eating the plant food had to be part of his experiments, Margaret told herself. But what kind of experiments? What was he trying to prove with those strange plants he was growing?

As if he liked it.

Margaret swallowed hard. Her mouth felt dry as cotton. She suddenly realized she was squeezing the side of the counter so tightly, her hand ached.

He didn't just eat it, she realized. He shoveled it into his mouth and gulped it down.

She felt sick. She couldn't get the disgusting picture out of her mind. How could her dad eat mud?

Ohh.

As if he needed it.

Forcing herself to loosen her grip, she stared down at the half-empty plant food bag, which she had dropped onto the floor.

Still holding her breath, she grabbed the nearly empty bag, wadded it up, and tossed it back into the trash. She started to turn away from the counter when a hand grabbed her shoulder.

She nearly gagged.

"I'm home," he said, grinning at her. "What's for lunch?"

Margaret uttered a silent cry and spun around. "Casey!"

Casey laughed.

"It isn't funny," she said crossly. "Our own dad was eating dirt."

Later, after making him a peanut butter sandwich, she told Casey what she had seen.

Margaret punched him hard on the shoulder, so hard that he dropped his sandwich. "Sorry," she said quickly, "but I don't see what you're laughing at. It's sick! There's something wrong with Dad. Something really wrong."

Casey laughed again. For some reason, it struck him funny.

"Maybe he just had a craving for plant food," Casey cracked, still not taking her seriously. "You know. Like you get a craving for those honey-roasted peanuts."

"That's different," Margaret snapped. "Eating dirt is disgusting. Why won't you admit it?"

But before Casey could reply, Margaret continued, letting all of her unhappiness out at once. "Don't you see? Dad has changed. A lot. Even since Mom has been gone. He spends even more time in the basement --"

"You hate those names, Fatso," Casey said, giggling with a mouthful of peanut butter.

"I -- I don't know," Margaret answered in frustration. "Watching him gulp down that disgusting plant food, I -- I had this horrible thought that he's turning into a plant!"

"That's because Mom isn't around," Casey interrupted.

"I know," Margaret said impatiently. "That's just an example."

"So what are you trying to say?" Casey asked. "That Dad is out of his tree? That he's gone totally bananas?"

"And he's so quiet all the time and so cold to us," Margaret continued, ignoring him. "He hardly says a word to us. He used to kid around all the time and ask us about our homework. He never says a human word. He never calls me Princess or Fatso the way he used to. He never --"

Casey jumped up, causing his chair to scrape back across the floor. He began staggering around the kitchen, zombielike, his eyes closed, his arms stretched out stiffly in front of him. "I am The Incredible Plant Man!" he declared, trying to make his voice sound bold and deep.

"Make me another sandwich."

"Not funny," she repeated.

"Casey -- will you stop it!" she screamed. "Give me a break!"

"What favor?" Margaret asked, rolling her eyes.

"Not funny," Margaret insisted, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to be amused.

"Plant Man versus Weed Woman!" Casey declared, staggering toward Margaret.

"Plant Man kills!" he cried, and rushed at her. He ran right into her, using his head as a battering ram against her shoulder.

"Okay, okay." He backed off. "If you'll do me one favor."

He bumped into the counter, banging his knee. "Ow!"

Monday afternoon after school, Margaret, Casey, and Diane were tossing a Frisbee back and forth in Diane's backyard. It was a warm, breezy day, the sky dotted with small, puffy white clouds.

"Serves you right," Margaret said.

Diane tossed the disc high. It sailed over Casey's head into the row of fragrant lemon trees that stretched from behind the clapboard garage. Casey went running after it and tripped over an in-ground sprinkler that poked up just an inch above the lawn.

"What?" Margaret wasn't sure she heard right.

"Strange is right," Diane said, her expression turning serious. "I had a nightmare last night about those gross plants in your basement. They were crying and reaching for me."

"What's it like to have a mad scientist for a dad?" Diane asked suddenly.

"Don't just stand there. Throw it!" Casey urged from beside the garage.

Mad scientists were only in the movies -- right?

The words kept repeating in her mind.

Both girls laughed.

Casey, on the run, flung the Frisbee toward Margaret. She reached for it, but the breeze sent it sailing from her hand.

"Sorry," Margaret said sincerely. "I've had nightmares, too."

"Look out!" Casey cried. He tossed a low one that Diane caught around her ankles.

Margaret tossed the Frisbee high in the air in her brother's general direction. He liked to run and make diving catches.

Mad scientist, Margaret thought. Mad scientist. Mad scientist.

"Just because he's doing strange experiments doesn't mean he's a mad scientist," Margaret said sharply.

"Hey, are these lemons ripe?" Casey asked, pointing at one of the low trees.

"No," Diane replied, shaking her head.

"What do you mean?" Margaret asked.

"You didn't tell him about -- going down in the basement? Did you?" Margaret asked anxiously.

Margaret hadn't heard this story. It made her feel bad, but she thought it was probably true.

"Why don't you?" he predictably shot back.

"Why don't you suck one to find out?" Margaret snapped, annoyed that he kept interrupting.

"The university told him he had to stop whatever it was he was doing, and he refused. He said he couldn't stop. At least that's what my dad heard from a guy who came into the salesroom."

"Something really bad happened in your dad's lab," Diane continued. "Someone got really hurt or killed or something."

"My dad said that your dad was fired from PolyTech because his experiments got out of control, and he wouldn't stop them," Diane confided. She ran along the smooth, closely cropped grass, chasing down the Frisbee.

"My dad was talking about your dad the other night," Diane said, flipping the disc to Casey.

"Yeah. Probably," Diane admitted. "But my dad said your dad was fired because he refused to stop his experiments."

"That's not true," Margaret insisted. "We would've heard if that happened."

"Time to go," Margaret called to Casey. He picked the Frisbee up from the lawn and came running over. "Call you later," Margaret told Diane, giving her a little wave. Then she and Casey began to jog home, cutting through familiar backyards.

"Well, that doesn't make him a mad scientist," Margaret said defensively. She suddenly felt she had to stick up for her father. She wasn't sure why.

"I'm just telling you what I heard," Diane said, brusquely tossing back her red hair. "You don't have to bite my head off."

They played for a few more minutes. Diane changed the subject and talked about some kids they knew who were eleven but were going steady. Then they talked about school for a while.

"We need a lemon tree," Casey said as they slowed to a walk. "They're cool."

"Oh, yeah," Margaret replied sarcastically. "That's just what we need at our house. Another plant!"

"Hey, Dad!" Casey called. "Catch!" He tossed the Frisbee to his father.

As they stepped through the hedges into their backyard, they were both surprised to see their dad. He was standing at the rose trellis examining clusters of pink roses.

At first, Margaret thought her father's hair had turned green.

But it was too late.

Margaret and Casey both shrieked in surprise as they saw his head.

In place of hair, Dr. Brewer had bright green leaves sprouting from his head.

Dr. Brewer turned around a little too slowly. The Frisbee glanced off his head, knocking the Dodgers cap off. His mouth opened wide in surprise. He raised his hands to cover his head.

But then she clearly saw that it wasn't hair on his scalp.

His hair was gone. It had all fallen out.