If the living room was a museum, Milo's bedroom was a laboratory. Even before entering, Sebastian and David had an idea of what lay beyond the door adorned with the simple hand-lettered sign, "Resident Genius." The smell of mice permeated the entire upstairs. Where there weren't cages filled with the chattering, nibbling, wheel-running creatures, there were computer printouts and microscopes, petri dishes and globes (geographical, topographical and astrological), open books, closed books and notebooks. Nowhere on the walls were there posters of rock stars or movie stars; the only stars to be found in Milo's room belonged in constellations.

"Fun place," David whispered. "Remind me to see if it's booked for Christmas vacation."

Milo collapsed on his bed. "Homework can wait," he said. "You have my curiosity, Barth. What is this other matter you wish to discuss? My editorial, perhaps, and its ramifications?"

"Maybe," said Sebastian. "I don't know whether your editorial has anything to do with it, but I think you're being poisoned, Milo."

"Be serious," said Milo Groot.

"That's what I said." David was amazed to find himself agreeing with Milo about anything.

"Well, the most likely candidate is Harley," Milo went on. "And I would question his capability not only to conceive but to carry out such a crime."

"Look, Milo, Harley's been picking on you ever since first grade. He called you 'Four Eyes' then, and tripped you every time you walked past him, remember?"

Milo cringed. "Thank you for reminding me."

"Sorry," said Sebastian. "The point is -- "

"The point is that Harley is a cretin. I know that. We all know that. We know too that Harley humiliated me in front of the entire school last spring at the aw