The worm wasn't really that important. He remembered the day she got stuck in the mud, when that big boy that Beezus knew came and saved her, he remembered that part, because it was exciting. He remembered that.

But there was always something off about the memory. Sometimes he would stop whatever he was doing- washing the dishes, cleaning his room, doing his homework, playing in her front yard- and he would try to catch the memory like a kite string, anchor it down and chase it to the end. And at the end, there was always a worm. He didn't know why the worm was important, he didn't have any strong feelings towards worms, but he knew one thing about that worm. He had thought that the worm was for him, but it was kept by someone else. Maybe it was for someone else.

And then he would drop the dish-cloth or toy truck or text book or brick, and give a frustrated huff. Why was the worm so important? It was just a stupid worm.