Free My Life as a Computer Cockroach by Bill Myers Page A

excellent.”
    â€œWhat are they?”
    â€œWell, they’re part of our laser-guided bomb system.”
    â€œYour what?”
    â€œWe have about, oh, I don’t know, a hundred or so bombers circling your city. Each has several of those fancy laser-guided bombs, which, coincidentally enough, all happen to be aimed at your house.”
    â€œA hundred bombers!” I choked.
    â€œGive or take a dozen. Anyway, before they drop their bombs, you have about thirty seconds or so if you’d like to make any last requests.”
    I opened my mouth then closed it. Then opened my mouth and closed it. I suppose I could have stood there doing my fish imitation the rest of my life, which by the looks of things wouldn’t be all that long, but I had to think of something and it had to be fast.

Chapter 10
Wrapping Up
    â€œThirty seconds . . .” That’s all the President of the United States said we had left before we were bombed to smithereens! I glanced at my watch. Better make that 29 seconds. Er, 28. The point is that we were running out of time. Without a moment’s hesitation, I dropped the phone and raced for the stairs.
    â€œMister President!” the General shouted after me.
    â€œWally!” Wall Street yelled.
    â€œBURP!” Opera cried.
    But this was no time to talk. It was time to do what I should have done when I had time to do what I should have done when I had time to do it.
    Translation: No more cheating or trying to fix the cheat.
    I arrived at the stairs, taking them two at a time, which (thanks to my athletic ability) only meant spraining both ankles . . . twice. But it didn’t matter. It was time for the truth.
    I glanced at my watch: 22 seconds and counting.
    I arrived at my bedroom, which now served as a lookout post.
    19 seconds.
    There on my desk was Ol’ Betsy, looking just as innocent as she always did. And why not? It wasn’t her fault I’d gotten us into this mess.
    17 seconds.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said, squeezing past a bunch of soldiers with binoculars, telescopes, and listening devices, “excuse me, please, excuse me,” until, finally, I reached Ol’ Betsy.
    â€œWally!” Wall Street arrived outside my door, shouting. “What are you going to do?”
    I glanced at my watch:
    14 seconds.
    â€œWhat I should have done at the beginning,” I yelled. I picked up my computer, started unwinding the extra-long phone cord connecting her to the wall, and headed for the door. “I’m putting an end to Ol’ Betsy!”
    â€œYou’re what?” she cried as I squeezed past her and into the hallway.
    I didn’t answer but headed down the hall toward the bathroom. I suspected Dad had filled the tub and sink to store more drinking water, but if I did this right, all of our problems would be over in a few seconds. If I didn’t do it right, we’d be over in a few seconds. Speaking of which . . .
    10 seconds to go . . .
    Wall Street stayed at my heels, arguing all the way. “If you destroy Ol’ Betsy, you’ll destroy your Choco Chum story! You’ll destroy all of our hard work . . .”
    I turned and entered the bathroom.
    8 seconds . . .
    Wall Street continued. “You’ll wind up getting that F in P.E.”
    I nodded. Now at last we were getting close to the truth.
    â€œ. . . and I’ll, I’ll, I’ll wind up getting a C in English instead of a B!”
    We were even closer.
    6 seconds.
    I arrived at the tub. It was full. With shaky hands I held Ol’ Betsy over it. The water was deep and clear . . . and it would spell instant death for her.
    â€œWally! There has to be another way!”
    I couldn’t think of any. I had to destroy the computer bug. I had to destroy Ol’ Betsy.
    4 seconds.
    â€œDelete!” Wall Street shouted. “Hit the delete button! It will erase all of your Choco Chum story! It will erase everything we’ve ever written for