They clawed the ground for worms and piled them to the side. A little rain the night before helped, the edge of the yard coming up in mud pies, a sucking sound and then two or three would curl loose.

Savanna ate one. Tim didn’t dare her or anything. She just pushed it past her lips and swallowed. Then she ate another one. And another.

When they had about twenty or so, Tim asked Savanna how many she could eat. She smiled and starting picking them out, popping them in her mouth. Then Tim dared her to chew them, not just swallow.

She never got sick. She said all they ever ate was dirt and didn’t taste like anything.

When there were about a dozen left, Tim stepped on them and bent close. Maybe they ate dirt. What was there was mostly black. He decided he would eat one, too. But Savanna was gone, her pot belly and slimy lips somewhere else now, another yard, another boy.

He scattered the worm mess with his shoe, wiped his hands on the side of the house and went inside to jerk off.