THE HIGH FREQUENCY OF ENVY
Someone else was watching Jaq's freasel work, and that someone was Jaq's next-door neighbor, Tormy Vilcot. From his second-floor room in the very house that used to belong to Jaq's grandfather, Tormy could see right down into the Rollops' field. And because he had no homework to do, he had plenty of time to stare out the window and dream about swimming pools.
Every day, Tormy Vilcot watched Jaq walk to school with his wipper-slinger. He watched Jaq walk home with his wipper-slinger. He watched Jaq laugh and run and play with his wipper-slinger. And when he had nothing to do because Jaq was doing his homework, Tormy Vilcot watched that beautiful freasel sling wippers. It made him laugh out loud—until he realized something.
Jaq Rollop has a wipper-slinger, and I don't.
Tormy Vilcot's ears started to ring. They buzzed and hummed like a tornado, or a fly he couldn't swat away. Tormy didn't like that droning buzz.
When Jaq came over with Tormy's homework, Tormy offered him ten damars for his wipper-slinger, but Jaq laughed in his face.
"Twenty damars?" Tormy offered.
"Klingdux isn't for sale," Jaq said. "Why don't you go to Pests-B-Gone? They've got a bunch of them there."
Tormy didn't want a freasel from Pests-B-Gone. He wanted Jaq's freasel, and he wanted Jaq to have no freasel. That was two wants buzzing in his ear, and he couldn't stand it.
"I'm doing you a favor, you dumb lump," Tormy said. "With twenty damars you could buy another freasel yourself and have enough left over to get some new clothes." He pointed to Jaq's shirt. "The Cruxlump Warriors aren't even a team anymore. They folded twelve years ago."
"Sorry, but he's not for sale."
Ringgggggggg, buzzzzzzzz.
Sometimes the whine in Tormy's head would go away, but it would zing right back if he saw Jaq or the wipper-slinger, or if someone said the word homework, which tasted like seaweed and reminded him of Jaq and his wipper-slinger.
Tormy felt assaulted by this reverberating ring. It made him very irritable. No one would have noticed the difference, because he was always irritable, but now he was violently irritable. He punched walls, he kicked fence posts, and he screamed at his family.
His parents tried to bribe him with sweets. They tried to appease his envy with toys. They bought him a new pet of his own, a rare and expensive tippi bird. None of it worked.
"I WANT THAT WIPPER-SLINGER!" he screamed at dinner.
His grandfather, the wealthy Ripley Vilcot, placed a shiny gold package on the table.
"Is that what I think it is?" Tormy's mother said, her whole face beaming with fake-surprise happiness.
"Yes," his grandfather replied. "And it cost me more than my new Arbian foal."
"Oh, Tormy, you are such a lucky kid," his mother said. "It's glug!" She reverently pushed the small box closer to Tormy. "You can't buy this at the marketplace. You have to know someone. Your friends will be so jealous."
His grandfather unwrapped a piece of his own glug and popped it into his mouth. He chewed and chewed, and then blew a huge bubble. When it popped, the noise made a burst of yellow stars appear in Tormy's vision. They looked like they were shooting out from his grandfather's face. Tormy's mother laughed and clapped her hands.
"Not every kid gets to chew fresh glug," his grandfather said. "You can pop bubbles in your friends' faces. And think of all the things you can do with a nicely chewed wad of glug. That's valuable stuff, right there. You could save it, and someday you'll have enough for your own soundproof glug room! Or add it to your glug trophy display. Or—"
"I don't want glug!" Tormy screamed, snatching the pack and shoving it in his pocket, because he did want it. Glug was one of the most valuable things on Yipsmix—who wouldn't want it? "I want that wipper-slinger!"
His grandfather clenched his teeth and blew out through his nose. He seemed to come to a decision. "Then you shall have it," he said. "No Vilcot goes without."
