“No, I’m serious,” I said. “For instance, she hates the light and sleeps all day.”
He looked at me. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that I think she might be more than just a typical dog.”
“Like how?”
“I don’t know yet.” I hesitated, then decided to go for it. “I think she might be a vampire.”
Irwin guffawed. “You’re being completely ridiculous.”
“You’re being completely ridiculous,” I answered.
“That makes no sense.”
“You make no sense.”
“Cut it out!”
“You cut it out!”
Hey, I never said eleven-year-old boys were the greatest arguers in the world.
After swinging got boring, we headed up to the roof-deck, where there was a broken old hot tub and beach chairs and stuff.
“Last one up is a rotten egg!” I hollered, racing up the stairs.
“Cheater!” he yelled back. “You got a head start!”
After I got up to the roof, I started doing a victory dance. “So what? I win!”
Suddenly, Irwin shouted, “Look out!”
I looked down. Yikes! There was this rotted plank of wood on the roof that you had to avoid, next to the hot tub—and I’d almost stepped right on it.
“Jeez,” I said. “Thanks.”
FACT: Friends are good to argue with, but they’re even better to make sure you don’t go crashing through the floor.
“You’re welcome,” Irwin said.
I took a deep breath and looked around. The roof was cool because it made you feel like you were on top of the world—if the world was a dried-up old swamp with two rusted-out canoes tied to a broken dock.
Irwin walked right to the edge of the roof and yelled, “HELLO OUT THERE! IT’S ME, KING OF THE WORLD!” like he always did.
I stayed far away from the edge, because I was totally scared of heights, and yelled, “SOME THINGS ARE WORTH FIGHTING FOR … BUT JUSTICE IS WORTH BITING FOR!” like I always did.
“Stop quoting Hank Barlow,” Irwin said.
“Duh, that’s Jonah Forrester,” I corrected him. “Biting?”
“Who cares,” Irwin answered.
“I do!” I said angrily, already forgetting that Irwin had basically saved my life thirty-eight seconds earlier.
I looked down and noticed that Abby, who’d been napping under the tree, was now wide-awake, looking up at me and jumping up and down.
“Look!” I said to Irwin. “She loves Jonah! Watch.” I yelled again, “SOME THINGS ARE WORTH FIGHTING FOR … BUT JUSTICE IS WORTH BITING FOR!” And Abby started barking like crazy and jumping higher and higher. Her jumps were practically halfway up the tree!
“So what?” Irwin said. “Now you’re going to tell me she understands English? Maybe she just has to go to the bathroom.”
After a minute, Abby stopped jumping and let out about a two-minute yawn.
I smacked Irwin on the shoulder. “Come on, you gotta admit, she’s amazing,” I said. “No dog jumps that high. And no dog yawns for that long. That was a total vampire yawn.”
“You know something?” Irwin responded. “I consider myself a pretty good friend. I watch STOP! POLICE! with you, and I let you tell me all about your Jonah Forrester books. But I don’t really want to listen to you talk about how Abby is some kind of Dracula dog. So do you mind not talking about it anymore?”
“That’s fair.”
“Thank you.”
We were quiet for five seconds.
“You gotta admit though, that was a pretty long yawn,” I said.
On the way home, Abby gnawed on her leash.
“See?” I said to Irwin, unable to help myself. “She chews on everything.”
“The teacher assignments are supposed to come today.” Irwin said, completely ignoring me.
“Who cares,” I answered, trying to ignore him back.
I didn’t want to talk about school, because it just reminded me of my blotch and made me nervous—but Irwin was right, it was all about which teacher you got. I was hoping for Mrs. Sweetnam, who kept a jar of jelly beans on her desk at all times. And I was praying I wouldn’t get Mr. Brinkmeyer, whose breath smelled like burning tires.
I was trying to figure out a way to change the subject, when we turned the corner and saw a bunch of kids playing kickball in the park. The first kid I recognized gave me a weird, nervous feeling in my stomach.
Baxter Bratford.
PROFILE
Name: Baxter Bratford
Age: 11, but looks 14
Occupation: Bully
Interests: Picking on people not his own size
Ugh.
Baxter Bratford was the biggest kid in our grade. He was also the loudest and most obnoxious. And he was definitely the baldest. Some kids said he was bald because he pulled all his hair out in a childhood tantrum, others said it was because of some weird thing that ran in his family—either way, it made him self-conscious, and angry, and eventually, just mean. But the worst thing about Baxter was that he’d had it in for me ever since first grade, when I tattled on him for sticking gum between the pages of his music book. (That was really dumb of me, looking back on it.) My parents called him a “garden-variety bully,” which doesn’t seem to make any sense, since I thought gardens were supposed to be pretty and nice.
Baxter was wearing his favorite outfit—baggy shorts and a blue-and-white-striped shirt that read BARNABY BRATFORD’S BESTEST BABYSITTERS on the back. Yup—Baxter’s father owned the company that sent us Mrs. Cragg. So even his dad had it in for me.
“Keep walking,” I said to Irwin.
“Not so fast!” he said, pointing. “Look.”
I looked. There she was.
Daisy Flowers.
PROFILE
Name: Daisy Flowers
I know I already profiled her, but it’s nice to have an excuse to talk about her again. I apologize for this short delay.
Oh no! Daisy was playing kickball with Baxter Bratford!
Double ugh.
I felt incredibly jealous that I didn’t even have the nerve to talk to Daisy but somehow Baxter had gotten her to play kickball with him and his friends.
“I don’t care,” I said. “I’m still not stopping.”
Irwin started jumping up and down. “Come on! This is our chance! You can tell her about your dog that might have special powers!”
I didn’t know what to do. I definitely didn’t want to deal with Baxter. But I didn’t want Irwin to know I was scared of him either. And maybe I could tell Daisy about Abby. I had a feeling she was a dog person.
I was trying to make up my mind when Baxter made it up for me.
“Well, lookee here!” he crowed, noticing us. “If it isn’t Swimmy Jimmy!”
Baxter had called me Swimmy Jimmy ever since I failed my safety test at the Y three years earlier. It wasn’t even swimming, it was treading water!
I hated that nickname.
At that point, we had no choice but to walk over. A bunch of other kids were there too. They all waved when they saw us coming. We waved back.
“Hey, Swimmy,” Baxter said. “What are you doing outside? Shouldn’t you be in your dorkcave reading like your fifty thousandth vampire book?” Then he guffawed at his own unfunny joke.
Abby growled. Baxter looked down at her and laughed.
“That’s one ugly dog you got there, by the way,” he sneered.
“I think he’s cute,” said Daisy, which clinched it—she was truly, actually, perfect.
“He’s a she,” I said dumbly.
“Who cares?” Baxter muttered. Then he turned his attention back to the game. He was pitching, of course. But instead of rolling the ball like a regular person, he was bouncing it in, which made it almost impossible to kick.
“Strike three!” Baxter screamed as some poor kid swung his leg and missed.
“Maybe you should let somebody else pitch,” Daisy sugg
ested.
Baxter glared at her. “Mind your own business.” Then, glancing over at Irwin, he added, “Get out here, we need a right fielder.”
Irwin looked both horrified and flattered, since he’d never been asked to join a game in his life. “Me?”
Baxter nodded, with a look of disgust. “Do you see another dweebazoid here? Yeah, you.”
Irwin ran out there as if right field were the best position in the world, as opposed to the worst position in the world, which it actually was.
I closed my eyes and said a short prayer, then walked up to Daisy.
“You really think my dog is cute?” I asked.
“I totally do!” Daisy said, kneeling down to pet Abby. Then she looked up at me and frowned. “Oh my gosh, what happened to your face?”
Uh-oh. My blotch!
For a minute there, I’d forgotten all about it. My heart started pounding.
“Uh … I gotta go,” I said, grabbing Abby’s leash and turning to run back to my house. I took about three steps before a big meaty paw stopped me.
“Where ya goin’?” Baxter growled.
I looked up at him. It was a pretty long ways up, since he was about five inches taller than me.
“Um, just home.”
Baxter stared down at me. “You leave when I say you can leave.” Then he grinned. “Besides, you’re not going anywhere until you tell us what that thing on your face is.” He turned around to the rest of the kids. “Hey, guys! Come see what happened to Swimmy! It’s awesome!”
FACT: Bully + Blotch = Bad Combination
Everyone came over to take a look. It seemed like none of them really wanted to be mean about it, but as soon as Baxter started laughing, they all laughed too. That’s how these things work: if a bully starts making fun of some kid, you make fun of them too—because if you don’t, chances are you might be next.
The only two kids who weren’t laughing were Irwin and Daisy.
“Stop it,” I begged Baxter.
Baxter shrugged. “Stop what? All I’m doing is trying to look at your face without gagging.” He turned to Daisy. “Take a look!”
Daisy stood there frozen for a second. “I have to go,” she said. Then she turned around and ran down the street toward her house. Since she was pretty new in town, she probably didn’t want to get involved.
I can’t say I blamed her.
Irwin went running after Daisy. “Where are you going?” he called to her. “Don’t go!” But she never looked back, and after a minute, he turned around and came back.
“Awwwwwww.” Baxter snickered. “Isn’t this just so sweet and precious. Wonk is in love with Daisy Flowers!”
“I am not,” Irwin insisted, as all the kids shifted their attention from my face to Irwin’s lack-of-love life.
I suddenly felt incredibly relieved that no one was looking at me and my blotch anymore—which explains why I said what I said next.
“You are kind of in love with her, Irwin,” I blurted out. “It’s totally obvious.”
Irwin’s mouth dropped open, and he stared at me with a hurt look in his eyes. I immediately felt as guilty as I’d ever felt in my life.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I mumbled, but it was too late.
“Forget you guys!” Irwin yelled, and he took off down the street before anyone could see him start to cry.
“Later, Wonkmeister!” Baxter crowed. Then he looked back at me, and I was sure he was going to torture me some more, but for some reason he decided not to.
“Let’s play ball!” he announced. Then he looked at me. “Scarface, you in?”
Scarface? Suddenly, “Swimmy” didn’t seem so bad.
I tried to stare at him without fear. “No.”
“Why not?” Baxter said, walking toward me. “Your little nerd buddy just left, and now we need a right fielder.”
“I just don’t feel like it.”
Baxter kept coming. “Well, what if I don’t care what you feel like?”
I wasn’t sure what to do. Baxter was practically two inches from my face. I was about to make a run for it when I heard something below me.
A growl.
I looked down, and there was Abby, looking at Baxter like he was an oversize groundhog.
She growled again, louder.
“Tell your mutt to be quiet,” Baxter said, practically growling himself.
“I can’t really tell her what to do,” I muttered apologetically.
Baxter took another step toward me, and Abby suddenly let out the fiercest bark I ever heard and bared her teeth. Out came the fangs.
Baxter ran about twelve steps backward in less than a second.
“That dog’s crazy!” he yelped.
“I guess that’s one word for it,” I said.
Baxter was breathing hard. I don’t think I’d ever seen him scared before. “Well, it figures you’d need your little doggy to protect you,” he said. “You better get out of here before I use her for kicking practice.”
Abby was still growling softly. I wanted to say something—I wanted to tell Baxter I could protect myself!—but for some reason, I just took off down the street.
Instead of going home, I ran to Irwin’s house so I could apologize.
I rang the doorbell for ten minutes.
He never answered.
Here’s how the rest of the day went:
I stared at my blotch in the mirror.
I thought about Daisy.
I felt bad about Irwin.
I tried to scrub my blotch off with soap, but it didn’t work.
I tried to scrub my blotch off with a toothbrush, which made it worse.
I thought about Daisy.
I tried to call Irwin.
I answered the door to let Mrs. Cragg in.
I wished my dad luck when he left for his job interview.
I took Abby outside, and she immediately ran under the house again. When I asked my sister to help me get her out, she rolled her eyes at me and said, “I have to pick out my clothes for tomorrow.”
I stared at my blotch some more.
I read fifty pages of Fang Goodness.
I watched two episodes of STOP! POLICE!
I smelled a new gross smell coming from the kitchen.
Oh, and I thought about Daisy.
“Dinner!”
I was still outside trying to get Abby out from under the house when Mrs. Cragg screamed. Her voice sounded like a baboon beating up a violin. I’d already decided there was no way I was going anywhere near that kitchen. No way, no how.
Until Mrs. Cragg marched outside and folded her arms.
FACT: When an old-lady babysitter folds her arms, you do what she says.
“Do I want to know what’s for dinner?” I asked.
Mrs. Cragg laughed. “It’s good for you, that’s all you need to know.”
Suddenly, I heard a noise and looked down. Abby! She’d finally come out from under the house, to see what was going on. Either that, or because the sun was finally behind the trees.
Mrs. Cragg wrinkled her nose. “I want that dog outside while you have dinner.”
“No,” I said, surprising myself. “She’s my dog, and I want her with me.”
Mrs. Cragg looked like she was about to argue, but then Abby let out a low growl, so instead she just turned and walked inside.
When I got to the kitchen, my nostrils actually literally shriveled up and died. Okay, not actually literally. But the dinner stink was even more powerful than the breakfast stink. I’m glad I can’t tell you what it smelled like, because that would mean I’d smelled something like it before, and luckily I hadn’t. But there’s a first time for everything, I guess.
Misty stuck her head in. “I’m not staying for dinner, but thanks anyway,” she announced.
“Wait a second—did you clear this with your parents?” asked Mrs. Cragg, but Misty just waved and walked away.
I stared jealously at my fourteen-year-old sister. Wow, I thought, what a
difference three years make.
Mrs. Cragg put a plate down in front of me. I looked at the contents—some sort of mushy red blob smothered in green gloop.
I blinked at Mrs. Cragg. “Are you serious?”
“Very,” she said. Her slightly evil smile reminded me of Johnny Casper, the vampire hunter in the Jonah Forrester books. Johnny would sing and whistle every time he tried to kill Jonah. He acted like he was being all nice and helping mankind and stuff, but secretly he was evil. I hated Johnny Casper.
“I’d rather not,” I moaned. “I’ll just go straight to dessert, if that’s all right.”
“Would it be all right with your parents if you just ate sugar for the rest of your life?” asked Mrs. Cragg. “Would it be all right with your parents if all of your teeth fell out?”
Was she actually talking to me about teeth?
I was about to argue, but when I saw her own yellow choppers shining down on me, I shut my mouth and sat at the table.
FACT: Looking at someone’s yellow teeth does not increase your appetite.
“What is this stuff anyway?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know the answer.
“Fried beets in pea sauce,” answered Mrs. Cragg. “Eat it and you’ll live to be a hundred years old.”
“I don’t want to be a hundred if I have to eat this stuff. I don’t even want to live until tomorrow if I have to eat this stuff.”
Mrs. Cragg laughed, but not in an I-think-you’re-funny way.
I felt a brush against my leg. I looked down and saw Abby peering up at me. She was trying to tell me something, but I wasn’t sure what. Then I saw her eyes, moving back and forth from me to my plate. That was it! She was willing to eat this gross food for me! What an amazing dog!
I waited until Mrs. Cragg started washing a pot in the sink, then I quickly shoveled the food down to Abby. She scarfed every bite in about three seconds. Unbelievably, she seemed to like it. This was going to work out great! I was saved!
Until I wasn’t.
The first thing that happened was I heard a gross noise. It sounded kind of like thlarpksh!
FACT: When you hear the noise thlarpksh!, you know it’s not good.
My Dog is Better than Your Dog Page 4
