by Bill Harley
Trick question! No good answer.
“Uh … nothing,” I said.
“Did someone walk Ginger?” she asked.
My mom can be like a lawyer destroying someone on the witness stand in court. Sometimes she asks one question after another and you answer without realizing she’s proving you’re guilty.
But I didn’t have to answer this time because Ginger jumped on the couch, which she is not supposed to do, and started barking. She was dying to go outside. Ginger doesn’t have to talk—you know if she’s been walked or if she’s eaten by how crazy she gets.
“I was going to do it in a few minutes,” I said.
“Charlie! How long have you been home?”
Another trick question! She knew how long I had been home.
“It’s your job to walk Ginger,” she said, standing in front of the TV screen so I had to look at her.
“I know,” I said.
Mom turned off the television. I hate it when she does that. “You know the rules about watching TV. Go walk Ginger now. Then do your homework.”
“Mom, I can’t do everything,” I said.
“I don’t see you doing anything except watching television,” Mom said.
“Yeah, but—”
“No ‘yeah buts,’ Charlie. Walk Ginger. It’s your job,” Mom said. Then she turned and left so I couldn’t argue or whine.
Boogers. Whining isn’t any fun when there’s no one there to hear you. And arguing with Mom when she was tired was a bad idea.
I went into the kitchen and put on my jacket. Matt was still sitting there reading.
When I took down the leash, Ginger started to chew and tug on one end. The leash is old and you have to make sure it snaps tight.
Ginger wouldn’t hold still.
“No, Ginger!” I said. “No chewing!”
She jumped up and whirled around, tangling me up in the leash.
I finally got it untangled and snapped it on her collar.
“Have a good walk, Poopmeister,” Matt said.
“Ha ha ha,” I said, opening the door.
Ginger pulled the leash right out of my hand. She ran out into the yard and started running around in circles and barking.
“Ginger, come!” I yelled. But she just kept running around.
I put my fingers in my mouth and let out the special whistle I learned from my Uncle Ron during one of his visits. It’s really loud. Uncle Ron is my dad’s younger brother, and he knows all sorts of cool stuff.
Ginger ran over and I hooked her up again. As soon as I made sure I had a good grip on the leash, we headed down the driveway.
The minute we got to the street, Ginger headed over to the curb and started sniffing. She’ll sniff at anything. I tried to pull her back, but she dug in her paws and stretched her neck out and kept smelling around. There was nothing there—it was just a concrete curb, but she snuffled at it like it was a big piece of steak.
“Come on, Ginger!” I gave the leash a yank and she tore herself away from the yummy-smelling concrete. We’d only walked another ten feet when she started sniffing a little patch of grass on Mrs. Cohen’s yard.
I waited a while, hoping Ginger was ready to do her business. I think you know what I’m talking about. When you walk a dog, you aren’t just giving them exercise. You’re actually taking them out to poop.
Mom doesn’t like it when we say “poop.” She says I should use the words “potty break.” I am not using the words “potty break.”
Dad calls it “answering the call of nature.” I say it doesn’t matter what you call it, it’s still gross to watch. And even worse to clean up.
Ginger pulled and sniffed and finally peed next to the stop sign on the corner. One down, one to go.
Or Number One down, Number Two to go.
But there were other things I had to watch out for, too. Walking Ginger around the block is like trying to get through an obstacle course. Halfway around the block is this little yappy dog in a fenced-in yard. He belongs to Mrs. Lapidus, and his name is Lovey-Doodle.
I’m not kidding.
Lovey-Doodle throws himself at the fence and barks at Ginger like he wants to kill her. Ginger just goes up and wags her tail at him.
I can’t stand Lovey-Doodle.
Then there are the two cats around the corner from Lovey-Doodle. They sit in the window and swish their tails back and forth and lick their fur and pretend like they don’t notice Ginger, even though I know they do. Ginger’s eyes bug out when she sees them and she pulls with all her might against the leash. I think she’d jump over the bushes and break right through the window if she had a chance. The cats seem to love it.
I hate it.
But in a way, the squirrels are the worst. The squirrels could be anywhere on the block, like little evil gremlins, waiting for us. If Ginger sees them, she tries to climb the tree and barks at the top of her lungs. The squirrels chatter back at her like they’re laughing their heads off.
Then, finally, there’s Mr. Gritzbach. Ginger loves Mr. Gritzbach, but he doesn’t love Ginger. I try to keep her out of his yard.
Walking Ginger is like playing some kind of game where I have to defeat all my weird opponents to get to another world and then make it back home again. The Quest of the Poopmeister.
That day, when I turned the corner, I saw Lovey-Doodle wasn’t out. That was good. I dragged Ginger by the house, and thought about the play.
I wished I could ask my mom to tell Mrs. Burke I would make an excellent Evil Sorcerer Kragon. But I doubted Mom would do that. She’d probably like me being the Nice Gnome.
I figured my best bet was to find someone who really didn’t want his part and then convince Mrs. Burke it was a good idea for us to trade.
We rounded the next corner. Ginger looked for the cats in the window, but they weren’t there. Things were going great.
But when we turned the last corner and headed back toward our house, Ginger still hadn’t, you know … answered the call of nature.
“Come on, Ginger!” I said. “Do something.”
No luck. She just kept sniffing and snuffling and snorting and pulling.
We came to the Gritzbachs’ house. This is a dangerous part of our walk, because there are so many things for Ginger to sniff.
Mr. and Mrs. Gritzbach love lawn ornaments. They have a little deer statue with one ear broken off, a fancy bench no one ever sits on, some little cartoon characters whose legs spin around when the wind blows, and some fake geese standing on the grass. Ginger wants to sniff all of them.
I tried to hurry on by, but before I even got to the Gritzbachs’ front walkway, Ginger dragged me right into the middle of their yard.
She acted like she was thinking about pooping.
I looked up at the front porch. I didn’t see Mr. Gritzbach anywhere. The garage door was closed, so I couldn’t see if any cars were home.
I really didn’t want Ginger to poop in their yard, but I really wanted her to do it somewhere so we could go home.
She started snuffling like crazy at a spot in the middle of the Gritzbach’s lawn. Ginger sniffed and sniffed and then squatted in that shaky way she has. I wonder if it’s kind of embarrassing to be a dog and have some kid standing there while you do what you have to do.
She answered the call of nature.
Then came the part I hated the most—the part that makes you wonder why you ever wanted a dog.
I stuck my hand in the plastic bag like it was a glove and picked everything up and turned the bag inside out. Completely gross.
Charlie Bumpers—Poopmeister.
As I stood up, I saw Mr. Gritzbach standing on his doorstep, staring at me with his arms folded across his chest. Mr. Gritzbach is short and round and kind of old and doesn’t have any kids.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Trick question! No good answer! What did he think I was doing? I was standing there with Ginger’s leash in one hand and a bag of poop in the other.
“Don’t worry, Mr.
Gritzbach!” I called. “It’s all cleaned up.”
Ginger wagged her tail and barked her friendly bark.
He frowned and shook his head slowly, then went inside and closed the door.
I pulled Ginger back onto the sidewalk. Once she was off the grass, she trotted straight to our house like it was where she’d always wanted to go.
I have to do this every day.
The Nice Gnome was so nice, he would probably love this job.
But I didn’t want to be the Nice Gnome.
4
The Dumb Fox
“Hey, Sam,” I said the next day on the playground. “I was counting up the lines and the Nice Gnome has a lot more than the Evil Sorcerer.”
“So?” Sam Marchand asked.
Mrs. Burke was letting us run around for ten minutes before math. This was my chance to find someone who would trade parts with me. I’d decided to start with the part I wanted the most.
“I was just thinking that you’d be a really good Nice Gnome,” I said. “You’d be great at remembering all the lines.”
Sam shook his head. “No way. The Evil Sorcerer Kragon is the coolest part. My mom said she’d make me a black cape with skulls on it. If I was the Nice Gnome, I’d probably have to wear a red pointy hat.” He headed over to the side of the playground where some kids were playing soccer.
Boogers. Any kid whose mom was making him a cape with skulls on it would never want to trade parts with a gnome. Especially not if they had to wear a red pointy hat.
I’d have to find someone else.
I looked around. Alex McLeod was running back and forth like a madman. Manny Soares and Robby Rosen were throwing a ball against the side wall of the school. Manny was one of the Sorcerer’s Assistants. I didn’t really want that part—there were hardly any lines. But Robby Rosen was the Fox and had some funny things to say. I figured it was worth a try.
“Hey, Robby. What part are you in the play?” I asked, trying to sound like I didn’t care.
“I’m the dumb Fox,” Robby said. He threw the ball and stepped aside so Manny could take his turn catching it.
“Yeah, it is a dumb part,” I agreed. I waited until he threw again. “I’m the Nice Gnome.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Want me to trade with you?” I offered, like I was doing him a favor. “That way you wouldn’t have the dumb Fox part and you’d have a lot more lines.”
Robby didn’t say anything. He just kept throwing that dumb ball at the dumb wall and didn’t say anything about the dumb Fox. Or the dumb Nice Gnome.
“So, do you want to trade?” I asked again. “We could talk to Mrs. Burke about it.”
Finally he caught the ball and stopped.
“No. The Gnome has too many lines. I wanted to be on the stage crew, moving stuff around. That would be more fun.”
Boogers. That wouldn’t help me at all.
Our time on the playground was running out. I looked around for someone else to trade with. Just as I turned my head, Alex flew by, nearly bumping into me. Then I got an idea.
“Alex! Alex!” I yelled. But he just kept running. The next time he ran by, I grabbed his arm.
“Alex, you’re on the stage crew, right?”
“Yep,” he said. He kept squirming and looking around. I felt like I was trying to hold onto a wild animal.
“Want to be the Nice Gnome? It’s a big part.”
“Sure!” he said. “That would be awesome! But who would be on the stage crew?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it all figured out. If you’ll be the Nice Gnome, which is my part now, then Robby will take your place on the stage crew. I’ll be the Fox, which is his part, and everyone will be happy!”
“Okay with me.”
“All right,” I said. “Let’s talk to Mrs. Burke when we get inside. You and me and Robby.”
“Sure, okay,” Alex said. Then he was off again, his crazy legs flying every which way.
I went back over to Robby and explained the plan.
“Great!” he said. “That way I won’t have to learn any words!”
On the way back into the school, I said to Alex, “Why don’t you talk to Mrs. Burke?” I figured it was safer for him to do the talking. Then it wouldn’t look like this was all my idea.
Back in the classroom, Mrs. Burke was writing some math problems on the board.
“Mrs. Burke?” Alex said.
She turned around and seemed surprised to see all of us standing there. “What is it, boys?”
I gave Alex a little tap on the arm to remind him he was supposed to talk. He started slowly, but then after he got going, he couldn’t seem to stop.
“Umm, Mrs. Burke … you know … I mean … we had this idea about changing parts for the play because then I would get to be the Nice Gnome but you shouldn’t worry because Robby would take my place in the stage crew and then since he couldn’t be the … the …”
Alex stopped and looked at me. He had forgotten what part Robby was playing.
“The Fox,” I whispered.
“The Fox!” Alex hopped from one foot to the other. “Robby was going to be the Fox but then he would have my part which isn’t really a part and then I would have the Nice Gnome part because Charlie doesn’t want that part either so he could be … he could be …”
“I could be the Fox if I had to,” I said, like I was trying to help everyone.
“Right!” Alex said. “The Fox. See, Charlie’s the Fox and then I’m going to be the Nice Gnome because Charlie wouldn’t be it anymore when he was the Fox. And then Robby would do my part, the … the …”
“Stage crew,” I said.
“Yeah!” Alex said. “The stage crew!” He smiled like he’d explained everything perfectly. Robby just stood there.
Mrs. Burke looked at Alex, then at Robby, then at me. I felt like she looked at me a little longer than anyone else.
“No,” she said.
Then she went back to writing on the board.
“Because, Mrs. Burke—”
“No,” she repeated without looking back. “Absolutely no trading parts.”
5
The Squid is Persistent
First thing when I got home that afternoon, I walked Ginger. By some miracle she did her business right away. She didn’t even stop when we passed the Gritzbachs’ yard. When we got back, I hurried to my room and closed the door so no one would bother me. I opened my backpack and pulled out the script. I didn’t take the time to mark my lines yet—I just looked at them all. There were even more than I’d thought, including a really long speech at the end.
Someone knocked on my door. “Hey, Charlie!” the Squid yelled.
“Go away,” I said.
She opened the door a little bit. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“None of your business,” I said, sliding the script under my backpack. “Go away.”
She pushed the door open a little wider. “You were looking at something.”
“Big duh,” I said. “I’m busy.”
“Busy doing what?” She opened the door all the way and stepped inside.
“Nothing,” I said. “Please go away.”
She peered at the corner of the script that was sticking out. “Is that the play? Carla said you told Tommy you don’t like your part.”
My best friend couldn’t keep his mouth shut! I needed to tell him to quit telling Carla anything, since she would blab it to the Squid and the Squid would come in my room and bug me. “It’s none of your business,” I said. But she didn’t listen.
“She said you told Tommy you’re the Good Elf and you don’t want to be the Good Elf. Why not?”
“It’s not an elf. It’s a gnome. I don’t want to be it and I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want you in my room.”
“Why don’t you want to be a gnome? Is he mean?”
“He’s not mean, he’s nice. Now go find something else to do.”
“I will if you tell me why you don’t want to be a nice gnome.”
“It’s a dumb part and it’s a dumb play.”
“What’s it about?”
“Mabel …”
My sister knew I meant business when I called her Mabel, which is her real name. She got this droopy look on her face and her lower lip started to quiver. “Just tell me,” she whined, “then I promise I’ll go.”
The Squid never gives up. My dad says, “Mabel is persistent.” Whatever she was, she wasn’t leaving until I told her something. So I did.
“It’s about this kingdom called Gorlandia. The King is sick, and the Prince and the Princess have to go rescue the Magic Rabbit who knows how to make the magic potion that will save the King. Now go.”
“But what happened to the Magic Rabbit? Why does it have to be rescued?”
“It got stolen from them by the Evil Sorcerer Kragon.”
“A sorcerer? Ooooh. Is he mean?”
“Yes, he’s mean and he’s scary. And I really wanted to be the Evil Sorcerer Kragon but I’m stuck with the Nice Gnome.”
I had told the Squid a lot more than I’d meant to. She is very pestering and very sneaky in her six-year-old kind of way. Like Dad says, she is persistent.
“But what’s wrong with the Nice Gnome? What does he do?”
“I told you enough. Go away.”
The Squid sat down on the floor in front of my bed. “Pleeeezy pleeeeze? Just tell me what the Nice Gnome does and I’ll leave.”
“There’s not much more to tell. The Nice Gnome helps the Prince and Princess get to the Sorcerer’s castle. They go through the forest and then the desert and then the swamp, and in each place they meet some creature—a fox and a snake and a camel and an owl. Then they all go to the Sorcerer’s castle, except the Nice Gnome, who says goodbye and doesn’t even get to go see the Evil Sorcerer Kragon.”
“That still sounds like a good part to me. He sounds like a really, really nice gnome.”
“He is and I hate him. Now please get out.”
“You’re not supposed to say ‘hate.’ And anyway, why do you hate him if he’s nice?”
“Mabel!” I yelled at her because she was being really annoying. “Get out now!”