by Bill Harley
“Get the dollar,” she said.
I ran upstairs to my room and got a dollar out of my desk. I hurried back and held it out for the Squid.
“Leave it on the table,” she said, “and don’t touch it.” She’d already taken the leash down and put it on Ginger’s collar.
“Ginger, sit!” I said.
She sat at the door and looked up at us. Her tail was wagging like it would fall off.
“If she pulls too much,” I said, “just give her a big tug and yell, ‘Ginger, no!’”
“Okay, I’m ready.” The Squid was holding onto the leash with both hands.
I watched them walk down the driveway, with Ginger sniffing and straining at the leash. “No, Ginger, no!” the Squid shouted.
They zigzagged down the sidewalk. I hoped everything would go okay. Every few seconds, I stuck my head out the front door to see how she was doing.
Matt came into the kitchen and saw me standing in the doorway.
“Where’s Mabel?” he asked.
“Walking Ginger,” I said.
“What?” Matt looked at me like I was crazy. “Mabel’s walking Ginger.”
“Why?”
“She said she wanted to, so I let her.”
“You’re an idiot,” Matt said. “Mabel can’t control that crazy dog.”
“It’ll be okay,” I said. “She’s just walking to the end of the street and I’m checking on her real often.”
“You’d better go help her,” Matt said. He started for the refrigerator. Then he saw the money on the table. “Whose is this?”
“Mabel’s.”
“Wait a minute! Did you pay Mabel to walk Ginger?”
“So?”
“Charlie, that was mega-stupid.”
“No, it wasn’t!” I said. “It’s going to be okay.”
Just then, we heard someone running up the driveway. The Squid burst through the kitchen door holding the leash.
“Help!” she said. “Ginger got away! She pulled too hard and the leash didn’t work!”
“Oh man.” Matt gave me a Buck Meson electron stare. “Mom and Dad are going to kill all of us!”
“It’s not my fault!” The Squid’s eyes filled with tears. “Ginger crossed the street and I was only supposed to go to the end of the block, so I couldn’t run after her.”
Matt was really mad, and the Squid was crying.
And I was the biggest bozo on the planet.
“Let’s go,” Matt said. He slipped on his jacket. “We’ve got to find her.”
We opened the door and headed down the porch steps.
And Mom pulled in the driveway.
Mom drove slowly down the street with Matt in the front and the Squid and me in the back. We all looked out the windows, trying to catch sight of Ginger.
Mom turned the corner at the end of our block. “This is the way she went, Mabel?”
“Uh-huh,” Mabel said, still sniffling. “I couldn’t stop her.”
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Mom said. “We’ll find her.” She didn’t even look at me. It made me feel even worse.
We drove around our block twice, then Mom headed toward the next street over. When Matt had told Mom what had happened and Mabel had tried to explain, I hadn’t said anything. I knew it was all my fault.
It was very quiet in the car. I just kept praying we would see Ginger. If she was lost, I didn’t know what I’d do.
After about half an hour Mom pulled into a driveway and turned around. “Well, we’ve done what we can. We’ll just have to go home. I’ll call around to our neighbors and ask if anyone has seen her.”
“But we have to find her!” the Squid wailed.
“We will, we will,” Mom said. She was saying that because she was the mom, but I could tell she was worried, too.
When we got to our house, Dad’s car was in the driveway. Now I was going to be in trouble with everyone.
“I want Ginger!” Mabel whimpered. “I wish I could help get her back.”
Everybody went inside, but I stayed in the car. What if we never found Ginger? If only it was like in the play and we had the Nice Gnome or the Magic Rabbit to help us. There had to be a way to—
Suddenly I knew what to do. And I was the only one who could do it. Why hadn’t I thought of it before?
I jumped out of the car and ran to the sidewalk in front of our house. I put my fingers in my mouth and blew.
I blew and blew and blew until my mouth hurt.
I waited and listened. But I didn’t hear anything but a car honking somewhere.
Even my special Uncle Ron whistle wasn’t working. Ginger was gone.
I tried one last time, just to make sure.
Then I heard a bark.
I looked down the street, in the direction of the Gritzbachs’ yard. A big brown and black dog was running toward me as fast as she could.
“Ginger!” I knelt down to catch her and she knocked me over. I hugged her and she licked my face.
“You dumb dog.” I nuzzled her furry neck. I didn’t care if she was a dumb dog. She was home.
When I opened the back door, Ginger ran in and the Squid let out her excited squeal. Mom covered her mouth and looked like she was going to cry. Dad put his arm around her. Even Matt, who’d said he only wanted a python, got down and gave Ginger a hug.
“How’d you find her?” Dad asked.
“I whistled,” I said.
“Only Charlie can whistle like that,” the Squid said. “She only comes for Charlie.”
In the middle of our celebration, the phone in the kitchen rang. My mom picked it up. “Hello? Yes … Hi, Connie … Yes, she’s home … Oh no, really? I’m so sorry … Oh, good.” Then she laughed. “No. Don’t you touch it. I’ll send Charlie down right away.”
She hung up the phone. “That was Mrs. Gritzbach.”
Uh-oh.
“She called to see if Ginger was home. She said Ginger had been in their yard and she had, uh …”
“Answered the call of nature?” Dad asked.
“Yes. Right in front of their house. But Mr. Gritzbach isn’t home yet. So, Charlie, if you hurry down there, you can clean it up before he gets back.”
“Okay.” I grabbed a plastic bag from the drawer.
“See you later, Poopmeister,” Matt said.
I was so happy to have Ginger back, I didn’t mind being the Poopmeister.
“That’s Master Poopmeister to you,” I said, heading out the door.
I got the mess cleaned up before Mr. Gritzbach saw it, but I don’t have to tell you I got a lecture when I got back.
Actually, I got a bunch of lectures.
I got a lecture from my mom.
I got a lecture from my dad.
They both made me apologize to the Squid. I apologized. And I meant it.
I figured I wouldn’t ask about watching Buck Meson for a couple of weeks. It seemed like a bad idea.
Matt told me it was the dumbest thing I had ever done. “And for someone who’s a total dorkhead,” he said, “that is really, really dumb.”
Only the Squid stood up for me. “It’s not fair,” she said to Mom and Dad. “It’s not Charlie’s fault the leash didn’t work.”
“The leash is not the point,” Dad said. “It was Charlie’s responsibility to walk the dog.” He looked at me. “You knew Mabel was too little.”
I knew Dad was right, so I couldn’t argue.
Ginger just licked my face. She wasn’t mad at me.
That’s why you have a dog.
16
That Kid with the Beard
We had rehearsals on Tuesday and Wednesday afternoon. Things went pretty well, but I was still having trouble with my long speech. Tommy and Hector went over my lines with me after rehearsal. Wednesday night I even asked Matt to help me practice.
“This is a dumb play,” he said.
“You don’t have to tell me that,” I said.
“Okay,” he said, “I won’t tell you it’s a dumb
play, even though it is.” But then he read all the lines really well, so I began to think he’d just said it was dumb because he had to, since he was my older brother.
Thursday was the day for the dress rehearsal. That morning when I got into class, everyone was crowded around Crystal Medeiros’s desk. There was an animal cage on it, and Killer was inside. Kids from my class were on their knees, peering in and sticking their fingers through the mesh wire.
“Can I hold Killer?” Alex asked. “Just for a minute?”
Everyone chimed in, all wanting to do the same thing.
Mrs. Burke was watching. “I don’t think we should take the rabbit out during class.”
“My dad said I could take him out of the cage once or twice,” Crystal said, “but I have to hold him. You can pet him, though.”
“Please, Mrs. Burke?” Trevor asked.
“All right, then,” Mrs. Burke said. “But I want everyone to sit on the floor and let Crystal bring the rabbit around. In five minutes, Killer goes back in his cage.”
Crystal took Killer out of the cage. She held him tightly to her body and let everyone pat his head and side. He had hilarious long ears that drooped down the side of his head and his nose was twitching like something was tickling it.
That afternoon, Mrs. Burke sent the kids with costumes to the girls’ and boys’ rooms down the hall to get dressed. Mrs. Berman, Lydia’s mom, came in to help. She kept knocking on the boys’ bathroom door to tell us to hurry up.
Some people can’t help being parents, even when they’re in school.
When I came out of the bathroom, Mrs. L.’s class was coming back from the library. Darren Thompson stopped and pointed at me. Oh great.
“Looky, looky, looky!” he said. “It’s a little pointy-headed troll.”
I walked on past the line of kids, ignoring him.
“Hi, Charlie,” said Tommy, giving me a thumbs-up. “Cool costume.”
Tracy Hazlett was staring at me. “What are you?” she asked.
“The … um … Nice Gnome,” I muttered.
She nodded and smiled.
I thought I was going to throw up a little.
We had almost made it to safety inside the gym when Larry Ladoux, the mean fifth grader, saw us. “Look at the dorky outfits,” he said. “Especially that kid with the beard.”
“Everyone into the gym!” called Mrs. Burke. “Line up in front of the stage.”
Ms. Bromley, the art teacher, had helped the crew finish the set, and it was on the stage. When Mr. Turchin, the school custodian, turned on the colored lights overhead, it made everything look really beautiful.
We went through the whole play. It took almost an hour because we had to stop four or five times.
General Shuler, (our new PE teacher is so strict I call him General Shuler, the Intergalactic Supreme Commander of Soccer Balls) had had to cancel his gym classes. He watched the whole thing with his arms folded across his chest and his eyebrows squinched down. He would’ve made a great Angry Gnome.
Maybe because everyone was so excited, people kept making mistakes. There was so much noise people couldn’t hear Mrs. Burke’s snapping fingers. She clapped her hands and called, “Pay attention, everyone!”
Then it was time for the castle to be moved, but Joey and Alex weren’t ready.
“Where’s the stage crew?” she shouted. “Alex! Joey! Where are you?”
I ran back behind the set. They were down on their knees looking at Killer in his cage.
“You guys,” I said. “Hurry up. You’re supposed to be moving the castle. Mrs. Burke is getting mad.”
Alex got up and looked around, like he didn’t know where the castle was.
“Over there!” I pointed to a corner of the stage behind the curtain. I’d read the dumb play so many times, I knew exactly where the castle was supposed to be.
When I got home, I stopped in my tracks in front of the back steps.
The Squid was right behind me. “Look, Charlie!” she squealed. “It’s you!”
I couldn’t believe it.
A big plastic gnome was standing on the top step. It had an electric cord on it, so you could plug it in and it would light up.
I wondered if Matt had put it there to terrorize me.
“Matt!” I yelled.
He stuck his head out the door and saw the gnome. “Hey, where’d that come from?”
“You didn’t put it there?”
“No,” he said. “But I wish I had.”
Then I saw the envelope taped to the gnome’s head. It had “Charlie” written on it.
There was a card inside.
I opened it and read the note.
Dear Charlie,
Thank you so much for helping me with Lovey-Doodle. I spoke with your mother and understand you’re in a big play. Since you’re the Nice Gnome, I thought it might be fun for you to have one for your room. You can use it as a night-light!
Many thanks,
Sharon Lapidus and Lovey-Doodle
“The Nice Gnome’s cousin!” said Matt.
“I wish I had a gnome,” the Squid said.
That night I set up the gnome in the corner of my room and plugged it in. With the other lights turned off, it glowed like one of those radioactive aliens Buck Meson always paralyzes with his electron stare.
I stood in front of the mirror over my chest of drawers, practicing my part. I kept saying the last line to my big speech over and over again: “Follow your heart, follow your heart, follow your heart.”
Matt came in the room. He had a bag and a stack of newspapers under his arm.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“The Nice Gnome might have to be nice,” Matt said, “but he can still be cool.”
“What do you mean?”
“Follow me.”
I followed him down the stairs, out the kitchen door, and into the open garage. He spread the newspapers on the concrete floor.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He reached in the bag and pulled out a pair of dirty white sneakers. “Size five shoes for the Nice Gnome,” he said. “These are my old ones, but gnomes have big feet.”
“They’re white,” I said. “They should be brown.”
“No, they shouldn’t,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
Then he reached in the bag and pulled out a can of spray paint. “The Guh-nice Guh-nome shouldn’t have brown pointy shoes. The Guh-nice Guh-nome needs golden shoes.”
He put the shoes down on the newspaper and held out the can. “Be my guest!”
I looked at him. “Really?”
“Really!” he said.
I took the can and sprayed Matt’s old sneakers until they were completely gold.
They looked amazing.
“This is so awesome,” I said.
“Awesome shoes,” Matt said. “Awesome gnome.”
At the all-school meeting the next afternoon, we filed up onto the stage in our costumes. I was still a little nervous about being a gnome, with my dad’s shorts flapping around and my beard and pointy hat. But there were so many kids dressed up in all sorts of odd-looking outfits, I didn’t really stick out.
As I came out on stage with the rest of the class, Ellen Holmes was standing at the microphone, ready to tell everyone that they should come to the play.
And then the Squid saw me.
She was sitting up toward the very front, wearing her purple gnome hat. Before Mrs. Diaz could stop her, my sister stood and said, “Charlie’s the Nice Gnome. He’s a really Nice Gnome, and he’s wearing the gold shoes that Matt gave him.”
Everybody cracked up. I heard Tommy hoot. Hector poked me. Samantha rolled her eyes.
Brady Bernhart, a crazy first grader with this weird croaky voice, yelled, “Cool shoes, Charlie!”
17
A Million Chairs
Friday night Dad came home early and brought Chinese take-out for dinner. I had to be at the school at six o’clock, so we ate
quickly. At five forty-five we all got in the car. I carried my costume in a bag, but the Squid wore her purple T-shirt and purple gnome hat.
Mom took the script in the car and kept reading my lines aloud to make sure I knew them.
“Stop it, Mom,” Matt said. “You’re just making the Guh-nice Guh-nome guh-nervous.”
“I agree,” said my dad.
So did I.
I could still feel that last egg roll sitting on top of my stomach. And for some reason the tune to the Buck Meson theme song kept playing in my head.
When we got to the school, I was even more nervous. My mom hugged me and said, “Break a leg!”
“What?” I said.
“It’s what actors say for good luck,” she said.
Actors are weird.
Mr. Turchin had set out a million chairs for the audience. A lot of parents were already there, and a bunch of brothers and sisters and babies and grandmothers and granddads. I saw kids from other classes, too.
I went down to our classroom, where we were all supposed to meet. Mrs. Berman and a couple of other parents were helping kids get the costumes ready. Crystal carried in Killer’s cage and set it down in the corner. Alex was running all over as usual. The Prince’s Servant, Hector, had on a fancy jacket and one of his dad’s bow ties.
Mrs. Burke was walking around, eating from a plastic container of salad.
I got dressed quickly and put on my beard. Mrs. Berman helped me stuff the pillow into my Gnome pants.
“Line up!” Mrs. Burke said. “It’s time for us to go.” She led us down the hallway, eating salad as she went. We followed her all the way to the gym and around to the back of the stage.
She put down her salad container and gathered us around. “Listen, all of you citizens of Mrs. Burke’s Empire. Your job is to pay attention and play your part in the best way you can. Tonight we’re all going to work together and create something wonderful.”
While she was talking, I saw Alex way at the back, on his knees by Killer’s cage. When Mrs. Burke finished, I went over to see what he was doing.
He had opened the cage door a little and was feeding Killer a piece of lettuce from Mrs. Burke’s salad.