Read Online Creature from the 7th Grade : Boy or Beast (9781101591833) by Andy (ILT) Bob; Rash Balaban - Free Book Online Page A

says. “Hold still.” She licks her napkin and starts dabbing away at the spot. “Did you get enough sleep last night?”
    â€œNot really. Maybe I should stay home today. I’m not feeling very well.”
    â€œReally?” She puts the back of her hand on my sloping upper cranial ridge to see if I have a fever. “You do look a little green around the gills to me.”
    â€œHe
is
green around the gills, Mom,” Dave says. “Get used to it.” He throws down his napkin and storms over to the refrigerator.
    â€œSomeone got up on the wrong side of the bed today.” Mom goes over to Dave. “What’s the matter, honey?”
    Dave pours himself more milk and gulps it down before he speaks. “Dad didn’t even ask me how my wrist was doing before he left.”
    â€œHe meant to,” Mom says, putting her arm around Dave’s shoulder. “Your father has a lot on his mind, sweetheart.”
    â€œWell, so do I,” Dave says, pulling away.
“
You can’t believe the pressure I’m under. And nobody’s asking me if
I
had a good night’s sleep last night. Or sewing
me
special new green clothes, or telling me how great I look in them. Everything is ‘Charlie this’ and ‘Charlie that.’ ‘How did Charlie sleep?’ ‘Does Charlie have a fever?’ I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” He slams his empty glass down onto the counter. I have never seen my brother this upset.
    â€œHoney, we’re all under a lot of stress,” Mom says. “I have to cater a luncheon for fifty crabby diabetics tomorrow, and Friday morning I’m doing breakfast for Mrs. Pagliuso’s cousin’s club and every last one of them inherited a gluten allergy. No French toast . . . no pancakes . . . don’t even think about Belgian waffles. It’s a nightmare.”
    â€œI’m really sorry, Mom. But what am I going to do if my wrist doesn’t heal in time for the big game? We play the Barrington Bears on Thursday. I’ve been looking forward to being in the play-offs all year. It’s just not fair.”
    â€œHoney, sometimes life gives us lemons,” my mom says, putting her arm around Dave’s shoulder again. “And you know what? You’ve just got to get out your best pitcher and start makin’ that lemonade.”
    Dave doesn’t say anything. He just stands there looking lonely. And sad. And, although I never thought I’d be saying this, very little.
    â€œHere, take my cape, Dave,” I say. “Go ahead. It doesn’t look that good on me, anyway. No offense, Mom.” I lean over and place it on his big, broad shoulders, which are nowhere near as big and broad as mine. Mom gives me a grateful smile. I’m worried about Dave. I wonder how he feels about being shorter than his little brother.
    â€œI know you want to make everything all right, Charlie,” Dave says quietly. “But you can’t. Thought you might want to know I injured my wrist again last night prying your jaws open.” He hands the cape back to me. It’s the first thing he’s said to me all morning.

WAITER, THERE’S A DINOSAUR IN MY SOUP .  .  .
    I AM FIVE minutes late for school. It wasn’t my fault. My mother insisted on taking my temperature before she would let me out of the house, and when she discovered it was hovering at 73 degrees (well below the normal human average of 98.6), she panicked. It took several visits to YourPet.com and a personal phone call to our family veterinarian, Dr. Herbert Melville, before she could be convinced that I’m ectothermic (as are all fish, amphibians, and reptiles). So if the temperature in my house was 73 degrees, then mine should be, too.
    I reach into my backpack to make sure I haven’t forgotten my social security blanket cards, remind myself to look as harmless as possible, and walk