Read Online Fight for Life by Laurie Halse Anderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laurie Halse Anderson
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look.”
“I know,” I say. “Back to the librarian’s desk.” Twice in one day. I wonder if I’m going to have an allergic reaction.
Mr. Margate takes back the law book and shows us where we can find a special phone directory that lists people by address. After Sunita corrects my spelling of the street name, we find the listings for Lafayette Road. They take up three pages. If I have to call everyone on this road, it will take forever.
I need help.
“What are you doing after school?” I ask Sunita.
The bus ride home is loud and bumpy as usual. What’s different is that Sunita is sitting next to me instead of her usual seat behind the driver. She has to shout so I can hear her.
“Even with both of us it could take days!” she hollers.
“What do you mean?”
She opens her binder to a page of calculations. “I did the math. Fifty names per column, three columns per page, three pages of columns equals four hundred and fifty names. Even if each phone call takes three minutes, it will take the two of us more than eleven hours!”
“You’re joking.”
She shakes her head.
“What if Brenna helps us?”
She slides her calculator out of a special pocket in her binder. How does she keep a notebook that neat?
“Seven point five hours.”
“And if we add Zoe?”
“About five and a half.”
That would still take two afternoons of calling. Gran wouldn’t let four of us stay on the phone from 3:30 until 9:00 P.M. I look at the back of the bus. David is making faces with his buddies, turning up his nose and crossing his eyes. I can’t believe I’m going to do this.
“And David?”
“If there are five of us, taking ninety names each, three minutes a name, it comes down to four and a half hours. That’s less than half of what it would take if there were two of us. Oh, and if you do it alone”—she pauses for a quick calculation—“it will take twenty-two point five hours.”
I have to take back what I said to my teacher about math being useless.
Each time the bus stops, I scoot down the aisle to talk to one of the others. Brenna is drawing a peace symbol on the back of her left hand with a green marker. She agrees instantly. Zoe is two rows back sitting with the Conover twins, who are the coolest kids in fifth grade. When I ask her if she’ll help, she smiles and says, “Sure. Mom always said I was good at talking on the phone.”
As I step to the back row, the boys freeze. I still can’t believe I’m doing this.
“David, do you want to come to the clinic? We need your help.”
His friends erupt into screams, hoots, and hollers. He blushes, which makes matters worse. I turn to walk away. This was a stupid idea.
David yells loud enough to be heard over the noise.
“I’ll be there!”
I stumble back to my seat and sit back down next to Sunita. “Remind me again why we’re doing this,” I mutter.
The bus lets us off at the corner. We troop into the clinic, me at the head of the pack and Zoe bringing up the rear. Dr. Gabe is searching through the piles of paper on the receptionist’s desk.
“Hi, Gabe. Where’s Gran?”
“She’s out on a call to Mr. Barber’s,” he explains. “Hoof rot. Again.”
“Mr. Barber will talk forever,” I say. “We have all the time we need.”
Sunita hands out the photocopied phone lists, and I assign people to the telephones. David gets the house line in the kitchen, Zoe takes the phone in Gran’s bedroom, and Sunita calls from the phone in the lab. Before she starts, she disconnects the modem and attaches it to an old phone, so Brenna and I each have a phone to use at the receptionist’s desk. And there is still one phone line open for incoming calls. Having six telephone lines is another advantage of living next to the clinic.
“OK, guys, listen up,” I say as we gather around the kitchen table. “This is really important. If we can find the puppy mill, then we can rescue the rest of the dogs and shut this guy down for good. But
“I know,” I say. “Back to the librarian’s desk.” Twice in one day. I wonder if I’m going to have an allergic reaction.
Mr. Margate takes back the law book and shows us where we can find a special phone directory that lists people by address. After Sunita corrects my spelling of the street name, we find the listings for Lafayette Road. They take up three pages. If I have to call everyone on this road, it will take forever.
I need help.
“What are you doing after school?” I ask Sunita.
The bus ride home is loud and bumpy as usual. What’s different is that Sunita is sitting next to me instead of her usual seat behind the driver. She has to shout so I can hear her.
“Even with both of us it could take days!” she hollers.
“What do you mean?”
She opens her binder to a page of calculations. “I did the math. Fifty names per column, three columns per page, three pages of columns equals four hundred and fifty names. Even if each phone call takes three minutes, it will take the two of us more than eleven hours!”
“You’re joking.”
She shakes her head.
“What if Brenna helps us?”
She slides her calculator out of a special pocket in her binder. How does she keep a notebook that neat?
“Seven point five hours.”
“And if we add Zoe?”
“About five and a half.”
That would still take two afternoons of calling. Gran wouldn’t let four of us stay on the phone from 3:30 until 9:00 P.M. I look at the back of the bus. David is making faces with his buddies, turning up his nose and crossing his eyes. I can’t believe I’m going to do this.
“And David?”
“If there are five of us, taking ninety names each, three minutes a name, it comes down to four and a half hours. That’s less than half of what it would take if there were two of us. Oh, and if you do it alone”—she pauses for a quick calculation—“it will take twenty-two point five hours.”
I have to take back what I said to my teacher about math being useless.
Each time the bus stops, I scoot down the aisle to talk to one of the others. Brenna is drawing a peace symbol on the back of her left hand with a green marker. She agrees instantly. Zoe is two rows back sitting with the Conover twins, who are the coolest kids in fifth grade. When I ask her if she’ll help, she smiles and says, “Sure. Mom always said I was good at talking on the phone.”
As I step to the back row, the boys freeze. I still can’t believe I’m doing this.
“David, do you want to come to the clinic? We need your help.”
His friends erupt into screams, hoots, and hollers. He blushes, which makes matters worse. I turn to walk away. This was a stupid idea.
David yells loud enough to be heard over the noise.
“I’ll be there!”
I stumble back to my seat and sit back down next to Sunita. “Remind me again why we’re doing this,” I mutter.
The bus lets us off at the corner. We troop into the clinic, me at the head of the pack and Zoe bringing up the rear. Dr. Gabe is searching through the piles of paper on the receptionist’s desk.
“Hi, Gabe. Where’s Gran?”
“She’s out on a call to Mr. Barber’s,” he explains. “Hoof rot. Again.”
“Mr. Barber will talk forever,” I say. “We have all the time we need.”
Sunita hands out the photocopied phone lists, and I assign people to the telephones. David gets the house line in the kitchen, Zoe takes the phone in Gran’s bedroom, and Sunita calls from the phone in the lab. Before she starts, she disconnects the modem and attaches it to an old phone, so Brenna and I each have a phone to use at the receptionist’s desk. And there is still one phone line open for incoming calls. Having six telephone lines is another advantage of living next to the clinic.
“OK, guys, listen up,” I say as we gather around the kitchen table. “This is really important. If we can find the puppy mill, then we can rescue the rest of the dogs and shut this guy down for good. But
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