Read Online No More Dead Dogs by Gordon Korman - Free Book Online Page B

they were my friends. And they understood how important it was for me to pull my weight and help Mom. I never thought it had anything to do with football. Football was just how I knew them.
    “It was Cavanaugh, right?” I asked. “He’s behind this.”
    “You’ve got to look at it through the team’s eyes,” pleaded Feather, his face open and sincere. “They’re getting shelled every week. Then they open up the Standard and read how you’re holding out for better grades, or spying for Chechik.”
    “That’s just Porker!” I exclaimed. “The guy’s less than stupid! Nobody believes his stuff!”
    “Maybe.” Rick shrugged. “But it seems like you’re not even trying to get back. And they think, hey, if the cake fits, eat it.”
    I admit it. I was bitter. “So are you guys here now because you’re my friends, or because you think you can get me to write a review of Old Shep, My Pal ?”
    “Of course we’re your friends!” Feather exclaimed.
    “But if you want to write the essay, that would be good, too,” Rick added eagerly.
    It was impossible to stay mad at those two, especially with a whole lawn that needed fertilizing.
    We took turns pulling weeds and pushing the spreader back and forth across the yard. And just when we were almost done, the delivery van from Chee-Zee Pizza whipped around the crescent, and pulled into our driveway, leaving tire tracks along the corner of the lawn.
    “Hey!” I yelled.
    The door of the van opened, and out stepped Laszlo Tamas. Even though Laszlo was older than we were, he was in eighth grade at our school. His family was from Hungary, and he was being held an extra year in middle school to work on his English.
    I think moving to Bedford from Budapest must have been a great deal, because Laszlo was always cheerful. Even when he apologized for driving over our freshly fertilized lawn, he seemed pretty happy about it.
    “Oops!” He beamed. “Sorry.” He brushed off his Chee-Zee Pizza uniform and shook hands with all three of us. Hand-shaking was not big at Bedford Middle School, but I guess nobody told Laszlo. To me he said, “I heard you wanted to see me.”
    The thing about Laszlo was that he was sixteen, and had just gotten his driver’s license. You had to be sixteen to ride a moped. Now, we only needed it for thirty seconds in the opening scene of Old Shep, My Pal. But Fogelman was being a jerk about it, big surprise.
    “Someone has to ride Vito’s mom’s moped in the school play,” I explained, “and you’re the only one who’s old enough to do it. What do you say?”
    “Wow! Really? Me? ” This was just another one of those things that pleased Laszlo to pieces. He enfolded me in a giant bear hug, and shook hands again with Feather and Rick.
    Rick frowned, perplexed. “Wait a minute, Wallace. How come you’re lining up guys for Old Shep, My Pal ?”
    “Yeah,” echoed Feather. “What’s the play got to do with you ?”
    I shrugged. “Nothing, really. I’m stuck down there every day, and their rehearsals are so bad that sometimes you just have to say something. If they take it for advice, it’s not my fault.”
    Feather was obviously suspicious. “So why are you helping? Advice isn’t the same as finding a guy to ride a moped.”
    “It’s just this once,” I explained. “Otherwise Fogelman was going to ride it himself. He’s so clueless, and I knew Laszlo, and what the heck—why not?”
    Laszlo suffocated me with another emotional hug. “It’s my honor to work with Wallace Wallace!”
    “I don’t like it,” Rick said ominously. “I smell a fish in here somewhere.”
    “You don’t smell a fish,” I reassured him. “There’s nothing to smell.”
    “Right,” agreed Laszlo. “I’ll see you at our rehearsal, Wallace.”
    As Laszlo got back in the van, I could see Rick and Feather watching him—and me—with narrowed eyes.

Enter…
RACHEL TURNER

    I was in Spanish class, conjugating, when Trudi leaned over and whispered,