Read Online The Summer of Riley by Eve Bunting - Free Book Online Page A

chance.”
    Mom stood close and very still, her lips pressed tightly as if she might cry herself.
    “It’s not fair,” I muttered.
    “You know something,” Stephen said, “it
is
fair. They’ve given you extra time, a chance to get the commissioners to change their minds. They’ve leaned over backward for you.” He paused. “Right?”
    I wasn’t going to say right. Not one bit of this was right.
    I gave the phone back to Mom, went to the refrigerator, and poured myself a glass of milk. I looked hard at those big squares. The life calendar. One down. Lots of time left.
    Did Ellis Porter have a calendar too, and was he staring at it, planning as I was planning?
    A life for a life.
    A dog for his cat.
    It didn’t matter to him which dog. Riley would do fine.

Chapter 13

    T he next morning we taped a flyer on every lamppost and tree along Main Street. The rain had stopped, the sun was out, and the big yellow notices were eye-popping all right. “Better even than having them in windows,” Grace said admiringly. “No glass to get in the way.”
    We stood on opposite sidewalks, giving out flyers to anyone who passed by who would take one. Some did. Some didn’t. Some said, “Good luck!” or “I was sorry about your dog.” But others didn’t look at us, staring straight ahead as if we were invisible. Others muttered stuff like, “A dog that chases another animal gets no sympathy from me,” or worst of all, “Give it up, kid. You’re wasting your time. The dog’s a goner.”
    “No,” I said. “No.”
    Some looked so angry it made my heart beat fast,and sometimes they’d take a flyer and crumple it up and toss it into the gutter. When they did, I’d pick it up, and if it wasn’t too creased, I’d use it again. If it was, I’d stick it in my backpack to take home. What if I was the one accused of littering?
    But there were nice passersby, too. A woman who’d been at the ATM gave me a twenty-dollar bill. “Here, son,” she said. “This will help with expenses.”
    “Thanks,” I told her, and I could have thrown my arms around her and hugged her, except that might have embarrassed her to death. She was wearing a big hat and actually she reminded me of Peachie.
    A little kid held up his puppy to me. “His name is Spot. You can pet him if you like,” he said.
    I kissed the top of the puppy’s head and it had a Riley dog smell.
    And then I heard Grace shout, “Yo, William!” from the other side of the street, and I looked where she was pointing. There were Ellis Porter and Duane Smith, farther up Main, giving out flyers that definitely weren’t ours. Theirs was an ugly shade of pink, but eye-popping too. I knew the picture of the Sultan was on theirs. And what else?
    I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Jim Deppe, who’s in my grade, came zipping along on his bikeand handed me one. “Take a gander,” he said, and rode off.
    There, on that sick-making pink paper, was a picture of the Sultan of Kaboor, old and weary-looking, standing by Peachie’s fence. His head drooped. There was a bandage on one leg. Underneath the picture, the flyer said:
    THIS HORSE WAS CHASED ALMOST TO DEATH
BY A VICIOUS, UNLEASHED DOG, NAME OF RILEY.
UPHOLD THE DEATH PENALTY FOR ALL DOGS
THAT CHASE OUR LIVESTOCK. CALL 555-6432
AND DEMAND THAT THE LAW IS OBEYED.
SIGN OUR PETITION.

    Chased almost to death! What a lie! Several people were coming along the sidewalk, reading as they walked. “That isn’t even true,” I told them desperately. “My dog isn’t vicious. He’s … look … here’s a picture of him … does he …”
    “Did he chase this horse or not?” a red-faced man with a red mustache asked me.
    I scrunched my shoulders. “He did. But he didn’t hurt …”
    “‘Nuff said.” He swung on his heel.
    That night Grace and I decided we should get our petition ready fast. Tomorrow we’d have people sign ours. How many would be willing to sign to have Riley saved? I wasn’t so sure anymore. Would