Read Online Wringer by Jerry Spinelli - Free Book Online

tuna fish and water. Beans believed him.
    Another time, they had been playing outside in the snow and Beans decided he was too cold. “Let’s go to Palmer’s,” he said. “We don’t have heat,” Palmer said. “Our heater broke.” Beans said he didn’t care; the house had walls and a door, didn’t it? So that’s where they headed.
    Palmer could not think of anything until they were at his front steps, when suddenly he pointed across the street and yelled, “Let’s bomb Fishface’s!” By the time they finished snowballing Dorothy Gruzik’s house, it was nearly white, and Beans had forgotten that he was cold.
    It became a habit, using Dorothy to divert attention from himself and his house. As soon as the guys would drift onto Palmer’s block, he made his move:
    â€œLet’s bomb Fishface’s house!”
    â€œLet’s bomb Fishface’s car!”
    â€œLet’s bomb Fishface!”
    When there was no snow on Dorothy Gruzik’s sidewalk, they brought their own chalk and drew funny faces in her hopscotch squares. They ambushed her on the way home from school. They taunted her and ran rings around her as she walked. Sometimes they simply stood in front of her in the middle of the sidewalk, like human trees, forcing her to walk around them. Then they would run ahead and become new sidewalk trees, making her detour around them time after time, all the way home. Beans gave the game a name: treestumping.
    One day Dorothy was not there. She was home sick. The snow had melted. There was nothing to bomb her house or car with. Every hopscotch square had been funnyfaced.
    â€œI’m cold,” said Beans, turning to Palmer. “Let’s go to your house.”
    And Palmer, with no time to think, heard himself say, “Let’s go to your house!”

20
    Palmer had never been to Beans’s house. He had been to Mutto’s and to Henry’s, but never to Beans’s. He had come to imagine that Beans lived alone. Beans never mentioned parents, brothers, sisters or any other aspect of family life. Palmer further imagined that Beans lived by himself in a lean-to, or even better, a cave, a hole, down by the creek.
    So he was surprised when Beans said okay to his suggestion. And even more surprised, ten minutes later, to discover that Beans did not live in a lean-to or a hole, after all, but in a house. And from the looks of it, a fine house, with a front porch and a shiny brass doorknob. Mutto rang the doorbell—which he did whenever he approached a house, even his own—and inside could be heard a two-note chime.
    Beans took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He waved, “Come on in.” Inside, Palmer looked about for signs of primitive living—mud,piles of rubbish—but saw nothing but clean furniture, carpets, pictures on the walls. A regular house.
    Beans led them straight back to the kitchen. “Wait’ll you see this.” He dragged a chair in front of the refrigerator and stood on it. He opened the freezer compartment and began pulling out frozen dinners and plastic containers. Reaching in to the very back of the freezer, he pulled out a frozen dinner, jumped down from the chair and put the dinner on the kitchen table. The lid said spaghetti and meatballs.
    â€œYummy,” said Henry.
    â€œI hate spaghetti,” said Mutto.
    â€œYou’ll like this,” said Beans.
    The box was bigger than the others, a so-called “He-Man” size. And it had already been opened. Palmer could tell because the lid was held on by Scotch tape. Beans peeled away the tape. He seemed especially slow and careful about it. He looked up and grinned at each of them. He lifted the lid. It was not spaghetti and meatballs.
    All three visitors recoiled. Henry went, “Eewww!”
    Mutto was first to recover. He leaned in. “What is it?”
    Without warning Beans snatched the contents of the