Dog Heaven (5 page)
“I have something for you.”
Bam! Bam! Bam!
“All right, all right, I’m coming.”
I slid off the bunk.
When I opened the door, Stella shot me.
“Hey!”
Stella aimed the orange squirt gun at my face and fired again.
“What’d you do that for?”
“That’s for getting into my Diet Sprite, twerp. Next time, ask.”
“I didn’t get into your dumb Sprite.”
“That’s
Diet
Sprite, and you stole my empties.”
Well, she was right about that. I’d taken them to Kalapawai Market and turned them in for money to buy
her
a birthday present. “How was I supposed to know you wanted them?”
Stella shot me again. “Guilty as charged.”
I backed away, trying to block the water with my hands.
Stella kept shooting. I was soaked. “I’m telling Mom, Stella. You’re in trouble.”
“Go ahead. Tell. It’s worth it.”
I ducked and dodged while Stella squirted me until the gun ran out of water. I wiped my face. “I’ll get you for this.”
Stella blew me a kiss. “Looking forward to it, sweetie.”
I slammed the door and locked it, then moved my desk chair over and propped it under the doorknob. “Wart face,” I muttered.
I changed my T-shirt and climbed back onto my bed.
What I wanted so bad I could taste was suddenly clear. I picked up my pencil and wrote:
What I want so bad I can taste it is for Stella to get a big fat wart on the end of her big fat nose. My wish should come true because she’s an ugly toad and ugly toads have warts, lots and lots of warts. And since it’s totally unfair to get squirted because of some dumb pop cans, Mr. Purdy should want my wish to come true. Because he’s a fair teacher. And boot campers should stick together. Against all enemies. Forever and ever.
Yeah!
Maybe it wasn’t what I was supposed to write, but it felt good. I grinned. Then I tore the paper out of my notebook and tossed it toward the wastebasket.
Missed.
I ran the pencil under my nose. It smelled good. What I wanted was a dog. But I couldn’t get one. So what was I going to write?
Argh!
This assignment was hard.
Hey … I banged my forehead with the palm of my hand. Duh … this isn’t for real. I can write whatever I want.
I want a dog!
I erased the exclamation point. Too much.
I want a dog, because I love dogs … except I probably don’t want a hunting dog. Dogs like people. Cats mostly don’t, except for Maya’s cat, Zippy. Zippy is cool. But dogs are better.
It was a start. Not a very good one, but I could make it better later. What next?
I want a dog that can keep up with my bike.
I erased it.
I want a dog that likes to run.
Erased that, too.
I grinned, thinking how awesome it would be to have a dog next time Stella banged on my door. It would bark and spit out the dander stuff that makes her eyes puff up and she’d scream and run for her life. Ho, yeah! How funny would
that be?
New ideas popped up like popcorn.
I could train it to follow Stella around like a shadow. I could make a sign for my door:
BEWARE! DANDER BUGS!
I could—
I put my pencil down and rolled over
onto my back. The black spider on the ceiling above my head was still in its same spot. It hadn’t moved in a week. Maybe it ate a fly and wasn’t hungry. I squinted at it. Was it even alive?
I put my hands behind my head.
How do you get something you can’t have?
M
r. Purdy was excited.
And that made us all nervous.
He rubbed his hands together. “It’s Friday, boot campers. First-draft day!” He raised his fist as if this was the greatest thing since Batman tangled with the Joker. “Who’s going to read first?”
I put my head down and shielded my eyes with my hand, whispering, “Not me, not me, not me.”
“Nobody?”
That classroom got so quiet I looked up to see if everyone was still there. Manly Stanley was watching me from the resort on Mr. Purdy’s desk. Was that fool grinning?
“Oh, come on, guys,” Mr. Purdy said. “Where’s your confidence?” Even Shayla kept quiet. So quiet that I thought I heard Manly Stanley burp. Where was that roach, anyway?
“Shayla?” Mr. Purdy said.
Shayla’s paper was lying upside down on her desk. She touched it but didn’t turn it over. “It’s not very good yet, Mr. Purdy.”
Mr. Purdy snapped his fingers. “Exactly, Shayla. That’s part of what I’m trying to teach you. Your first draft isn’t meant to be a great work of art. But you know what? You can
make it better. Trust me, all of you, no matter how bad you think your first draft is, you can fix it. So, let’s hear what you’ve written, Shayla.”
Shayla turned her paper over and started reading.
“I want—”
She stopped. “Everyone will laugh.”
Mr. Purdy went over to the list of class rules and tapped number six:
Never laugh at someone else’s mistakes
. “First of all, whatever you’ve written is not a mistake. And even if it were, it would not be laughed at, would it, class?”
“No, Mr. Purdy,” everyone mumbled.
“Go ahead, Shayla.”
“Don’t be shy-la,” Rubin whispered, loud.
I looked back and grinned.
Mr. Purdy gave Rubin his
cork it
squint.
Shayla read, “I want to take yoga lessons.”
She waited for everyone to laugh.
I thought, Yoga? What’s yoga?
Shayla read more.
“I want to take yoga lessons with my mom,
because she says they make her feel young and healthy. Mr. Purdy should want me to take yoga lessons, too, because I would do it with my mom. And I would get better grades, because I would be young and healthy like my mom.”
Mr. Purdy smiled. “Very good, Shayla. Thank you. Yoga is an excellent practice, and doing something with your mom would be wonderful. Good work. Who’s next?”
I slid lower in my seat.
Mr. Purdy brightened. “Rubin. Great. Let’s hear it.”
Rubin stood and cleared his throat.
“I want a skateboard because skateboards are cool and if I had one I could race Maya and beat her because I’m a boy. Mr. Purdy will
want me to have a skateboard because he’s a boy, too.”
Maya looked at Rubin like, That has GOT to be the STUPIDEST thing I have ever heard in my LIFE!
I covered my head and laughed. If that was a page of writing, his letters had to be six inches tall.
“You’re right, Rubin,” Mr. Purdy said. “I am a boy. But you’re dreaming if you think you can beat Maya on a skateboard.”
Maya smiled at Rubin.
“That’s a good start, Rubin. Thank you for trying. Who’s next?”
Willy was erasing something on his paper. Maybe he’d wanted a skateboard, too.
Mr. Purdy looked my way. “Mr. Coconut, what have you got for me today?”
Dang.
