Dodger for President (10 page)

I limped home on my sore, enchanted toe, which rubbed against the ground through the gaping hole in my sneaker. Between that, my throbbing hand, and my black eye, I was starting to feel like I'd been through a war. And we still had a carpet flight to get through.

I had no problem persuading my parents to let me go back out. I think the Tincture of Distraction was still working, because my dad didn't even ask me how the big speech had gone. In fact, my parents didn't really pay much attention to me unless I was touching them. Amy was a different story. She kept staring at me, then looking away, then looking around again in bewilderment. I knew my problems with her were far from over.

I went upstairs, got Dodger, and headed out the back door into the woods. On the way over, I kind of
thought he'd be mad at me for having switched the order of the assembly speeches, but all he did was slap me on the back and say, “Willie, that was a great plan! Dude, I never doubted you for a second!” I tried not to roll my eyes.

When we got to the Field of Dreams, I told Dodger about the mission to Craig's brother's house. He thought it was a great idea, but there was a catch: He couldn't go with us. Apparently, he couldn't help an Irish kid directly either. “But this will be great,” he said. “My two best flying students of this century on a combat mission together!”

“What do you mean, best of this century? Aren't we your ONLY flying students of this century?”

“Well, yeah, technically. But, dude, I taught lots of people how to fly in other centuries.”

“Like who?”

“Um, Amelia Earhart, the Red Baron, and . . . let's see . . . oh, I almost forgot: Captain Max Pruss.” I looked at Dodger blankly. “You know,” he said. “The pilot of the
Hindenburg
zeppelin.”

“So, Dodger, your three best flight students of the whole twentieth century all crashed?”

“Uh, in a sense . . . I mean, if you're going to be all precise about it . . . hey, look! There's Lizzie!”

The next thing I knew, Dodger was saying, “Bon voyage, dudes! Beware of—”

The end of his sentence was drowned out by the rush of wind as Lizzie and I took off on the Flying Carpet of Khartoum. Lizzie asked, “Did he just say we should beware of cannibals?” I shrugged; I was pretty busy concentrating. I was mostly controlling the flight, with Lizzie standing next to me, holding a fistful of my sweatshirt with one hand and reading the directions aloud. Interestingly, we could see each other. Dodger had said that the Tincture of Distraction and the magic of the carpet would probably cancel each other out. I have to say, I did a lot better on this mission than I had on my first one. Lizzie kept telling me I should go faster, but hey, we were getting there. At one point, she dug her elbow into me and pointed out two little kids below us in a little red wagon. They appeared to be going faster than we were, but they were going downhill—so it was a totally unfair comparison.

Anyway, we eventually got to Frogtown and found the trailer at the edge of the swamp where
Tyler lived with his dad and the three deadly dogs. Once we didn't need the directions anymore, Lizzie whipped Tyler's cell phone out of her pocket, handed it to me, and said, “Okay, Willie, I'll take it from here.”

“What do you mean, you'll take it from here?” I asked.

“Look, do you see those high-voltage power lines running on both sides of the trailer? And that row of trees in front? And the clotheslines in the back by the swamp? Ooh, and the agitated, snarling dogs?”

I gulped. “Uh, yeah. But I could—”

“I think we're going to have to come in at a pretty steep angle if we want to get to Tyler's window without getting fried, smashed, or eaten. So while I know you are more than capable of piloting this carpet, I just thought you might want to give me a turn, that's all.”

I could feel the clammy sweat of intense physical fear breaking out all over my body. “Well,” I said, “I guess it's only fair that I give you a chance.”

“I knew you'd see it my way,” Lizzie said. “Now hold on! I'm going to have to dive almost vertically
to get us past the power lines with enough speed to outrun the dogs. Then we'll circle the trailer once to get the dogs confused. They shouldn't be able to see us, but they will smell us. We'll need to hover by Tyler's window for a moment while you lean over the side of the carpet, knock on the window, and give him the phone, and we'll want to have a head start. Any questions?”

“Uh, couldn't we just land on the roof of the trailer? Or knock on the door?”

“No, the roof isn't flat, see? And we can't knock on the door. Craig said his ex-stepdad would be mad about the phone thing if he knew about it, remember? So we need to get the phone to Tyler without his father knowing about it. Now hold on!”

I grabbed the hood of Lizzie's windbreaker, and she shifted her weight forward. There was a horrible moment when we were tilted forward but hadn't started to dive yet—kind of like that feeling when you're momentarily balanced at the top of a roller coaster. Then the wind was rushing past my face, the power lines were getting bigger and bigger right in front of me, and the dogs were starting to bark.

Wow, those were some loud dogs.

Not only that, but they appeared to be staring right at us. “Uh, Lizzie,” I said.

“Hush,” she said, “I'm trying to concentrate. You don't want me to hit any power lines, do you?”

“No, but I don't think Dodger said—”

“Not now, Willie! I have to—oops! Oh, dear!” Lizzie swerved to avoid a power pole, and the front edge of the carpet caught a tree branch. Instantly, we were tumbling and spinning at the same time. Lizzie was clutching my coat, I was desperately trying to grab the edge of the carpet, and the ground was getting really big, really fast.

The impact was brutal. We landed about fifty feet behind the trailer, only about a yard from the beginning of the mucky swamp. Lizzie was on top of me, and the carpet had ended up half-submerged amid the reeds, maybe ten feet away from us. Lizzie just had time to gasp, “Willie, are you all right?” before the dogs got to us.

All three of them stood in front of our prone bodies, growling and drooling. No doubt about it, they had totally watched us flying in. “Lizzie,” I said, “I don't think Dodger told us to beware of
cannibals. Looking back on it, I'm pretty sure he said
beware of animals
.”

As the dogs glared at us right at our eye level, Lizzie muttered, “Oh, right. Good one, Willie.”

For maybe ten seconds, we didn't move and neither did the dogs. Then they all started barking at once. Lizzie rolled off me, and I jumped up. I don't know what got into me, but I said, “I'll hold them off. Get the carpet!” Thinking fast, I tried to come up with something I could use as a weapon. There was absolutely nothing, but I figured I might be able to get the dogs away from Lizzie. As the dogs started jumping toward my face, I pulled off my left sneaker and threw it. “Fetch!” I shouted. All three dogs turned and rushed after the sneaker. The one that got there first pounced, and in an instant there were little shreds of leather and rubber flying everywhere. But then that dog started stumbling around in circles, looking totally confused.
Wow,
I realized,
the Tincture of Distraction works on the dogs! At least if they eat some
. . . Too bad there were still two more dogs, and I only had one more sneaker. I whipped that one off my right foot, tossed it as far as I could, and watched the two remaining dogs jump on it. Only
one of them turned back toward me. Before I could come up with Plan B, the last dog was hurtling through the air at me. I fell on my back and tried to kick at him with my bare feet. My burned big toe brushed against the fur of his belly, and instantly, the dog twisted away from me. He sniffed at the air, but didn't look back in my direction. The tincture on my foot was still working! He couldn't see me! I was saved! This was great.

But he was still growling. And now he was looking over my right shoulder at something in the swamp. “Lizzie,” I said in the calmest voice I could muster, “I think you might want to hurry with that carpet.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

LATER THAT NIGHT
, back at the Field of Dreams, we told Dodger about the whole adventure: how Lizzie had half-run, half-swum her way through the swamp, gotten the carpet just in time, and swooped in to pick me up—just as Tyler's dad had come outside to see what all the racket was. How the dad had said, “All right, Killer! Down, Slash! Relax, Muffy! If you give me a minute, I'll take you for a nice walk. Stay here, Tyler.” And how, as soon as Daddy was gone, we had delivered the cell phone, as promised. I think Dodger especially
liked the part where we'd told Tyler that Craigieweggie had sent us.

“Dudes, that is awesome! No, that's better than just awesome—that's, like,
made
of awesome! It went just as I planned, too!”

Lizzie and I just rolled our eyes at each other and walked out of the woods toward home. In my backyard, I realized that I was shoeless, scratched up, and smeared all over with swampy muck. I didn't want my parents to see me in this state, so I tiptoed through the door, crept up the stairs, and eased my way along the wall to the bathroom. I turned the corner and reached for the light switch. A hand covered mine. I stifled a scream and flipped the switch. Amy was standing there, in her pj's, with her Sherlock hat firmly in place. “A-ha!” she said triumphantly.

You know, I'm not sure Amy totally bought my story about how Lizzie and I had been abducted by swamp-dwelling aliens from the planet Murgh. But she did get out of the bathroom without making a commotion, which allowed me to take a shower before my parents figured out I was
home. Some days, that's the best a brother can hope for.

 

When Lizzie and I got off the school bus the next morning, Craig was waiting for us. He shook my hand so hard that I thought he might rip it off and actually hugged Lizzie. “Thank you,” he whispered. “My brother had a horrible dream last night. When my phone rang, I was so relieved. I kept thinking,
What if he hadn't been able to call me? What if
—”

James Beeks interrupted our touching little scene. “Craig,” he hissed, “what are you doing? You're
hugging
the enemy!”

“Just relax, James, okay? It's an election, not World War Three,” Lizzie said.

“Shows how much you know,” James snapped. “There hasn't even been a World War Three. Now, Craig, step away from this stupid, ugly—”

Suddenly Craig moved so fast that he was a blur. James fell to the ground, clutching his face. Then Craig was standing next to me, breathing hard and shaking his fingers through the air. “That
hurt
,” he said.

James looked up and said, “You think it hurt
you
?” His hands fell to his sides, and I could see that the area around his right eye was already swelling massively where Craig had just punched it.

Then the teacher in charge of the bus lines came over, took one look at James, and sent all four of us to the office. This was terrible. After all we had done the night before to get Tyler's cell phone to his house, now Craig would get suspended and lose
his
cell phone. It was almost enough to make me wish James hadn't gotten punched in the eye.

Almost.

The secretaries stuck us in a little back room that connected to the principal's office, warned us to behave, and closed the door. I stared at Craig. Craig stared at Lizzie. Lizzie stared at James. James rubbed his eye. Then Lizzie said, “Hey, look! The initials
C.F.
are carved on my chair.”

Without looking up, James said, “Duh. Craig's initials are carved on
every
chair in this room. Right, Craig?”

Craig said, “Look, James, I'm sorry I punched you. But why do you have to be so
mean
all the time?”

James didn't answer. Craig sighed and said, “Oh, man, I don't believe this! Now my mom's going to take away my cell phone for sure.”

Lizzie said, “Maybe not. Hey, James, if Craig gets suspended, you won't have a running mate, right? And then you'll probably have to forfeit the election.”

James snarled, “I'm not going to forfeit the election. I refuse! Black eye or not, I can still whup your geeky, weirdo bu—”

“So, as I was saying, it would be good for you if we found a way to let Craig off the hook.”

“Let him off the hook? He
punched
me! Plus, why should you want him to get away with this? If he gets suspended, you win.”

“Yes,” Lizzie said. “But I'd rather win this thing fair and square. Also, Craig did something that really made me happy.”

“What did he do that was so great?” James asked.

“He punched you,” Lizzie said, smiling sweetly. “Now, the way I see it, we could say that Willie punched you . . .”

“No way!” James interjected.

“. . . or maybe it would be better if we said that
I
punched you . . .”

“
Me
get punched by a girl? Who would believe
that
?”

Lizzie chuckled. “I know a lot of people who would have no trouble at all believing that.”

“Well, I won't do it! No
way
will I say that either of you gave me this black eye.”

Then Craig spoke up. “Guys, don't worry about it. I punched James, and I'll take the punishment. I mean, it's no big deal. I just realized something, anyway: I don't need my cell phone for Tyler to call me. As long as he has his cell phone, he can just call my house. It's not the end of the world. Besides, I never really wanted to be vice president anyway. I only agreed to run so James's parents wouldn't think he was a failu—”