Dodger for Sale (4 page)

Lizzie said, “Whew! Thank goodness, because that would be awkward. Can you even imagine you and me—”

“NO!” I said quickly.

“Me, either,” Lizzie said. But for some strange reason, I could have sworn she was blushing a little bit, too.

We went into the family room and got to work. Lizzie started flipping through my dad’s book. “What does it say to do if there’s nothing rare about the land you’re trying to save?” I asked.

“I dunno,” Lizzie said. “Ooh, wait! The next chapter is called Follow the Money. Apparently, we need to find out who owns the woods, and who will make money if they get sold.”

“How do we do that?” I asked.

“It says here there are three ways. We could call the real estate agent who’s selling the property, we could go to Town Hall and do our research there, or we could check the Internet.”

Bingo!
I thought.
I am a whiz at finding stuff out on the Internet
. I sat down at our family computer and started searching for “WOODS” and “SALE.” I got something like 50,000 results, and none of the ones I looked at had anything to do with our woods. I tried “FOREST” and “REAL ESTATE,” and again I got a ton of random results. Lizzie told me to move over and smushed herself onto the chair with me, but she couldn’t find anything, either.

Just then, Dodger came strolling in the back door. “Hi, dudes!” he said. “Have you seen my Bottomless Well of Treats?” That’s a magical bag that automatically fills itself with any food you wish for. “I’m, like, completely starving. I think I’ll have some bananas. And then some grapes. Mmmm, grapes! And then maybe I’ll wish for more bananas. And then a nice basket of apples. Or maybe oranges. I don’t know which I like better, really—it’s kind of like comparing apples and oranges. Ooh, so
that’s
what that saying means!”

“Dodger,” Lizzie said, “we’re trying to get some work done here. Do you mind?”

“Nope, why would I mind? I mean, it’s not like I ever ignore you just because I’m in the middle of some dumb old project when you’re in the mood to play or anything.”

“But you’re always in the mood to play.”

Dodger thought about that for a minute, then said, “That’s kinda true. I think it’s part of my charm, though. Anyway, wanna play Frisbee?”

Lizzie and I shook our heads.

“Checkers?”

We both shook our heads again.

“Fear-ball?” Fear-ball is this terrifying game Dodger had invented to make me better at baseball. Long story.

“No,” Lizzie said. “This is really important work.”

“Can I help?” Dodger asked, pulling another chair over near the computer.

“Well, I don’t really think you’d be—”

“What, you think I’m not good at computers? Oh, sure—because I happen to be a chimpanzee, right? How do you know I’m not, like, a total computer genius? For all you know, I’m the greatest computer-chimp that ever lived. For all you know, I spend days, months, even years on the computer when I’m in my lamp. I might be a world-famous expert. I might get calls from all over the planet asking for my unique blend of technological know-how and general adorableness. Is that a word? Anyway, I might be all of those things—but you’ll never know, because you never thought to ask if—”

“Hey, Dodger?” Lizzie asked. “Do you know anything about computers?”

Dodger leaned closer, examined the computer screen, looked at Lizzie, looked at me, and then reached down and pulled the computer’s plug out of the wall. “Nope,” he said. “Give me a break. I’m a chimp—why would I need to know anything about computers?”

Lizzie looked like she might reach out and smack Dodger on the head.

But then he spoke again. “On the other hand, I do know exactly who owns the woods. I mean, if you’re interested.”

The next day, after school, Lizzie and I took a walk downtown. On a little side alley I had never noticed before, we found a small storefront office that looked brand-new. In fact, the paint on the sign over the door was so shiny and wet-looking that we thought it would drip on our heads as we walked in. The fancy, old-fashioned lettering said:

Inside, we found ourselves facing a huge wooden desk with a familiar figure behind it. He was wearing a shiny suit made of what appeared to be gold threads, a blindingly white dress shirt, and a ruby-red tie, along with a matching red beret tilted atop his head. He had oily, jet-black hair and a pointy little goatee, which set off his coal-black eyes and evil little grin.

“Hello, kiddies!” said the Great Lasorda in a voice that sounded like he had just finished gargling a mouthful of honey. “What can I do for you on this fine day? Are you looking to buy a house? Hire a tax advisor? Make a few wishes?” It had only been about a month since I had last seen the Great Lasorda, but I had almost forgotten how much he irritated me. He is an ancient, powerful genie, and Dodger used to work for him—until I had wished for Dodger to be free.

I guess you could say old The Great and I don’t see eye to eye.

I got right to the point. “You’re selling the woods!”

He stuck his finger into the gap between his neck and the collar of his shirt and pulled at the fabric. “Oh, I do hate the way these French silks chafe me! I have such sensitive skin, and it’s not like the old days, when I had an army of tailors to handcraft my wardrobe. Anyway, William—or should I say ‘Willers’?—you are correct. I am selling that adorable little plot of land behind your house.”

“Why?” Lizzie asked. “You know Dodger’s Field of Dreams is in there! Plus, it’s going to ruin the whole neighborhood!”

His Great Royal Magicness yawned, then slowly took out a nail file and began buffing his nails. “And?”

“And it doesn’t make any sense!” I said. “Why would a genie need to sell anything, anyway?”

“Little boy, style
costs
. Do you think it’s easy maintaining my legend? How long do most movie stars last, hmmm? I’ve been at the forefront of fashion for three thousand years, and I’m not about to lose that now.”

“But … but …” I stammered, “couldn’t you just make whatever you need? Or snap your fingers and make the money to pay for everything?”

Lasorda held his hand out in front of his face, blew on his fingernails, frowned, and started buffing again. “Well, I
could
,” he said. “But it’s a lot more complicated than that. There are tax consequences—the government
hates
it when you create money magically. Especially if you put your own face on the bills, apparently. But what was I supposed to do, leave that tacky Franklin fellow plastered all over everything?”

“So why don’t you just—” Lizzie began.

“Oh, are
you
still here?” Lasorda said. “I don’t need to tell either of you why I do anything. I am selling the forest, which
I
own, to raise some cash, which
I
need. Case closed. Class dismissed. Over and out. Ta-ta! Cheerio!
Hasta la vista!
”

He swiveled his chair so his back was to us and started filing the nails on his other hand. I looked at Lizzie, who gestured in Lasorda’s direction and mouthed,
Do something, Willie!
I hate when people tell me to do something but don’t tell me what I’m supposed to do. Don’t they know I have no self-confidence?

I cleared my throat. “Uh, Your Magicness? Sir?”

Lasorda sounded even more annoyed with me than he had been, if that was possible. He sighed and said, “Yes, William?”

I thought fast. “How much are you selling the woods
for
?”

He spun back around and leaned toward us. “Why do you ask?”

I forced myself to take a slow, deep breath, and said, “Well, I might be able to find you a buyer. Or something.”

And then the Great Lasorda laughed in my face. Boy, if there’s anything I hate more than people telling me to
do something
, it’s people laughing in my face. “Oh, William!” he said when he was done making a big show of chuckling until he couldn’t breathe. “As if you could possibly know anyone who has enough gold to pay off the lepre—I mean, the people I need to pay. For some items I recently, ah, purchased.”

When people laugh at me, I sometimes get a little stubborn. “Why?” I asked. “How much could you possibly owe to, um, whoever you’re talking about?”

“Do you really want to know?”

I nodded.

“Do you really,
really
want to know?”

I nodded again.

“Do you really, really,
really
want to—”

Lizzie stomped her foot and said, “Would you just tell us already?”

The Great Lasorda got all huffy for a moment, but then the slick smile spread across his face again. “If you really, really, really want to know all the details, I’d suggest you go home and ask your little chimp friend. After all, this whole situation is his fault!”

T
HE NEXT DAY AFTER SCHOOL,
I decided Dodger and I needed to have a little talk. When I got home, I went right up to my room and knocked on his lamp. For a moment, nothing happened, but then he appeared in a POOF! of blue smoke. He was gasping for breath.

“Dude,” he said, “I am so totally tired! I was playing this brutal new game on my Wii Fit in a Lamp system.”

“What’s it called?” I asked.

“Wii Wii Tennis.”

“Don’t you mean Wii Tennis?”

“No, that’s easy. This is Wii Wii Tennis. You actually have to control the guy who’s controlling the guy who’s playing tennis. It’s way, way harder. Not as hard as Wii Wii Wii Football, though. Once I slipped playing that, and the Arizona Cardinals wound up in the Super Bowl! Anyway, what’s up? You look all stressed out. Life’s too short, my friend. You should just try to relax and enjoy every minute. Take my day, for example: I spend some time playing games, then I chill a little and, um, play games. By then, it’s totally lunchtime. So I play this game called Throw Each Bite up in the Air and Catch It Without—OOPS! By the time I get that all cleaned up, it’s nap time. Then more games. Or—wait a minute, I forgot Banana Time. But after Banana Time, guess what I do?”

“Play more games?”

“Nope, another nap. See, if you double up on naps, it gives you that extra edge for your late afternoon playing.”

“Okay, that’s great advice, Dodger. Now can I ask you something?”

Dodger started jumping down. “Yes, I
will
play Fear-ball: Winter Edition with you! Thanks for asking!”

Oh, jeepers. Fear-ball is this game Dodger invented to stop me from being afraid of catching a baseball. Basically, it consists of Dodger throwing balls at me really hard while I stand perfectly still. He’s supposed to miss on purpose, but the first time we played it, he had nailed me in the head with a football so hard that I’d had a mark on my forehead for days. I had no idea what the Winter Edition part meant, but it didn’t seem likely that asking for an explanation would help.

So that’s how I ended up in the woods with Dodger. I was all bundled up in my winter coat, hat, gloves, scarf, boots, and even an embarrassing, poofy ski hat with orange tassels that my mom had once bought me—it wasn’t particularly cold out, but I figured the more cushioning I had on, the better. Dodger was wearing plain blue shorts, a blue eye patch, and a pair of blue flip-flops.

Dodger led me straight to the Field of Dreams, which was somehow magically covered with dazzling, blue snow. He galloped into the clearing, and I suddenly realized I was in trouble. Wearing all blue, against a blue background, Dodger was nearly invisible. I tried to keep my eyes on his retreating back, but the next thing I knew, I couldn’t find him at all.

“Hey, where’d you go?” I shouted. “And what am I supposed to—oof!”

A note to the reader: Getting hit in the stomach by a blue snowball is exactly as painful as getting hit in the stomach by a white one. Plus, you can’t see a blue snowball coming at you if it’s being thrown by a blue hand in a blue field. And chimps have really, really strong throwing arms.

I scrambled behind a tree just as a second snowball thwacked into a branch over my head. What was I going to do? How was I going to get through this game without getting totally pounded?

Answer: I wasn’t. So I might as well ask Dodger my questions while he was pelting me. “Hey, Dodger,” I shouted. “Why is the Great Lasorda selling these woods?”

Another snowball whizzed past my ear, and I realized Dodger was circling around so that the tree wasn’t between us anymore. I backed slowly around the trunk as Dodger said, “Ah, trying to get me to talk, are you? Yeah, like that’s going to work. You can’t fool me, mister! I see right through your tricks.”

Holy-moley. I hadn’t meant this as a trick, but hey—it appeared to be working for me. Quickly, I bent down and packed a pretty big snowball.

“What did you think, dude—that I was just going to keep talking and talking until you hit me with a snowball? I mean, it’s not like I’m some kind of blabbermouth. Why, back in Chimptopia, I was widely admired for my strong, silent personality and excellent discipline. Haven’t I ever told you about the time I sat in a banana tree for seventeen straight days without—oof!”

I dusted my hands off, ran behind a different tree, and started making another snowball.
Score one for the little guy
, I thought. The battle was on. “So,” I yelled, “I guess I can’t get you to tell me about this Lasorda thing, huh? Since you’re too clever to be fooled …”

“That’s right. I know some chimps might get all distracted and start telling you how Lasorda spent way too much gold on the magic potions I asked for. But not me! I’m way too smart for that. Plus, I am quite stealthy. I move like the night! I am the Ninja of the Jungle! I can’t be seen, heard, or even—HAH! Missed me! Anyway, you won’t get a peep out of me!”