Never Walk in Shoes That Talk by Katherine Applegate Page A

looked down at my own boring shoes.
    Plain vanilla nothing-special sneakers.
    They didn’t even light up.
    They were from the Ugliest Most Uncool Shoe Warehouse, I am pretty sure.
    And my big brother, Max, had already worn them.
    They weren’t just preworn.
    They were prestinked.
    When you have to wear your big brother’s yucky used clothes, it’s called hand-me-downs .
    Mom says it’s also called watching your spending .
    I am not sure what that means.
    Except that it seems to involve making sure your kid will never be cool.
    “Class, if we could all stop staring at Hassan’s and Coco’s feet for a while, we have spelling work to get started on,” said Ms. Diz.
    “We read you loud and clear, Ms. Diz,” said Hassan’s right foot.
    Everybody laughed.
    I would have given anything to have his blisters right about then.

5
Beg-a-thon
    When I got home from school, I ran straight into the house.
    “Dad! I saw the most miracle thing today!” I screamed.
    Dad was in the family room with Hazel, my little sister, and Goofy, my big dog.
    Hazel was using Goofy as a pillow.
    Dad was using Goofy as a footrest.
    They were watching a cartoon about a giraffe with a sore throat. And eating little crackers shaped like fish.
    Dad gave me a hug.
    Hazel gave me a fishy cracker.
    Goofy ate my fishy before I could.
    I told Dad how sprouty his bald spot looked.
    Then I asked him if he would buy me some Walkie-Talkies.
    “What, exactly, are Walkie-Talkies?” he asked.
    His eyebrow went up.
    That jumping eyebrow means you’d better have a good answer planned.
    “There’s Walkie-Talkies, Daddy!” Hazel cried.
    She pointed to a commercial on TV.
    A bunch of kids were talking to their feet.
    They looked so happy!
    And so cool!
    A pair of smiling cartoon sneakers appeared on the screen.
    “Trust us, kids!” the right shoe said. “Cool kids walk in shoes that talk!”

    “Walkie-Talkies!” said the left shoe. “Get yours today at a store near you! Over and out!”
    A new commercial came on. For diapers that don’t leak.
    The babies on the screen looked happy and cool too.
    “See, Dad?” I said. “Aren’t they amazing?”
    “Uh-oh,” said Dad. “Here comes the beg-a-thon.”
    “What’s a beg-a-thon, Daddy?” Hazel asked.
    “It’s when a kid whines endlessly, but it does no good,” said Dad.
    “Can I be in the beg-a-thon?” she asked.
    “Dad, these shoes are awesome,” I said, ignoring Hazel. “And useful. If they makethem in giant foot sizes, then you and Mom can get some, and if you are upstairs and she is in the kitchen and she needs you to help her take out the trash, then she can just do this.”
    I grabbed my left foot and leaned down.
    “Harold,” I said in my best Mom voice. “Come down here this instant!”
    Then I fell over.
    Because it is actually not that easy to talk to your foot while you’re hopping on the other foot.
    Dad just kept staring.
    “ Please , Dad? Please, please, please? I’ll clean the garage!”
    “The world does not need talking shoes,”
    Dad said. He shook his head. “What’s next? Singing underwear?”
    “I’ll put away groceries till I’m nineteen,” I said.
    “Sorry, guy. I am not spending fifty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents so you can chat with your toes. Especially since you wear out shoes faster than any kid on the planet, Mr. Destructo-feet! You’ve gone through three pairs of sneakers since school started!”
    “I never get cool shoes,” I whined.
    “You’re already cool, Roscoe,” said Dad with a grin. “You don’t need shoes to prove it!”
    “Besides, you have tap shoes,” Hazel pointed out.
    “That’s different,” I said. “Those are just for dancing. And everybody in class doesn’t want to have a pair!”
    Dad shook his head. “Sorry, Roscoe.”
    I sighed. I flopped on the floor with a groan.
    “I just want to be able to talk to my feet!” I cried.
    “Over and out,” said Dad. His eyebrow went way up.
    And when Dad’s eyebrow says