Sweetie by Ellen Miles Page A

you’re broke,” David agreed. “Like, instead of striking out.”
    Sammy was the one who had come up with the names for all the hits. “A hit to the weight machine is a bingle,” he said. “If you slam it to the rowing machine, it’s a bubble.” He pointed the blat at the bottom of the stairs. “And over there, that’s a bipple.”
    “But if somebody catches a flying boodja —” Charles began.
    “Or throws it at you and hits you with it,” added David, “then you’re bonked — and the next person is up.”
    Another day, Sammy blasted it all the way past the treadmill. “That’s a Grand Boodjerino!” he yelled. “I win the game!” From then on, they all tried their hardest to hit Grand Boodjerinos.
    Each boy was like a team of his own, and they kept track of their all-time best scores on the white wipe-off board by the light switches, tallying up every hit they ever made.
    Charles was the Jackal. His lifetime score was twenty-six, including three Grand Boodjerinos. David was the Hurricane. He had four Grand Boodjerinos (although Sammy always said one of them didn’t count because it had bounced off the back of the treadmill and he had caught it) and a score of twenty-three. And Sammy was the Green-Eyed Alien. He led the league with five Grand Boodjerinos and a high score of twenty-nine.
    Charles loved base-boodja. In fact, he thought now, as he wound up to pitch the boodja to Sammy on that gloomy Monday in February, it was almost as much fun as playing with a puppy, Charles’s favorite thing in the whole world.
    Charles was crazy about puppies. He had one of his own (well, he shared him with his older sister, Lizzie, and his little brother, Adam, who was known as the Bean), an adorable mutt named Buddy. Buddy was brown, with the softest fur ever. He had a white patch in the shape of a heart on his chest, and ears that flopped over in the cutest way, and shiny brown eyes. Buddy was the best thing that had ever happened to Charles. He was huggable and so much fun to play with, and he never, ever told anybody a single one of the secrets that Charles whispered into his ears.
    Charles was lucky to have Buddy. But his luck didn’t stop there. Charles also got to meet lots of other puppies and take care of them and play with them and teach them manners and tricks.That was because the Petersons were a foster family for puppies who needed homes. They kept each puppy just long enough to find it the perfect forever family. Taking care of foster puppies could be a lot of work sometimes, but Charles loved it. As soon as one puppy was gone, he began to wonder and dream about the next puppy. Where would it come from? What kind would it be? Charles loved all sorts of puppies: big puppies, little puppies, furry puppies, silly puppies. Lately he had been wishing that his family would get to foster a really big puppy, like a Great Dane. A Great Dane puppy could be bigger than Maggie, a Saint Bernard the Petersons had once fostered — maybe even bigger than the Bean. That would be so cool.
    “Yo, Cheese.” Sammy swung the blat. “Pitch it, pal!”
    Oops. Sometimes Charles got a little carried away when he thought about puppies. He blinkedat his friend.
Cheese?
Then he remembered. “Okay, Salami, here it comes.”
    Cheese and Salami were nicknames Charles and Sammy had made up years ago, long before they met David. Charles had almost forgotten all about them. He wondered why Sammy was calling him that now. Maybe to let David know that Sammy was Charles’s first best friend, before David came along?
    Charles wound up again and threw.
Bam!
Sammy swung and connected. The boodja blooped toward David, who dove for it, sliding along the blue mat. He caught it on the second bounce and whirled to throw it at Sammy. Sammy did a quick little dance step to avoid the flying boodja and reached out to touch the weight machine. “Bingle!” He threw his arms in the air.
    David shook his head disgustedly as he took over the