The Schwa was Here by Neal Shusterman Page A

me.”
    He glided up the grand staircase real smooth, like it was a fast escalator and not stairs, then he took us through an unused part of the restaurant stacked with dusty old tables and broken chairs. We went down a hallway that led to the door of Mr. Crawley’s private residence.
    “Mr. Crawley, those boys are here,” the maître d’oorman said as he knocked. Barking and the pounding of paws followed. Then I could hear all the bolts sliding open on the other side, and Crawley pulled open the door while blocking the escape of the dogs with his wheelchair.
    “You’re five minutes early,” he said, the tone in his voice like we were half an hour late.
    We stepped in, he pushed the door closed behind us, a dog yelped because his nose got caught in the door for an instant, and there we were.
    Crawley reached into the pocket of his fancy robe—a dinner jacket, I think it’s called. The kind of thing Professor Plum would wear before killing Colonel Mustard in the ballroom with the candlestick. From the pocket he pulled a few doggie treats and hurled them over his shoulder so the dogs would leave us alone.
    “I’ve decided to sentence the two of you to twelve weeks of community service,” he said. “Mr. Bonano, from this day forward, you shall be responsible for the sins. You, Mr. Schwa, shall be responsible for the virtues. Take all the time you need each day, but by no means are you to complete the task any earlier than five P . M . Now get to it.”
    I looked at the Schwa, the Schwa looked at me. I felt like I had just been called up to the board to explain an Einstein theory, but I don’t think Einstein could figure this one out, even if he was alive.
    “Why are you staring like imbeciles? Didn’t you hear me?”
    “Yeah, we heard you,” I said. “Sins and virtues. Now would you mind speaking in English that people who aren’t, like, ninety years old can understand?”
    He scowled at us. He was really good at that. Then he spoke, very slowly, as if to morons. “The seven virtues, and the seven deadly sins.
Comprendo?
”
    “Oigo,”
I said,
“pero no comprendo.”
I hear, but I don’t understand. At last my two years of Spanish had paid off! It was worth it for the surprised look on Crawley’s face—to see that, as Howie would put it, I was only half the moron he thought I was.
    “Great,” mumbled the Schwa. “Now he’s really gonna be pissed off.”
    But instead of saying anything, Crawley put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. All the dogs came running.
    As they crowded around him, jockeying for position, he touched each of them on the head and announced: “Prudence, Temperance, Justice, Fortitude, Faith, Hope, and Charity.” He took a breath, then continued: “Envy, Sloth, Anger, Lust,Gluttony, Pride, and Avarice. Do you understand now, or shall I get you a translator?”
    “You want each of us to walk seven dogs each, every day.”
    “Gold star for you.”
    Crawley peered at me, but I just returned his unpleasant gaze. “Why not Greed?” I said.
    “Excuse me?”
    “Avarice is Greed, right? That’s the way I learned the seven deadly sins. So why not just name the dog Greed?”
    “Don’t you know anything?” Crawley growled. “Avarice is a much better name for a dog.”
    He spun his wheelchair and rolled into the deeper recesses of his apartment. “Leashes are hanging in the kitchen.” And he was gone.

    At first we tried to walk them two at a time, but they were so strong, so untrained, and so excited to be outside, they practically pulled us into oncoming traffic. There were no shortcuts. We each could only handle one dog at a time. Walking dogs for no pay for two hours a day wasn’t exactly my idea of fun. But the Schwa and I did it. We could have gotten out of it. We could have just told our parents what we had done, and taken whatever punishment they dealt out. Even if Crawley went to the police, they wouldn’t do much about it—especially after we had shown what