at Ellis. “Are you Beth Porter’s son? She’d be ashamed of you.”
Ellis gave her one of his hateful looks. “Let’s go,” he said again to Duane.
They pulled up the hoods of their jackets and were gone.
Mrs. Upton looked dazed. “What was all that about?”
Grace had dashed to the door and jerked it open so furiously that the bell went crazy, jangling its head off. She stepped outside. The rain was coming down like a cloudburst, but Grace didn’t seem to notice.
“You two guys think you’re so
that,”
she yelled. “You’re not. We despise you. And we’re going to save Riley. You’ll see.”
She came back in, shaking water off herself the way Riley used to when he got wet.
“Oh, my!” Mrs. Upton said to me. “Was that your dog that chased the horse? I didn’t realize.” She paused. “Well, it is a problem, isn’t it? I certainly can understand why Mrs. Peachtree …”
“Peachwood,” I said.
“Yes. Well, we can’t really allow dogs to chase livestock around here. There are too many …” She stopped. “You don’t need to hear all this again, I’m sure.”
She smiled, but she’d said enough so I knew which side she was on. And Mrs. Upton was nice, the Halloween candy and all.
I had this sudden awful understanding that there’d be others, nice and not so nice, who felt the same way. What was it Mr. Bingham had said? “There are two sides to everything. And the one you’re on isn’t necessarily right.”
Chapter 12
T wenty-one days and no time to waste.
We had plans.
The first morning, Grace did a flyer on my computer. She’s better at stuff like that than I am. It read:
THIS DOG WAS UNJUSTLY CONDEMNED TO DIE. CALL 555-6432 AND DEMAND THAT HIS LIFE BE SPARED.
I thought that sounded a bit bossy, but Grace said it had the ring of authority, and that’s what we needed. We left a space at the top for Riley’s picture and cycled to the copy shop to have two hundred made on bright, eye-popping yellow paper.
Our first shock came when the copy guy asked, “What is all this? Animal Rights Day or something?I did another one of these this morning, with a horse on it.”
Grace gasped. “Oh, no. Ellis Porter and Duane Smith are making flyers, too. Those dweebs.”
“What did that one say?” I asked.
The copy guy shrugged. “I never looked. I remember the horse, though. Old-looking nag.”
“That nag’s a thoroughbred,” I said, grabbing our flyers. “Come on, Grace. We’ve got to move fast.”
We walked along Main Street in the rain, asking every store owner if he’d put one of our flyers in his window. And that’s when we got our second shock. Only one would, and that was Seedy’s CD Emporium. I guess he said yes because I’m such a good customer.
“But how come
you
won’t?” Grace asked Mr. Bingham in the photo shop. “I mean, you were so nice about Riley’s pictures.”
Mr. Bingham spread his hands. “It’s not that easy, young lady. I’m a businessman and I don’t take sides. Not in public, anyway. No politics, no religion, nothing controversial.”
“At least none of the dweebs’ flyers are up either,” Grace said, and that comforted us.
“Let’s go home, eat lunch, and get to our next strategy,” I said.
Mom opened two cans of chili for us and melted so much cheese on top that it dripped down the sides of the bowl. Then she toasted bread for us to dip in it. My mom is truly the best cook the world has ever seen.
“Your mother called,” she told Grace. “You’re not to forget you have your flute lesson at four thirty. And William, your dad called too.”
“What for?” I asked. “To see if Riley’s dead yet?”
Grace glared. “You don’t have to be so mean.”
“He just wanted to know how you were holding up,” Mom said quietly.
I didn’t answer.
Grace and I worked all afternoon sending e-mails to everyone we knew who had an e-mail address. We copied word for word the message on our flyer. Then we folded fifty of the
Ellis gave her one of his hateful looks. “Let’s go,” he said again to Duane.
They pulled up the hoods of their jackets and were gone.
Mrs. Upton looked dazed. “What was all that about?”
Grace had dashed to the door and jerked it open so furiously that the bell went crazy, jangling its head off. She stepped outside. The rain was coming down like a cloudburst, but Grace didn’t seem to notice.
“You two guys think you’re so
that,”
she yelled. “You’re not. We despise you. And we’re going to save Riley. You’ll see.”
She came back in, shaking water off herself the way Riley used to when he got wet.
“Oh, my!” Mrs. Upton said to me. “Was that your dog that chased the horse? I didn’t realize.” She paused. “Well, it is a problem, isn’t it? I certainly can understand why Mrs. Peachtree …”
“Peachwood,” I said.
“Yes. Well, we can’t really allow dogs to chase livestock around here. There are too many …” She stopped. “You don’t need to hear all this again, I’m sure.”
She smiled, but she’d said enough so I knew which side she was on. And Mrs. Upton was nice, the Halloween candy and all.
I had this sudden awful understanding that there’d be others, nice and not so nice, who felt the same way. What was it Mr. Bingham had said? “There are two sides to everything. And the one you’re on isn’t necessarily right.”
Chapter 12
T wenty-one days and no time to waste.
We had plans.
The first morning, Grace did a flyer on my computer. She’s better at stuff like that than I am. It read:
THIS DOG WAS UNJUSTLY CONDEMNED TO DIE. CALL 555-6432 AND DEMAND THAT HIS LIFE BE SPARED.
I thought that sounded a bit bossy, but Grace said it had the ring of authority, and that’s what we needed. We left a space at the top for Riley’s picture and cycled to the copy shop to have two hundred made on bright, eye-popping yellow paper.
Our first shock came when the copy guy asked, “What is all this? Animal Rights Day or something?I did another one of these this morning, with a horse on it.”
Grace gasped. “Oh, no. Ellis Porter and Duane Smith are making flyers, too. Those dweebs.”
“What did that one say?” I asked.
The copy guy shrugged. “I never looked. I remember the horse, though. Old-looking nag.”
“That nag’s a thoroughbred,” I said, grabbing our flyers. “Come on, Grace. We’ve got to move fast.”
We walked along Main Street in the rain, asking every store owner if he’d put one of our flyers in his window. And that’s when we got our second shock. Only one would, and that was Seedy’s CD Emporium. I guess he said yes because I’m such a good customer.
“But how come
you
won’t?” Grace asked Mr. Bingham in the photo shop. “I mean, you were so nice about Riley’s pictures.”
Mr. Bingham spread his hands. “It’s not that easy, young lady. I’m a businessman and I don’t take sides. Not in public, anyway. No politics, no religion, nothing controversial.”
“At least none of the dweebs’ flyers are up either,” Grace said, and that comforted us.
“Let’s go home, eat lunch, and get to our next strategy,” I said.
Mom opened two cans of chili for us and melted so much cheese on top that it dripped down the sides of the bowl. Then she toasted bread for us to dip in it. My mom is truly the best cook the world has ever seen.
“Your mother called,” she told Grace. “You’re not to forget you have your flute lesson at four thirty. And William, your dad called too.”
“What for?” I asked. “To see if Riley’s dead yet?”
Grace glared. “You don’t have to be so mean.”
“He just wanted to know how you were holding up,” Mom said quietly.
I didn’t answer.
Grace and I worked all afternoon sending e-mails to everyone we knew who had an e-mail address. We copied word for word the message on our flyer. Then we folded fifty of the
Similar Books
