Kung Fooey by Graham Salisbury Read Free Book Online Page B

everything I can to keep it that way.”
    I still felt squirmy inside. I wanted to tell him what happened. But I didn’t, too. If we told him about Tito, and Tito got in trouble, things would get worse. No, there was a better way. Stand by your friends in the first place, and don’t let guys like Tito get in their face.
    Mr. Purdy took a deep breath and let it out through puffed cheeks. He clapped once. “Take out a clean sheet of paper, boot campers. We have work to do.”
    When I reached into my desk I got the surprise of my life.
    My jaw dropped.
    What?
    It was a picture. There was a yellow sticky note on it.
    He was good. I liked his show
.
    It was good meeting you, too
.
    I hope you liked the Antlix
.
    Laters
.
    I peeled the sticky note away and studied the man looking back at me in the shiny autographed black-and-white photograph.
    Rock on, Benny Obi!
    Little Johnny Coconut

W hen I got home from school I went straight to my bedroom, propped Benny’s photo of my dad up on my desk, and sat on my lower bunk staring at it.
    Rock on, Benny Obi!
    He’d really done it. He’d actually seenLittle Johnny Coconut in Las Vegas. He hadn’t lied. He hadn’t made it up.
    Boy, did I feel small.
    Benny Obi, why were you so weird? How did you get that picture in my desk at school? Why did you change schools?
    And why did you tell Tito you knew kung fu? That was really dumb, Benny. You should have …
    No.
    We
should have stepped up for you.
    Streak scratched at my door. I got up to let her in.
    “Wassup, dog?”
    I flopped back down on my lower bunk. Streak jumped up and lay next to me. I closed my eyes. Benny Obi had given me his special autographed photo. And he’d found a way to sneak it into my desk without anyone seeing him. You don’t do stuff like that for just anybody.
    I sighed and put my hand on Streak’s head. “I messed up, girl.”

    Streak licked my hand.
    I just wanted to lie there. I didn’t feel like doing anything.
    When I finally opened my eyes I noticed the postcard on my desk, the one Stella had thrown in the trash.
    I got up and stood looking down at it.
    Kailua Bay never looked so good as it did in that picture on the card. An idea popped into my head.
    Could I?
    I frowned and searched for a pen.
    Just do it.
    Dear Mom
,
    I got my driver’s license! I like driving. Mrs. Coconut says I’m pretty good at it. Calvin and Darci think so, too. Well, I just thought you’d like to know. I’m fine. How are you?
    Love
,
    Stella
    I had no idea why I wrote that. It just came out. It’s like what Mr. Purdy told us about writing a story. Even though you might not know exactly what your story is about, or where it’s going, once you start writing, stuff happens. It’s magic.
    Or dumb.
    Now what?
    I moved Benny Obi’s Little Johnny Coconut photograph next to my own Little Johnny Coconut photograph and stuck the postcard in my back pocket.

    As I was heading out of my room, Clarence drove up in his big pink car. Stella was with him.
    I went out into the sun.
    Clarence lifted his chin, Hey.
    I nodded back.
    Stella got out with her books. She thunked the car door shut and leaned into the open window. “Thanks for the ride. Call me.”
    Clarence winked, backed out, and drove off with a short toot of the horn.
    Stella and I watched him drive away.
    Then she seemed to realize for the first time that I was standing next to her. “Why are
you
here?”
    “Why not?”
    She squinted. “You’re pushing it, Stump.”
    “Why not?”
    Stella banged past me, heading through the garage and into the house. I followed her, catching the door as it was about to slam into my face. “Hey!”
    “Sorry,” she said in fake surprise. “I didn’t see you. Oh, that’s why … I forgot. You shrunk.”
    Stella laughed and dropped her books on the kitchen counter.
    “Why are you following me around?”
    “Why not?”

    “This is why not,” she said, moving toward me. “I don’t like it; it’s annoying; you’re getting