No More Dead Dogs by Gordon Korman Read Free Book Online Page A

or something! I had to let it out somehow!
    Mr. Fogelman chuckled. “That’s just for rehearsals. Of course we’ll use a stuffed animal for the performance. Old Shep’s been hit by a motorcycle before the play even starts. All he has to do is lie in the basket.”
    “That’s the biggest problem of all,” Wallace told him.
    And suddenly, the pressure that had been building up inside of me let go with the force of an atomic bomb.
    “OH, YEAH?!!”
    The shocked silence that followed was so total, I could hear the echo of my scream bounce off every wall in the gym.
    “Tell us, Mr. Expert!” I howled at Wallace. “Let’s see what kind of writing talent a person gets from diving on a football! Let’s hear it, since you know better than the whole drama club, better than our director who had a play produced in New York, and better than Zack Paris himself, who ONLY wrote a classic, and never fell on a football once!”
    Wallace Wallace may have been a star athlete, but I guess he’d never seen anybody go berserk before, because he looked just plain scared. I wasn’t expecting that. And after all my shouting, I found myself almost at a loss for words.
    “I—I’m sorry,” was all I could manage. “I mean, I’m not sorry—but I’m sorry for yelling.”
    “Rachel’s right,” said Wallace, very subdued. “This is none of my business.” He started off the stage.
    And it would have been over—all of it!—if Vito hadn’t opened up his yap.
    “Wallace, don’t go! We need your help! What were you going to tell us about our play?”
    Wallace sighed. “It’s been a very long afternoon.” He turned to Mr. Fogelman. “Can I leave now? I promise I won’t go anywhere near football practice.”
    “But you were going to tell us about a problem!” Trudi shrilled. “The biggest one of all, you said!”
    The whole cast and crew started encouraging Wallace.
    Mr. Fogelman held his head. “All right, let’s hear it.”
    Reluctantly, Wallace spoke up. “I’m no expert, but this seems like common sense. In the story of Old Shep, My Pal , the most exciting event is when the dog gets run over by a motorcycle. And you’ve taken out that part before the play even starts. Which means no one gets to see any action, ever.”
    “This is a school play, Wallace!” exploded Mr. Fogelman. “What do you want me to do—buy a thirty-thousand-dollar Harley? Hire a stunt man to ride it? And a professional stunt dog, along with his trainer? Where do I send away for that? Hollywood?”
    Inside, I was applauding, but I never said a word. I was planning to keep my mouth shut for a good long time.
    “You know, it doesn’t have to be a real motorcycle,” Vito put in. “My mom has an old moped she’d probably let us use.”
    “It doesn’t matter!” Mr. Fogelman insisted. “We don’t have the resources to hire a trained dog, or to train one of our own. Let’s get real here, people, and do what we can do.”
    But Wallace wasn’t done yet. “Mr. Fogelman, what about one of those little remote-control cars? If we attach the toy dog on top, one of the stagehands can work the remote, and the audience will see Old Shep running out into the road.”
    This was the craziest idea of all! Surely even an idiot could see that!
    “It’s brilliant!” screeched Trudi.
    (Okay, maybe not a truly dedicated idiot.)
    “Perfect!” Vito was shaking with excitement. “We can glue on Old Shep so you’ll never see the car underneath.”
    Leticia nodded eagerly. “Then he crosses the street, and bang! The moped gets him.”
    “I love it!” raved Kelly. “What a great beginning! The audience will be hooked!”
    I was horrified. Half the actors started volunteering their little brothers’ and sisters’ remote-control cars.
    “Hold it, people!” The director tapped for silence, and got none. Excited chatter filled the gym. The stagehands were fighting over who would get to ride the moped; the set designers wanted to build a stop sign for