Strider by Beverly Cleary Read Free Book Online Page A

I forced myself to get up and open the door for him. “Hurry up,” I ordered because rain was blowing in, and I felt weak. He obliged. Good dog, Strider.
    Later, I poured soup but wasn’t hungry. I must have dozed, because it was dark when I heard footsteps on the path. They were too heavy to be Mom’s. She has light, quick steps. Strider stood up, pricked his ears, raised his hair, dropped his haunches, ready to spring.
    I raised up on one elbow until I heard, “Leigh, it’s Dad.”
    â€œDown, boy,” I croaked and raised my voice as best I could. “Come on in, Dad.” My throat felt like sandpaper.
    â€œHow ya doing, son?” he asked.
    â€œMom phoned you.” I seemed to be accusing him of something.
    â€œSure she did.” Dad sounded determined to be cheerful. “She’s worried about you. Don’t forget, you’re my kid, too.”
    I hadn’t forgotten, but I often feel as if he has. I turned my pillow to the cool side and tried to keep tears out of my eyes.
    Dad felt my forehead. Then he went into the kitchen, just as if he lived here, and came back with ice cubes which he dropped into my juice. It tasted good. Then he found a washcloth, wrapped more ice in it, and laid it on my forehead. That felt good, too. “Your mother says the doctors tell her there’s a lot of this going around,” he said as he turned on the TV with the volume low and sat down beside me. The sound and the comfort of Dad being near lulled me to sleep.
    When I woke up, Dad was gone, and Mom was smoothing my sheets.
    â€œWas Dad here?” I asked. She assured me he was. For a minute I thought I had dreamed the whole thing. I had never known Dad to act so much like a father before.

January 7
    That’s enough about my being sick, except to say that Barry came by with my books, which he shoved through the window we have to keep open because of the gas heater. By then I felt well enough to moan with my eyes rolled back and my tongue hanging out.
    Barry held his nose so he wouldn’t breathe my germs, and Strider poked his snout out the window. “Hi there, fellow,” said Barry, wiggling his fingers through the crack. “How’s our dog?” Barry didn’t mention reclaiming his custody rights.
    I sit here thinking, Please don’t, Barry. Let me keep him. I need him. I don’t know why, but the thought crossed my mind that Barry was behind in his dog support payments.

January 8
    I’m writing all this because I’m bored. As I read what I have written, I see I left out the most important part.
    Dad came back another night when I was alone but beginning to feel that I might live after all. He seemed different, not just quiet. Defeated might be the word. I asked, “Something bothering you, Dad?”
    He thought awhile before he said, “There’s something about a trucker losing his rig that makes him think about a lot of things. Your mother is smarter than me. She’s getting her education.”
    I didn’t know what to say to this. Then he asked, “What are your plans for the future?”
    That question again, the question without an answer. I said, “Mom thinks I should go tomedical school, but I need to earn my own living and not be a burden for years while I go to school.”
    â€œLeigh, listen to your mother.” Dad ignored my attitude, which wasn’t exactly the best. “I’ll help you somehow. I’m not lookin’ to pump gas all my life. I don’t want my kid to make the same mistakes I made.”
    Dad means well, but I can’t count on him. Besides, child support stops when I am eighteen. I just said, “Thanks, Dad.”
    When Dad left, I felt good because he had come and was concerned about me. I was also a little annoyed because I don’t like people telling me what I should do. How do I know I want to go to medical school? I’m pretty sure I don’t. Mom is