When Life Gives You O.J. by Erica S. Perl Read Free Book Online Page A

was little, I mean, before I knew what it was, but now I don’t, really.…
    For some reason, I suddenly pictured Ace standing in the cafeteria, defending the sandwich. “THE TONGUE’S WHERE ALL THE VITAMINS ARE!” he’d say. I imagined him opening his mouth wide and pointing inside while the straight-haired girls stared at his brown-spotted hands, his thick old-person tongue, and the hairs sprouting from all over him except the top of his head. “YOU PUT A SHMEER OF MUSTARD ON IT,” he’d inform them, “AND IT’S THE PERFECT NOSH!”
    I wadded up the sandwich as fast as I could and shoved it back into my bag.
    “I mean, yeah, it’s bologna,” I lied. “I’m just not hungry.”
    I shuddered at the memory of that awful first day. Remembering the tongue sandwich made me think about Ace and hisridiculous O.J. plan all over again. I looked down, and, sure enough, there was O.J., sitting on the back steps right next to me. I had taken him with me without even realizing I had done it.
    He grinned his goofy grin at me.
“Time for my walk?”
he seemed to be asking. Ugh, three walks a day … That was going to get old fast. But as I stood up, the solution occurred to me. Ace had said three walks a day, but he didn’t say where. As long as I stayed in our backyard, I could take care of O.J. without anyone finding out.
    The leash was hanging up on the coat pegs in the back hall. Next to the plastic bags and a canvas bin full of Ace’s precious rubber bands. After snatching these supplies, I set out with O.J. for a quick stroll along the inside of our fence. It worked like a charm! The fence was too high for people to see in. All I would have to do was slip out back three times a day and—
    “FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! GIVE THAT DOG A REAL WALK.”
    A hand was extended out of the bathroom window and was waving what appeared to be the
New York Times Magazine
at me. Small problem. No one could see into our yard. But, unfortunately, someone could see
out
of our house.
    “I … but … Grandpa, you didn’t say anything about where,” I stammered.
    “VEY IZ MIR! I DIDN’T SAY DON’T WALK ON YOUR HANDS, BUT THAT SHOULD BE OBVIOUS TOO.”
    “Okay, okay. Fine!” I said with exasperation, stalking outof the yard. A walk would do me good. It’d give me some space from Ace and a chance to clear my head and think. To figure out how I was going to pull this whole O.J. business off. Or, actually, to figure out
if
I was going to pull this whole O.J. business off. Hopefully, I’d figure out whatever I was going to figure out before I ran into someone I knew.
    Like Nicky Benoit.
    I dragged O.J. down to the corner. He made a little noise as we went, sort of a
skrit-skrit-thump
from sliding on the sidewalk and bumping across overgrown tree roots. Some of the trees in Vermont are huge, and their giant roots make the sidewalks look more like roller coasters than the flat ones we had in Brooklyn.
    One of the nice things about moving to Vermont
, my mom had been quick to point out when we moved,
is that you can walk around by yourself
. In Brooklyn, I was allowed to walk from my apartment to some of my friends’ apartments on our block. And that was only if it didn’t involve crossing streets and my mom could lean out the window and watch me the whole way. But in Vermont, I could walk down to the corner and turn left and be completely on my own awhile.
    Another thing she liked to remind me of—
skrit-skrit-thump
—is that all the big trees keep it so it is never too hot in the summer. And, according to my dad, “When you blow your nose in Vermont, it blows clean.”
    “Vermont boogers are clean?” asked Sam the first time my dad made this observation.
    “Well, what I mean is, there isn’t any of that grimy junk like you get when you blow your nose in the City.”
    “What kind of grimy junk?” asked Sam, intrigued.
    “Nate, what are you telling them?” asked my mom.
    “Nothing,” said my dad. “It’s just, you kids