When Mr. Dog Bites by Brian Conaghan Read Free Book Online Page A

wouldn’t understand them, but what Mom didn’t know was that spelling was one of my strong points at school. Mrs. Seed made me Spelling Master the first week back at school. I even spelled the word “ discombobulate” correctly.
    “You, Dylan Mint, are going to shag Michelle Malloy?”
    “Hard as.”
    “But-but-but can she actually do it?”
    “What do you mean, can she actually do it?”
    “Well, with her club foot and all?”
    “It doesn’t affect her punany, Amir.”
    “Jeezo, Dylan.”
    “I know.”
    “I mean, Jeezo.”
    “Mad shit, isn’t it?”
    “Does she know? I mean, is she okay about it?”
    “No.”
    “No?”
    “No, but she will be.”
    Amir was searching for more stones to boot around. He couldn’t find any, so he twiddled his ears. “But Michelle Malloy thinks you’re a mad freak.”
    “No, she doesn’t.”
    “She does.”
    “She just doesn’t know me yet, that’s all.”
    “But how are you going to make her want to shag you?”
    “Can you stop whispering the word ‘ shag’ ?”
    “Shhhh, Dylan. Blooming heck.”
    “What age are you, Amir?”
    “I’m sixteen and two months.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Exactly what?”
    “We are at the age when we should be shagging girls.”
    “I dunno about that, Dylan.”
    “Well, I do, and I am saying I’m at the age for shagging.”
    “Really?”
    “I’m like a tomato.”
    “A tomato?”
    “Ripe.”
    “Wow! Dylan! That’s pure head-mong stuff. How are you going to do it?”
    “There are ways.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Loads of ways.”
    “Is it not really dangerous?”
    “Dead easy.”
    “So when are you going to rape her, then?”
    “What?”
    “When are you—”
    “Are you serious?”
    “Erm—”
    “What kind of person do you think I am, Amir?”
    “I j-j-just thought—”
    “Well, if you’re going to think, use your noggin first.”
    “You said it.”
    “Said what?”
    “Rape.”
    “RIPE, I said. RIPE! Not bloody rape!”
    “Oh.”
    “What kind of nutter do you think I am?”
    “I just—”
    “You want me to go down for a five-to-ten stretch in the jail or something?”
    “Of course I don’t want you to go to the jail.”
    “Well, then.”
    “Okay, then.”
    “So, then.”
    “Well, then.”
    “That’s sorted, then.”
    “Well, then it’s sorted, then.”
    “Just don’t act like a pure moron when I’m telling you things.”
    “Okay, Dylan.”
    Then Amir laughed, but he was trying super hard to stop himself from laughing in case I socked him a stonker across the face. Or I gave him a Glasgow Kiss or a Mars bar down his cheek or a swift kick to the balls. But he didn’t need to worry, because there’s no way on earth I’d have laid a finger on Amir or anyone—not even Doughnut, although when Doughnut called me Dildo instead of Dylan I wanted to crack his head open with a big giant concrete slab. Mom told me to wiggle my fingers and count to ten in my head when that happened. I rubbed Green in my palm and thought of how many grains of sand there are on Largs Beach. That was where we went with the school last summer for our annual day trip; it was pissing down, and we had to watch the waves crashing onto the shore from inside the bus. It was crap. Lisa Degnan shat herself as well, and the whole bus smelled like a baby’s nappy. I started counting the grains and breathing out of my mouth.
    “Why are you laughing, Amir?”
    “Because of the jail thing.”
    “And?”
    “There’s no need for you to go to jail, because you will never see out your five-to-ten stretch.” What Amir said blasted me in the face. “Because, you know . . . you’ll be . . . you know . . .”
    Then I knew. We knew. And my face and insides felt all sad.
    “Oh, Dylan, I’m sorry . . . I didn’t . . .”
    “It’s no probs, Amir. We’re just having some banter, that’s all.”
    “Well, if it’s banter you’re after, think about this . . .”
    “What?”
    “You might get Michelle Malloy up the duff