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

and leave behind a wee baby Mint.” Snap! Crackle! And Pop! Amir was right. I’d never thought about baby Mints.
    “What if I put a sleeping bag on it?”
    Amir looked confused.
    “A rubber.”
    “Oh.”
    “I’d be okay then, wouldn’t I?”
    “Erm . . . I . . . erm, suppose so, but you’d have to flush it down the toilet to wash away the evidence.”
    “Right.” I tried to act as if I knew what the hell’s fire I was talking about. The problem was, I hadn’t really seen any rubbers in the flesh, unless you count the skanky ones left in the park. The ones I saw on the Internet looked like rolled-up nipples. I’d be terrified to buy one. Maybe Amir could be an incredible bud and buy them for me. Or steal them from his dad. Wow! That would be something. I never considered rubbers.
    Then we kicked some tiny stones around, because all the big ones had already been booted away. There was this weird silence between us, which made me want to slap my forehead twelve times in a row.
    “I’m going to make my move at the Halloween disco,” I said.
    “With Michelle?”
    “Yeah.”
    “But Halloween’s ages away. We’re still in August.”
    “That gives me plenty of time to put my master plan into action.”
    “Phew. That’s okay, then, isn’t it?” Amir said. “Are you going to tell Michelle what’s wrong with you as well?”
    “No chance.”
    “It might be easier to . . . you know . . . have it off with her.”
    “How?”
    “She might have some super sympathy for you.”
    “I don’t want her super sympathy.”
    “But then you could get one of those . . . what-do-you-­call-its.”
    “A pity pump?” I said. I knew what Amir was getting at, but I couldn’t think of the exact phrase that was on the tip of his tongue.
    “That’s it. A pity pump.” That wasn’t it, though.
    “No need. Once she hears the Dylan Mint patter, her knickers will fall down like Mad Skittle’s do.”
    Amir laughed loudly. Skittle’s real name was Philip Doyle and he was in our class. He had a leg-disease thing that made his bones all squishy like Play-Doh. “You’d better not say that to Skittle’s face.”
    “Spaz-ball!”
    “I would never say anything ba-ba-bad to Skittle,” Amir spurted. “Never to his fa-fa-face.”
    Sometimes Amir got a wee bit ruffled when bits and bobs flew out. Miss Flynn told me to “always stay positive” when they came out unexpectedly. I didn’t know what this meant, however. Dad used to say that Miss Flynn was “getting money for old rope.” Imagine paying someone for old rope when you could just go to Home Depot and buy new rope. Freaky deaky.
    When we walked home I felt as though I should put my arm around Amir to remind him that things would be A-okay between us and to make him understand that we would be best buds for life. I saw the lads in the film Stand by Me do the same thing, and that was brilliant. Mom said I was crying during it, but I wasn’t. I only had a lump in my throat . . . the size of an eggcup.
    “By the way, don’t say anything, Amir.”
    “About what?”
    “About you-know-what.”
    “The de-de-dead thing . . . March?”
    “Yes, and don’t call it ‘ the dead thing .’”
    “What should I call it?”
    “You could call it ‘ the holiday’ or ‘ the trip’ or ‘ the thing’ or ‘ the journey’ or ‘ the elephant .’ Call it anything as long as you don’t say the word ‘ dead .’”
    “Okey-dokey, captain.”
    “Mum’s the word, okay?”
    “Mum’s the word,” Amir said.
    We half punched, half pushed each other on the arm to put a stamp on it and then continued to walk.
    “What are you going as for the Halloween disco?” I asked him.
    “Don’t know. What about you?”
    “Don’t know.”
    Amir rolled his eyes, because he had his thinking hat on. And when this happened, it was Strap Me In Time!
    “I know what you could dress up as,” he said.
    “What?”
    “A rubber!”
    That guy was
    fun
    fun
    funny.

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