Free Dancing Dudes by Mike Knudson Page A

into the bushes. As I was dragging it out, Graham opened the door. He said something to me, but I couldn’t understand. It sounded like he had a huge wad of gum in his mouth.
    “What?” I said. “What are you saying?” Then I looked closer at him. “Whoa! Look at that bruise! I thought my last bruise was bad. But it was nothing compared to what Fat Fingers did to you!”
    Graham looked at me like he was about to cry.
    “Sorry, Graham.” Then I thought about Graham’s manly rule number one. “Hey, I thought rule number one was that real men never cry.” Then I looked closer at his face. “Hey, you’re not crying,” I said. “You’re laughing!” His face was still so numb his lips couldn’t make a smiling shape. It was crazy. His lips and cheeks were all saggy. He looked like an old man, but without wrinkles.
    “Wash thish,” he said in a slurred voice, pinching himself on the cheek. “Doeshn’t hurt.”
    “Whoa, that’s great!” I said. “Can I try?” I picked up a stick from the ground and poked him in the cheek.
    “Noshing,” he said. Then he grabbed a bigger stick and smacked himself in the face.
    “Nothing?” I asked.
    “Noshing at all,” Graham replied, with that same crazy smile and slurred voice.
    “Hey, try this,” I said, picking up a rock. “Press this on your face. Let’s see if it will make a design.” I pressed it hard against his cheek for about twenty seconds. “It worked!” I yelled. “Go look in the mirror.”
    After looking in the mirror, we searched for other things to press into his face. We tried a quarter, a bottle cap, a plastic army man, and the bottom of a boot. While he was pressing the boot on his cheek, his eyes got all watery. He dropped the boot, walked into the bathroom, and closed the door.

    “YEEEEOOWWW!!!” he yelled. I could hear him jumping around in the bathroom.
    “Graham, are you all right?” I called to him.
    Slowly, he opened the door. He had all sorts of imprints and cuts on his face. The numbness must have been wearing off, because he was holding his face in pain. I could definitely tell that he was not smiling anymore.
    This really did end up being the day that Graham broke manly rule number one. But I wasn’t going to call him a baby. I gave him a pat on the shoulder and told him he had better get some rest. Then I walked out the door, picked up my bike, and rode home.

12
    Howdy, Pardner
    FOR THE NEXT two weeks, we practiced every single day for our big hoedown. On Thursday, the day before our performance, Mrs. Gibson reminded us to wear Western clothes. She told us to look for bandanas to tie around our necks, and if any of us had cowboy boots, we could wear them also. Brad Shaw was the only person I knew who wore cowboy boots.
    After school, Graham and I played basketball all afternoon. As we played, we talked about the dance. Graham still had hopes that somehow he would end up dancing with Kelly. I didn’t say anything, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
    We kept playing until Graham had to go in and eat dinner. I picked up my backpack and ran home to do the same. When I got there, on my bed was a great red bandana, a new Western shirt, and, best of all, a real cowboy hat. I put on the hat and ran into the kitchen, where my mom was making one of my favorite dinners . . . spaghetti and meatballs.
    “All right!” I said. “I love spaghetti! Hey, and thanks for all the cowboy stuff. It’s great!”
    “I just wanted you to be the most handsome cowboy out there tomorrow,” Mom said, smiling.
    “Well, I am kind of excited about it. Except for one thing . . . dancing with Mrs. Gibson,” I said. “I just can’t believe I have to dance with the teacher.”
    “Oh, it won’t be so bad,” Mom said.
    After dinner I finished my homework and went to bed early. I closed my eyes for what seemed like a few seconds and it was morning. I had some cereal, brushed my teeth with my blue toothbrush, and headed down the