Free Charlie Joe Jackson's Guide to Not Growing Up by Tommy Greenwald

happily mauled by a black Newfoundland twice his size, and a tiny dachshund was pushing a baseball all over the infield with his nose.
    It killed me a little bit, but finally I went out to the field. “Moose! Coco! Come!” They heard me and came trotting over, wagging their tails in gratitude. This had been a lot more fun than they’d expected—and a PowerBar snack to boot!
    â€œTime to go,” I said, “before they send you guys to doggie jail.”
    We were heading off the field when I felt a sharp tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see Mr. Crabtree staring down at me like an angry parakeet.
    â€œAre these your dogs?”
    â€œUh…”
    I was completely tongue-tied and just about to panic when Katie suddenly appeared at my side to rescue me. “Yes, they are his dogs. Aren’t they cute?”
    â€œAre you kidding?” Mr. Crabtree waved his hand. “This is a baseball field, not a kennel.”
    â€œWe’re leaving,” Katie said.
    â€œYeah, we’re leaving,” I echoed.
    â€œGood!” Mr. Crabtree was standing there with a smug look on his face. “And don’t come back until you learn how to respect the game!”
    This was no time to be a wise guy. “Yes, sir.” I said, grabbing the dogs by their collars. I was walking back to the fence when I heard a voice behind me.
    â€œHow about you learn to respect the kids ?”
    Megan!
    She was walking up to Mr. Crabtree, with Willy and his younger brother, Chad, next to her.
    Mr. Crabtree looked at her in disbelief.
    â€œWhat did you say to me?”
    Megan wasn’t about to back down. “I said, how about you learn to respect the kids? Let them have fun, like boys are supposed to do, instead of scaring them half to death!” She pointed at Chad. “You practically made my boyfriend’s brother cry.” Then she looked at Chad. “Sorry, buddy.”
    â€œIt’s okay,” he said.
    â€œThis isn’t a sandbox,” said Mr. Crabtree. “This is competitive sports. The kids in this town have it too good—they need to toughen up a little bit, learn how to deal with a little adversity.”
    I felt I had to step in and say something. “You’re right, sir,” I said. “We do have it too good in this town. We’re really lucky. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t let us be kids. Pretty soon we’ll all have to face real life. I’m going to high school next year, and it’s going to be hard. So while these kids are still in fourth and fifth grade, shouldn’t they be allowed to have a little fun?”
    â€œThey ARE having fun!” Mr. Crabtree turned around to face a bunch of his players and their parents, who had all gathered around to listen. “Aren’t you guys having fun? Aren’t you?”
    A few kids nodded, murmuring, “Yup” and “Sure,” and one or two of the dads made their kids raise their hands. But most of them didn’t say a thing.
    Mr. Crabtree’s face turned bright red. “Do you people know how many hours I’ve dedicated to this team?” He waited for an answer, but none came. “Okay, FINE! Find another freakin’ coach for all I care!”
    He said that last sentence so loud, it scared Coco a little bit. Which wasn’t good because when Coco gets scared, she pees on the first thing she sees.
    Which happened to be Mr. Crabtree’s foot.
    â€œTHAT’S IT!” the coach roared. “I’M OUT OF HERE!” He stared me down for one last second. “You’re older than these boys, you’re supposed to know better,” he spat out. “Grow up!”
    Everyone watched him as he marched into the dugout, grabbed his clipboards, his windbreaker, his whistle, and his baseball glove and headed to the parking lot.
    Two minutes later, he turned around and came back to the field, because he forgot his son.
    â€œMarcus,