Free Dogs by Allan Stratton Page A

you’re talking about.”
    â€œLiar.” Cody shoves me hard on the chest. I go back a few steps. “Who told you? What did they say?”
    â€œNobody. Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just wanted to say, I think it’s true.”
    â€œAbout my great-grandma?”
    â€œNo, the murder. I think it happened.”
    â€œI’ll bet you do.” He shoves me again. I fall down. He jumps on top. “Don’t ever laugh at my great-grandma. Don’t ever talk about my family, you little punk. Got that?”
    â€œI haven’t. Not her, your mom, not anybody.”
    He lifts my shoulders and slams them into the ground. “Why would you talk about Mom?”
    â€œI wouldn’t.”
    â€œThen why did you say ‘your mom’?”
    â€œI didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
    â€œYou don’t know anything!” He punches me in the face. I hit back without thinking. He pounds and pounds. A bunch of kids run out to see the show.
    â€œBoys. That’s enough.” It’s Mr. Abbott, a math teacher.
    Cody’s buddies yank him off me.
    â€œTo the office. Both of you. Now.”
    â€œWhy?” Cody rubs his knuckles. “He started it.”
    Mr. Abbott takes us to the vice principal. He tells him that Cody did most of the hitting, but he saw me land a punch too.
    â€œWhat started it?” the VP asks.
    â€œHe was talking about my family,” Cody says. “Making fun of my great-grandma. Talking about my mom.”
    â€œIs that true, Cameron?”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    Cody glares at me. “I got witnesses.”
    The VP shoots him a look. “Cody.” He looks at me over his glasses. “What do you mean, ‘Not exactly’?”
    How can I explain without mentioning Benjie, or talking about the murder and sounding nuts? I stare at my hands. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. Things didn’t come out how I wanted.”
    There’s a zero-tolerance policy for fighting. We both get suspended till the end of the week: three days. The office calls Mom to pick me up.
    The drive home takes forever. I try telling Mom it was all a misunderstanding, but she won’t listen. “You don’t get suspended for nothing.” I want to say I was bullied, but it’s too embarrassing. If she believed me, she’d think she had to do something, and that would make it worse.
    Besides, how do I tell her what got said? Even to me it doesn’t make sense. What would Cody’s great-grandmother have to do with a murder that no one thinks happened? And why would that make Cody go ballistic?
    â€œA fistfight,” Mom says quietly. “That’s how it starts.”
    I feel sick to my stomach. She thinks I’m turning into Dad.

16
    After supper I go to my room and google Benjie’s number. There’re only three Dalberts in the area, and the other two are in town. I make the call.
    â€œI told you not to ask Cody about the murder,” Benjie says.
    â€œNo, you didn’t. All you said was, ‘Don’t tell him there wasn’t one.’”
    â€œOh. Right. I should have been clearer.”
    â€œYa think?”
    â€œSorry,” Benjie says.
    â€œAnyway, I acted like it was true. And now I’m beat up and suspended, and Mom cries when she looks at me. So what’s the deal?”
    â€œWell, first thing you should know: Cody’s great-grandma is ninety and deranged. A total whack job.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œThis isn’t the city. Everybody knows about everybody. And everybody knows Mrs. Murphy drove her car into the Presbyterian church. Well, not into the church, but into the front steps. That’s when she lost her license, two years ago. Mom says it was about time—Mrs. Murphy had been parking her car in the middle of the highway and walking off, totally lost.”
    â€œNo kidding.”
    â€œWait, it