Free Dodger for President by Jordan Sonnenblick Page B

male of the school because of my experience. Also, I would like to thank Mrs. Starsky, this lady here, the massively boring woman to my left, she of the rancid coffee breath, and—”
    Â 
    â€œENOUGH!” Mrs. Starsky roared, ripping the cord out of the microphone. Then, in front of the whole school, she screamed and yelled at James until he stormed off the stage. As he passed me,he hissed, “I don’t know how you did this, but you are dead, deceased, extinct, six feet under, pushing up daisies!
This isn’t over!
”
    Boy, even if they get to go first, some people are just never satisfied.
    After James stalked off, Mrs. Starsky plugged the microphone back in and introduced me. As I stood to approach the microphone, Lizzie whispered, “Good luck!” Dodger grabbed his marker again and wrote, “SK8ER WALK!” I gave it my best shot. At the podium, I looked out over the audience and tried to look serious and important. Dodger wrote, “SMILE!” So I did. Then he wrote, “NOT TWO MUCHHH!” I worked on smiling without smiling too much, took a deep breath, and gave my improved, polished speech. I don’t know how much of it anyone actually heard, though, because the whole room was pretty much in an uproar. But at least I didn’t make a fool out of myself. And if James had looked like a massive idiot—well, it had been kind of his choice. I mean, I almost could have felt a tiny bit sorry for him, but it wasn’t like I had
told
him to go first or anything.
    When we walked out of the auditorium, thelast thing I saw was Dodger’s hands, reaching up over the crowd in a double V-for-victory sign.
    For the rest of the day, people were talking about James’s speech all over the school. Mrs. Starsky was flustered and grumpy; every time our class settled down, we could hear other teachers yelling at their classes to be quiet, and I kept hearing whispers and murmurs in the halls:
loogie
. . .
coffee breath
. . .
silverback male
. . .
hock
. . .
gargle
. . . I’m happy to say I didn’t run into James or Craig all day, but then, on the way out to the bus lines, Lizzie and I saw them huddled together under the slides at the playground.
    â€œWillie, come on!” Lizzie said, pulling on my arm. “We have to go listen to what they’re saying.”
    I was horrified. “What do you mean? We can’t just walk over there—Beeks will kill me! And it’s not nice to sneak up and eavesdrop.”
    Lizzie looked a little embarrassed. She leaned against the school wall, pulled a dropper out of her coat, and used it to drip three drops of a brown, smelly liquid on the sole of each of her shoes. “I never got to finish telling you this the other day,” she said, “but Dodger made me promise that thenext time I saw Craig and James talking, I should use this. It’s called Tincture of Distraction, and while you’re wearing it, nobody can concentrate on you unless they’re in physical contact with you. It only works once on a pair of shoes, but it will let us sneak up on them without being noticed.”
    â€œAnd why do we want to do that?”
    â€œDodger told me that Craig needs help, and we’re the only ones who can give it. The Great Lasorda told him so.”
    â€œBut we don’t trust the Great Lasorda. Plus, if he wants to help Craig so badly, why doesn’t he just give the kid three wishes himself?”
    â€œHe can’t,” Lizzie said. “Craig is Irish.”
    â€œSo what? I’m Irish, too,” I replied.
    â€œYou’re only half-Irish. Dodger said that, according to the Inter-Magical Cooperation Accords of 1817, only fully licensed leprechauns may help full-blooded Irish children with domestic problems. The Great Lasorda could get fined seventeen doubloons, a pint of pixie dust, and an ounce of myrrh if he interferes directly with Craig’s family