Free Zero to Hero by Lin Oliver Page A

afternoon and was getting really sick of it and frustrated that only his boots were standing by themselves on the leafy ground under the tree. Occasionally, a knee popped up, but that was as far as he could get, visibility-wise. Hoover wasn’t sure how much more whistling he could do. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls. He was actually relieved to see Billy Broccoli coming home from school. Throwing himself into Swoosh mode, he rushed across the yard so he could beat Billy to the back door.
    “Welcome home,” he said, holding the screen door open.
    Billy looked at the Hoove, or at least the parts of Hoove that were visible, and jumped nearly three feet in the air.
    “You’re kidding me,” the Hoove said. “I still scare you?”
    “If you had big things on your mind and suddenly you were approached by a pair of boots and one knee, I think you’d jump, too.”
    Billy pushed past the Hoove, or at least what was visible of the Hoove, walked into the kitchen, and yanked open the refrigerator, pulling the door so hard it made all the salad-dressing bottles clatter. He took out a bowl of leftover potato salad, took a clean fork out of the dishwasher, and started to shovel the food into his mouth without even remembering that he hated potato salad. Something about the crunch of the celery next to the mush of the potatoes repulsed him.
    “This is anger eating,” the Hoove said to Billy. “And it’s unattractive on any human, living or dead.”
    “Yeah, well, so is having one knee.”
    “I’m working on that. In the meantime, whydon’t you spill the beans. I can tell, something is very wrong.”
    “Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?” Billy answered, exposing some mildly disgusting clumps of potato salad on his tongue. “Just because everybody at school thinks I’m a total freak for keeping my tonsil in a jar? What’s wrong with that?”
    “Are you telling me you took that disgusto fleshy thing to school?” Hoover asked. “Has your mind left the building?”
    “Of course I didn’t take it. Rod Brownstone swiped it last night and put it on the lunch table right in front of Ruby and everyone else I might ever want to be friends with but now never will be.”
    “Brownstone? That twit?”
    “The very same.”
    “He did that to you? I can’t believe it! This is totally unacceptable.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    The Hoove felt a rush of anger swell up in him.
    “I never liked that twerp,” he fumed. “He’s a bad egg inside and out. But now he has crossed the Hoove’s line. I’m telling you, Billy, and hear me well: Anyone who messes with you, messes with me. Big-time.”
    Suddenly, right in front of Billy’s eyes, the Hoove appeared, his whole body totally visible, newsboy cap, suspenders, and all.
    “Whoa,” he said. “I’ve been working on that all day. Thank you, Billy Boy. You and your Rod story focused me, and lo and behold, here I am in my full greatness.”
    “Good for you,” Billy said, reaching for the milk and taking a swig right out of the carton. “Your life … or whatever you call it … is fabulous. Mine is ruined. So if you’ll pardon me, I’m going to my room to hide in the closet for the next twenty years. It’s been nice knowing you.”
    “Okay, but you might want to wipe that egg salad off your face before it forms a crust.”
    “It’s potato salad.”
    “Whatever it is, it should not be on yourface. It should be on a napkin, which should be placed immediately at the bottom of the garbage pail.”
    The Hoove laughed to lighten the mood, but Billy’s spirits couldn’t be lifted.
    “What is that?” he snapped. “Hoove’s Rule One Thousand and Ten? You know what, Hoove? I’ve had it with your rules and with your advice. There’s nothing that’s going to help me now. My life as I’ve known it is over. From now on, I’m just going to be known as the pathetic guy who keeps body parts as souvenirs.”
    Billy didn’t even bother to put the potato salad