Free Aces Wild by Erica S. Perl

addressed the bus driver. “A NIGHT LIKE THIS IS NOT FIT FOR MAN OR BEAST.”
    “Ummm-hmmmm,” said the bus driver evenly.
    “W. C. FIELDS,” Ace informed him.
    “Come on, Grandpa,” I said.
    We walked back and slid into the first available seats, Ace on the left side, sitting sideways and blocking the aisle, and me on the right.
    “Did I tell you?” said Ace, whispering for once. “All figured out. Gedaingst?!”
    “Of course I remember,” I told him. “I just didn’t actually think it would work.” That was the thing about Ace. Many of his ideas were crazy. But some were so-crazy-they-just-might-work.
Whew
, I thought,
that was a close—
    “You forgetting something?”
    I looked up. The voice came from the bus driver, who was staring at us in the rearview mirror.
Oh no
, I thought.
This is the part where we get thrown off the bus. Or thrown in jail. Or worse
.
    I looked at Ace. He was leaning very, very far into the aisle, almost like he was about to keel over, still holding his bulging waist with his left hand. He looked very strange, stranger than usual. Just then, I had a scary thought, and my own heart started to pound.
His face was very red. Did that mean something? Was he having another heart attack? What was I going to do?
    “Grandpa?” I said, my voice very small all of a sudden. “Grandpa, are you … okay?”
    Ace didn’t answer. He was reaching behind himself with his right hand while still clutching his “belly” firmly with his left one.
Oh no—Ace!
    I had to do something. So I stood up and started walking quickly to the front of the bus to tell the driver—well, I wasn’t sure what.
Excuse me, but my grandpa might be having a heart attack. Oh, and by the way, he has my dog strapped to his belly
.
    “ZELDALEH.”
    I turned, surprised to hear Ace’s booming voice, and even more surprised to hear him calling me something other than kid. The last time he did, I was pretty sure he was still in the hospital, recovering from his heart attack. But when I turned around, Ace looked normal again. Well, normal for an old man wearing a Budweiser beer hat with earflaps and a dog smuggled under his coat. Normal for Ace. He was waving something triumphantly.
    “HERE,” said Ace, holding it out to me. I realized why the bus driver was glaring at us … and what Ace had been digging out of his back pocket. I ran back to Ace, grabbed hiswallet, and practically danced up the aisle to apologize and shove dollars and coins into the fare box. As I sat down again, Ace caught my eye and winked. He unzipped the Baxter State a few inches, enough so I could see Ace snuggled inside, but not enough so Ace could see that he could wiggle his way to freedom.
    “SUCH A WORRIER,” Ace scolded me after we got off the bus. “YOU COME BY IT HONESTLY.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “YOU GET IT FROM YOUR MOTHER,” said Ace.
    The topic of the evening’s class turned out to be teaching your dog to heel. Ace, however, seemed to think the topic was attacking the heel of the person who is walking you.
    “Ace! Stop it! NO!” I ordered.
    “Make it positive, Zelly,” coached Mrs. Wright. “If it’s not fun for him, he’ll lose interest.”
    I nodded and tried again. “Come on, Ace. Good boy. You can do it.”
    Ace wagged vigorously and pounced on my shoelaces.
    I gave Mrs. Wright a look like
Now what?
    “Wellll,” she said, considering Ace, “have you thought about getting those shoes they make that close with Velcro?”
    When class ended, I turned to Ace. “Please tell me we’re not taking the bus home,” I said.
    “TOO MUCH EXCITEMENT FOR ONE DAY?”
    “Something like that.”
    “NOT TO WORRY,” said Ace.
    “Is my dad picking us up?”
    “NAH,” said Ace. “I CALLED YOUR MOTHER AND TOLD HER WE’D MADE OTHER ARRANGEMENTS.”
    “Called?” I asked. “What do you mean, called?”
    Ace reached into his pocket and pulled out something. It was the basic size and shape of a cell phone,