Free Labracadabra by Jessie Nelson Page A

up. I looked out the window and saw my mom sitting in the backseat. That was odd.
    Then my dad yelled out, “Close your eyes.” Just as I started to close my right eye, I nearly got trampled by something.
    A DOG?! I’D ALWAYS WANTED A DOG! For like my entire life! I looked down at the dog, my new best friend. ’Cause that’s what they say: “A dog is a man’s best friend.” And I didn’t have a best friend.
    But this dog was kind of big for a small dog and kind of small if you like big dogs, with a very large nose for a dog, and nostrils that were, like, huge. And his tail! His tail was really long and wagged in this really, really annoying way.
    â€œWhat kind of dog is it?” I asked, trying to hide my disappointment.
    â€œIt’s a little bit of everything. Part Labrador, part Brittany spaniel, part cadoodle, part dachshund, and maybe a little bit terrier,” my dad said.
    Dachshund? Cadoodle? Oh, brother. I had wanted a German shepherd or a golden retriever or a chocolate Lab. Not “a little bit of everything” with big nostrils and a weird tail. Well, maybe he’ll grow into those.
    â€œHe’s full grown, Zach,” my mom said. “He’s had a very hard life, so be really nice and welcome him into our home.”
    Hard life? I didn’t want to feel sorry for my dog. I wanted a dog I could be proud of. A big dog. A tough dog. A smart dog. Not a used dog.
    The dog looked up at me, wagging that tail.

    I tried to cheer myself up. Maybe it would be a little fun to name it.
    â€œHe already has a name,” my mom said. “And I think we should keep that name so he doesn’t get confused.”
    Okay, what’s the point of having a dog if you don’t even get a chance to name it?
    â€œWhat’s his name?” I said, preparing myself for the worst.
    â€œLarry.”
    â€œLARRY?!!!!” Larry was the kid who sat behind me in science and built an underwater volcano that exploded all over my desk. “Larry” was not a dog’s name. A dog’s name was supposed to be “Max” or “Mac” or “Rex.” I would have even taken “Buddy.” But Larry?? I vowed I’d never say it out loud.
    I could hear Molly trying not to laugh. Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Larry. I started to walk away, but the dog—you notice I’m not saying “Larry”—stopped me with his tail.
    â€œOoh . . . He wants you to take him for a walk!” Mom said.
    â€œMaybe later,” I said. “I have to go clean my room first.”

2
    I KNOW IT SOUNDS crazy, but it happened around 10:15 last Thursday.
    My dog and I were taking a walk, just down the block, not so far that I couldn’t see my house. My mother was on the porch. I could tell from her left eyebrow that she was still mad at me from her having told me to clean my room and me pushing everything under my bed, including the chocolate pudding from when my cousin Seymour was over. It didn’t help that my underwear happened to fall in my goldfish bowl. The goldfish lived, which proves that underwear doesn’t kill goldfish, but that’s another story.
    We started walking. My dog’s weirdo tail was wagging so much, so fast, that Mom couldn’t help laughing. My dog shot me a look. I could tell he was as relieved as I was that my mom’s left eyebrow had gone back where it belonged.
    Just as I was beginning to feel my own tail wag, there he was.
    That kid—the tall one, like taller than all of us, like tree tall—who moved into the neighborhood from Arizona. He had no friends, and Mom said that’s why he was so mean and we had to forgive him.
    He reached for my dog’s tail—it felt like he was going to pull it off and hit me with it. But before I could grab his hand, my dog started moving his tail in these wild figure eights. I’m not kidding, almost like karate moves, like kung fu but