Boy's Best Friend Read Free Page A

sensing that I’m coming.”
    â€œAnd how are you going to prove that?” asked Zac.
    â€œBy doing that experiment I told you about,” said George. “And by hundreds of other people doing the same thing.”
    Zac speared a pea with his fork. “But how can you prove it’s something about Bart?” he said. “Maybe it’s something about you, George.” Zac leaned toward George and widened his eyes. “Oohh,” he crooned.
    Vivien looked at George with her big blue eyes. They reminded him of blueberries, the exact color and shape. “Maybe George is magic,” she said. “Like Harry Potter.”
    George wasn’t sure he liked being compared to Harry Potter. He didn’t think he was any more magical than anyone else. But he did feel different at times. Or at least he thought he did. But how could he really know how anyone else felt?
    George looked across the table at his older brother. Zac was blond like his mother, and thicker set. George was thin and dark. Zac liked synthesized music, computers, and electronics. George liked science, nature, and animals. How could two boys come from the same parents and be so different? What if he and Zac hadn’t come from the same place? What if Bart was responding to something alien about George?
    â€œYou know, George,” said Zac. “Sometimes I think you landed here from another planet.”
    â€œCould be,” said George hesitantly.
    Sensing his discomfort, George’s mother came to the rescue. “I don’t remember George arriving from outer space,” she said. “I remember him coming full force at midnight on my thirty-second birthday after I’d eaten too much cake. Look, I don’t know if Bart can read George’s mind. But can anyone read mine?”
    George could. “You want me to eat some peas,” he said. He took a spoonful, looking down at the peas with their dented skins. They reminded him of tiny green golf balls. One pea dropped and bounced onto the floor, rolling silently to a stop. “If you write to a total stranger, do you think he’ll write back?” he asked.
    â€œDepends,” said Zac. “Who are you thinking of writing to?”
    â€œIf you tell them you’re depressed I bet they’ll write back,” said Vivien.
    â€œGeorge,” said his mother. She looked concerned. “Are you depressed?”
    â€œHe misses Kyra,” said Vivien.
    â€œWould you be quiet, Viv,” said George, fiddling with the tail of the green ribbon around his wrist.
    â€œIt’s normal to be sad when a friend leaves,” said George’s mother. “But it will pass, George. I promise.”
    â€œYou’ll make new friends,” said George’s father. “Friends come and go. That’s part of life.”
    â€œJust like vacations,” said Vivien philosophically.
    Zac cleared his throat. “In answer to your question, George,” he said. “Don’t expect a total stranger to write back.”
    George frowned.
    Zac reached over and ruffled his hair. “Hey,” he said. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”
    â€œYou think you know everything, Zac,” said George. “I’m going to prove that really important people write to really unimportant people like me.”
    â€œI think you’re important,” said Vivien.
    â€œThanks, Viv,” said George.
    â€œI like your spirit,” said Zac. “What do you want to bet?”
    â€œTen dollars,” said George.
    â€œYou’re on,” said Zac, reaching out a hand to shake. He put down his napkin and stood up. “How about a game of Ping-Pong?”
    â€œNo thanks,” said George. He helped clear the table, then took the stairs two at a time up to his room. He sat down at his desk and dropped his chin into his hands. Maybe he was depressed.
    â€œWhy is it so hard for some people to believe