Dodger and Me Read Free Page B

fourteen Shamrock Shakes?”
    â€œWell, I’m not sure. What’s the last thing you remember?”
    â€œUh, do TV’s have more than three channels yet?”
    â€œOh, man, Dodger. You have been in there a long time! But anyway, why would you wait for me? Why would you want me for a best friend?” As I said this, I couldn’t help wondering, Isn’t there , like, a lonely blue surfer chimp somewhere that needs a buddy more than I do?
    â€œYou’re the one, Willie. I know you are. Didn’t your best friend just leave you?”
    â€œUh, well, my friend Tim moved to—”
    â€œRight, see? My best friend left me, too. And aren’t you a really special guy who just needs a chance?”
    â€œWell—”
    â€œMe, too. And don’t you like bananas?”
    I had to think about that one for a minute. “Yes, actually. Now that you mention it, I do like bananas, Dodger.”

    â€œSee, Willie? This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
    Dodger reached behind him and tugged on the waistband of his shorts. Half of a sesame-seed bun rolled down his leg to the ground. Wow, I had a new best friend—a blue chimp with a burger wedgie.

CHAPTER THREE
    Not out of the Woods Yet
    JUST A FEW MOMENTS LATER, Dodger and I were walking through the forest on a path that had magically appeared right under my feet. I was carrying the teapot thing, and a thought suddenly hit me. I had rubbed the bag, and then it had become the teapot, and then a mysterious, impossible creature had popped out of it. Plus, the creature had referred to the thing as a “lamp.” As crazy as the whole idea seemed, I had a weird hunch about my new friend.
    â€œDodger,” I began, feeling like a complete idiot for even asking, “are you a, um … well … are you, by any chance, a genie?”

    Dodger looked at me like I’d said a dirty word. Not that I’d ever do that, because my mom would probably have about three heart attacks if she heard me. Then he said, “Well, Willie, the preferred term is ‘Bottled American.’”
    â€œOkay, sorry. Are you a, um, Bottled American?”
    Just then, Dodger waved his fingers through the air in a complicated little pattern, and all of a sudden we stepped out of the woods and into my backyard. “Hey, look,” he said, “dude—we’re home!”
    Oh, boy. What was with the “we” stuff? Did Dodger plan to come into my house? Or worse, did he intend to live with me? My mom hadn’t let me bring home the class hamster for a weekend in third grade—how was she going to react to having a talking blue surfer chimp with a vision problem in the guest room?
    Just as I was about to ask him what, exactly, he meant by “home,” he said, “Oh, man! I can’t wait to get washed up and eat some fresh fruit! And then we can play games. And then we can make our Three-Part Plan. This is going to be so great!”

    Three-Part Plan? What was he talking about? And why was he marching across my backyard toward our screen door in broad daylight? What if somebody saw him and called Animal Control? Or worse, America’s Funniest Home Videos ?
    â€œStop!” I shouted. “You can’t just go barging in there. What if someone sees you?”
    â€œWillie, has anyone ever told you that you worry too much? You need to chill or you’re going to get high blood pressure before you hit middle school.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œBuddy, it’s all taken care of. Watch and learn, all right?” With that, Dodger turned the handle of the back door and stepped into the playroom of my house. I almost swore under my breath, but remembered just in time that I don’t swear.
    It crossed my mind that I was totally doomed. My mom was the type who would throw a fit and make me use about a gallon of hand sanitizer if I even touched anything at the petting zoo, and now I was