Never Walk in Shoes That Talk Read Free Page A

with a box of baby wipes and some Band-Aids.
    “Let’s go play in my room,” he said. “There’s too many little kids down here.
    It’s like an alien invasion.”
    Gus’s room was even messier than mine.
    I sat down on a pile of dirty clothes and felt right at home.

    “I remember when Hazel was a baby,” I said. “My parents paid all the attention to her. It was like Max and me didn’t even exist.”
    Gus nodded. “Lately, I feel like I’m invisible.”
    “You’re not invisible to me!” I said.
    I tossed a dirty sock at Gus and scored a direct hit.
    “There’s proof!” I said. “I can see you just fine!”
    Gus just lay there.
    He didn’t even fire the sock back at me.
    I had to cheer him up somehow.
    “Gus,” I said. “I’ve got a great idea. I want you to wear my Walkie-Talkies for a while. For a whole day, even.” I thought for a moment. “No! For a whole entire week!”
    Gus sat up on his elbows. “You’d do that for me?”
    I kicked off my shoes. “Here. Try them on.”
    Gus tried to put on my right Walkie-Talkie.
    He made a face and shook his head.
    “Foot sweat?” I asked.
    “No, it’s just that my feet are too big to fit.”
    “Squeeze harder,” I said.
    Gus tried again. “I feel like Cinderella with the glass slipper.”
    “Actually, the slipper fit Cinderella. You would be an ugly stepsister,” I said.
    Finally, Gus managed to squeeze his feet into both shoes.
    He stood up. He was a little wobbly, on account of his squished condition.
    “Ow,” he said. “They’re amazing. Ow. But I don’t think I could wear them for a whole week. My feet would probably fall off. Thanks, though.”
    “You’ll get some Walkie-Talkies soon, Gus,” I said. “Your sneakers have to fall apart eventually, right?”
    “I suppose.”
    “How can shoes refuse to die?” I asked. “Dad says all my sneakers wear out in a week.”
    I picked up one of the Ruff and Tuffs. “I know what their ads say,” I said. “But these sure look like regular old sneakers.
    I’ll bet you I could wear them out in no time!”
    “I wish you could,” Gus said. “Then I’d finally get my own Walkie-Talkies!”
    And that’s when it hit me.
    I, Mr. Destructo-feet, was the answer to Gus’s Walkie-Talkie prayers.
    “Gus,” I said. “Let me borrow your sneakers for a day. I guarantee you’ll need a new pair of shoes in no time, if my feet have anything to say about it!”

10
Destructo-Feet
    “Roscoe,” my dad said when I got home, “where are your Walkie-Talkies? And whose gigantic shoes are those?”
    “They’re Gus’s,” I explained. “He really, really wants a pair of Walkie-Talkies. We’re switching for a day.”
    “How can Gus’s feet possibly fit in your shoes?” my mom asked.
    “Toe smushing,” I explained.
    Mom and Dad gave each other a kids-are-crazy look.
    All that evening and Saturday morning, I wore Gus’s shoes.
    I wore them to the playground.
    I wore them climbing up to my tree house in the backyard.
    I wore them while I played basketball with Max.
    And you know what?
    Those Ruff and Tuffs got dirty and dusty and dinged up.
    But they definitely were not interested in dying anytime soon.
    Clearly, I had to get serious.
    I ran my fastest.
    I jumped my highest.
    I kicked the hardest rocks I could find.
    But those shoes were still almost as good as new.
    By Saturday afternoon, it looked like I was going to have to tell Gus that I’d failed.
    “Here,” I said when he came over to play. “Take your Ruff and Tuffs back. Turns out they can’t be killed. I tried everything.”
    Gus examined one of his sneakers.
    “Amazing,” he muttered. “That ad is actually true!”
    “I’ve never seen sneakers like this,” I said. “I can’t understand it. I did all the things I usually do with my shoes.”
    Suddenly another one of my great ideas popped into my brain. “Hey,” I said with a grin, “maybe we need to try some un usual things.”
    Gus grinned back. “Like what?” he