Sink or Swim Read Free Page B

think nobody is looking.
    â€œHey, Dieterly, what do you get when you cross a mutant dinosaur with the geekiest kid in seventh grade?” one of them asks.
    â€œI give up,” Craig Dieterly replies. “What do you get?”
    â€œSick to your stomach!” the other one answers. The Schlissel twins and Craig Dieterly howl with laughter and race up the stairs three at a time.
    â€œWhat kind of trouble do you think I could get in, guys?” I ask.
    â€œDon’t even think about it,” Lucille says firmly.
    â€œYou’re innocent, pal,” Sam adds. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
    As my friends and I approach the classroom, I notice Mr. Arkady waiting in the hallway, tapping one of his long, pointy velvet slippers and wagging his bony finger at me. “Follow me, Mr. Drinkvater,” he commands ominously.
    â€œCan we come, too?” Lucille asks.
    â€œNo.” Mr. Arkady doesn’t say another word. He just marches me up the stairs toward the principal’s office. I tuck my enormous tail firmly between my powerful haunches and wonder what on earth I’ve done this time.

3
    IT’S THE PRINCIPAL OF THE THING
    â€œWHY’D YOU DO IT, Drinkwater?” Principal Muchnick growls the second I enter his majestic, wood-paneled, book-lined office.
    I try hard not to sneeze as his cologne hits my sensitive snout like a ton of bricks. Principal Muchnick must have a closet filled with the stuff. He never smells the same way twice. Last Friday he smelled like dirty socks and vinaigrette. Today he smells like cheap cigars and Elmer’s glue. Ever since I became a creature, I can basically detect a molecule of cinnamon from two miles away. This is more than I can handle. I hold my claws over my nostrils and try not to gag.
    â€œWhy’d I do what, sir?” I ask.
    â€œYou know perfectly well what I’m talking about.” Principal Muchnick glares at me.
    Dr. Craverly, the school psychologist, stands next to him, looking concerned. Concerned is Dr. Craverly’s main look. His other look is incompetent.
    â€œSomeone stole thirty-two loaves of freshly baked sourdough bread from the cafeteria this morning, Charlie,” Craverly says. “They had to scale a fifteen-foot brick wall and break down a steel door to do it. You have to admit it looks pretty—”
    â€œIt wasn’t me, I swear,” I interrupt. “I was home all morning. Ask anybody. It couldn’t have been me.” Sheesh. In my whole life I have never been suspected of so many things in such a short amount of time.
    â€œTell it to the judge, Drinkwater.” When Principal Muchnick fixes his penetrating gaze on you, it’s like a laser beam. You can practically feel it burning into your skin. (Or scales, in my particular case.)
    â€œHave a little patience, Willard,” Dr. Craverly says. “The boy’s been through a lot.”
    If my first name was Willard, you’d have to pull off my fingernails to get me to admit it. If I had fingernails. My middle name is even worse. It’s Elmer, and if you ever tell anybody I will deny it, so don’t even think about it.
    â€œI don’t care if he’s been to hell and back, Craverly,” Principal Muchnick says. “I will not tolerate antisocial behavior in this school for one instant.” He turns abruptly and aims his beady little eyes right at me. “Do you read me loud and clear, Mr. Drinkwater?”
    Principal Muchnick has had it in for me ever since he made football mandatory for all fifth-grade boys and I organized a school-wide protest. It didn’t work, but Principal Muchnick never forgot.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œThen why did you force your way into the cafeteria and steal thirty-two loaves of freshly baked sourdough bread?” Principal Muchnick’s chubby red face is getting rounder and rosier by the second. He looks like a balloon that’s about to