The Last Dog on Earth Read Free Page A

one of those special boot camps. You know, for troubled kids.”
    Uh-oh.
As quickly as he could, Logan ducked behind some bushes at the edge of the patio. He didn't want to hear anythingmore about his guidance counselor, Mr. Powell. During the past year, the school had made him have “sessions” with Mr. Powell twice a week. Mr. Powell would sit there and try to get Logan to explain why he cut school so often and didn't make any effort in his classes, and Logan would sit there and not answer. Wasn't it obvious?
    “Boot camp would be perfect for a nonverbal type like you,” Mr. Powell had told him.
    A nonverbal type.
Logan couldn't believe people actually talked like that.
It's not that I'm nonverbal
, he'd almost said.
It's just that I have nothing to say to
you.
    Whatever. School was out for the summer. He wouldn't have to see Mr. Powell again until September. Besides, right now he had more important things to worry about, like testing the Logan Moore Master Remote Control.
    He bent down and slung his backpack off his shoulders, then gingerly removed the LMMRC. A smile spread across his face. Even if the thing didn't work, at least it
looked
cool. It was heavy and black—about the size of a shoe box—with two long silver antennae sticking out from the front of it in a V shape, like an insect's head. Come to think of it, the big dial in the middle was sort of like a nose. And the big red button could be a pimple. Or a wart. Yeah … in fact, the whole device looked more like the face of some freakish, prehistoric bug than like a souped-up remote control. Which made sense, in a way. There was an electronic brain inside. A brain with telepathic powers.
    If
it worked. But Logan was pretty sure—
    Something brushed up against his legs. He swiveled around and found himself nose to nose with a chocolate brown Labrador.
    Otis.
Logan frowned.
    The dog was panting. Logan could smell his breath. It wasn't very pleasant.
    “Shoo, boy,” Logan whispered. He stood up straight. “Go on. Shoo. Get out of here—”
    “Hey, Logan! What are you doing?”
    Logan's shoulders sagged. Just his luck: Devon Wallace was coming his way.
    Devon was all sweaty from Ping-Pong, but every blond hair was still perfectly in place. He sneered at the LMMRC.
    “Whatcha got there?” he asked.
    “Nothing,” Logan mumbled. He was beginning to wish he'd never opened his backpack.
    Otis's tail started wagging.
    “What is it, some kind of remote control?” Devon asked.
    “Something like that,” Logan said. “I was just—”
    “Here, let me see it,” Devon interrupted. He snatched the LMMRC from Logan's grasp. “What's it supposed to do?” He pushed the red button and flicked the dial.
    “Nothing,” Logan said.
    Devon shoved the LMMRC back into Logan's hands. “I bet I could whip your butt in Ping-Pong,” he said.
    Logan shrugged. “I'm sure you could.”
    “You want to play me?”
    “Not really.”
    “Come on,” Devon said. He grinned. “I've whipped everybody else's butt. You're the only one who hasn't played me yet.”
    Otis started licking one of Devon's sweaty legs. His big tongue made a slurping noise.
    “I don't really like Ping-Pong,” Logan said.
    “Probably because you stink at it,” Devon said.
    “Probably,” Logan agreed. He thought for a minute. “Actually, I'd say definitely. That's definitely why I don't like it.”
    “So you really don't want to play me?” Devon asked. He sounded annoyed.
    “What's the point?” Logan said. “We both know you're going to win, right? Here, I'll tell you what. Let's tell people that we just played and you creamed me. How's that? You can tell everyone here that I didn't even score a single point. I'll go along with whatever you say.”
    For what seemed like a long time, Devon just stared at Logan, as if he'd answered in Swahili. Then he stalked off.
    “Weirdo,” he muttered under his breath.
    Logan almost laughed. Guys like Devon never knew what to do with anyone who didn't