The Last Dog on Earth Read Free Page B

accept some dumb challenge. They counted on you being just like them, needing to win. They needed to humiliate you in public, even if the whole world already knew that you stank. Winning was the only thing that counted.
    That
was weird.
    On the other hand, Logan could guess why Devon felt he had to win all the time. His parents never shut up about how great he was— at sports and pretty much everything else. So he probably felt some sort of obligation to whip everybody, as if he had to keep living up to what his parents said. You sort of had to feel a little sorry for him.
    Sort of.
    Logan scanned the backyard for something he could test the LMMRC on. There was nothing on the lawn by the Ping-Pong table, just Devon looking sulky … nothing by the pool, just a bunch of dumb kids splashing around … nothing by the grill—
    Aha.
The stereo.
    It was perched on the patio wall, right by the sliding glass doors that led to the kitchen. A slender black remote lay beside it. The radio was still tuned to that cheesy adult rock station.
    As quietly as he could, Logan crept across the back of the patio, bending low so Robert and Mr. Wallace wouldn't notice him—and zeroed in on a row of potted plants about ten feet from the stereo. He tiptoed the last few steps and crouched behind the leaves, parting them with the antennae. Then he flicked the dial to S (for
stereo
) and pressed the red button.
    Nothing happened.
    He pressed it once more.
    Still nothing.
    Hmmm. Okay.
He reminded himself not to be too discouraged. There were bound to be a few kinks in any invention. Take his last masterpiece—the LMSPWW (the Logan Moore Superpowerful Weed Whacker). It had had to be modified several times before it did what it was supposed to do. In fact, he'd been forced to take apart the entire motor and rebuild it twice before he got it right. Anyway, the Wallaces' stereo might use some kind of special frequency.
    Just for kicks, he flicked the dial to GDO (
garage door opener
) and pressed the button a third time.
    The music stopped.
    It works!
Logan bit his lip to keep from saying the words out loud.
    Mr. Wallace and Robert frowned at the stereo.
    Logan pressed the button again. The music kicked back in.
    Mr. Wallace and Robert exchanged a puzzled glance. They both shrugged and turned back to the grill.
    Logan grinned. Now he was getting somewhere. Still, it was one thing to turn a stereo on and off; it was another actually to
control
it. He flicked a switch marked Volume, then gave the dial below it a twist.
    A piercing, high-pitched whistle exploded from the speakers.
    Logan flinched.
Yikes.
That was really loud. It sounded like a fire alarm.
    Mr. Wallace dropped his spatula. He clamped his hands over his ears and scowled at Robert. Robert clamped his hands over his ears, too. Otis barked. His ears stiffened.
    “What's going on?” Mr. Wallace shouted.
    Robert shook his head. Otis was barking wildly now.
    Logan twisted the volume knob on the LMMRC back to zero. The speakers crackled a little, but that was it. Not good. Everybody was holding their hands over their ears and making faces at the stereo. Their cheeks were all scrunched up like dried fruit.
    “Come on, come on,” Logan muttered. He jabbed at the red button. Nothing happened.
    Otis's bark turned into a howl:
“Ahhh-oooo.”
He started chasing his tail, running in tight, crazy circles on the lawn.
    “Turn it off !” Devon yelled from across the yard. “Turn it off !”
    Mr. Wallace strode toward the stereo, hands still tight over his ears. At the same moment, Otis came out of his circle and started for the patio. He barreled straight into Mr. Wallace's legs. Mr. Wallace stumbled and crashed to the lawn. His chef 's hat fell off his head.
    “Ahhh-oooo!”
Otis howled.
    Logan giggled. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it.
    Otis lunged at the stereo.
    Logan's jaw dropped. The dog's brown body hurtled throughthe air and slammed right into the CD player, knocking it off the