Ultra Read Free

“flyspeck town,” but it looked sort of pretty from up here. I could see the water tower with the name of our town in block letters, and the empty parking lot where the bus stops six times a week. I could see the marina docks where, in another couple of months, the motor boats would be tied up.
    I jogged back over to my dad. “Running’s really easy!” I said.
    He smiled and went on rubbing his leg. “Told you it was fun,” he said.
    My dad didn’t look like your typical runner. He had thick, short legs and a bit of a pot belly. He was five foot eleven and he weighed two hundred pounds. Most of that was muscle, though.
    “Ready to run back down?” he asked.
    “Of course!” I said.
    Dad pulled himself to his feet and stretched his arms above his head. “Tell me if your legs start to burn,” he said. “We can always slow down and walk.”
    It was a billion times more fun running down than climbing up. I thumped down the path, taking huge leaping strides, and at times it felt like I was flying. At a bend in the trail, I jumped over a pile of pebbly deer turds. I let out a yodel and I could hear Dad yodelling behind me. The scent of moss and mud filled my nostrils, and soon we were back at the bottom of the hill.
    Suddenly, I heard a noise.
Rat-a-tat-a-tat!
    It was Dad, behind me. He was farting. Popcorn farts.
    Rat-a-TAT-TAT! Rat-a-TAT-TAT!
    He farted with every step. It must have gone on for 30 seconds.
    “Quinn!” said Dad. “Excuse yourself!”
    The path rounded Watson’s Pond and led us back to Appleby Line. Kneecap waved from a few doors down.
    “Yo, Quinn!” she shouted. “Hey, Mr. Scheurmann.”
    She was standing in her driveway, shooting baskets. We bounded over.
    “What’s going on?” Kneecap asked.
    “We’re running!” I said.
    “How far did you go?”
    “Four kilometres,” said Dad. “Two going up and another two coming down.”
    He’d stopped farting, which was a good thing.
    I wasn’t tired at all. “Let’s do it again!” I said.
    Dad raised one eyebrow.
    Kneecap pointed at my feet. “Shouldn’t you wear some
real
shoes?” she asked.
    Dad started to laugh. “You ran in
those
?” he said. “But they have wheels!”
    I blushed and ran into Kneecap’s house, shouted hi to her mom, and yanked on a pair of Kneecap’s trainers. She and I had the same size feet. I came back outside and shouted, “I’m good. Let’s go!”
    We began our second loop at 9:22 a.m.
    Kneecap ran a clock on us. “Thirty-three minutes and thirty-six seconds,” she announced when we got back.
    “Not bad,” said Dad.
    “Again!” I said.
    Our third loop was faster. 29:06.
    “Pretty good,” said Dad.
    “Again!” I said.
    As we ran, Dad told stupid jokes.
    “What happens when you double-park your frog?” he asked.
    “I don’t know,” I replied.
    “It gets toad!”
    Mason Pond appeared around the bend. Turtles were sunning themselves on bone-coloured logs.
    “What’s the difference between roast beef and pea soup?” Dad asked.
    “Tell me,” I said.
    “Anyone can roast beef!”
    While we ran, Dad peeled off his shirt. Yeah, he was one of those no-shirt dads. Mom hated it when he ran bare-chested; she was always chasing after him with a bottle of sunscreen.
    “Talk to me, Quinn,” he said. “It’s your turn to tell a joke. Better yet, tell me a story.”
    I told him about school, about my teachers, about exponents.
    “Tell me about that girl,” he said.
    “Who? Kneecap?”
    “Yeah. What kind of a name is that?”
    I told him the story behind her name. He laughed and told me about all the nicknames he’d had. His friends had called him Pickles, Socks, Bubbles, even Floater. He hadn’t liked any of them. There was only one nickname he’d liked.
    “Seriously?” I said. “Those guys call you Yoda?”
    “That’s right,” he said.
    “But why?” I asked.
    “Because sometimes, even though I’m just a grunt, I actually say some pretty smart things. And even though I’m slow