فصل سی و پنجم

Chapter 35

Before dinner, while it was still light, Bradley’s father, bad leg and all, taught Bradley how to dribble. Bradley could hardly wait to show his friends.

The next morning, when the bell rang for recess, everyone hurried outside.

Except Bradley.

First, he had to put his paper neatly in his notebook. Then he had to mark his place in his book and put all his pencils in his pencil holder. Then he put everything away, neatly, in his desk.

He rushed out the door.

“Hello, Bradley,” said Colleen.

He stopped cold.

Colleen closed her eyes tightly, then opened them. With the determination of a Zen monk, she asked, “Would you like to come to my birthday party on Sunday?” Bradley stared at her.

“Jeff will be there,” said Colleen. “He’s the only other boy. Everyone else will be girls. I would have invited you sooner, except, um, I just found out when it was.” Bradley nodded his head until his mouth worked. “Yes!” he said.

“Good,” said Colleen, then scooted away.

Bradley stared after her, then turned around in a circle as he tried to remember which way he was going.

“Bradley!” called Andy. “Hurry up! We need you.” He ran to the basketball court. He forgot everything he had learned about dribbling.

“Is he coming?” asked Melinda.

Colleen nodded.

Lori stuck out her tongue and screamed.

“It’ll be fun,” said Melinda. “Bradley’s not the same as he was. I think he’s gotten better.” “Oh, you can’t come anymore, Melinda,” said Colleen.

“Why not?” she asked, obviously very hurt.

“Because they’re coming, and you beat them up!” “But they started it.”

Colleen stared at her, hands on hips. She couldn’t believe Melinda was being so unreasonable.

“I thought I was your best friend,” said Melinda.

“You are,” said Colleen. “But they’re boys. Oh, okay. You can come. But you better not cause any more trouble.” “I thought I was your best friend,” said Lori.

That night Bradley lay in bed, too excited to sleep. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow when he’d see Carla again. He had so much to share with her. And it was all because of her magic book.

He turned on the light above his head and read aloud to Ronnie and Bartholomew. They laughed whenever he did.

“I just met Ace.

He’s my parents’ lawyer. Guess what? He’s crazier than my Aunt and Uncle put together.

The first thing he said to me was, ‘Do you like peanuts?’ ‘They’re okay,’ I answered.

‘Good,’ he said. He gave me a peanut and I ate it.

‘Do you want another peanut?’ he asked.

I shrugged.

So he gave me another peanut and I ate that one, too. Big deal.

‘You must really like peanuts a lot,’ he said.

I told you he was crazy.

‘I want you to remember that,’ he said. ‘If anybody asks you, you really like peanuts a lot.’ ‘Okay, I really like peanuts a lot,’ I said.

Then he gave me three more peanuts! ‘Eat these!’ I ate them.

‘You just ate three peanuts in five seconds,’ he said. Can you believe it? He had timed me. Tell me he isn’t crazy!” “He isn’t crazy,” laughed Ronnie.

“Why is he making such a big deal over peanuts?” asked Bartholomew.

“I don’t know,” said Bradley.

There was a loud knock on his door, then his father entered. “It’s past your bedtime, Bradley,” he said.

“Okay,” said Bradley. He reached for his light.

“Oh, you were reading,” his father noticed. “Well, that’s all right then. You can stay up if you want to read.” Bradley smiled. Once again, the magic book had kept him from getting into trouble.

“So, what did the kids think of your dribbling?” “I forgot how,” Bradley admitted. He hated to disappoint his father.

“I guess we need to practice more,” said his father. “Maybe this weekend I’ll put up a backboard on the garage.” He said good night and walked out of Bradley’s room.

“Come on, I want to hear about the peanuts,” said Bartholomew.

Bradley continued reading.

“So then he asked me, ‘Are you good at math?’ Well, I don’t like to brag but math happens to be my best subject. Big deal.

‘Okay, here’s a math problem for you,’ he said. ‘If you can eat three peanuts in five seconds, how long would it take for you to eat fifty thousand peanuts?’ I got out a pencil and paper and figured it out. ‘About twenty-three hours and nine minutes.’ ‘That’s less than a day, isn’t it?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘There are twenty-four hours in a day.’ He’s supposed to be my parents’ lawyer and he doesn’t even know how many hours there are in a day!

‘Remember that,’ he told me. ‘If anybody asks you, you can eat fifty thousand peanuts per day.’ I laughed. ‘Who would ask me that?’ ‘The police.’ ”

The chapter ended there.