The Ooze

1

Most kids don’t have to beg their dogs to chase a ball. But Tubby isn’t like most dogs.

Get the ball, Tubby! I pleaded as I wound up for the throw. You can do it!

Tubby wagged his tail. Then he noticed it moving and tried to bite it.

Come on, Tubby! I shouted. I hurled the yellow tennis ball. It flew right by his face.

Tubby plopped down on the grass. He didn’t even blink as the ball whizzed by.

The sliding back door slammed. I turned and saw my older sister, Michelle, walking toward me. As usual, she had a textbook tucked under her arm.

When are you going to face reality, Al? she asked as she sat down under the apple tree. Your dog is a total moron!

No, he isn’t, I protested. He just doesn’t feel like playing now. Right, Tubby? I dropped down next to him and patted his big head. His shaggy brown and white fur felt warm from the sun.

Michelle snorted and opened her calculus textbook.

You’re studying? I asked. On a Saturday? And you call Tubby stupid?

I want to graduate with the highest grades in my whole ninth-grade class, Michelle said.

Michelle is fourteen, just three years older than I am. But she’s already doing college-level math.

If you haven’t figured it out already, being smart means everything to her. And to my parents, too. The three of them are genuises. I mean it. They are really genuises.

It’s a pain. Teachers are always asking me if I’m Michelle Sterner’s little brother. When I say yes, they expect me to study twenty-four hours a day. The way she does.

I’m smart. Probably as smart as Michelle. But I don’t want to spend my whole life with my nose in a book. I like to have fun.

All Michelle likes to do is study, study, study. If you ask me, she’s too smart for her own good.

Tubby rose slowly to his feet with a big sigh. He wandered over to the hedge that runs along the side of the yard and began to dig.

Then he trotted over to Michelle and started a new hole there.

A few minutes later he had another hole going by the back fence.

Michelle shook her head. Your dog is so stupid he can’t even remember where he buried his bone. You should get a cat, Michelle told me. Cats are very intelligent.

Like Chester? I asked. Chester is Michelle’s cat. Michelle thinks he is brilliant.

Did I tell you he can count up to eight now? Michelle asked.

Can he multiply and divide, too? I joked.

Michelle stuck her tongue out at me. He can snap up the window shade when he wants some light. And he knows how to jump on the electric can opener when he’s hungry. And—

Who cares if he’s smart? I interrupted. That’s not what pets are for.

But Michelle paid no attention to me. I saw a cat on TV that learned how to flush the toilet, she continued. I’m teaching Chester how to do it, too.

Boy, are you lazy, Michelle. Why can’t you flush the toilet yourself?

He won’t be flushing it for me, you jerk. I’m going to teach him how to use the bathroom—the way we do. And then we won’t need kitty litter anymore!

Michelle, you’re losing it. You’re totally losing it.

You’re just jealous because you can’t even teach Tubby to fetch. Face it, Al. Chester is a billion times smarter than your dog. He’s probably even smarter than you.

You’re a riot, Michelle. A real riot.

If you ask Chester nicely, Michelle went on, I’m sure he’ll teach you how to flush the toilet, too!

Let’s go inside, Tubby, I called out to my dog. We don’t need to listen to this!

I crossed the lawn and grabbed Tubby’s collar. I had to tug on it three times—hard—before he figured out I wanted him to come with me. Then we went inside.

Mom stood at the kitchen counter, icing a cake. Don’t look, Al! she said, waving a spatula with chocolate all over it.

Little flecks of chocolate dotted Mom’s face. They looked like extra-big freckles. Mom and I both have a ton of freckles, and the same red hair and brown eyes.

But, Mom! I exclaimed. Today’s my birthday. I already know that’s my birthday cake. You don’t have to be a genius to figure this one out, I thought.

I still want it to be a surprise, she said firmly. Go wait in your room. And don’t come out until you hear us singing. You can work on memorizing all the capitals of South American countries for school.

I sighed. I know every single one of them by heart, Mom.

How about studying for Wednesday’s Science Bowl? Mom suggested.

I shrugged and headed down the hall to my room, dragging Tubby behind me. Around my house, if you aren’t studying for one thing, you’re studying for another.

Mom and Dad are research scientists. Which is how I came to be named Al, after Albert Einstein himself.

I guess I can’t blame them for hoping I’d turn out to be some kind of scientific genius. But I wish they could understand that playing baseball and hanging out with my friends isn’t a waste of my wonderful brain, as my mom says.

Tubby yawned and collapsed on the floor the moment we hit my room. I reached for my copy of Super Blades magazine and dropped down on my bed.

I wondered what Mom and Dad had planned for my birthday this year. They always take Michelle and me to something cultural on our birthdays. Sometimes it’s a concert, or if I’m really out of luck, we go to an opera.

They always give us presents that are educational, too. Boring. Totally boring.

I wanted this year to be different. So I hinted for a pair of in-line skates. And I was pretty obvious about it. I left the ads for my favorites all over the place.

Plus, I never missed a chance to mention them—making them sound real educational. I told my mom that in-line skates were excellent