No More Dead Dogs Read Online Free PDF Page A

frustrated. But how can you sympathize with a guy who just stands there, right after he’s practically been proven guilty, and won’t own up? He obviously didn’t take responsibility for the things he did. Look how he had misled poor Parker Schmidt. There wasn’t one word about detention in that newspaper article. Wallace had managed to convince Parker that he was such a football star that he didn’t have to earn his grades like everybody else. That’s the whole problem with athletes. They get treated like gods, and it goes to their heads.
    Wallace pulled a few sheets of paper from his backpack, and handed them to the director. “I did this review over the weekend. I was hoping maybe you could read it right away, and I could catch the second half of football practice.”
    Mr. Fogelman started to read. I could tell right off the bat that it wasn’t a howling success when I caught sight of the title: “Eleven Reasons Why Old Shep, My Pal Is a Terrible Book.” Sure enough, there it was on Mr. Fogelman’s face, his Wallace expression: red neck, worry lines, wide eyes magnified behind his glasses, and a thick, bulging vein in his forehead.
    “What is this?” he barked.
    Wallace kept his cool. “Since you wouldn’t accept my honest opinion of the book, I figured you wanted me to give you the reasons I feel that way.”
    “Well, they aren’t valid reasons!” growled Mr. Fogelman. “Look at number one: ‘The characters are unrealistic.’ That’s not true! Why, I feel like I’ve known the Lamont kids all my life. They’re as real to me as you are.”
    “I hope not,” Wallace replied earnestly. “I know for a fact that I’ve never said anything as stupid as ‘Great heavens, this dog has suffered an injury!’”
    “That’s not in the book!” snapped the director.
    Vito’s hand shot up. “Actually, Mr. Fogelman, yes it is. It’s my first line after we discover Old Shep in the road.”
    I checked my script, and so did Mr. Fogelman. Sure enough, there it was.
    “Okay, it may be a little old-fashioned,” Mr. Fogelman admitted. “The book was published in 1951. Besides, what’s he supposed to say? We have to let the audience know he’s found the dog.”
    Wallace shrugged. “Not ‘Great heavens.’ How about something normal like ‘Hey!’ or ‘Look at this!’ or even ‘Check it out!’? That’s how people talk.”
    I could feel the hair on the back of my neck standing up straight. The nerve of this guy, this football player , telling us what to do with our play! And not just us; Mr. Fogelman, a real professional writer!
    Vito spoke up. “So you think we should change the line to ‘Check it out, this dog has suffered an injury’?”
    Wallace looked disgusted. “Why do you have to say anything? The audience has eyes, you know. They can see an injured dog. So if the guy says, ‘Check it out,’ and he’s looking at the dog, it’s obvious what he’s talking about. That’s the main reason the Lamont kids are so phony. They never shut up.”
    “Why should we listen to you?” sneered Nathaniel. “What do you know about plays?”
    “Nothing,” Wallace replied. He said it proudly, as if being interested in the theater was something to be ashamed of. Maybe that was an athlete thing, too. I bet Wallace was going to be a celebrity for painting OLD SHEP, DEAD MUTT on the scenery. That’s just the kind of stunt his football buddies would look up to.
    Mr. Fogelman handed Wallace back his latest paper. “This is unacceptable. Your detention is not canceled. And I’d better not find out that you had anything to do with that act of vandalism. Now, the rest of us have a rehearsal to run.”
    “Mr. Fogelman,” piped up Vito, “can I do my first line the way Wallace said? I like it better that way.”
    I’m positive our director was dying to say no. But his face twisted into a strangled smile, and he replied, “Certainly. I’m the kind of director who believes that a play belongs to its