Quinny & Hopper Read Online Free PDF Page B

keep kicking the soccer ball into the net. Over and over and over.
    “Hopper, I think your brothers are soccer maniacs.”
    “My parents are, too. They played soccer when they were in school. We go to all my brothers’ games. I spend all weekend in the car sometimes because they’re on a travel team.”
    “ Wo w, that really stinks.”
    “It’s not that bad. I bring stuff to do. I read or draw. And the games are sometimes interesting to watch. Until all the grown-ups start yelling, at least.”
    I love it here under the porch, in the dirt, in the dark. I love the way the ground smells deep and mushroomy, and the way Hopper is talking to me so much about his life.
    And then, all of a sudden, I love the way I am getting SOAKED!
    Because it starts raining under the porch, and I hear the boom-boom thunder of footsteps above us and Trevor and Ty laughing like they just did something sneaky-horrible-brilliant, except they don’t realize they just did me a favor because I love getting soaked!
    But, uh-oh—not everyone does.
    “BOCK BOCK BOCK!”
    I feel wet, tickly-sneezy feathers flap-flap-flapping and rough, pokey claw-feet scratching and splashing mud all over me, and I roll onto Hopper, who’s wet and muddy, too, and we crawl around the muck under the porch and the rain keeps coming down hard and I am laughing until I can’t get air and Hopper finally pulls me out from the goopy-sloopy dark of the biggest mud puddle ever and into the sunshine and—guess what! A chicken hops out, too!
    It’s that killer zebra-chicken named Freya! She’s muddy and she’s mad.
    Freya sees the bully twins standing on the porch holding a water hose.
    “BOCKBOCKBOCKBOCKBOCKBOCK!!”
    They drop the hose and run away. Ha! Those bully twins are chicken of a chicken!

    Freya chases them around the yard and flaps her stylish killer feathers and pecks at their ankles with her powerful beak. “BOCK BOCK BOCK!” she bocks. “BOCK BOCK BOCK!”
    “Go, Freya, go!” I jump and clap and cheer for that gutsy bird.
    Then I notice the water hose just lying there. So I pick it up and hand it to Hopper and point over at the bully twins, who are still running away from Freya like chickens with their heads cut off. “Hopper, what are you waiting for? Now’s your chance to get those bullies back!”
    Hopper looks at me like I’m crazy, but I press that hose into his hand and push him forward.
    “Go for it!”

Fourteen

    I’m not brave enough to do this.
    But Quinny thinks I am, and just in case she’s right, I aim the hose at my brothers and press the handle. Wa ter bursts out, fast and freezing cold.
    “A aaaahhhh!” Trevor yelps as I soak him in the stomach.
    “Grrrrrrrrr!” Ty roars as I spray him in the nose.
    “ Wa it, wait, wait!” cries Quinny.
    She leans over and changes the setting on the hose sprayer from stream to jet . The water blasts out faster now. Trevor and Ty scream louder.
    Quinny puts her hand over mine on the hose. We press that handle down, hard.
    I’m dead meat, for sure.
    But I think it might be worth it.

Fifteen

    How was I supposed to know that Mrs. Porridge would pick this exact moment to walk into Hopper’s yard?
    And that she would come by with her cat on a leash?
    And that both she and that cat—who is so huge it looks more like a bear cub—hate being accidentally sprayed with freezing water from a garden hose?
    “Reeeeeeeee!” screeches that soaked cat.
    “Good heavens,” cries that soaked old lady.
    “BOCK BOCK BOCK!” bocks muddy Freya, who suddenly wants a piece of that cat.
    “Hiiiissssssssssss!” hisses the cat, trying to sink its fangs into Freya’s feathers.
    Mrs. Porridge kicks that killer chicken away from her chubby cat, but they all get tangled up in the cat’s leash. “Leave my Wa lter alone, you birdbrained terrorist!”
    “Good morning, Mrs. Porridge!” I call out. “How are you? This must be your cat, who you just called Wa lter, so I think he’s probably a boy cat, right?