Dodger for Sale Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE

  Dodger and Me Series

  Kids across the country are raving about the Dodger and Me series. It’s made of awesome!

  A Book Sense Selection (Dodger and Me)

  “The Dodger books are perfect next books to give to kids who like the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series and are ready to give less-graphical books a try.”

  —Jen Robinson, Jen Robinson’s Book Page

  “A magical tale of affection, family, and a boy’s imaginative (‘imaginary’ doesn’t do it justice) friendship with an inspired, demented blue chimpanzee …”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  Visit the author online at

  www.jordansonnenblick.com.

  DODGER FOR SALE

  Jordan Sonnenblick

  Feiwel and Friends

  New York

  A FEIWEL AND FRIENDS BOOK

  An Imprint of Macmillan

  DODGER FOR SALE. Copyright © 2010 by Jordan Sonnenblick. All rights reserved. Distributed in Canada by H.B. Fenn and Company, Ltd. Printed in April 2010 in the United States of America by R. R. Donnelley & Sons Company, Harrisonburg, Virginia. For information, address Feiwel and Friends, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Sonnenblick, Jordan.

  Dodger for sale / Jordan Sonnenblick. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: A school project helps fifth-grader Willie, his friend Elizabeth, and even his meddlesome younger sister Amy, aided by the irrepressible genie Dodger, save the local forest from ruthless developers.

  ISBN 978-0-312-37795-3

  [1. Genies—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. Conservation of natural resources—Fiction. 4. Humorous stories.] I. Title.

  PZ7.S6984Doi 2010

  [Fic]—dc22

  2009048796

  Book design by Barbara Grzeslo

  Feiwel and Friends logo designed by Filomena Tuosto

  First Edition: 2010

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  www.feiwelandfriends.com

  To Alexa and Ben.

  Who knew being a godparent

  would be so much fun?

  Look, if I’m going to tell you everything that happened with Dodger’s strange transformations, Amy’s disappearance, and our secret battle with the dreaded leprechauns, you have to promise you won’t tell. And you won’t get totally grossed out—even by the parts that are completely disgusting. And you won’t mention this to any leprechauns you might run into.

  Not that I’m afraid of leprechauns or anything.

  Anyway, I guess I’ll have to trust you on this, right? Plus, I’m busting to tell somebody about it. So here goes …

  CHAPTER ONE

  Whoopsie!

  I’M STANDING AT THE TOP of a cliff. Well, according to the hand-lettered sign at the edge, it’s technically a ski slope. But it looks pretty darn cliff-like to me. I have a snowboard attached to my feet, about a hundred pounds of hot, sweaty clothing on my body, and a pair of goggles strapped on over my glasses so I can’t really see where the heck I’m going.

  And there’s a hyperactive blue chimp standing next to me. Despite the cold, he’s sporting nothing but a pair of bright orange surf shorts and a black eye patch. And he’s pretty excited. “Dude,” he exclaims, “you OWN this slope! This is going to be so great! Just remember, you’ve gotta BE the board. That’s all you need to know—just BE the board. Oh, and don’t fall and die. Because that would, like, totally ruin the plan.”

  I smile weakly at him. “The plan?” I ask.

  “You know, bud. The plan. Step One: Totally carve up the top part of this slope. Step Two: Conquer the giant slalom course in the middle of the slope. Step Three … um … I told you about Step Three, right?”

  “Is that the part where I get carried away on a stretcher?”

  “No, Willie, that’s Step Four. Just kiddin’! Actually, Step Three is the ski jump.”

  “SKI JUMP??? Dodger, you never told me there would be a ski jump! Are you crazy? I’ve never even tried snowboarding before, and now you expect me to go off of some gigantic ramp?”

  “Dude, calm down. It’s no biggie, okay? Everything’s taken care of. See, we, um, fixed your board.”

  “What do you mean, you fixed my board? And who’s ‘we’?”

  “The board is just a regular, ordinary snowboard, except the bottom has been painted with some—well, some special stuff. And never mind the ‘we’ thing.”

  “Special stuff? What kind of special stuff?”

  Dodger gave me one of his patented one-eyed winks and said, “I came up with the formula myself … mostly. It’s the same stuff that’s on the bottom of the Magic Carpet of Khartoum. It should give you a little extra lift. At least, I’m pretty sure.”

  Oh, boy. The Magic Carpet of Khartoum is an actual, real-life flying carpet. And it’s not very easy to control—trust me. So I can only imagine the kind of massive damage I can do when I try to combine flying with snowboarding. “Dodger,” I say, “this is insane! Can you tell me again why I’m doing it?”

  Dodger puts his hands on his hips and glares at me in exasperation. “Dude, do you want to save your little sister from the leprechauns or don’t you?”

  My life gets really complicated sometimes. This is one of those times. “Of course I want to save Amy! I just don’t understand why we can’t walk over to their field and ask them to give her back.”

  “Because that’s exactly what they’ll be expecting! Duh, do I have to think of everything around here?”

  “Okay, I can see why we have to take the leprechauns by surprise. But why do I need to do the slalom course and everything?”

  “ ’Cause, dude, it’s cool! You never need a reason to be cool! Now, let’s go over this one more time: Do you have your goggles?”

  “Um, yeah. You’re looking at me wearing them, aren’t you?”

  “Dude, you’re just supposed to say, ‘Check!’”

  “Why?”

  “ ’Cause it sounds awesome! Now, let’s try again—we’re running out of time! Goggles?”

  “Check.”

  “Gloves?”

  “Check.”

  “Map?”

  “What map?”

  “Oh, oops. Well, never mind that now. Alrighty, then—we’d better get moving! Any last questions?”

  “Yeah! Where’s Lizzie?” Lizzie is my best friend. And back then, she was also the only other person I knew who could see Dodger. He was totally invisible to everyone else.

  Long story.

  “Don’t worry. She’ll be there when it all goes down.”

  “When what all goes down?”

  Just then something started beeping really, really loudly. I looked around, but the noise seemed to be coming from the side of Dodger’s shorts. He reached into his pocket and pulled out something that looked like a cross between a cell phone, a GPS device, and a banana. Sure enough, it was the source of the beeps. It was also blinking bright orange once every few seconds. “Holy cow!” Dodger said. “Team Alpha is already in position! We’ve got to boogie!”

  “We?”

  “Yeah, we! You didn’t think I was going to let you have all this fun by yourself, did you?”

  “But … but … you don’t have a snowboard!”

  “Whoopsie. I knew I was forgetting something.”

  “Wait, so what are we going to do now?”

  Dodger took maybe ten steps backward up the hill and said, “We are going to fly!” Then he charged toward me, leaped in the air, and landed on the board so his feet were right next to mine and his arms were around my waist. We started zooming down the hill. That was when it occurred to me that I wasn’t wearing a helmet.

 
“Cowabunga!” Dodger shouted in my ear. Then he laughed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Great, Now I Have to Go on a Quest

  TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH, this entire situation was my dad’s fault. If not for him and the dumb old self-help books he writes for a living, the whole crisis with the woods never would have happened. I wouldn’t have made my New Year’s resolution, James Beeks wouldn’t have betrayed the student council, and Amy wouldn’t have been snatched by the sprites of the forest.

  It all started on January 1, when Dad woke up the whole family with a huge grin on his face. It was only seven AM, and we had all been up past midnight, but I guess he was so excited about his daffy idea that he just couldn’t wait for all of us to wake up on our own. Amy, my mother, and I staggered downstairs to the kitchen while Dad ran to the hall closet. When he came back, he was carrying wrapped gifts. I know you’re supposed to be excited when you get a present, but we were all so tired that all we did was maybe yawn a bit less and try to open our eyes past halfway.

  Dad gave each of us a package. From the instant he put it in my hands, I knew it was a book. I usually love books, so if it hadn’t been so early, I might have actually been eager to open it. On the other hand, if I had known what was coming, I would have grabbed a pack of matches from the cabinet next to the sink and lit the wrapping paper on fire.

  Dad was practically jumping up and down as we started unwrapping the gifts. I don’t know why—they had to be the lamest presents ever. I recognized mine as soon as I saw a corner of the cover. I peeked at my mom and sister, and they looked the way I felt. My father had given each of us a different one of the books he had written. As if we didn’t already have multiple copies of every single one of his books all over the house.

  Mom’s present was Dad’s first bestseller, Let Them Play: Allowing Your Children to Express Their Independence. Amy’s was You Go, Girl: A Preteen’s Guide to Standing Up for Your Rights. Mine was Kid on a Quest: Be Your Own Hero (Teen Edition).

  “Um, Dad?” Amy said. “Why did you wake us up at the crack of dawn to give us books we already had?” I had another question: Why in the world did Dad think Amy needed a book to teach her to speak up?

  “Good question, Amy!” Apparently, Dad had been spending his free time studying his classic work, 1,001 Compliments for Every Occasion. “Fortunately, your beloved father has prepared an answer for you!” Ugh, I thought. Dads can be so corny. “I gave each of you one of those books so that you can help me with my New Year’s resolution. You are all going to spend the next six months helping me write a book about my books!”

  “Huh?” we all asked at the same time.

  “Well, my next book is going to be sort of a … a living experiment. My plan is to have each of you follow one of my books as a New Year’s resolution of your own. Then I’ll write the book about what happens.”

  “So,” Mom said, “it’s kind of like a reality TV show, only with books?”

  Dad nodded, looking very pleased with himself.

  “And you want us to be your guinea pigs?”

  “Actually, I was thinking of you more as … uh … test pilots.” I think Dad had also brushed up on another of his books, Flattery Will Get You Everywhere! “What do you think, kids? Will this be fun, or what?”

  Amy and I must not have looked overjoyed enough, because Dad added, “Oh, come on, guys! You’re always asking me to write a book about you. So here’s your big chance.”

  I glanced over at Amy and saw she was starting to smile back at Dad. I had to admit my father was pretty slick. I mean, what seven-year-old girl doesn’t dream of being famous? I was sure Mom wouldn’t fall for it—but when I peeked over at her, she was gazing adoringly at her husband.

  Oh, gak, I thought. Is Mom really that gullible?

  “You’re right, honey,” she said. “This is a great idea!” Dad’s face broke into an even bigger grin. Then Mom continued, “And I know just the right book for you to follow!”

  Dad’s smile got a lot smaller. “For me to follow? But … but … I’m the one who has to write the book at the end! I shouldn’t have to … I mean, it wouldn’t be fair if … can’t I just … oh, fine. What book do you have in mind, dear?”

  Mom disappeared into the living room but was back in a flash. She handed Dad his book: The Helpful Husband: 101 Tips for Manly Housekeeping. I should have known Mom would have a trick or two up her sleeve.

  I cleared my throat. “Dad? What about me? What’s this quest I’m supposed to do?”

  “Well, son, I can’t tell you that. The whole point of the book is that you need to figure out your own quest. Set a goal! Find a problem and solve it! Blaze a new trail! Make the world a better place! Prove that Willie Ryan can make a difference! And, um, take good notes—that will make my job a lot easier at the end.”

  I groaned.

  Dad looked around at all of us. “So what do you say, family? Are you in? Can we all work together and have a bestselling adventure?”

  Mom and Amy said YES! so loudly that I don’t think Dad even noticed when I didn’t cheer right along with them.

  I spent the rest of the vacation worrying about my assignment. I mean, I was just one little fifth grader in one little town. I wasn’t even a particularly smart, talented, or cool fifth grader. How was I supposed to go on a heroic quest to make the world a better place—a quest that would be interesting enough for my dad to write a book about it?

  On the last day of the break, I went over to Lizzie’s house to work on an extra-credit poster project we had signed up to do for our teacher, Mrs. Starsky. It was a crazy assignment: You had to color in a map of the fifty states using only four different colors without ever having two states of the same color touching each other. Sounds easy, right? But it’s actually quite hard to do.

  Especially when your partner keeps arguing about everything, and a magical blue chimp won’t stop throwing crayons around the room.

  After a couple of hours, we had figured everything out, except for how to keep Dodger entertained. He had already done just about everything you can do with crayons. He had tried coloring with them, tasting them, melting them on top of the radiator, and lobbing them at us while we tried to work. While Lizzie and I chatted and colored in the last few states, Dodger decided it was time to work on his crayon-juggling skills. It was a fairly weird conversation.

  LIZZIE: So, Willie, I think I’ve come up with a perfect new nickname for you.

  DODGER: Wow, the blue crayon definitely flies better than these other ones! I bet I can juggle three blue crayons with just one hand.

  ME: Lizzie, I don’t need a nickname.

  LIZZIE: But this one is adorable! I think I shall call you—

  (Insert crashing sound here)

  DODGER: Well, maybe I can’t juggle three blue crayons with one hand. I guess I should try two first. Plus this glass of chocolate milk.

  LIZZIE: Willers!

  ME: Willers? Willers? It sounds like, um, never mind.

  LIZZIE: What does it sound like?

  ME: Nothing. I just don’t like it, okay?

  (Truthfully, it sounded like the kind of nickname a girl would make up for her boyfriend. And I would die if the kids at school—especially James Beeks—heard her call me that.)

  DODGER: I don’t know, I think it’s a cool name. Willers … I like it! In fact, that’s what we used to call that guy in England who asked Rodger for help rewriting his plays. And he was a cool dude. Well, except for those dorky shirts with the ruffly collars he used to wear.

  LIZZIE: Dodger, are you trying to tell me that Rodger helped William Shakespeare write his plays?

  DODGER: Yeah, Rodger just polished up a few lines here and there. ’Cause old Willers would be all like, “Romeo, ah, Romeo, what’s up with your name?” And Rodger would go, “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?” Or Willers would go, “The path of true love was always kind of … uh, bumpy.” So Rodger would be all, “The course of true love never did run smooth.” Or Wille
rs would say, “To exist or not so much? Because I’m wondering.” So Rodger would go, “To be or not to—”

  (Insert crashing and splashing sounds here) Whoopsie. That’s going to leave a mark. Anyway—

  ME: Wait a minute!

  LIZZIE: Yes, Willers?

  ME: I don’t want to be called—

  DODGER: Hmm … maybe if I juggled just one blue crayon and this piggy bank it would—

  (Insert crashing sound here)

  LIZZIE: Dodger, now look what you’ve done! Willers, could you get a—

  ME: Don’t call me Willers!

  LIZZIE: Could you just be a dear and get some paper towels, please? Before my ceiling is stained forever?

  (I run downstairs, get the paper towels, and run back up.)

  LIZZIE and DODGER together: Thanks, Willers!

  ME: (Sigh.) By the way, did I tell you guys my dad ordered me to go on a quest?

  LIZZIE: A quest? What kind of quest? Do you need to find an ancient treasure?

  DODGER: Fight a dragon?

  LIZZIE: (fluttering her eyebrows) Win the hand of a beautiful young maiden?

  ME: (blushing) No, nothing like that. I just have to change the world.

  DODGER: Well, if that’s all … why don’t you just, like, help a little kid cross the street?

  LIZZIE: Or build a house for a starving family in India?

  DODGER: Or get the student council to do something really important?

  ME: Like what?

  DODGER: Dude, I don’t know. But I’m not the kid they elected president—you are.

  ME: Well, I guess maybe we could come up with something. Like a bake sale. Or a charity bingo game. Or—

  LIZZIE: I’VE GOT IT!

  ME: Got it? Got what?