Hound Dog True Read Online Free Page A

Potluck had said.
    He was right. There were things Mattie needed to know.
    "Tuesdays are pizza days," he said. "That's a single compost bucket day. The gourmands of Mitchell P. Anderson favor pizza, and it is the rare lunch tray that has even a crust left for disposal. Spaghetti and meatballs—that's the same. One bucket. Tacos, submarine sandwiches. All fine." Uncle Potluck adjusted his grip on a can, then kept rolling. "Third Thursday of the month, though, that's Punxsutawney Filet. 'Turkey Drummettes,' Chef DeSmet calls it, but I have seen him out back on many a Wednesday evening armed with a gopher call and a two-by-four. We need two, maybe three buckets on Filet Day."
    "Maybe we could bring a bag lunch that day, too?" Mattie said.
    Uncle Potluck winked. "Wise choice. Now, could you get that door for me?"
    Mattie scooted around him to open the cafeteria door. It was huge, the cafeteria was, with yellow tables jack-knifed in half and pushed against the walls. Fifteen yellow tables. Maybe thirty seats at each.
    Â 
    is four hundred and fifty, Mattie writes in her notebook.
    Four hundred and fifty seats. Seems like that would be enough so everybody has a place, but Mattie knows different. Knows there can be a thousand seats and still you might not find the place you belong.

CHAPTER NINE
    O G-REE,
S TAR WOULD SAY.
    It wasn't bullying. Not like the bullying on the videos they showed at every school Mattie ever went to. Not something she could tell a teacher or the principal or even Mama. How could any of them understand? It was just one word.
    One magic word.
    Og-ree,
Star would say.
    And Mattie would move. Even if she had been sitting with someone nice, Mattie would pick up her lunch and move to another table. Or leave the swings to sit by the kindergarten sandbox. Move to another spot, a spot that was not the one Star wanted.
    One little word.
    Â 
    "I said hello."
    Mattie jumps. That Quincy Sweet is standing there by Uncle Potluck's rock, staring at her. Staring, Mattie is certain, even though she isn't looking at Quincy's face. Even though she is looking only at the toolbox Quincy Sweet bounce-bounce-bounces against her thigh.
    "Hello," Mattie says. It comes out croaky, like her voice forgot how words get made.
    "I tried to be noisy coming up, so I wouldn't freak you out," Quincy says. Quincy's voice is not croaky. It is flat and bored sounding, like she has said these words a billion times before, even though she hasn't.
    Mattie rolls off the rock. Pulls her notebook to her lap.
It's okay,
she thinks to say, but Quincy is talking again before Mattie's words come out. "What are you writing?"
    Custodial wisdom,
Mattie thinks.
    Nothing,
she thinks.
    I can't say that
and
take a look
and
go away
thoughts shuffle like playing cards. Before Mattie can pick one, Quincy is talking again. "Don't you know?"
    Mattie shrugs. She knows. Of course she knows. It's just...
    "Writer's block, right? I heard about that. That's what's good about drawing. You don't get drawer's block." Quincy sets her toolbox on Uncle Potluck's rock. Spreads her brown papers across it, too. "I draw still life. Everything you need to know is right there." A stack of carrots thuds on the rock. "Potluck said I could draw these if you and I peel them later." Mattie kneels tall on the grass. She can see the edge of the papers just beyond the stack of carrots.
    "Crystal doesn't have any drawing paper," Quincy says. Mattie isn't looking, but she swears she hears Quincy rolling her eyes. "I mean, of course I brought supplies, but I forgot my sketchbook. What kind of person doesn't even have paper?"
    Mattie does not know. She also does not know what kind of person calls her aunt by her first name only.
    Quincy flips a latch on the toolbox, lifts the top. Instead of wrenches and hammers, there are pencils and paints and art things inside.
    "She cut up these grocery bags for me to draw on." Quincy pushes her fingers around in the box and pulls out something that