My Dog's a Scaredy-Cat Read Online Free Page B

everyone. But only a total bully would pick on Emily and Robert.
    I spun around and started over to him. I wasn’t going to let him get away with that. But I was stopped dead in my tracks by Frankie.
    â€œOw!” he said. “Watch it, Zip.”
    My tabletop had butted him right in the head and gotten caught in the face mask of his football helmet. He was going as Tiki Barber, his favorite player on the New York Giants. But in the war between my tabletop and his football helmet, the helmet won. As he disconnected his face mask from the cardboard, a chunk of my table collapsed under me. I watched helplessly as the plastic bottle with the candle slid down the tabletop and onto the playground. Ryan Shimozato came running by and stepped on it. I heard it crunch beneath his foot.
    â€œSorry, dude,” he said. “I didn’t mean to break your . . . uh . . . whatever this is.”
    At that moment, Principal Love stepped up to the microphone.
    â€œAttention, students. I now declare the PS 87 Halloween Day Parade officially open. As I always say, a parade is an occasion for parading.”
    Principal Love likes to say everything twice. I looked down at the smashed bottle and waited.
    â€œSo join me now,” he went on, “as I lead you into the world of celebratory spirits and marauding goblins. Yes, a parade is an occasion for parading.”
    Bingo! There it was.
    He waved his banner, which was black with orange pumpkins on it. Then he leaned into the microphone and let out what he thought was a scary laugh. It turns out it was actually very scary, because it caused so much screeching feedback over the loudspeaker that a bunch of the kindergartners started to cry.
    Principal Love wasn’t even aware that he had frightened the little kids half to death. He just set off marching around the playground, waving the banner. A lot of kids lined up to follow him. Pretty soon, we were all marching in a circle, with the teachers and the parents of the little kids surrounding us and applauding as we marched.
    I had to pull myself together to try to march with confidence. True, I had gotten off to a bad start. The garlic-scented olive oil had spilled, the breadsticks had turned to dust, the candlestick was crunched, and my tabletop was definitely drooping. But I reminded myself that I was the only Italian table in the parade. So I put my shoulders back, held my chin up, and took off with confidence . . . until . . .
    . . . I marched past the kindergarten teachers, Mr. Zilke and Ms. Warner.
    â€œI wonder who’s eating garlic bread?” Mr. Zilke said.
    â€œBoy, that’s a strong smell,” Ms. Warner agreed. “Smells like someone took a bath in garlic cloves.”
    As I walked by, I saw them both hold their noses. That didn’t help my confidence any. Call me crazy, but I don’t like to think I stink so bad that people have to hold their noses around me.
    I noticed that many of the neighbors who were looking through the chain-link fence were pointing at me and laughing. And not necessarily in a good way.
    Why hadn’t I listened to Frankie and Ashley? They had tried to warn me that this wouldn’t work out. Sometimes I really hate my brain for not being able to listen when smart people are giving me good advice.
    Here’s a tip for you to remember next time you’re in a parade: You shouldn’t be thinking about other things while you’re marching, especially when you’re wearing a large, almost square tabletop.
    Boom!
    I hadn’t noticed that the line had stopped while I kept marching. The boom I’m referring to was me crashing into Principal Love’s balding head.
    â€œOww!” he screamed as he dropped the school banner and fell face-first into the punch bowl that was waiting for everybody at the end of the parade. Without going into detail, let me just say that when he came up for air, he was shouting my name.
    â€œMr. Zipzer!” he