Strikeout of the Bleacher Weenies Read Online Free Page B

somewhere to call home, she met a rabbit.
    â€œWhat are you?” the rabbit asked.
    â€œA duckling,” the uckling said.
    â€œToo ugly,” the rabbit said.
    The uckling didn’t answer. But her heart grew heavier.
    Next, she met a frog, who said, “You’re so ugly, you make me want to croak.”
    That was followed by a deer, a swallow, a turtle, a turkey, and a dozen other animals, all of whom agreed that the uckling was ugly.
    The uckling traveled farther and farther from the pond, in search of someone who would appreciate her. Finally, after more than a year had passed, and the uckling had grown much bigger, she met a warthog.
    â€œI know,” the uckling said. “I’m ugly.”
    â€œNot at all,” the warthog said. “I know all about ugly, and you don’t qualify.”
    â€œBut ducklings don’t look like me,” she said. “And all the animals say I’m ugly.”
    â€œOf course ducklings don’t look like you,” the warthog said. “You’re not a duckling. You’re a dragon.”
    â€œDragon?” the uckling asked.
    â€œAbsolutely. A beautiful, yellow-green dragon, with shiny scales and a marvelous snout.”
    â€œAre you sure?” the uckling asked.
    â€œTry breathing fire,” the warthog said. “Wait! Turn your head first.”
    The uckling turned her head and blew a puff of fire. “I didn’t know I could do that,” she said.
    â€œNow try flying,” the warthog said.
    The uckling sprouted her amazing wings and gave a flap. She rose into the air. Then she flew off.
    â€œWhere are you going?” the warthog asked. “I like you. You can stay here.”
    But the uckling had flown out of sight.
    Happily, she returned a while later, clutching something in her claws.
    â€œWhat’s that?” the warthog asked.
    â€œA present,” the uckling said. “I hope you like crispy roast duck.”
    â€œLove it,” the warthog said.
    And so the ugly warthog and the beautiful dragon had their first of many wonderful meals together. And they lived happily, and deliciously, ever after.

 
    SPELL BINDING
    I love old books. My friends think I’m weird. They love clothing, jewelry, and the latest gadget. But books are my treasures. That’s why I walk all over town every year during the community-wide garage sale. I didn’t have much luck finding anything good this year until I was all the way on the other side of town. That’s when I saw a stack of books on the corner of one of the half-dozen tables in the driveway of an old house on Sycamore Street. I picked up the top book from the stack and ran my fingers over its flaking leather cover.
    â€œCool,” I said. The book looked older than anything I owned. Even before I opened it, I could tell the pages had turned yellow and crumbly. On the first page, hand-printed in pen in an old-fashioned style, far neater than the way we write in school—except for that annoying Martha Senglemonger, who thinks she’s all so perfect and better than anyone—were the words:
    M AJOR A RCANA
    U NCOVERED BY S IMON A LBERGENSIS
    A NNO D OMINI 1793
    Wow. That was old. I looked across the table, where a man was explaining to a woman why he couldn’t sell a $50 set of wrenches to her for three dollars.
    I looked at the book again. There was a stickie in front with $200 written on it. No way. No way at all, never ever. That was more than I’d spend on a whole shelf full of books.
    But I had to have it.
    I checked out the other books on the table. There was one that looked a lot like the book I wanted, except that the leather felt fake. I flipped past the title page to find the copyright date. The book was just ten years old. I turned back to the cover. The price was $5.
    I watched the man. He was watching the lady who’d wanted the wrenches as she walked away empty-handed. A man picked up a stack of magazines and