When Life Gives You O.J. Read Online Free Page A

was actually a birthday card she made for me for my third or fourth birthday. It had an enormous giraffe drawn on the front. My eyes must have gotten huge when I saw the giraffe sticking its long neck under our apartment door. My mom picked it up and read out loud, “ ‘I came a loooooong way.…’ ” Then she opened the card and read, “ ‘just to see you today.’ ” And then the doorbell rang, and there was Bubbles herself, squatteddown to my height, her arms open as wide as her smile. “Surprise!” she crowed. For years I was convinced that Bubbles had stamped herself, climbed into a mailbox, and mailed herself to me.
    Walking upstairs to get dressed for cherry picking, I pictured Allie sitting on my doorstep, her forehead covered in stamps. Okay, not very likely, but the thought cheered me up. As did the thought that a letter might come today. But the thing was, I thought the same thing every morning when I woke up, and every afternoon I’d jump at the sound of the mail slot only to find: no letter.
Still, maybe today will be the day
, I told myself, trying to shake off the nervous feeling that my best friend in the whole wide world had completely forgotten about me.
    When I got downstairs, I almost tripped on something blocking the front door.
    The Dumb Old Jug.
    Hooked to its handle was the leash.
    Underneath it was a plastic bag.
    And rubber-banded to its neck was a new note.
    This note said:
    I NEED MY MORNING WALK .
    YOU MIGHT NOT BE BACK IN TIME FOR MY
    AFTERNOON WALK TOO, SO YOU NEED TO
    TAKE ME ALONG .
    EXERCISE, REMEMBER?
    O.J .
    I groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.
    Outside, the car horn honked twice.
    I grabbed the handle of the Dumb Old Jug, the leash trailing behind, and went outside, slamming the door behind me.
    “Can you wait a sec?” I asked my mom. “I’ve gotta, uh, walk the Dumb Old—Uh, I mean, O.J.”
    My mom looked irritated. “Didn’t you take care of that already?”
    “I’m hot!” whined Sam from the backseat.
    “Close your window, Sam,” said my dad, “I’ve got the air conditioning on.” He leaned across my mom and told me, “Hurry.”
    “Okay,” I said. I put the Dumb Old Jug down and dragged it across the driveway to the grass edging our walk. I unscrewed the cap and upturned the jug.
    A thin stream of watery brown liquid trickled out.
    But nothing else.
    I looked into the jug. Brownish, dog-food-colored gunk was firmly stuck to the bottom of the jug.
    My whole family stared at me, along with our neighbor Mrs. Brownell, who was coming around the corner walking her poodles, Maddy and Luna. Ordinarily, I’d run over to say hi and pet them. But right now I had my hands more than a little full.
    “Come ON!” I said through clenched teeth, shaking the jug. I smacked the bottom of it with one hand. Luna perkedup her ears at the sound, like she thought it might mean she was about to get a treat.
    The weight inside the jug shifted, and a small, wet blob fell out. At first, I thought it was a brown marshmallow, but then I realized it was a nugget of dog food, only swollen to twice its size. With several additional smacks, more wet, messy lumps came rolling out. Eventually, most of what was inside the jug plopped itself out onto the ground, forming a disgusting-looking soggy brown pile.
    Ugh.
    Across the street, Luna pulled hard on her leash, like she was dying to meet the new “dog.” Determinedly, she started to drag Mrs. Brownell and Maddy over for a visit. Maddy didn’t look so thrilled. She began to bark.
    I took out the bag and quickly tried to use it to pick up the sloppy pile of pretend dog poop. On my first try, I got some—but nowhere near all—of it into the bag. Using a stick, I tried to push more of the mess into the bag. All this did was get the outside of the bag muddy and rip a hole in it.
    “Zelly?” My mom had rolled down her window. “Could you hurry it up? Please?”
    I stared at her in disbelief. What did she think I was