When Mr. Dog Bites Read Online Free Page B

told me to do this when I got stressed or anxious or so annoyed that I wanted to pummel someone’s nose into a strawberry. Or when I had the urge to say something totally mad-hatter to someone. They called it “inappropriate” at the clinic. My arms were so tight that my head could hardly move, which was goody-two-shoes, as it meant that it wouldn’t be twitching all over the place. Like Elvis’s hips.
    I lifted my head and looked at number three for such a long, long, long, long time it made my eyes go all blurry. Maybe it would have been easier to write Run around town in women’s underwear or Smash all the windows in my school rather than what I had written. At least I could give number one a fair go. Number two, the Amir thing, would be trickie dickie, but number three—that would be a toughie, as I had no control over huge decisions that governments made. I’d try, though. Like a mad mofo I’d try. Peace out, bro!
     
    Number three : Get Dad back from the war before . . . you-know-what happens.

8
    Doctor
    The last time I went to the doc was for my big head scan. They had to give me a special pill so I’d be statue-still when I went into the scanner tunnel. It was a bit like being on the slowest escalator in the world. After that, nothing much happened. I was lying in there thinking scans were dead boring and didn’t even feel a thing. I couldn’t hear the camera clicking for the pics. Mom was there when I escalated out. She had told me what to expect because she had one of her own, but I wasn’t allowed to go to her scan because hers was a scan for lady things and I’m not a lady, and I didn’t really want to see Mom with just her underpants on anyway.
    Last time the waiting room was empty. This time it was full of women who looked as though they were having the most miserable day ever. It was as if they were waiting for their name to be called to enter the Bad Fire. I was staring straight ahead, trying NOT to tic, twitch, jerk, or shout like I’d done last time. My concentration was chess grand master, and I didn’t really notice Mom chewing at my lug.
    “Dylan . . . Dylan . . .  Dylan ,” Mom sort of angry-whispered.
    This made some of the death faces look at me, which then made me twitch three times, clear my throat with a massive roar, and punch myself twice on my right thigh. Ouch!
    “Sorry, love, but I wanted to give you this.” Mom handed me a brown bag. “I forgot to give it to you earlier.”
    “What is it?” I said with my confused-dot-com face. It wasn’t Christmas, my birthday, or Fantastic A Grade at School Day, so why the presents, eh?
    “Open it.”
    I opened it.
    “Aw,” I said loudly, and had to stop. I didn’t want people gawping at me and thinking I was straitjacket material.
    But I really wanted to lick Mom’s face, give her five hug specials, roll around on the floor, and scream, “ YOU’RE THE BEST MOM IN THE WORLD AND FOR BUYING ME THIS PRESENT I’LL LOVE YOU FOREVER AND MAKE US A SPECIAL ‘PIMP MY SOUP’ DISH TONIGHT AS A WAY OF SAYING THANK YOU FOR BUYING ME THE 499 soccer FACTS TO AMAZE YOUR MATES! BOOK .”
    “How did you know I wanted this, Mom?”
    “I’m your mother, Dylan. Moms know everything.” Whoever invented moms should win the Nobel Prize for Fun. “You’ve been so brilliant about things recently. Dad, school, your scan, and all that stuff. So I thought you deserved a little present.”
    “Thanks a gazillion, Mom.”
    “And sometimes, Dylan, things get worse before they get better, so it’s always important to be brilliant and brave.”
    “I agree, Mrs. Mint.”
    “So promise me that you’ll always be brilliant and brave about things.” Mom put her hand on my left thigh and squeezed with about ten percent of her power. “Promise me, sweetheart.”
    “What?”
    “That you’ll be brilliant and brave about things.”
    “Promise.”
    Mom had sparkle eyes. I thought she might even get some wet on my jeans if her eyes started to