"Leave your stuff. I'll guard it." Jeb grinned. "In case a rabbit comes along," he said, looking at the apple and the carrot.
Again that jet of irritation rose in Martin and subsided. "I'm training for the decathlon," he said, walking off.
When they were all together, Martin trying to chew slowly (as his diet book advised) and ignore the odors that wafted around the cafeteria, Otto said, "No kidding, Marty, you got guts. I couldn't go on a diet. I mean, I might just manage to climb
on one, but I'd fall off the other side right away."
Martin swallowed. Right this minute he thought he'd give a year of his life for a big bag of French fries and a chocolate shake. "It ain't easy," he said glumly.
"Yeah, but you do it," Otto persisted. "Takes guts."
Martin, who had just about decided to chuck the darn diet, changed his mind again. He went regularly up and down on this seesaw and wondered if it was going to be like this for the rest of his life. Well, as the book said, the thing was to take it a day at a time and not look ahead. Any jerk could stay on a diet for one day. And then another day, and another, and so on. A day at a time till doomsday, he thought. Still, Otto's praise had heartened him. The book said that was how alcoholics got sober, just not taking a drink
today. Or, in his case, French fries and a chocolate shake. And since it was always today...
--
The Explorer of Barkham Street by Mary Stolz
An enjoyable and realistic story of a young boy that has the potential to prompt good critical thought. Some of the issues faced by the boy could be talked out by the reader with the guidance of a parent/guardian. Issues such as body image, friendships, pet ownership/campanionship, hobbies, responsibility. All in all, I got way more out of this book than I thought I would. It made me think of my first dog, Lucky, several times.
Mr. Hastings, arguing long enough to keep face but eager to be convinced, listened as Granddad agreed that Astroturf was a disaster and the DH rule plain stupid, but said that he liked night games, because that made more baseball to look at, and loved watching good relief pitchers, and didn't think the players were overpaid. "Doesn't bother me how much they get," he said. "Ballplayers make people happy. There are a lot of people making a lot of money who don't make anybody happy but themselves. Generals and politicans, for instance. I say hurrah for the ballplayers, and let them make what they can while they can. It's a short enough career for the best of them."
"He's a good fellow. Well, Hastings, let's go in the house, shall we? I'll look over the papers and you can be on your way."
"Leave your stuff. I'll guard it." Jeb grinned. "In case a rabbit comes along," he said, looking at the apple and the carrot.
This sort of heavenly hot air quite warmed him, insulated him from the real world. For a while.
They'd been talking to each other this way since he first started to use words, which he was told was when he was only a year old. He'd heard his father say that it had been a tragedy. "They shouldn't be allowed to speak at all until they're at least twelve," his father had said to whoever it had been he was saying it to.
Martin hunched his shoulders and tried to wrench his mind onto another track. Over a year now since they'd taken his dog from him, that big, wild-hearted puppy he'd named Rufus, and had owned such a short time, but had loved more than anyone or anything else in his life. They'd told him he had to take responsibility for his dog and warned him what they'd do if he didn't and he hadn't and they had, and he still thought it was the unfairest thing that had ever happened to anyone.