“In case you didn’t notice,” said Fleischman, who wasn’t one bit bothered by Lulu’s glare, “I am not your assistant anymore. I quit last Friday.”
“A person can’t quit on Friday,” said Lulu, “just by not coming back to work on Monday. A person has to say ‘I quit’ to quit.”
“Okay, then,” Fleischman said to Lulu. “I quit.” And then he walked slowly past her, playing some more of “You Are My Sunshine” on his flute.
With Lulu loudly yelling, “You get back here, Fleischman! You get back here now!”
I think that I need to mention that, by this time, Lulu and Fleischman were quite late for school. But although, for several hours, they weren’t where they should have been, not one single person noticed they weren’t there. Not Lulu’s teacher. Not Fleischman’s teacher. Not any of their classmates. No one!
Plus, nobody walking down that street—and lots of people were—seemed to notice that Lulu was tied to a tree. And not just tied to a tree, but wriggling and yelling and making quite a remarkable fuss. (In actual life this almost never could happen. In the stories I write, things like this happen a lot. Deal with it.)
Oh, and I think I should mention that, by this time, Pookie had fallen sound asleep, let go of Lulu’s jacket, and dropped to the grass, where she curled in a tight white fuzzball and yawned a great big yawn and kept on sleeping. And that Cordelia, bored with hiding under the junk pile—with nobody trying to find her, it wasn’t much fun—waddled over to Pookie, flopped down right beside her, and soon was snoring very loudly, in German. And that Brutus, his heavy head drooping lower and lower, was just as deep asleep as the rest of them. Except for Lulu, of course, who was wide awake and still screaming, “Get back here, Fleischman! Now!”
Fleischman got back there. “Okay, I’ll untie you,” Fleischman said to Lulu. “But only if you’ll explain how come you hate me.”
“Oh, I can do that,” said Lulu. “That’ll be easy.” And then she gave him ten different explanations:
“You’re always eating carrots.
“You never eat anything that’s bad for you.
“Your sneakers look like they just came out of a store.
“You play an actual flute instead of a toy one.
“You wear that ugly T-shirt that says,
(I didn’t mention this earlier because that T-shirt makes me want to throw up.)
“You have this really, really annoying smile.
“You keep saying things like you can speak German and French.
“You keep saying things like ‘I’m honored and thrilled to serve you.’
“You got a day off from school because you’re so smart.
“You’re a total expert on dogs—and you don’t even have a dog.
“All the moms and the dads in the world think you’re perfect, and maybe you are, and how can a person not hate a person who’s perfect?
(Okay, so I made a mistake. Lulu gave him eleven explanations. But forget about that—right now I am anxious to hear what Fleischman will say. Aren’t you?)
Except, for a while, Fleischman didn’t say anything. He was busy untying Lulu from the tree, which turned out to be much harder than he, or she, or even I had ever expected. Before he was finished, however, he took a deep breath and said to Lulu, “It’s not fair to hate a person because he’s perfect.” And then he added, so softly she barely could hear him, “Besides—I’m not perfect. I am so not perfect.”
So not perfect? Fleischman was so not perfect? Hmmm.
“Keep talking, Fleischman,” Lulu said to Fleischman, looking pleased for the very first time that day. “Stop trying to untie me, and tell me more.” Fleischman stopped untying and told her more.
“I don’t change my underpants every single day.
“You wouldn’t believe the mess that’s under my bed.
“I’m scared of the dark.
“I’m also scared—make that ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED—of crawly-creatures like caterpillars and worms.
“I can only speak German to dachshunds and French to poodles. Whenever I try to speak German or French to humans they can never understand me.
“I play the flute because I already tried and couldn’t play the violin, the piano, the guitar, the clarinet, the drums, and the gusli.” (The what? The WHAT? I really don’t feel like discussing that right now.)
Lulu kept listening cheerfully until Fleischman was done telling more and went back to untying. And then she—looking even more cheerful—said, “Terrified of crawly creatures! Smelly underwear! Can’t play the gusli!”
Fleischman shrugged. Lulu kept on talking. “But what about all that goody-goody stuff—the carrots, the sneakers, the smile? Plus being so honored and thrilled? Plus being so smart?”
“That’s who I am,” said Fleischman. “I can’t help it. Just like you can’t help”—and all of a sudden he started to speak in a very loud voice—“that you are really, really dumb about dogs. Plus, you certainly aren’t the nicest girl in the world.”
(Whoa! Listen to Fleischman! Who ever knew that he could talk that way!)
Lulu glared at Fleischman. Fleischman glared at Lulu. But instead of an impasse, they had a conversation—a quite noisy conversation that lasted the rest of the morning and all of the afternoon. There was yelling (from Lulu) and crying (from Fleischman) and yelling (from Fleischman) and crying (from Lulu) and (from both of them) much stamping of feet. But when they were finished with all of that, Lulu and Fleischman shook each other’s hand.
From that day on, Lulu and Fleischman were more than boss and assistant and more than teammates. They were, in fact, partners, with Lulu offering Fleischman (and making him take) exactly half of the money she earned walking dogs, and promising to teach him (for only ten dollars) how not to be scared of caterpillars and worms, plus whispering (in a voice he hardly could hear, but at least she said it) that although she had no wish to be the nicest girl in the world—boring! too boring!—she would try her very best to be nicer to him.
(Somewhere deep in his forest, Mr. B is slowly nodding his head and smiling.)
Fleischman, in return, promised that he’d give away the shirt that says I’M HERE TO BRING SOME HAPPINESS INTO YOUR LIFE, teach her (for only ten dollars) to understand dogs, try his very best to stop saying how honored and thrilled and delighted and smart he was, and work on smiling a less annoying smile.
Did Lulu stop hating Fleischman? Yes, she did. Did Lulu stop being rude to him? Yes, she did. Was Lulu now willing to talk with him while they walked the dogs together on weekday mornings? Yes, she was. And so, did Fleischman and Lulu finally turn into New Best Friends? No, they did not.
You want a happy ending? Read Cinderella. This story has only sort of a happy ending. Because Fleischman is still too annoying for Lulu to love. And Lulu is still too fierce for Fleischman to love. They respect each other. They count on each other. They’re partners and dog-walking buddies. If one of them got tied up, the other would help. But unless they turn into totally different people, I’m pretty sure they won’t be New Best Friends.
Still, the last time I saw them together they were walking Brutus and Pookie and Cordelia. Lulu was trying to kick some dirt on Fleischman’s perfect sneakers. Fleischman was shaking a carrot in Lulu’s face. And as they got near the end of the street I could hear them loudly singing this money song:
I’m sure you have some more questions for me, and I think I know what they are. So I guess I should try to help you find the answers.
How come some moms (like Fleischman’s mom) change their last name when they marry, and some moms don’t?
Different moms are going to have different reasons, so go ask your own mom why she didn’t or did. And how come, if she changed her last name, she didn’t give you a first name like Anderson, or Kelly, or even Fleischman.
Why in the world did Lulu say, “¿Comprendez?,” rather than saying, “Do you understand?”
She was hoping that Fleischman would think that she was able to sp
eak Spanish. She actually can’t.
What did Fleischman say the first time he talked to Cordelia in German?
He told her she had won first prize in the International Dachshund Beauty Contest. She actually hadn’t.
Is there a musical instrument called the gusli?
There is. But only a Fleischman would want to play it.
So what is this superspecial thing that Lulu wants to buy, this thing that she says she will want FOREVER and ALWAYS, this thing that her mom and her dad keep saying (with many sorries and sighs) they cannot afford, this expensive and wonderful thing that Lulu will someday be able to pay for with the money she has earned by walking the dogs?
I really don’t feel like discussing that right now, but if you insist, I guess we’ll have to go into overtime.
Okay, so now we’re in overtime, and I’m asking you once more: What is this superspecial thing that Lulu is going to buy when she earns enough money?
What Lulu is hoping to buy, what Lulu is planning to buy, what Lulu is GOING to buy is . . . a seat on a spaceship. She wants to be the very first kid in all the entire world to take a journey into outer space.
That’s impossible, right?
Impossible? What do you mean, impossible? Have you forgotten who is writing this story?
But wouldn’t a seat on a spaceship cost at least a million dollars?
No, a seat on a spaceship would cost at least TWENTY-FIVE million dollars. But Lulu convinced the people in charge to take away some zeros so she’ll only have to pay twenty-five hundred dollars.
But if Lulu makes forty dollars a week, and she’s giving half to Fleischman, won’t it take her forever to earn enough money?
Not really. Lulu says that it’s going to take two years and twenty-one weeks of walking the dogs. Which definitely is worth it, she says, to be the very first kid in outer space.
The first kid in outer space: Won’t that be lonely?
Actually, no. Lulu says that as long as he absolutely understands that he’ll just be the SECOND kid in outer space, she is going to save a seat for Fleischman.
The End
Judith Viorst is the author of many books for children, including the classic Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day and its sequels. She lives with her husband, Milton, in Washington DC.
Lane Smith is the author and illustrator of the books Grandpa Green; It’s a Book; and John, Paul, George & Ben. He has appeared on the New York Times Best Illustrated Children’s Book of the Year list four times and has been a Caldecott Honoree. He lives with book designer Molly Leach in rural Connecticut, and can be visited at lanesmithbooks.com.
Jacket design by Molly Leach
Jacket illustration copyright © 2012 by Lane Smith
Atheneum Books for Young Readers
Simon & Schuster
New York
Meet the author,
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ALSO BY JUDITH VIORST
Lulu and the Brontosaurus
The Tenth Good Thing About Barney
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible,
No Good, Very Bad Day
My Mama Says There Aren’t Any Zombies,
Ghosts, Vampires, Creatures, Demons,
Monsters, Fiends, Goblins, or Things
Rosie and Michael
Alexander, Who Used to
Be Rich Last Sunday
Alexander, Who’s Not (Do You Hear Me?
I Mean It!) Going to Move
Earrings!
Super-Completely and Totally the Messiest
Just in Case
If I Were in Charge of the World and Other
Worries: Poems for Children and Their
Parents
Sad Underwear and Other Complications:
More Poems for Children and Their Parents
ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2012 by Judith Viorst
Illustrations copyright © 2012 by Lane Smith
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The text for this book is set in Officina Sans.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Viorst, Judith.
Lulu walks the dogs / Judith Viorst ; illustrated by Lane Smith. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Lulu needs help from a boy named Fleischman if she is to earn money walking her neighbors’ dogs, and she finds out that if she wants her business venture to succeed, she has to be nice.
ISBN 978-1-4424-3579-7 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4424-3581-0 (eBook)
[1. Cooperativeness—Fiction. 2. Dogs—Dogs. 3. Dog walking—Fiction. 4. Moneymaking projects—Fiction.]
I. Smith, Lane, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.V816Luu 2010
[Fic]—dc23 2011023841
BOOK DESIGN BY MOLLY LEACH
Judith Viorst, Lulu Walks the Dogs
(Series: # )
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