Webster (11 page)

The Bad Hat stared, with his mouth hanging open in wonder. Balls! So many balls! Wow!

Most of the kids were playing games, although some were sitting in small groups and talking. A few others were by themselves, staring at electronic devices. The Bad Hat had never been able to figure out the complete fascination people seemed to feel for their silly gadgets. Whether they were walking, or in cars, or sitting down, so many of them gazed at ridiculous little gizmos nonstop. Such a waste of time, in his opinion.

Unless they were watching movies on the devices. Then, maybe, it was okay.

He really wanted to chase after some of the balls, and maybe even play fetch—but, he didn't want to risk having anyone be mean to him. So, he watched the children intently to see if any of them were eating snacks. After all, he was terribly hungry, and it would be easy enough to swoop by and snatch granola bars and cookies and whatever else
right out of their little hands
.

It would be funny, too.

But, mean. And it wouldn't be right for a cowboy-like revered icon to be mean. It might even be too mean for the average
villain
who wasn't fit to be seen in polite society. Maybe, though, if he was lucky, someone nearby would drop part of what he or she was eating. Everyone knew that
all
dropped food belonged to dogs. Always had, always would.

He noticed a scruffy little boy standing near the sidelines of a touch football game. It was clear that he wanted to play, but was either too shy to ask or was waiting for someone to invite him.

The kid had rumpled brown hair, wire-framed glasses, a half-untucked shirt, and blue jeans that were too short for him. One of his sneakers was untied, too.

All in all, he looked like the kind of kid who ate paste.

Not that the Bad Hat didn't enjoy some unconventional snacks himself—but, he drew the line at paste.

In fact, all the kid needed was a
KICK ME REALLY HARD!
sign on his back, and he could be the dictionary definition of a walking target.

But, did he have any food? If he had food, he would be an easy mark. But—oh, yeah—stealing food was mean.

Too bad. The dog was starving.

Except, wait, the kid was pulling something out of his pocket. It was wrapped in plastic. Could it be—yes!
Beef jerky!
Which was only the very best food in the entire world.

The Bad Hat gave him a chance to unwrap it—since plastic tasted awful—and then swept past him, snatching the jerky away.

“Hey!” the kid protested. Then, he shrugged. “Okay,” he said, and took out another piece of plastic-wrapped jerky, which he opened and began to chew.

If the boy had two pieces, it wasn't stealing. It was
sharing
. And sharing was a nice thing to do.

The Bad Hat gulped down his piece of beef jerky in seconds, and then looked at the kid, who had only managed to gnaw away about a third of his piece. So,
the Bad Hat cocked his head to one side, in an attempt to look as cute as possible.

Nope, the kid was still chewing.

So, the dog raised both of his front paws in the air. Some might call that begging, but when it came to beef jerky, there was no such thing as dignity.

The kid laughed. “Okay, you win,” he said, and tossed the rest of it over.

Yes! The Bad Hat caught the meat effortlessly. It might not be gravy, but it was still mighty good.

Three boys from the football game came swaggering over to the kid with glasses—who, judging from his welcoming smile, was naive enough to think that they were being friendly. But, as far as the Bad Hat could tell, Paste Kid was definitely in some trouble here.

“How's it going?” Paste Kid asked, still smiling.

“Bet you wish you could play,” one of the boys said. He was one of those hulking, unwieldy kids with really big feet, who hadn't grown into his height yet.

“Sure,” Paste Kid said. “I mean, if you need an extra guy.”

The Bad Hat nodded approvingly. Apparently, the kid had at least a shred of cool. Knew enough not to sound too
eager, and to keep his response vague and open-ended.

“What, you think we want some little wishes-he-was-Harry-Potter twerp out there?” one of the other jocks said, and he and his friends laughed.

Paste Kid blushed, straightened his glasses, and blushed again. “I have amblyopia,” he muttered. “That's why I need the glasses.”

The Bad Hat wanted to groan. The kid had had the high ground—and he'd blushed himself right back into being a victim.

“Well, let's see how tough you are,” a boy wearing a Bruins hat said, and then shoved Paste Kid as hard as he could.

The kid went flying, landing flat on his back in the mud, losing his glasses along the way.

Whoa! Not good. Not good at all. The Bad Hat watched alertly, trying to decide whether it was time to intercede.

Bruins Punk laughed. “Did that hurt?”

“N-no,” Paste Kid said shakily, as he fumbled for his glasses, but couldn't find them.

The Bad Hat gave him a B-minus for that. An A for pluck, but a D for letting his voice tremble.

As Paste Kid started to get up, one of the punks pushed him right back down again.

“Did
that
hurt?” one of the other bullies asked, laughing.

“Nope,” Paste Kid said, lying in the mud.

Okay, another B-minus. A for sounding brave. D-plus for not getting up right away.

But, it was starting to look as though the confrontation was going to move from insults and pushing to actual pummeling. And the Bad Hat did not approve of pummeling. So, he strode purposefully over to the group of boys, and used his muzzle to poke Paste Kid in the back.

The kid twisted around to see who else was attacking him, and then squinted at him fuzzily. “Oh, it's just you,” he said, sounding surprised.

Well, how about
Yay! Thank you! A very noble canine has raced to save me!  
? The Bad Hat nudged him more forcefully, to try and urge him up to his feet. But, the kid seemed to be confused, and just sat there looking at him.

“That your dog?” one of the bullies asked. “He looks dumb.”

Dumb? Someone was calling him
dumb
? The Bad Hat
most assuredly did not cotton to that. No, sir, he did not.

“He's not dumb,” Paste Kid said, climbing to his feet. “I think
you
guys are dumb.”

All right, the kid had heart! The dog definitely approved. Not much originality, or the gift of clever retorts—but, heart!

The bullies apparently decided that that was a good enough reason to start a fistfight, and one of them threw a punch and hit Paste Kid right in the face. Paste Kid staggered back, clearly stunned.

Nope. Not on his watch. The dog quickly jumped in between Paste Kid and the other three boys. He gave the bullies a long, ominous stare—and they all stopped short, with their fists drawn back.

“Hey, call your dog off,” one of them said uneasily.

“He's not—” Paste Kid paused. “I mean, I think he just wants you guys to leave me alone.”

Yep. He'd have to give that answer an A. The dog blinked at the bullies—once.

Which seemed to scare them. So, he did it again.

“He'd better not bite me,” the boy in the Bruins cap said. “My parents will totally sue you, if he bites me.”

The Bad Hat found that insulting. He never bit
anyone—not even people who kicked or hit him. Shoot, he didn't even growl at anyone.

Unless they
really
got on his nerves.

“Hey, what's going on over there?” a voice asked.

An adult. Finally. The Bad Hat had been wondering why teachers hadn't noticed that some poor kid was getting shoved around.

“Jake's trying to get his dog to bite me!” the boy in the Bruins cap shouted. “He—”

The Bad Hat moved so that his shoulder barely brushed against the Bruins punk's leg—and then he fell down onto his side, yelping and whimpering, and holding up his right front paw limply.

The teacher looked shocked. “Bruce, did you just kick that dog?”

“No!” Bruce said defensively. “He was trying to knock me over, and—and well, I didn't do anything!”

Imagining how Jack would react to this, the Bad Hat whimpered even more pitifully and tried to stand up. Then, he pretended that his paw wouldn't hold his weight, and collapsed to the ground.

“I can't believe you would deliberately injure a beautiful animal like that,” the teacher said sternly.

“I didn't!” But, Bruce was starting to look unsure of himself, as the Bad Hat let out another sad moan and let his head slump into the mud. “I mean, maybe my foot slipped a little, or—”

The teacher glared at him. “In other words, you kicked the poor dog.”

“Well, um—” Bruce frowned. “I don't know.”

The Bad Hat was having a
very
hard time not showing how amused he was by all of this.

“I've heard enough,” their teacher said, her voice brisk. “Bruce, I want you to march down to the office, and wait for me to get there.” She turned towards Paste Kid. “Were these three picking on you, Jake?”

Paste Kid hesitated. “Well—”

Whoa, a lot on the line here. The Bad Hat watched, his supposedly mangled paw still up in the air. Would the kid rat out the three jerks? Which might help—but, might also make things worse. And from the way the bullies were glaring at the kid, the Bad Hat was guessing
worse
was the way it would go, in this case.

“We had a confrontation, but everything's under control now,” Paste Kid said. “I think we came to an understanding, and we aren't going to have any more problems.”

Really? Maybe the Bad Hat's instincts weren't any good, but that wasn't what
he
thought would happen.

The teacher didn't seem to buy it, either, but she nodded. “All right. But if there are
any
problems, I want to hear about it right away. We have zero tolerance for bullying here.” She frowned at the kid in the Bruins cap. “Bruce, I don't see you marching to the office. Let's go! Kyle and Roger, I'll be keeping a
very
close eye on you two from now on. And Jake, why don't you call your par—” She stopped. “Um, your mother, that is, and have her come and pick up your dog.”

As she went off with the Bruins creep, one of the other bullies leaned close to Jake.

“This isn't over,” he said. “And you'd better not fink on us.”

Jake looked right back at him. “Someday, when I own a huge tech company, you two are going to show up begging for jobs—
and I'm not going to hire you
.”

Which left both bullies speechless.

The Bad Hat wanted to laugh, but he decided just to cradle his paw, and milk his imaginary injury a little more, instead.

After the two bullies had slogged off, grumbling and embarrassed, Jake looked over at the Bad Hat.

“I don't think he kicked you,” he said. “You're a total faker.”

Naturally, the dog didn't respond, but he
did
spring effortlessly to his feet.

Jake nodded. “I thought so. You're a good actor, though.”

Yes, down the road, that skill would help contribute to the Legend of the Bad Hat. In fact, he was probably going to need a theme song, too. Something catchy, and memorable. And maybe a viral video or two.

In the meantime, Paste Kid was still sitting in the mud. So, the dog fastened his teeth into the kid's shirt collar and yanked him up to his feet.

There was a distinct ripping sound, and they both froze.

“Don't worry,” Jake said. “I always rip my shirts by accident. Mom's used to it.”

So, she was probably, reluctantly, used to him eating paste, too.

“Let's see your paw,” Jake said.

The Bad Hat lifted his paw without thinking, and the boy examined his right front leg carefully. To the dog's surprise, he seemed to know what he was doing—his hands felt like a veterinarian's hands.

“Okay, good,” Jake said, and put his paw down. “I
was almost sure you were faking, but, just in case.”

His other front paw
did
hurt, from getting scraped earlier, but the dog was much too self-reliant to show him that, of course. Although it was tempting.

When the kid reached out to pat him, the Bad Hat instinctively flinched away.

“Uh, sorry,” Jake said, and pulled his hand back. “I wonder if you live around here? Your owners are going to be worried.”

As if. The Bad Hat was as free and independent as autumn leaves drifting in the evening breeze, by God. But, the important question was, did the kid have any more jerky hidden away? He sniffed carefully, but apparently, it was all gone.

Which was
so
disappointing.

“You must have gotten lost,” Jake said. “I need to find a way to get you home. Come on, I'll take you down to the—”

Again, with the rescuing? New Hampshire people were truly freaky. The dog turned abruptly and galloped towards the woods.

“Hey, wait!” Jake called. “Come back!”

The Bad Hat just kept running.

T
wo pieces of beef jerky did not a nutritious lunch make, but at least it had taken the edge off his appetite. So, maybe he wouldn't collapse, or faint, or anything like that. Not for a while yet.

Next time, he should probably figure out a way to bring snacks
with
him. Maybe Florence and the other cats could rig up some sort of saddlebag for him, or—well, not that he was going to see the cats ever again.

Because he wasn't ever going to go back there.

Probably.

Unless it was just to say hi.

For a minute.

Because he definitely did not miss anyone, especially
not Jack, and he wasn't homesick. He
liked
his solitary journey. It was his dream come true.