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our French lesson now. Barry, you can let us know if we’re saying everything correctly.”
    Barry burped up some of his breakfast. I mopped it up and helped him into his chair.
    The rest of the morning went very smoothly. Barry sat at his desk and stared alertly at Mrs. Heinie with his tongue hanging out. Luckily, three or four other students had their tongues hanging out.
    I relaxed a little bit. I didn’t have to worry—until choir practice.

Chapter 17
H E S INGS , T OO
    Mr. Buzz Off is our music teacher. Mr. Off works us really hard. He’s really proud of the fourth-grade choir, and he wants us to be perfect.
    He makes us sing the same song over and over. And he sings right along with us. The funny thing is, Mr. Off is a terrible singer. He can’t carry a tune.
    It’s a school joke to say he sings a little off . Ha-ha.
    Well, I didn’t think Barry was Mr. Off’s kind of singer. So I shuffled sideways into the music room, trying to hide Barry behind me.
    But Barry didn’t stay hidden. He walked out from between my legs.
    â€œAh, the new student!” Mr. Off said. “Welcome. Don’t hide. I’m sure you have a lovely voice.”
    Barry had soaked the front of his T-shirt with drool. But he managed to keep his cap on over his ears.
    â€œLet’s give you a tryout to see where you should sit,” Mr. Off told Barry.
    Uh-oh. My heart started to do flip-flops. A tryout?
    â€œHe has a very sore throat, sir,” I said, stepping in front of Barry. “See? He can barely speak.”
    Barry let out a soft wheeze.
    â€œWell, let’s try singing something simple, then,” Mr. Off said. He lowered his face to Barry. “Do you know the Overture to Beethoven’s Requiem in D?”
    â€œYes. That’s his favorite, sir,” I said, again trying to block the dog from view. “But his throat…I’m afraid it’s strep, sir. He’s been coughing all morning.”
    â€œBernie, give him a chance,” Mr. Off said. “I see he’s very shy. But he needs to try out for our choir.”
    I’m doomed, I realized. I’m busted. It’s all over. I’ll be out of here and home tomorrow night.
    â€œBarry, let’s first try something easy. Just sing along with me,” Mr. Off said. He opened his mouth, shut his eyes, and began belting out a blues song.
    He sang at the top of his voice. And his singing was so bad—so off —that Barry started to howl.
    Barry tilted his head back and howled and howled.
    Mr. Off stopped singing. He stared at Barry.
    This is the end , I realized. My final seconds in this school.
    â€œVery bluesy,” Mr. Off told Barry. “You’ve got soul!”
    I started to breathe again.
    â€œAnd you have a lovely tenor voice,” Mr. Off told Barry. “Go sit on the end over there. I’m going to make you lead tenor.”
    Oh, wow. You go , dog!
    Barry was a hit. His first morning—and he was our best French student and the lead tenor of our choir.
    After school I walked Barry back to the dorm. Belzer followed along, carrying my books. I slapped him a high five.

    â€œWe’ve got it made!” I said. “Barry is the perfect Rotten School Student. Am I brilliant or am I just brilliant?”
    â€œYou’re brilliant, Big B,” Belzer agreed.
    A great day. I felt good all evening.
    Until Mrs. Heinie came in at nine for the Good Night Handshake.
    â€œDon’t forget, guys. Tomorrow is school testing day,” she said. “So get plenty of sleep. Remember? It’s a six-hour test.”
    She turned and walked away.
    I sat shivering in my bed. A six-hour test?
    Barry licked my face. The poor guy didn’t realize he was about to flunk out of school—and take me with him.

Chapter 18
B ARRY'S F IRST E XAM
    I woke up the next morning, heavy with gloom.
    A six-hour test. The entire school was taking the annual Achievement test. No way Barry