Read When Mr. Dog Bites for Free Online Page A

noise flew away, and in came the white clouds again.
    In that first week back at school I found it hard to clamp my gob closed. I didn’t have that oh-I-so-need-to-get-this-off-my-chest-or-I’ll-end-up-setting-myself-on-fire desire, but I really wanted to have a man-to-man with my bff, my Phone-a-Friend.
    Amir didn’t Adam and Eve me at first. In fact, he was downright RudeTube about it.
    “Don’t ta-ta-talk poo piss, Dylan.”
    “I’m not joking, Amir. Honestly I’m not.”
    “Yes, you are.”
    “I’m not.”
    “You bl-bl-bloody are, and if you keep going on about it, I’ll be forced to speak to Miss Flynn and tell her you’re off your rocker.”
    Miss Flynn was the counselor at Drumhill; you only went to see her if you had been super-duper mad loopy, or if you wanted to slit your wrists, or slice open your arms or thighs, or wanted to rape someone, or someone wanted to rape you, or if a dirty old man showed you his willy on the Internet. Even though we all had her cell number (only to be used in school hours, not for fun texts) in case we needed to speak to her in a super hurry, I hardly ever went to see Miss Flynn. It was weird that we didn’t go to see her more often, because we thought she was the real-deal Sssseeexxx on Lllleeegggsss. And she wore red lipstick.
    “Well, I’ll just tell her that you made the whole thing up and I haven’t a Jimmy Choo what you’re blabbing on about, and then she’ll think you’re off your rocker and she’ll phone your mom and dad, and then your dad will play human pinball with you when you get home.”
    Amir said nothing. He scrunched up his face. He does this when I’ve done him like a smelly kipper. Amir has that dead-famous Greek guy’s heel, which is threatening him with his dad. I hated doing it, but sometimes it had to be whipped out of the bag. I only did it on special occasions, which this was. A very special occasion.
    “This isn’t easy for me, Amir. I’m telling you because you’re my best bud, and at times like this a man needs a best bud . . . Are you still my best bud, Amir?”
    There was, like, this four-hour-long pause. Amir put his finger in his ear and shuffled it around a bit.
    “Of course I am, you stupid bloody idiot.”
    “Coolio, Daddio,” I said.
    “Spunkalicious.” When Amir said this, I knew the band was back together.
    “So, as I was saying, this new doc was going on about all this mad stuff.”
    “Mine does that all the time. I haven’t the foggiest idea what he’s saying half the time.”
    “Tell me about it, Amir.”
    “The problem is, neither do Mom or Dad.”
    “Ditto, amigo, ditto.”
    “So what did you do?”
    “Thankfully I was there to break it all down in my head.”
    “I’ll say.”
    “It was all mad shit, though.”
    “Like what?”
    “He said, ‘I think what’s best now is for you to prepare yourself and Dylan for what’s going to happen.’ ”
    “Really? He said that?”
    “Yes.”
    “So . . . erm . . . what is going to happen then?”
    “What do you think?”
    Amir’s toe stubbed the ground.
    “Get this. He also said, ‘You need to keep your spirits up and prepare for life afterward.’”
    Amir let it swirl around his head like a school of steaming fishes. “Holy Moly, Dylan, that does sound bad.”
    “You bet your bottom dollar it sounds bad.”
    “I’m trying to.” Sometimes talking to Amir was like asking a foreign person on holiday in Spain if they liked watching Scottish soccer.
    “Do you know what ‘ in  . . .  contro . . . ver . . . tible’ means?”
    “I think so.” Not on your nelly did he know what this meant.
    “The doc said that too.”
    “W-w-wow!”
    “I think he was maybe saying we should get a car when the illness gets worse.”
    “Makes sense.”
    “Like, for the days I can’t walk.”
    “Yeah, a car would be the best bet, sure enough.” Amir looked at the ground and booted a few stones. Then he whooped in a really high-pitched voice.