11. A Very Unusual Football

Chapter 11 A Very Unusual Football "Cheer up, Roscoe," said Emma on the bus that afternoon. "I'll bet Hamilton is just playing hide-and-seek," said Gus. "A really, really long game of hide-and-seek." Some kids in the middle of the bus were throwing a football back and forth. "No throwing things!" shouted the bus driver. "Or maybe he went on a trip," said Emma. "Yeah," said Gus. "Maybe he's flying around the world. He could be anywhere by now!"

I sighed. The ball flew past us. It was big and pink. And fluffy. It was for sure not a football. "Touchdown!" yelled one of the kids. "No football on the bus!" yelled the driver. "That's not a football," Emma pointed out. "It's fuzzy. And it's wearing a dress." I looked. I swallowed. I jumped right out of my seat.

Even though that's a really bad idea on a bus. "THAT'S NOT A FOOTBALL! THAT'S MY PIG!!!" I screamed. The throwing stopped. The kids stopped. The BUS stopped. "Excuse me?" said the driver.

"HAMILTON!!!" I ran over as fast as I could. A little boy was holding him. A kindergartner. "Here," he said. "You can have him. Truth is, he kind of smells, you know?" "He's wearing a dress!" I cried. Poor Hamilton. He looked so embarrassed. "We thought he was a girl," the boy said. I hugged that pig and I kissed that pig and I didn't care who saw me. Then I took off his dress. I saw Max at the back of the bus. He was shaking his head. And laughing with his friends. His friends who were way too cool to have stuffed animals. Then Max looked right at me.

And he gave me a wink that only I could see. My dad was working in his attic office when I got home. I ran straight upstairs and told him the amazing wonderful story of Hamilton's return. "This little girl found him on the sidewalk!" I said. "The sidewalk?" Dad said. "I think maybe he fell out of my backpack when I was doing somersaults on the way home," I said. "Like this." I did a quickie somersault example. I kind of knocked into Dad's trash can. "Oops," I said. "So the girl said she took Hamilton home. And she named him Darlene." Dad shook his head. "Poor Hamilton."

"And her mom said Hamilton smelled bad. So she put him in the washing machine. Can you believe it?" "That must have been scary for Hamilton," Dad said. "So then the girl put a dress on him. Only her mom said he was still too yucky. Which he is not." I took a whiff of Hamilton. He still smelled sort of piggy-flavored. But soapy too. I hoped the soapy smell would wear off. "So then the girl gave Hamilton to her brother to use as a football," I said. I took a deep breath. "Period," I said. "End of story. No more discussion."