Hotel for Dogs by Lois Duncan ch 4-2
“What's with that guy?” Bruce asked Tim Kelly, who sat in front of him in history class. “People jump when he gives orders like he was king of Elmwood.” “Nobody wants to make him mad, that's for sure. If he doesn't like you, he can make life pretty tough.” Tim had a shock of red hair and the kind of open, freckled face that made Bruce wish he knew him better. “Jerry is sort of like a king around here,” he continued. “He's an only kid, and his parents don't say no to anything. He's got the whole basement floor of the house for his own. He can have all the guys he wants over there, and nobody ever bothers him.” He laughed. “It's different at my house. I've got three little sisters. Nothing's private over there.” “I've got a sister, too,” Bruce said. “She bugs me sometimes, but I'd sure rather have her around than Jerry Gordon.” “Oh, he's not so bad if you don't cross him,” Tim said. “He can be real charming and nice to people he likes.” He paused. “Of course, when things don't go his way, that's different. Like with the kid who used to live in that house down the street from you, the one that's for sale now.” “What about him?” Bruce asked curiously. “What happened?” “I hear that Jerry had a run-in with the kid. I don't know what it was about; it was before our family moved here. Anyway, from the way I heard it, Jerry made life so miserable for that kid that he got where he wouldn't go to school. None of the other kids would have anything to do with him for fear of making Jerry mad. Finally, the family moved to a different school district. Before they left, though, the kid's dad went over and had a showdown with Mr. Gordon and told him how rotten Jerry was.” “Wow!” It made Bruce feel good just to imagine that confrontation. “What did Mr. Gordon do?” “Nothing.” Tim shrugged. “He didn't believe it. Grown-ups never see that side of Jerry. The Gordons think he's perfect. Anyway, Jerry got so steamed up when he learned what the kid's dad had said about him that he went over to the house and threw rocks through all the back windows.” Bruce was appalled. “Why do you hang out with him?” he asked incredulously. “You trail him around on the playground, just like the rest of them do.” “Well, he's never done anything to me personally.” Tim looked a little embarrassed. “We just moved to Elmwood last spring. All the guys I met here were in Jerry's gang. When you're new in a place, you don't have a lot of choices. You hang out with whoever's there. It's no fun being a loner.” “I'd rather be a loner than hang out with somebody like Jerry,” Bruce said firmly. There was a moment that afternoon, though, when he did not feel quite so definite. The last bell had rung, and as he left the building, Bruce saw a group of boys headed toward the park across the street. Tim was with them, and he was carrying a football.
As he reached the curb, Tim glanced back and saw Bruce watching them. He smiled and waved and gestured for Bruce to join them. For a moment Bruce was tempted. He had not played football yet this season. He was small for his age, but he was fast, and when he got the ball, he could usually leave the larger players behind. It would be fun — Then he glanced beyond Tim and saw the boy who headed the group. Quickly, he shook his head. No matter how much he wanted to play, he would not go crawling over to beg permission from Jerry Gordon. Giving Tim a rueful smile, he headed off toward home.
The middle school was closer to Aunt Alice's house than the grade school that Andi attended, so in reality Bruce did not have very far to walk. It seemed a long way, however, when walking alone. Bruce was used to having friends, and the lack of them now was even harder for him than for Andi. She could shut herself off and write poetry and lose track of time, but Bruce had no such talent. For him the after-school hours dragged, endless with their emptiness.
Bruce walked slowly; there was nothing to hurry home for. When he came to the brown house with the “FOR SALE” sign, he regarded it with interest.
I bet that kid was glad to move away from here, he thought sympathetically. I'll be glad myself when Dad finds out where he's going to be working. He remembered Tim's statement about the back windows. Could Jerry really have been angry enough to break every one of them? It was hard to imagine, but there was no reason for Tim to have lied about it. Anyway, Tim did not appear to be the sort of boy who made up stories about people.
Bruce hesitated and then, as his curiosity got the better of him, left the sidewalk and walked around to the far side of the house.
The moment he left the front yard, the bushes seemed to close in on him. They rose on all sides, untrimmed and untended, surrounding him like a jungle. The whole backyard was overgrown with knee-high grass and brambles and vines gone wild from neglect.
All the first-floor windows in the back of the house gaped empty, and piles of broken glass lay under them, glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
“What a mess!” Bruce regarded the destruction with disgust. “Somebody ought to report this to the police.” For one lovely moment he let himself toy with the idea of being the one to do it. It was a nice thought, and he enjoyed it before setting it aside for cold reality. He had no proof that Jerry was the one who had broken the windows. Tim himself had only heard about it from other people. Jerry would deny it, of course, and look innocent, and give that wide, sweet smile that always melted grown-ups, and the police would not believe it, and certainly the Gordons wouldn't. Discarding the idea regretfully, Bruce waded through the tall grass to inspect the damage more closely. Jerry had done a thorough job, all right. All that remained of the windows were some jagged slivers of glass that were still stuck in the frames.
Working with care so as not to cut himself on the sharp edges, Bruce began to remove those. They could be dangerous, he told himself. Some little kid might come around here and decide to crawl in to explore.
The windows were set low and would be easy to straddle. Looking in, Bruce could see an empty room with a door standing open to a hallway. Beyond that was another room with the door closed.
Dust lay thick over everything. How long had Aunt Alice said the house had stood empty? Six months, without anyone even coming to look at it?
It was too bad for a place to stay vacant like this, Bruce thought. There must be people in the world without a home who would be glad to look after the place just for a chance to sleep there.
It was then that the idea hit him. It came suddenly, like a great floodlight going on in his brain. It was the answer to everything.
For a moment he stood contemplating. Would it work? There would be plenty of problems. Still, even with problems, it seemed better than anything else they could come up with.
Tossing the last of the glass fragments into the bushes, he turned and began to run through the row of maples, across the vacant lot, toward Aunt Alice's neat white house down the street.
