Me and Rupert Goody by Barbara O'Connor Page A

a talking-to in the nicest voice you ever heard. Rupert nodded like he understood, but I could tell he didn’t.
    By the time the dairy got another truck up the mountain, that yogurt wasn’t worth eating, I can tell you that.
    So things went along like that, all mixed up and crazy. And then came August 10, a day that will be forever etched in my mind.
    We had played about a million games of crazy eights that day, keeping a tally of who won each game. (I was clearly the champion.) Right in the middle of a game, Uncle Beau had a hankering for pinto beans.
    â€œToo hot for pinto beans,” I said, waving a paper fan in front of my face.
    Rupert had sweat running down the side of his face and every now and then he’d wipe it off, making the cards all dirty and sweaty and grossing me out.
    â€œAw, now, it ain’t never too hot for pinto beans,” Uncle Beau said. He set his cards down and went inside. I heard pots clanging and water running and then Uncle Beau came back out on the porch.
    â€œThere,” he said. “Long and slow, that’s the trick. Wish I had me a ham hock.”
    After we took in the bargain table, me and Rupert ate Popsicles on the porch steps. We had to eat fast cause they was melting, sending a stream of red juice running down our arms and dripping off our elbows. Rupert’s fell off the
stick onto the ground and Jake hightailed it over and ate it, dirt and all.
    When the mosquitoes started coming out, I said, “What time is it, Jake?”
    â€œQuittin’ time,” Rupert said.
    We walked toward Arrowhead Road, Uncle Beau kind of wheezy and Jake with his tongue hanging out so far it like to dragged on the ground. Rupert kept stopping to pick stuff up off the ground. Bottle caps and shiny rocks. Even found an old sneaker. Uncle Beau walked so slow it didn’t bother him none, but me and Jake, we had to keep stopping.
    I turned and watched Rupert inspecting something in the weeds. “Come on, Rupert,” I said. And then I saw it. Clouds of black, black smoke rising into the darkening sky.
    â€œWhat’s that?” I said, pointing.
    We all three watched the smoke getting thicker and darker. Then the next thing I knew, Rupert was running. I never in my wildest dreams would have guessed he could run that fast, his skinny arms pumping and his huge feet barely touching the ground. Jake started barking and I turned and looked at Uncle Beau. The second our eyes met, I knew we both got the thought at the same time. The store! The store was on fire!
    I took off after Rupert, but he was nowhere in sight. My heartbeat was pounding in my ears and I swear I could feel the blood racing through my body. When I got closer, I could see smoke rising thicker over the tops of the trees. Then I rounded the corner and saw the worst sight of my life. Uncle Beau’s General Store, looking the same on the
outside, but the inside glowing orange through the windows.
    I stood in the parking lot, holding my hands over my ears to drown out the terrible crackle and roar of the fire. And then I remembered Rupert. I ran around to the side, yelling his name.
    Then I saw him. Running out of the store with an armful of stuff that he dumped on the ground. Paper towels, cans of soup, bags of pretzels.
    â€œRupert,” I yelled. “What are you doing?”
    He didn’t even look up. Just ran back into the store.
    â€œRupert!” My throat burned from the smoke, but I kept yelling.
    When he came out again, I grabbed his arm, but he shook my hand away. He dropped more stuff on the ground. Toothpaste and shampoo. Rice and spaghetti. I tried to grab his shirt as he turned to run back in, but he was too fast. My eyes were burning and I could feel the heat of the fire on my face.
    Then I heard Uncle Beau calling my name, calling Rupert’s name. I turned. Uncle Beau was coming toward me, his arms stretched out and his eyes so filled with scared I had to look