Beware the Ninja Weenies by David Lubar Page B

ninja! I know he is.” I said, “They’re still around. He’s one. I’ll bet you’re training to be one, too. You’re way too calm for a normal kid.”
    â€œNow you’re getting even more ridiculous,” Kyle said.
    â€œYeah, you’re right,” I said. “My imagination flies out of control sometimes.” I started to turn away from Kyle, then spun back and threw a hard punch right at his head.
    My punch didn’t land. Kyle deflected it with a move so fast, it was a blur. Somehow, I was flying through the air. Kyle had flung me over his head like I was no heavier than a single-serving-size bag of potato chips.
    â€œSorry! You caught me by surprise. You okay?” he asked after I’d bounced to a landing on my back.
    â€œI’m fine. But you’re a…”
    His stare cut off my words. “I’m a what?” he asked. His fingertips twitched, like he was thinking about forming fists.
    â€œA great friend,” I said. And I was happy to leave it at that. If Kyle was training to be a ninja, that was his culture, his business, and his secret. I was just happy to have him, and his grandfather, on my side. And I was happy to have the ninja weenies out of action for the moment.
    On the way home from school, I saw a sign written in shaky marking pen on the door of the ninja school. Closed due to illness. I guess Master O’Rourke had eaten the wrong thing, too.
    That night, at my party—which was totally awesome in all ways—Kyle handed me an envelope.
    â€œWhat’s this?” I asked.
    â€œYour present.”
    I wanted to point out that he and his grandfather had already given me a present, but I’d promised not to talk about that. I opened the envelope. “Wow—thanks!” It was a gift certificate for karate lessons.
    â€œThis place teaches traditional karate. The real stuff. My grandfather picked it out,” Kyle said. “A couple months of this, and you can stand up to the ninja weenies. Not that they’ll still be a problem. I’m betting they’ll start acting like zombies or Martians pretty soon, now that the fake school is closed. And I’m pretty sure it won’t open back up.”
    â€œWhat about real ninjas?” I asked. “Will I be able to beat them?”
    â€œDream on,” Kyle said. He gave me a playful punch on the shoulder, then headed across the room toward the snacks, walking silently.

 
    LITTLE BREAD RIDING HOOD
    Little Bread Riding Hood —we should probably call her LB, or maybe even Ellbee, for short—was taking a basket of piping hot dinner rolls to her grandmother, who was currently on a fashionable high-carb, low-protein diet that had been made popular by her favorite skinny-as-a-toothpick celebrity spokesperson.
    â€œBe careful in the woods,” her mother said as Ellbee headed off.
    â€œI will,” Ellbee said, since that was the only acceptable response. Ellbee knew she couldn’t reply with something sassy and sarcastic like, “Careful? What fun is that? I plan to gorge myself on highly toxic mushrooms and roll down steep hills covered with poison ivy and sharp rocks. And then I’ll rub noses with a rattlesnake and dance the tango with a grizzly bear.”
    She headed along the familiar path through the woods, enjoying the musical chirps of birds, the gentle touch of the warm breeze, and the tantalizing aroma of hot rolls. When she reached her grandmother’s cabin, she knocked on the door.
    â€œCome in,” her grandmother called in a hoarse whisper.
    â€œYou sound funny,” Ellbee said as she opened the door.
    â€œI have a cold,” her grandmother said.
    â€œWhere are you?” Ellbee asked.
    â€œUp in my bed.”
    Ellbee went upstairs to her grandmother’s bedroom, where she found her grandmother tucked beneath a huge pile of quilts, with her head nestled deep in a stack of fluffy feather