Elvis and the Underdogs by Jenny Lee Page A

the one who told me that wackadoo story about being the president’s dog, and then I told my mom, and she thought I was off my rocker, and here we are.”
    Elvis stared at me. “Fine, I’ll take my share of the blame, as perhaps I didn’t have to lead with the White House, but still . . .”
    â€œStop wasting time. Why can’t I just have some fun? More importantly, why can’t you? You’re just a dog, and I thought dogs were supposed to be fun.”
    â€œHow dare you, sir. You take that back!”
    â€œWhat? How dare who? I’m sorry. What did I say?”
    â€œI’m not just a dog. I’m a purebred, highly educated, superbly skilled dog who is probably smarter than you. Do you know CPR?”
    â€œNo. Do you know who all the presidents are?”
    â€œOf course I do. Can you name all the capitals of all the states?”
    â€œYes. Do you know where Bora-Bora is on a globe?”
    â€œCertainly. Can you tell me the year man first landed on the moon?”
    â€œDuh. Do you know what pi is?”
    â€œWho has pie? I love pie.”
    â€œI’m not talking about pie you eat, I’m talking about the number pi. P-I . But I like pie too. Banana cream is my favorite. My mom makes a great one.”
    â€œYes, of course I know the number pi. How many digits can you do of pi?”
    â€œ3.141592653589. Thirteen. And you?”
    â€œ3.141592653589793238462. Twenty-two.”
    â€œShow-off.” Fine, so maybe he was smarter than me. But why couldn’t he ever act like a regular dog? “So can you even do any regular dog tricks? Can you catch a Frisbee?”
    â€œWhy on earth would I want to catch a Frisbee? I only do things that I believe will help serve mankind. I hardly think catching Frisbees does anything for the greater good of humanity.”
    â€œCan you just talk normally? And I think dogs who catch Frisbees are really talented and lots of fun, so you may want to think about learning how.”
    â€œWhat are you implying by that statement?”
    â€œI’m not implying anything. I’m telling you you’re not fun.”
    â€œI am too.”
    â€œThen let’s go have some fun.” I started toward the door, stepping around Elvis. “Fine, don’t come. See if I care. And besides, according to you, you’re not my dog anyway, so it’s all good.” And with that I popped my head out the door, looking both ways down the hall. The coast was clear, so I made a break for it and ran toward the elevators. Within two seconds Elvis was running by my side. He decided to come after all.
    Luckily, we didn’t see anyone, but it took a while before the far left elevator showed up. I pressed the down button, but by the time the right elevator came up, it was already 3:35 a.m. We were late. I hate being late. I pressed the SB3 button inside the elevator and noticed my breathing growing rapid and shallow. This is how most of my asthma attacks start. I get nervous, and then I get nervous that I’m getting nervous, and then I really get nervous about getting nervous. Then I take deep breaths so I calm down, but then it doesn’t feel like I can get enough air into my lungs and that makes me even more nervous, which is when I take faster short breaths, which can sometimes give me the hiccups, and then . . .
    Elvis pushed the red stop button with his nose. The elevator screeched to a halt. I’ve seen that happen in movies plenty, but I’ve never been in an elevator where someone did it before, and especially not a dog! Now I was really nervous.
    â€œBenjamin. Everything is okay. You’re okay. You need to try to calm down.”
    â€œCalm down? Calm down?! We’re late and you just stopped the elevator, which is going to make us more late. Oh no, I’m feeling dizzy. Am I sweating? Is it warm in here? I’m gonna faint, aren’t I?”
    But just before I fainted, Elvis