Umbrella Summer by Lisa Graff

while I was waiting in line, I started to think about the chapter in the big green book about food poisoning. By the time I got to thefront of the line, I had folded the ten-dollar bill into a tiny square and unfolded it five times, thinking hard.
    â€œCan I help you?” the man inside the snack stand asked me.
    I looked at his fingers. They were a little grimy under the nails.
    â€œWho cooks the hot dogs?” I asked him. “Do you do it?”
    He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Jimmy’s at the grill tonight. How many you want?”
    â€œWhat temperature do you cook them at?”
    â€œHuh?” he asked.
    â€œHow hot is the grill?”
    He wrinkled his forehead. “It’s a grill,” he said. “It’s hot.”
    â€œBut how hot?” I leaned my head over to try to see past the snack stand to the grill behind. “Is Jimmy wearing gloves? How long has the meat been out? What’s the expiration date?”
    He put his elbows up on the counter. “You want a hot dog or not, kid?”
    I sighed. The hot dogs smelled barely burned on the sides, just the way I liked them, but food poisoning could kill you. “No,” I said. “Thanks.” And I slumped back over toward our spot on the blanket.
    I was halfway there when I felt a poke in my back.
    â€œHey, Aaaaaannie.” It was Doug Zimmerman. He was holding a cardboard box with six hot dogs inside, and all of them were one-hundred-percent covered in ketchup.
    â€œHey,” I said, and I kept on walking.
    â€œI’m not mad about you hosing me,” Doug said, walking quick after me. “Just so you know.”
    â€œYou’re not?”
    â€œNah. I figure now we’re even from when I ninja attacked you.”
    I thought about that. It sounded pretty fair to me. “Okay,” I said.
    I kept on walking, but Doug blocked me with his foot, so I had to stop or I’d crash right into him. “Hey, you want to know what I did with that badger?” he asked me.
    â€œWhat badger?”
    â€œThe one from Mrs. Harper’s yard sale. You wanna know what I did with it?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œI stuck it in Trent’s closet!” Doug said. “Way up high on the top shelf. And it’s leaning out far, too, so the next time Trent opens his closet door, it’ll fall on him.”
    â€œOkay,” I said, trying to pass him. But Doug blocked me again. I had to step back quick so his hot dogs didn’t mash into my shirt and make me all ketchupy.
    â€œAnd I glued shark teeth in its mouth, too,” he told me. “Like fangs. It’s real scary. And down at the bottom where it said ‘Badger’? I changed it. Now it says ‘Evil Badger of Doom.’ Trent’s gonna pee his pants for sure.”
    â€œThat’s great, Doug. Really,” I said. “Now can you let me go? I have stuff to do.”
    â€œWhat sort of stuff?”
    â€œI have a book to read.”
    Doug wrinkled his nose. “That’s boring. Why don’tyou come do the obstacle course with us? Aaron helped us set it up real good.” He pointed toward the far end of the grass, where the big rocks jutted into the lake. “Rebecca’s there too. There’s lots of kids from school.”
    I looked, and sure enough, there were half the kids from our class, Rebecca and Nadia and Sue Beth too. They were attacking each other with pool noodles, and splashing in and out of the water doing a crab walk. Everyone was laughing and shrieking so hard, you could probably hear them from outer space. I wouldn’t have gone over there if someone paid me.
    â€œNo thanks,” I said to Doug. “Looks too dangerous.”
    â€œIt is not,” he said, and I could tell by the way he rolled his eyes that he was feeling the way that Dr. Young liked to call exasperated . “It’s totally fine. Anyway”—he grabbed one of the hot dogs out of