Wizard of Washington Square by Jane Yolen

David and Leilah and D. Dog
    D AVID WALKED SLOWLY PAST the chess players in Washington Square Park. He scuffed his shoes on the pavement and kicked at a fallen leaf. He tried balancing on the low wire fence between the grass and the path, but he kept falling off. Each time he fell off, he looked around, hoping someone would notice him. But the old men kept playing chess and never looked up. Then David tried walking on the grass, right by the keep off the grass sign. But the policeman on the beat had his back turned.
    D. Dog, David’s Scottish terrier, raced around him in circles, nipping at his heels.
    “D. Dog,” thought David unhappily, “is the only one in this whole park—in this whole city—who knows I exist. Who cares.” And, feeling very sorry for himself, which was something David could do exceptionally well, he walked slowly toward the fountain in the middle of the square.
    As he walked, he pulled a rubber ball out of his back pocket. It was shiny and unused. “Because,” thought David, “I have no one to use it with—except D. Dog.” He threw it into the air with ease. His throwing arm had been appreciated in Connecticut, where David had lived until a week ago with his mother and father and three sisters. But it was definitely not appreciated in New York—at least, as far as David could prove by the number of friends he had made in a week.
    “Not one,” David repeated in his thoughts, “not one person cares.” And he threw the ball to D. Dog.
    D. Dog jumped into the air, snapping at the ball with his teeth, but he missed. The ball hopped, skipped, and bounced over the low retaining wall, rolled past the wading children, and ended up in the center of the fountain. It stopped there, resting against the silver sprayer.
    Now D. Dog, as David knew, was a brave dog under almost any circumstance. But water was definitely one of the almosts. As might be guessed from his matted coat, D. Dog was a coward when it came to water. He just stood at the edge of the fountain and barked.
    “Well, now you’ve done it,” said David angrily to D. Dog. “How can I get it out unless they turn off the fountain?” By they , David meant all the mysterious people who run the parks and clean the playgrounds and turn on the street lamps at dusk.
    D. Dog barked again.
    David ignored the question in that bark, which meant, “Why don’t you fish out the silly ball yourself?” David felt exactly as D. Dog did on a number of subjects—water and dog biscuits, for example. They both hated the first and loved the second. Besides, David was fully dressed.
    “Maybe one of the kids will bring it back,” David thought. He thought that anyone under the age of ten was a kid. David was eleven, himself.
    “I’ll get it for you,” came a voice from behind them.
    David turned around. A girl just about his age was standing there in a bathing suit, carrying a large bath towel. Her black braids were caught up on top of her head, making her look old and wise. A girl, thought David. It would be! He had no use for silly gigglers. Always talking about adventures and never wanting them once they came.
    “I’m Leilah and I’m going into the fountain anyway,” the girl said. “I’m going to talk to the Wizard.”
    “Wizard?” David asked, puzzled. Wasn’t that just like a girl to think of a story like that. “Wizards only happen in fairy tales. And only girls read fairy tales.”
    “A wizard,” said Leilah calmly, “is just exactly who you believe he is.”
    “Well, who in the world told you that!” asked David.
    “The Wizard,” said Leilah.
    “Of course,” said David. “And I suppose this wizard lives in the fountain.”
    “Where else?” Leilah stepped over the low wall. She dropped her towel in a dry place. Then, avoiding the babies who played in the puddles, stepping over three pails and two shovels, Leilah walked into the middle of the fountain. She knocked three times on the silver sprayer and said something