Grady the Great

by Judith Bernie Strommen

Overview

He could see the two of them, him and Mouse, at Universal Studios. having their picture taken with King Kong. He could see them at Disneyland, riding on a ride...their hair blown back in the wind. He could see them in Hollywood, walking past the homes of the stars. Swimming in the ocean. Grady the Great and the Mighty Mouse. A team again.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781466885110
Publisher:	Holt, Henry & Company, Inc.
Publication date:	03/14/2025
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	159
File size:	181 KB
Age Range:	9 - 12 Years

About the Author

Judith Bernie Strommen makes her publishing debut with Grady the Great. The first chapter of the book was awarded the Loft Prize for Children's Literature in 1988.
Ms. Strommen lives with her husband, Eric, their youngest son, Michael, and their two golden retrievers, Katy and Boomer, on Plum Creek Ranch in Clearwater, Minnesota.

Read an Excerpt

Grady the Great

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By Judith Bernie Strommen

Henry Holt and Company

Copyright © 1990 Judith Bernie Strommen
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-8511-0

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CHAPTER 1

Dear Mouse

Grady Hunstiger did not believe in writing letters. Ordinarily. As he told his grandmother who lived in Cincinnati and wanted something besides bills in her mailbox, writing letters was hazardous to his health. It made him anxious and jumpy. The telephone worked much better; he didn't have to spell every word he said.

But when he took a good look at how things were going, that first week of summer vacation, it was clear they were anything but ordinary.

Like it wasn't every day that a guy's best friend deserted him. A friend who'd shared baseball cards, Popsicles, paper routes, and the chicken pox with him, and lived under the same roof besides.

Grady sat on the edge of his bed and ran his fingers over the patch of plaster that the landlord had spread on the wall. It set him to thinking.

He and Mouse had been the luckiest kids in Johnson Falls, Minnesota, living only a wall apart in the old Cooney house. When it had been turned into a home for two families, Grady's mom had rented the right half. A few days later Mouse's family, the Stotts, had moved into the other side. That was almost seven years ago, which, to a guy who's eleven, is a pretty big chunk of his life.

They'd been the luckiest kids, all right. A real team. Grady the Great and the Mighty Mouse. But all that was over now, because two weeks ago Mouse and his parents had climbed into their car and driven off into the sunset. They'd waved and hollered, Mr. Stott blinking his taillights all the way down the street.

The problem was, they weren't going on vacation. They were moving. And not to the next town or to the next state, but halfway across the country. Culver City, California.

Two time zones away.

Grady pushed his thumb up against the plaster to see if it would leave a mark. It did. The plaster was still damp.

It wasn't that there weren't other kids around, because there were. It wasn't that he didn't have other friends, because he did. It's just that they weren't Mouse. And without Mouse, things weren't right at all.

There was only one solution. It would require extraordinary effort, but then these were extraordinary circumstances. A guy did what he had to do.

So Grady went to his desk and pulled a piece of paper out of the drawer. He found a pencil stub and sat down to write a letter.

Dear Mouse,

Are you there yet?

Mom said it takes time to drive 1,743 miles. But you've been at it for almost a week now. I figure you should be all moved in.

I hope you get to use the autograph book I gave you. It cost me $3.25, but I was glad to do it.

Things aren't looking too good here. Without you on the pitcher's mound, we're 0–3. Plus my bike is broken again. Wendy-Alice (Bossyface herself) got braces. She is even uglier now, if you can believe that.

Your side of the house is still empty. Mr. Peavey fixed the peephole in the bedroom wall. Who told on us?

The big reason I am writing you is this. I might buy a bus ticket and visit you. Would that be okay?

Your best friend,

Grady Hunstiger

P.S. Bossyface wants your address. Write me back soon or I might have to give it to her.

P.P.S. Are you going to tell people in California that your name is Mouse or Matthew Stott, Jr.?

Grady drew a picture of a Greyhound bus at the bottom of the letter. He wrote the words CALIFORNIA EXPRESS across its side. Then he drew himself waving out of the last bus window and Tiny, his gold retriever, running along behind. But it didn't look right. So he erased Tiny running behind and drew him inside the bus with his head hanging out of the second-to- last window. Perfect. Tiny would love California for sure.

When he and Tiny pulled into the bus station at Culver City, Mouse would be there, of course. His dad and mom, too. They'd be cheering and tossing confetti into the air. A marching band would begin to play the minute he and Tiny stepped off the bus. "Grady!" Mouse would beg. "Please say you'll stay forever!"

Grady leaned back against his desk chair and smiled. Forever? Well, he'd just figured on the summer. But leave it to Mouse to come up with the best ideas!

Why not stay forever? Why not move to California? His mother could find a job (one that didn't make her so tired), and they could rent a big double house with palm trees in the front yard and move in next door to the Stotts. What a brainstorm!

For the first time in a week, Grady had the feeling that things were going to work out. All he had to do now was explain the brainstorm to his mother. She would love California for sure.

He closed his eyes and was imagining his mother relaxing on the porch of a big white house in California when he heard a slam-crunch from outside. A metal-on-metal slam-crunch.

The daydream vanished and Grady opened his eyes. He tipped his chair toward the window and looked down at the street. A rusty blue station wagon with a U-Haul trailer hitched behind had run up over the curb in front of the house. It had smashed into the fire hydrant, which was tilting, and water was spurting into the street. People with hair the color of pumpkins were climbing out of the car, hollering.

"How could you do this!"

"I didn't see it!"

"What d'ya mean, you didn't see it?"

"Now, dear, calm down."

A skinny kid with glasses and a huge green T-shirt on was standing by the side of the car yelling, "My fish! My fish!"

Then Grady saw Tiny bound across the yard. He pressed his forehead against the screen of the open window and called out "Tiny! No! "

But it was too late. Grady watched Tiny pounce on a little girl as she carried a doll up the sidewalk. The doll somersaulted through the air.

Grady knocked over his desk chair as he bolted out of his room and down the stairs. He flung open the screen door and ran toward what was, by the time he got there, a tangled pile of golden fur, orange hair, legs, arms, and swooshing tail. Tiny was sitting on her, his chest puffed, his ears perked. All ninety pounds of him.

"Off, Tiny! Off!"

Grady stepped over the doll. He slipped his fingers under Tiny's collar and pulled. Reluctantly, Tiny got up. Grady was almost afraid to look. The girl was probably a pancake by now. Wile E. Coyote after the steamroller.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

The girl sat up and blinked at him. Her eyes were big like saucers.

Grady helped her up. Dirt was stuck to her cheek. Her knee was scraped. And boy, was she short. Hardly taller than a yardstick. Tiny couldn't be responsible for that, could he?

"Sorry—" Grady started to say, but the girl wasn't listening.

"Mama!" she screamed. "Bad dog!"

"Hey, wait a minute," said Grady.

She didn't. She ran toward the station wagon wailing. "Bad dog! Baaad dog!"

Grady stood with his fingers looped around Tiny's collar and watched her go, her hair like a flying orange nest. Geez. Not only was she a shrimp, but she made things up besides. Tiny was not a bad dog. He was just extra friendly. Especially to people who showed up in his yard.

When the girl's parents came over to give him a lecture, he'd tell them that. After all, this was Tiny's front yard, not theirs. Who did they think they were anyway, crashing onto somebody else's property? That was trespassing, wasn't it? Maybe he ought to tell them that, too.

But no one came over to talk to him. As he waited, with Tiny leaning against him, he saw why. No one was paying attention to the little girl. They were too busy yelling at each other.

So just who were these people? And how could anybody (it had to be the teenager) be dumb enough to drive into a fire hydrant? Grady looked at the U-Haul trailer, and it gave him a horrible idea. No, he wouldn't think that. These people couldn't be his new neighbors. They just couldn't.

Well, he wasn't going to stand around any longer. He'd go back into the house and call the fire department about the hydrant. Then he'd get Mouse's letter ready for the mail. Before he knew it, the people would be gone.

"Come on, fella," he whispered to Tiny. "We're leaving." He scooped up the girl's raggy doll and tossed it toward the station wagon ... so the people wouldn't forget it and have to come back.

"Hey, you! You with the dog!" The skinny kid with the T-shirt was looking at him.

"Me?" Grady pointed to himself.

"Yeah. Help me!"

Grady sighed. He squatted down in front of Tiny. "Can you behave yourself for one minute?"

Tiny lifted one front paw and wagged his tail, which meant he'd give it a try. Grady decided to take his chances. He released his hold on the collar, his fingers aching from the tight grip.

"Stay, Tiny. Please."

The kid looked terribly upset. He pointed to the car and said, "My fish!" which was no surprise to Grady, who was getting tired of hearing it.

"What fish?"

"My goldfish," the boy answered. "When Dewey hit the hydrant, the cookie jar tipped over and my goldfish fell out."

Grady didn't want to know what goldfish were doing in a cookie jar, so he didn't ask. He peered through the rolled-up windows of the station wagon. Plants, books, shoes, spilled out of boxes. A Monopoly game had overturned, and the whole backseat was covered with pink, yellow, and blue money.

"So will you help me?" The kid was close to begging.

"Okay," Grady answered, not feeling the least bit okay. But maybe if he helped, they'd be gone quicker.

The kid adjusted his glasses. "Here's the plan. I'll open the car door nice and slow. You squeeze into the backseat and get the fish. I'll hold the door closed so the cats won't escape."

"Cats?"

"Yeah, two. I swell up if I touch them. That's why I didn't get the fish myself. The cats were in boxes, but I don't know now. We were really sailing when we hit the hydrant."

The kid inched the door open. Grady took a deep breath and, pushing aside a pile of Monopoly money, slid into the backseat next to a popcorn popper. The vinyl cushion was cracked and sticky under his hand. The air smelled old.

"Where do you think they are?" he asked the boy through the open slit of door.

"The cats or the fish?"

"The fish!"

"Check the baseball gloves. Look in the frying pan."

Grady checked and looked and checked some more, until he found one fish lying on the floor under a "Get Out of Jail Free" card. Its black eye stared up at him. It was either dead or in shock.

"Here's one!" he called to the kid. He lifted it up by its flimsy tail fin, then rolled down the window just enough to slide his hand through. He dropped the fish into the boy's waiting hand.

It was getting hot in the car, and Grady was sure he'd used up most of the air. Something was moving around under the front seat, and the noise was giving him the creeps. If he didn't get outside soon, he was going to be in the same shape as the fish. So he rolled down the window.

"Goldfinger never even got to see his new home," mumbled the kid.

He'd spoken so softly that Grady almost didn't hear. But he did. My new neighbors, he thought. And one of them's dead already.

"There's one more fish," said the kid, staring down at the corpse in his hand. "But the cats probably ate it."

"Probably," Grady answered. Then he pushed open the car door.

The cats appeared from nowhere. Hissing and screeching, they vaulted over Grady and leaped out of the car. They flew past Tiny, who was sitting on the sidewalk behaving himself. As Grady told his mother later, the dog couldn't have moved faster if he'd been shot out of a twenty-two.

Tiny tore across the yard after the cats, his hind feet kicking up clumps of lawn. He chased them up the steps and around the porch, down the steps and around the yard again until the cats spied the giant elm and climbed it. Almost to the top. It was a home video in fast forward.

Grady got out of the car. Tiny was howling like a coon dog. The people by the hydrant were staring up at their cats. The little girl was still wailing, and the street was starting to flood.

No, decided Grady, this wasn't a home video. It was a cartoon. All he had to do was figure out how to change the channel.

He walked across the yard, climbed the front steps, and went into the house. He picked up the telephone and dialed.

"Um, is this the fire department?"

It was.

The man on the phone asked who was calling, and it made Grady want to hang up. What if the fire department thought he'd done everything?

"Hello?" said the man. "Are you there?"

Grady listened to the hollering and the barking from outside. He switched the phone to his other ear.

"Yeah, I'm still here. I'm Grady Hunstiger. I want to—I mean, I'm sorry to report a bunch of emergencies in my yard. There's a smashed car and a busted hydrant and some cats stuck up high in our tree. Plus everything's getting soaked. And people are yelling."

"Is this a joke, young man?"

"No, sir. It kinda looks like one, but it isn't. It's a big mess."

The man wanted to know exactly where the big mess was.

"Two eighteen Cooney Avenue," answered Grady. "And I think maybe you're gonna need your ladder truck."

He hung up the phone and went back upstairs to his desk.

P.P.P.S. he wrote at the bottom of Mouse's letter.

Forget what I said about things here not looking too good. They just turned horrible. WRITE BACK FAST!

CHAPTER 2

Press, Pop, Splat

The fire truck, two police cars, and the Channel Six Action News van arrived in less than seven minutes.

Grady figured that every kid who lived between the fire station and Cooney Avenue had heard the sirens, because they were all there. He stood on the bottom porch step and watched them ride through the flooding street, their feet hooked around the handlebars of their bicycles. Neighbors stood together on their front lawns. Even Mrs. Quade (who wore two hearing aids) came out to watch the action. The whole thing was downright embarrassing. A circus on the front lawn.

Three more dogs joined Tiny, barking and circling the big elm: Dottie, the dalmatian on Grady's paper route, Wendy-Alice's yippy toy poodle, and a basset that did more barking than circling.

Grady watched his baseball coach, Officer Finley, climb out from behind the wheel of the second police car and wave.

"Hey, Huns-tigger," he drawled. "What's up?" He took off his policeman's hat and rubbed his forehead.

"Them, Coach." Grady pointed to the cats.

They were the big attraction. A high-wire act without a net. They didn't want to be rescued. The louder the dogs barked, the farther out the cats climbed on the branches of the elm.

The breeze blew. The branches swayed. The dogs barked. The cats screeched. The Channel Six cameras rolled.

The fire chief turned off the water. Then he asked for help to round up the dogs.

"I'll do it!" said Grady, because it looked like the cats wouldn't last much longer. What if they fell and somebody blamed Tiny? He could see the newspaper headline: GOLDEN RETRIEVER FOUND GUILTY IN DOUBLE MURDER. Tiny would never survive jail.

"Need some help?' the fish kid asked.

Grady saw the dead goldfish still lying in his hand. Yuck. "No thanks," he answered. Then he went into the house to get the box of Yum-yum dog treats his mother kept under the sink.

They worked. Tiny let Grady coax him into the house, and Coach Finley tied Dottie to the front porch. Wendy-Alice sloshed across the street to pick up her toy poodle. Her earrings swung in perfect time with her ponytail.

"Graaaaad-y!" she called out in her bossiest voice. "You sure messed up this time."

Grady pretended not to hear. He bent down and petted the basset, who was lying on the sidewalk munching, his face in the Yum-yum box.

When the firemen carried the last cat down the ladder, the whole neighborhood cheered. The Channel Six crew packed their gear, and a policeman hollered, "Everything's back to normal!" But as Grady watched the new neighbors open the door of their U-Haul trailer, he doubted anything would be normal again. Good thing he was moving to California.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Grady the Great by Judith Bernie Strommen. Copyright © 1990 Judith Bernie Strommen. Excerpted by permission of Henry Holt and Company.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Title Page,
Copyright Notice,
Dedication,
1. Dear Mouse,
2. Press, Pop, Splat,
3. The Smartest Brainstorm Ever,
4. Think Positive,
5. Your Man on the Street,
6. California Dreamin',
7. The Bribe,
8. The Fastball,
9. Out on a Limb,
10. The Odd Shop,
11. Three, Two, One, Blast-off!,
12. The Pioneer,
13. Blown to Bits,
14. The Bug,
15. Grady the Great,
Copyright,