Never Walk in Shoes That Talk Read online

  Roscoe Riley Rules #6

  Never Walk in Shoes that Talk

  Katherine Applegate

  illustrated by Brian Biggs

  For Anne H.,

  Roscoe’s Fairy Godmother

  Contents

  1. Welcome to Time-Out

  2. Something You Should Know Before We Get Started

  3. Something Else You Should Know Before We Get Started

  4. Uncool Shoes

  5. Beg-a-thon

  6. Great-Aunt Imogene to the Rescue

  7. Cool at Last

  8. Crazy and Annoying

  9. Baby Drool, Foot Sweat, and Other Problems

  10. Destructo-Feet

  11. Baby Braking

  12. Everybody’s Cool

  13. Good-Bye from Time-Out

  About the Author

  Other Books by Katherine Applegate

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  Welcome to Time-Out

  You know, being stuck in time-out isn’t so bad.

  If you bring your imagination along for company.

  Like right now.

  I may look like I’m just sitting in my time-out corner.

  But I’m pretending I’m playing baseball.

  I just hit sixteen home runs in a row!

  I am a baseball superstar.

  I have a gazillion fans. I’m a very cool guy.

  Inside my brain, anyway.

  In real life, I’m a pretty ordinary guy, to tell the truth.

  Although last week, I was one of the coolest kids in class for a while.

  Actually, being cool is why I’m here in time-out.

  Well, that’s not exactly the reason.

  I guess maybe the part where I destroyed my friend Gus’s sneakers might have something to do with it.

  I was just trying to help Gus be cool too.

  You’ve smushed up shoes for a good reason before, haven’t you?

  No?

  Not even to help out your best buddy?

  I guess maybe this does sound a little strange.

  Maybe I should back up a bit.

  To when this all started.

  The part before I was cool for two whole days.

  2

  Something You Should Know Before We Get Started

  When a TV ad tells you THESE SHOES WILL NEVER WEAR OUT, do not believe them.

  When you have Destructo-feet, anything is possible.

  3

  Something Else You Should Know Before We Get Started

  If you want to stop your bike, use your brakes.

  Do not drag your toes on the ground to make it stop.

  That is why brakes were invented.

  That is all I have to say on the subject.

  4

  Uncool Shoes

  Everything started one morning when I was putting my backpack in my cubby at school.

  I heard Gus shout my name.

  “Roscoe! You gotta see this! Hassan and Coco have talking shoes!”

  Gus grabbed my arm and pulled. “Come on! This is major!”

  Gus says lots of crazy things.

  Once he told me he was pretty sure his guinea pig could count to ten in Spanish.

  So when he told me two kids in our class had talking shoes, I wasn’t all that surprised.

  “They’re called Walkie-Talkies,” Gus said. “I saw them on TV. You will not believe the amazingness of these shoes!”

  We ran into class.

  And there before me was a whole new world of shoe possibilities.

  Kids surrounded Hassan and Coco, who were each wearing a kind of sneaker I’d never seen before.

  The shoes were made of shiny plastic. Like the boots my sister wears when it rains.

  On one shoe was a big W.

  On the other shoe was a big T.

  There was a black push button near the toe of each shoe.

  Coco’s sneakers were pink. With glitter shoelaces.

  Hassan’s sneakers were blue with lightning stripes.

  Coco and Hassan were sitting in chairs on opposite sides of the room.

  Coco had her left leg crossed over her knee.

  She was whispering something into her shoe.

  Which I have to admit looked pretty weird.

  Hassan had his right leg crossed over his knee.

  And here’s the can-you-believe-it thing: Coco’s voice was coming out of Hassan’s shoe!

  “See?” Gus whispered. “Walkie-Talkies! You talk into that little circle on the left shoe. It’s sort of like talking into a cell phone. And if you have a friend with a pair of Walkie-Talkies on, they can hear you out of a little bitty speaker in their right toe!”

  I did not even know what to say.

  It was a science miracle.

  Better even than Silly Putty.

  Coco whispered something to her foot.

  Hassan’s shoe said, “I just love my Walkie-Talkies!”

  Hassan’s shoe.

  Coco’s voice.

  Hassan grinned. “My dad got mine in Los Angeles on a business trip. Last time he just brought me a pack of peanuts and a cocktail napkin.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Hassan agreed. “The only bad thing is that they are kind of uncomfortable. I have three blisters already.”

  “I have four,” Coco said.

  We sat there, oohing and aahing.

  I knew what we were all thinking.

  We were wondering what we could say to our parents that might make them say, “Hmm, this kid is so sweet I think I will run to the nearest store and buy him some Walkie-Talkies before they are all sold out.”

  I tried hard to think of something sweet to tell my dad.

  He is getting balder every day.

  Maybe I could tell him I’d noticed some fresh hair sprouts.

  “My mom bought the last pair at Shoe Palace,” Coco said. “They said they might get some more next week.”

  Ms. Diz, our teacher, came over to see what all the fuss was about.

  “Why are you talking to your shoes?” she asked in a polite way.

  “This is the latest in fashion footwear, Ms. Diz!” said Coco.

  “I can talk to Coco from anywhere in the room,” Hassan said.

  Ms. Diz frowned.

  “Hmm. I’m not sure teachers are going to be too thrilled about this idea,” she said. “I liked the last shoe fad better. The ones that lit up. At least they were quiet!”

  “What’s a fad?” I asked.

  “It’s something that’s very popular,” Emma answered.

  Emma knows all kinds of interesting words.

  “Fads don’t usually last very long,” Ms. Diz added.

  “I saw an ad for Walkie-Talkies on TV yesterday and asked my mom if I could get some,” Gus said. “She said no. And then Babette spit up on Mom’s bathrobe.”

  “How is your new baby sister doing, Gus?” Ms. Diz asked.

  Gus shrugged. “It’s just like when my little brother was born. Every time Babette burps, my parents think she’s a genius.”

  “It’s hard being a big brother,” said Ms. Diz.

  “It’s hard being a little brother, too,” I said. “We have to wear used-up big-brother clothes.”

  I looked down at my own boring shoes.

  Plain vanilla nothing-special sneakers.

  They didn’t even light up.

  They were from the Ugliest Most Uncool Shoe Warehouse, I am pretty sure.

  And my big brother, Max, had already worn them.

  They weren’t just preworn.

  They were prestinked.

  When you have to wear your big broth
er’s yucky used clothes, it’s called hand-me-downs.

  Mom says it’s also called watching your spending.

  I am not sure what that means.

  Except that it seems to involve making sure your kid will never be cool.

  “Class, if we could all stop staring at Hassan’s and Coco’s feet for a while, we have spelling work to get started on,” said Ms. Diz.

  “We read you loud and clear, Ms. Diz,” said Hassan’s right foot.

  Everybody laughed.

  I would have given anything to have his blisters right about then.

  5

  Beg-a-thon

  When I got home from school, I ran straight into the house.

  “Dad! I saw the most miracle thing today!” I screamed.

  Dad was in the family room with Hazel, my little sister, and Goofy, my big dog.

  Hazel was using Goofy as a pillow.

  Dad was using Goofy as a footrest.

  They were watching a cartoon about a giraffe with a sore throat. And eating little crackers shaped like fish.

  Dad gave me a hug.

  Hazel gave me a fishy cracker.

  Goofy ate my fishy before I could.

  I told Dad how sprouty his bald spot looked.

  Then I asked him if he would buy me some Walkie-Talkies.

  “What, exactly, are Walkie-Talkies?” he asked.

  His eyebrow went up.

  That jumping eyebrow means you’d better have a good answer planned.

  “There’s Walkie-Talkies, Daddy!” Hazel cried.

  She pointed to a commercial on TV.

  A bunch of kids were talking to their feet.

  They looked so happy!

  And so cool!

  A pair of smiling cartoon sneakers appeared on the screen.

  “Trust us, kids!” the right shoe said. “Cool kids walk in shoes that talk!”

  “Walkie-Talkies!” said the left shoe. “Get yours today at a store near you! Over and out!”

  A new commercial came on. For diapers that don’t leak.

  The babies on the screen looked happy and cool too.

  “See, Dad?” I said. “Aren’t they amazing?”

  “Uh-oh,” said Dad. “Here comes the beg-a-thon.”

  “What’s a beg-a-thon, Daddy?” Hazel asked.

  “It’s when a kid whines endlessly, but it does no good,” said Dad.

  “Can I be in the beg-a-thon?” she asked.

  “Dad, these shoes are awesome,” I said, ignoring Hazel. “And useful. If they make them in giant foot sizes, then you and Mom can get some, and if you are upstairs and she is in the kitchen and she needs you to help her take out the trash, then she can just do this.”

  I grabbed my left foot and leaned down.

  “Harold,” I said in my best Mom voice. “Come down here this instant!”

  Then I fell over.

  Because it is actually not that easy to talk to your foot while you’re hopping on the other foot.

  Dad just kept staring.

  “Please, Dad? Please, please, please? I’ll clean the garage!”

  “The world does not need talking shoes,”

  Dad said. He shook his head. “What’s next? Singing underwear?”

  “I’ll put away groceries till I’m nineteen,” I said.

  “Sorry, guy. I am not spending fifty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents so you can chat with your toes. Especially since you wear out shoes faster than any kid on the planet, Mr. Destructo-feet! You’ve gone through three pairs of sneakers since school started!”

  “I never get cool shoes,” I whined.

  “You’re already cool, Roscoe,” said Dad with a grin. “You don’t need shoes to prove it!”

  “Besides, you have tap shoes,” Hazel pointed out.

  “That’s different,” I said. “Those are just for dancing. And everybody in class doesn’t want to have a pair!”

  Dad shook his head. “Sorry, Roscoe.”

  I sighed. I flopped on the floor with a groan.

  “I just want to be able to talk to my feet!” I cried.

  “Over and out,” said Dad. His eyebrow went way up.

  And when Dad’s eyebrow says “over,” it means over.

  6

  Great-Aunt Imogene to the Rescue

  The next morning at school, Coco had on her pink Walkie-Talkies.

  Hassan had on his blue lightning Walkie-Talkies.

  All the rest of us had on our usual, boring feet.

  Maya said, “My mom called six different shoe stores, but no luck. Everybody was sold out. They all said check back next week.”

  “Everybody wants a pair, I guess,” said Coco.

  She tied her right shoe while a bunch of us watched.

  I have never been jealous of shoe tying before.

  “I wore two pairs of socks so my blisters wouldn’t hurt so much,” Coco said. “But it’s worth it.”

  “I wore about twenty Band-Aids,” Hassan agreed.

  “Talk to the shoe, Hassan,” Coco directed.

  “Band-Aids,” Hassan repeated into his left toe.

  “I asked my mom again if I could get some,” Gus said. He sighed. “But she just said ‘No means no, honey.’ And then Babette spit up on her jeans.”

  “My dad said something about singing underwear,” I said.

  “What does that mean?” Gus asked.

  I watched Coco tie her other shoe.

  I sighed, just like Gus. “It means no in Dadspeak,” I said.

  That afternoon after school, Max and I were in the front yard playing where-did-Goofy-bury-the-Frisbee-this-time.

  A big truck parked in front of the house. A man in a brown hat jumped out.

  He was carrying a shoebox-sized package and a clipboard.

  “Is that for me?” I asked, because you never know.

  “That depends,” he said. “Are you Master Roscoe Reginald Riley?”

  “That’s me!” I cried.

  “Sign at the X, sir,” he said.

  I wrote my name very carefully and took the package.

  “Who’s that from?” Max asked.

  He looked at the return address. “Too bad,” he said.

  I tried to read the handwriting. But it was full of loops and squiggles.

  “Why too bad?” I asked.

  “It’s from Great-aunt Imogene,” he said. “Tough luck, kid.”

  Great-aunt Imogene has about two hundred great-nieces and great-nephews.

  Sometimes she gets us mixed up.

  She gets birthdays and holidays mixed up too.

  Last year she sent me an electric razor for Saint Patrick’s Day.

  Which was very nice of her.

  Except that I am not doing a whole lot of shaving just yet.

  The year before that, she sent me a frilly pink ballet tutu.

  I gave it to Hazel.

  I tore open the box. Inside was a present wrapped in yellow paper.

  I opened the card attached to it.

  “Happy Fourteenth Birthday to Roscoe!” I read out loud. “With love and kisses from your Great-aunt Imogene.”

  Which was also very nice of her.

  Except that my birthday was five and a half months away.

  And I will not exactly be fourteen for another eight years.

  “Oh, well,” Max said with a big-brother grin. “Mom always says it’s the thought that counts.”

  “Remember that time she sent Hazel boxing gloves?” I asked. “And Hazel was only two weeks old?”

  I crossed my fingers. Maybe there were boxing gloves in the box.

  That would be a big improvement over a tutu.

  I tore off a little paper.

  I saw a big W on the box.

  I tore off a little more.

  I saw a big T.

  No way. It couldn’t be.

  I was afraid to hope.

  I closed my eyes and tore off the rest of the paper.

  “Whoa,” Max said. “Double whoa. Triple whoa.
”

  I opened my eyes.

  I would have whoaed along with Max.

  But I was too busy screaming for joy.

  It was a miracle.

  There was no other way to explain it.

  Great-aunt Imogene had sent me a pair of bright red, shiny, brand-new, right-size shoes.

  I had my very own Walkie-Talkies!

  7

  Cool at Last

  When I climbed onto the bus the next morning, Gus took one look at my feet and his eyes grew giant.

  “You got some!” he cried.

  We did one of our special secret handshakes.

  It’s called high five, low five, foot five, no five.

  “How did you get those?” Gus asked. “What did you say to your parents?”

  “It wasn’t my parents. It was my Great-aunt Imogene.”

  “The one who sent you a teething ring on the Fourth of July?”

  “I don’t know what happened. It’s a total miracle,” I said.

  “Last night my mom said I have to wait until my sneakers wear out before I can get a new pair,” Gus said. “Then Babette threw up on her sweater.”

  “Why do babies throw up so much?” I asked.

  “Dad says they’re badly designed,” Gus said.

  He looked at my shoes with a sad but hopeful face.

  The way Goofy looks at a hamburger.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “Your shoes will wear out in no time.”

  Gus kicked at the seat in front of us. “I doubt it,” he said. “You know what these sneakers are called?”

  I shook my head.

  He held up a foot so I could read the words on the side of his shoe.

  “Ruff and Tuffs,” I read.

  “You’ve seen their ad, right?” Gus asked.

  I nodded. Poor Gus.

  We both said the ad words together: “Ruff and Tuffs. The shoes that refuse to die!”

  I don’t know why, but I stuck my feet under the seat in front of me.