I clipped on his chain and hooked it to the chaise lounge on the patio. I grabbed the Froot Loops from the kitchen cupboard and by the time I returned, Leroy had made himself at home. He was sprawled on his back on the chaise lounge, as if he were vacationing in a Hawaiian resort. All he needed was a pair of sunglasses and a bottle of Dog de Soleil sunscreen.
It turned out Leroy was a big fan of Froot Loops. It didn’t take him more than ten minutes to learn how to sit.
We moved on to “stay” pretty quickly. That one wasn’t so easy. All he wanted to do was follow me wherever I went. I’d walk two steps and Leroy would walk two steps right behind me. I’d walk real fast across the yard and he’d follow like a shadow at my heels, scooting along the dirt on his butt.
“Leroy!” I’d say, making my voice sound stern.
He’d stare guiltily down at the ground. Then each time he’d look up and give me a big grin. Seriously. That dog could smile.
Because it was getting super-hot outside, I finally gave up trying to teach him to “stay.” Since Florida wasn’t home, I thought it wouldn’t be so bad if he came into the house with me for just a little bit. Besides, he was the only friend I had—and at least he couldn’t ask me any questions about why I had to move in with my grandmother.
The second I slid open the door, Leroy barreled inside. He raced through the house, skidding on the throw rug in the hall, then zipped back to the living room. I pleaded for him to stop, but he kept on going.
He sailed onto the sofa, knocking every cushion to the floor. Then he scampered into the kitchen, where he immediately scattered the trash. In ten seconds flat he licked up all the leftover scraps from Florida’s TV dinner tray.
The more I yelled “stop” the faster he zoomed from room to room, knocking over lamps, chairs, and boxes of TV shopping stuff stacked in the hallway.
Then in one giant leap he practically flew onto the dining room table as if he were auditioning for the role of Super Dog. He skidded right into Florida’s fake flower centerpiece. Just as he was about to snatch it in his jaws, it came to me. I yelled one of the only commands he knew.
“Sit! Leroy, sit!”
Leroy sat. Right in the middle of the dining room table. He eyed the box of Froot Loops, waiting for his reward. Then he smiled. Seriously smiled.
I sighed and gave him a few bits of cereal. How could I resist that grin?
The house was a disaster. I had to clean up before Florida came home. Leroy followed me as I tidied, mostly because I dropped a trail of cereal wherever I went. He happily sucked the pieces up like a vacuum cleaner.
As I was putting the last cushions back on the sofa, the TV switched on.
The remote control was clenched in Leroy’s teeth.
“Come here, boy. Drop it. Drop it!”
Leroy wagged his tail. Drool oozed from his mouth and slid down the plastic. On the TV someone was selling underwear so tight it made ladies’ butts look two sizes smaller.
I approached him super-slowly. He flung the remote back and forth just as he’d done with my soccer ball. I offered Leroy a Froot Loop. He dropped the remote control like a hot rock and inhaled the cereal.
The remote was totally drenched with doggie drool.
I sopped up the slobber with a paper towel. It was tricky cleaning around the buttons. As I dried them off, they’d get pushed in and the TV channels changed like mad.
One second someone was selling tight butt underwear, the next second it was some cheesy soap opera, and then a game show. The channels switched as fast as I wiped the buttons. As I cleaned around a small purple one, the sound on the MegaPix went dead.
A loud ping sounded, kind of like the noise an elevator makes before the doors slide open. A purple question mark appeared in the middle of the screen. Underneath it were some words.
Are you SURE you want to choose this channel?
If “yes” push ENTER again.
I’d never seen anything like that on a TV before.
“What do you think, boy? Should I push it?”
Leroy wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. He was busy sniffing Florida’s ceramic poodle collection.
Was this one of the features Mike the delivery guy had tried to warn us about?
The ENTER button was still wet with drool so I dried it off. I heard another ping. Suddenly my body turned as cold as stone. Everything went blurry, and a strange tingle shot through me. Seconds later, I realized I wasn’t in Florida’s living room anymore.
“Name?” A woman wearing a headset and holding a clipboard stared at me through sparkly winged glasses.
“You mean me?”
What had just happened? Giant video cameras and a zillion bright lights hung from the ceiling. Dozens of people scurried everywhere like an army of ants. People chattered and barked orders, but I don’t think any of it sounded louder than the pounding of my own heart. Where in the world was I?
“Yes, you. What’s your name?”
I was tongue-tied. Then I spotted the sign hanging over a fake living room. In bright green neon it said: SHOP ’TIL YOU DROP. I’d zapped myself right into the TV studio of Florida’s favorite shopping show!
Mike wasn’t kidding when he said the MegaPix 6000 put you in the action like no other TV.
“Come on, speak up! We’re ready to go on the air.”
“Uh, I’m Madison McGee.”
The lady smacked her palm to her forehead. “Of course you are! Madison, we’ve been waiting for you!”
Then she spoke into her headset. “Margo! Makeup on Madison McGee!”
What was happening?
A woman with spiky purple hair zipped over and patted powder on my face. I was covered in a cloud of makeup dust that made my nose tickle.
“Don’t squirm, kid. Those cheeks still need a touch of blush.”
She brushed on some pink.
Was I going to be on television?
The clipboard lady looked me over. “Can we do something about the hair?”
Geez! What was the big deal about my hair?
“Not in the next two minutes.”
Two minutes? I had to get out of there. Before I could think up a plan, some guy shoved a blue flowery dress over my head, right on top of my T-shirt and shorts. At least I still had the remote control. Could I push the same buttons to zap back to Florida’s living room?
The clipboard lady broke into a broad grin. “Finally the folks in the front office got a clue. I’ve been badgering them for months to give us a kid to be our assistant product demonstrator. The audience is going to eat this up!”
Assistant product demonstrator? On a shopping show?
I wanted to tell her there’d been a terrible mistake, but my mouth had frozen shut. She kneeled down, talking a mile a minute.
“Okay, Madison, here’s the deal. You’ll meet the product representative for the Dirt Demon Deluxe over at the dirty carpet set. Her name is Libby. Our prop guy, Joe, will be off-camera. He’ll signal for you to pick up one of the buckets filled with stuff that you’ll throw on the carpet. Libby will vacuum it up. While she does, all you have to do is stand