Thirteen Ways to Sink a Sub [antikvár]

T BALL I slammed the front door, jumped the steps, and tossed my old red kickball across the yard to Nick Rossi, who lives next door. We had twenty-two minutes to get to school. "I've got the moustache," I told him, clutching its long spidery hairs in my coat pocket. "Did you bring the bow tie?" "Yeah," he said, dribbling the kickball down the sidewalk, "it's in my backpack. My notes, too. Don't panic. We'll be spectacular." I'd made the moustache out of fake hair off an old Wolf Man Halloween wig. It was part of my costume for our Social Studies report, which would be a long way from spectacular. But if it wasn't at least good, 11