Chapter

“Woody! Hide! Quick!” called Bo.

Woody looked around desperately and ran for cover. Then the door burst open, and Buster, a caramel-colored dachshund, rushed into the room. He barked loudly and ran in circles, scattering toys and drool everywhere.

Suddenly, Buster sniffed and turned toward Andy’s backpack. He ran over to the bag and buried his nose in an open compartment. Growling, he dragged Woody out and flung the limp cowboy across the room. Woody landed in the center of the room, where Buster jumped on top of him. The little dog snarled for a second, then began to lick Woody excitedly.

“Okay, okay,” sputtered Woody. “You found me, Buster. All right. Hey, how did he do, Hamm?”

Hamm stood in front of Mr. Spell’s readout: 13.5 seconds. “Looks like a new record!”

Woody snapped his fingers. “Okay, boy. Sit. Reach for the sky! Pow!”

With a happy yelp, Buster fell over and played dead.

“Great job, boy,” said Woody, scratching Buster’s belly. “Who’s gonna miss me while I’m gone? Who’s gonna miss me?” Buster kicked his legs with delight.

Suddenly, voices from the hallway drifted into Andy’s bedroom.

“Andy? Have you got all your stuff?” asked Andy’s mom, Mrs. Davis.

Woody gasped and ran off to take his position. “Okay, have a good weekend, everybody,” he whispered hurriedly. “I’ll see you Sunday night.” All the other toys froze where they were and lay motionless.

“It’s in my room,” they heard Andy call from outside the door. Then Andy kicked his bedroom door open wide. Buster barked and ran toward the boy happily. “Stick ’em up!” shouted Andy, pointing his fingers toward the dog as if he were arresting an outlaw. Buster paused to scratch his ear, then ran between Andy’s legs and out of the room.

“I guess we’ll work on that later,” Andy sighed. He walked over to Woody, who was propped up on his backpack. “Hey, Woody. Ready to go to Cowboy Camp?”

“Andy, honey,” called his mother. “Five minutes and we’re leaving.”

“Five minutes…hmmm,” said Andy, eyeing his toys.

In no time, the scene was set. “Somebody help me!” said Andy in a high-pitched voice, pretending to be Bo Peep as she hung in the air from a string. Then he grabbed Woody.

“Let her go, evil Dr. Porkchop!” Andy said, pretending to be Woody.

“Never! You must choose, Sheriff Woody.” Andy gave Hamm a menacing voice as the piggy bank stood over a formation of Green Army Men. “How shall she die? By shark, or death by monkeys? Choose!” Andy dangled Bo first over a rubber shark, then over plastic monkeys.

“I choose…Buzz Lightyear!” shouted Andy as Woody. Andy put RC Car’s remote control in front of Woody and pressed a button. A whirring sound filled the air, and the toy car shot out of a cardboard box, with Buzz riding on top. The two went over a ramp and smashed into Hamm.

“To infinity…and beyond!” Andy cried triumphantly as Buzz. “You should never tangle with the unstoppable duo of Woody and Buzz Lightyear!”

Andy made Buzz and Woody link arms. Suddenly, Woody’s arm ripped!

“Oh, no,” said Andy sadly.

“Andy, let’s go,” called Mrs. Davis. She poked her head into Andy’s room.

“But, Mom, Woody’s arm ripped,” replied Andy.

Mrs. Davis took Woody from Andy. “Maybe we can fix him on the way,” she suggested.

“No, just leave him.” Andy sighed.

“I’m sorry, honey. But you know toys don’t last forever.” Mrs. Davis placed Woody on the highest shelf in the room, amid a pile of old books. Then she and Andy left.

Once they were alone, the toys blinked and sat up. They stared up at Woody. “What happened?” asked Rex, shocked that Woody had been left behind.

Woody stared in disbelief at his ripped arm. Then he scrambled to the edge of his shelf and looked out the window. Andy and his mother were getting into their van.

“Andy!” he cried. He watched sadly as the van pulled away, then slumped to the back of the shelf.

The next morning, Woody was shaken from his sleep by the sound of a van pulling up in front of the house. Once more, he looked out the window. Andy jumped out of the van.

“He’s back?” Woody whispered. He glanced down. Rex, Slinky, and Rocky were playing cards at the foot of the bed. “Hey, everybody! Andy’s back! He’s back early from Cowboy Camp!” The toys didn’t respond. Then they heard Andy bounding up the steps.

“Places, everybody! Andy’s coming!” yelled Hamm.

The toys dropped their cards and scattered. Woody froze in his toy pose just as Andy burst into the room riding a hobbyhorse. “Yee-haw!” Andy cried.

Andy ran up to Woody and pulled him down from the shelf. “Hey, Woody! Did you miss me?”

“Giddyap, giddyap. Ride ’em, cowboy!” Andy ran around the room, swinging Woody along. Suddenly, Andy’s smile faded as he caught sight of Woody’s shoulder. “Oh, I forgot,” he said to Woody. “You’re broken.” He stared at Woody, frowning. “I don’t want to play with you anymore.”

And with that, Andy dropped Woody.

Woody fell in slow motion, down into the pile of scattered cards—every one was an ace of spades. And then he fell even farther, through the cards, through the floor, down a long, dark passage. When he finally landed, he was at the bottom of a trash can. A single spotlight shone down on him, and he suddenly realized that he was lying atop a pile of broken doll parts. He jumped with fright and tried to crawl out of the can, but a swarm of toy arms pulled him back down again. “Andy!” he yelled, continuing to struggle.

Andy peered down into the can. “Bye, Woody,” he called sadly, his voice echoing.

“No…Andy!” Woody cried. But it was too late. Andy closed the lid, and everything went black.

“Ahhhh!” Woody screamed, waking himself with a start. He was still on Andy’s shelf. He glanced around the room in confusion—until he realized that it had all been a bad dream. Woody was relieved, but then he remembered his broken arm, which hung limp around his neck. Disgusted, he swung his arm off his neck, knocking over a pile of books. A cloud of dust rose, and Woody coughed. Soon he noticed that he wasn’t the only one coughing. He began to search the shelf, following a series of coughs and wheezy squeaks. With his good arm, he pushed aside a book covered in cobwebs to find a lonely squeeze toy.

“Wheezy? Is that you?” he asked a sad-looking penguin.

“Hey, Woody,” gasped Wheezy.

“What are you doing up here? I thought Mom took you to get your squeaker fixed months ago. Andy was so upset,” said Woody, confused.

“Nah,” said Wheezy, motioning with one dust-covered wing. “She just told him that to calm him down. Then she put me on the shelf.”

“Why didn’t you yell for help?” asked Woody.

“I tried squeaking,” Wheezy said with a shrug. “But I’m still broken. No one could hear me.” He squinted and tried to squeak. The only sound that emerged was a pathetic little gasp. “The dust aggravates my condition.” Wheezy had a coughing fit and then fell into Woody’s arms, exhausted.

“What’s the point of prolonging the inevitable?” Wheezy said, struggling to speak. “We’re all just one stitch away from here…to there.” He pointed outside. Woody looked out the window and gasped. Mrs. Davis was pounding a sign into the ground that read YARD SALE.

Woody’s eyes widened. He called down to the other toys. “Yard sale! Guys! Wake up! There’s a yard sale outside!”

Buzz and Slinky stirred from their snooze. “Yard sale?” repeated Buzz. More toys popped their heads out of Andy’s toy chest.

“Sarge! Emergency roll call,” said Woody.

Sarge burst out from the Bucket o’ Soldiers and gave Woody a salute.

“Sir! Yes, sir!” He went around to gather all the toys. “Red Alert!” he called. “All civilians fall into position! Now! Single file! Let’s move, move, move!”

The toys responded quickly and lined up.

Buzz marched over and began to call out the name of each toy.

“Hamm?” he called.

“Here!” Hamm shouted. Buzz continued the roll call, making sure that all the toys were accounted for, until they heard footsteps outside Andy’s door.

“Ahhh! Someone’s coming!” Rex cried.

The toys ran back to their previous positions and froze. Woody hid Wheezy back behind the book on the shelf and then returned to his old place just as the door began to creak open.

Mrs. Davis entered the room with a box marked 25 CENTS. She reached under Andy’s bed and dug out a pair of roller skates, then placed them in the box. She picked up Rex, who tried to hide his look of utter panic. She put him down again and picked up the game he had been sitting on. Next she reached up to the shelf where Woody and Wheezy were sitting. She took the book that was hiding Wheezy. Thinking she was done, Woody sighed with relief. But seconds later, Mrs. Davis reached up again…and grabbed Wheezy! “Bye, Woody,” the penguin whispered as he was dropped into the box and carried out of the room.

Woody panicked. “Wheezy! Think, think, Woody, think.” He had to do something. Woody raised his good arm to his mouth and let out a loud whistle. Buster came bounding into the room. “Here, boy. Here, Buster, up here!” called Woody.

He tried to climb down from the shelf but slipped and fell because of his bad arm. Buster ran toward Woody and was able to catch him before he crashed onto the hardwood floor.

Woody propped himself up on Buster’s back and patted his fur. “Okay, boy, to the yard sale.”

“What’s going on?” the toys asked each other as Buster and Woody raced out of Andy’s room.

“Don’t do it, Woody! We love you!” cried Rex. The toys watched in disbelief, thinking Woody was about to put himself up for sale.