Paws, page 9
We all line up in twos outside the classroom door, Ms Westing at the front of all twenty-six of us because no one is off school today – and that’s because today is the day of the special assembly. Everyone knows it’s going to be about PAWS, even though none of the teachers or staff members have actually said it is and it hasn’t been written down anywhere either.
I’m next to Angel because she asked if she could walk with me, in case my leg hurts too much and I need help. I nodded when Ms Westing asked me if this was okay. I think Angel is the nicest person I know, apart from Mum.
“Right, 6W, let’s go!” Ms Westing spins around on her toes, her cream, ankle-length dress, which has brown paw prints all over it, swirling like she’s a dancer on stage. She’s wearing her pumps again, the same ones from Tuesday.
We all follow, me limping and only putting the toe of my right foot on the ground. Angel is right by my side. I don’t look back because I don’t want to see Jared or Matilda or any of the other children’s faces, so I glance across at Angel instead, wondering if maybe she is an angel like Ms Westing called her but I don’t think so, because Angel is an alive person and she doesn’t have a halo.
There’s no sun brightening the school grounds today as we make our way to the hall, because the sky is filled with clouds, some white and some grey, and there’s a wind blowing into my face that makes my cheeks sting a little and my nostrils feel even colder. Trees rustle all around me and I wonder if trees can feel cold too, and then I hear voices – lots of voices – the closer we get to the hall.
As the undercover areas from all the classroom blocks merge into one wide walkway, I see kids from other classes arriving for the special assembly, and my breathing hitches and stutters at the sight of so many light blue uniforms.
I don’t always have to attend assemblies because sometimes the noise and all the people give me too much anxiety, and my coping beaker fills up too quickly for me to control with breathing, or in time for me to tell anyone. I don’t like it when other people are around me when I can’t control my emotions because that’s embarrassing.
But I have to attend this one to find out more about the dog show tomorrow.
So I clench my fists and my teeth and I limp forwards, my eyes flicking from Ms Westing’s dress to the hundreds of other kids around me to Angel’s shiny black shoes, walking in a steady rhythm.
There’s laughter and chattering and squealing and shushing and teachers saying “Quiet down” and girls spinning and boys jumping and feet thumping. And I also hear music and children singing, and as 6W files in through the open double doors of the hall, I can hear the words of the song and know it’s about a doggy in a window. I crane my head to see over and around all the other kids and teachers.
On the stage are two children I don’t know and they’re singing into microphones. Behind them are other children dressed in costumes, which I think are supposed to be dogs, and they’re dancing in front of some other Jessops Lake Primary School children who are playing violins. After the children sing a few words, everyone in the room claps twice, clap clap, and then this repeats.
We slow down as 6W shuffles into our seating area right at the back of the hall, directly below one of the giant spinning fans on the ceiling, and Angel leads me to the end of the line, to where Ms Westing sits down on a chair at the outer edge of the hall by the window. I notice Ms Frisp sitting in the chair behind Ms Westing. She gives me a smile and a nod but she isn’t clapping along with everyone else.
I remember that Ms Frisp said she will give me back my notebook today and I wonder when, so I can show Angel.
It’s loud, very loud, in the hall when everyone claps, clap clap, and I think all the children in all the classes are here in school today, even the sick ones. There are over 1000 kids in Jessops Lake Primary School and now they’re all crammed into the school hall and this thought sends a flutter across my chest.
Something inside the hall makes me feel happy today, though, even though my leg still hurts and I startle every time everyone claps. I shiver with excitement because I can’t wait to see dogs on the stage.
I hope it will be dogs anyway.
The children finish singing and dancing and then Mr Leonard appears from behind the enormous maroon curtain that hangs at the right-hand side of the stage and strides forwards. His brown suit is almost the same colour as the stage and his jacket sleeves slide down his arms as he stretches them out to the sides.
“Welcome, children,” he says without a microphone, because his voice is already loud and booming and reaches us all the way at the back of the hall. “First, we must give a big round of applause to Mr Leitch’s arts group for their song and dance routine.”
The entire school erupts into cheers and applause, and I screw up my face and ram my hands over my ears as tight as they’ll go. I feel Angel’s hand on my shoulder but I don’t take my hands off my ears until she taps me.
The hall has quietened again and everyone is sitting down. I follow Angel’s lead and sit beside her on the shiny wooden floor, twisting my head so I can see the open hall doors, which are only a few metres behind me, in case I need to leave. Ms Westing says it’s always fine if I need to step outside and get some fresh air.
But I hope I don’t have to today.
Mr Leonard is talking about the exciting event that is happening tomorrow and everyone in the whole room knows he’s talking about PAWS. But when he announces it, actually says the word, everyone claps and cheers even louder than before. I cover my ears again but I keep looking forwards this time as I watch the kids dressed as dogs and the singers and the violinists exit the stage, leaving Mr Leonard in the middle alone.
“And today, we’ve organised a very special treat for you all,” he continues once the room is quiet again, other than a cough and some shuffling and the shifting of shoes and legs. “I would like you all to be as quiet as possible and remain on your bottoms so as not to startle today’s guests.”
There’s a murmuring of low and whispered voices rippling through the hall, and I pat my thighs gently, silently, waiting to see what will happen.
“Please welcome, the PAWS Performance Pets.” Mr Leonard strides to the side of the stage and from behind both maroon curtains appear six adults all dressed in bright yellow. They walk forwards and stop, spread out, waiting and looking straight ahead at all of the children, who are also waiting. Music starts, which sounds a bit like the school orchestra, instruments like violins and flutes and other ones I don’t know the names of, but no voices, and then the adults raise their right arms all at once.
Six dogs trot onto the stage at the same time, each one going straight to what must be their owner. I clench my fists and shake my arms by my sides and smile at them. The first dog I see is a small poodle that looks a lot like Kevin – it could even be a cockapoo, it’s so similar – and then there’s a chocolate brown labrador, a Pekingese, a kelpie, a Jack Russell, and another brown dog I think must be a mixed breed.
As the trainers flick their arms and hands and dance side to side, crouching and sitting and moving back and forth, the dogs all obey the commands. They sit, stay, hop on one front leg and then the other, and bow, and then they lie down and play dead and even stand with their front paws on their trainers’ backs and point their snouts into the air.
I want to cry, not because I’m sad but because it’s the best thing I have ever seen in my life. The dog I watch the most is the golden poodle like Kevin, and I start to wonder if maybe he can learn some of these tricks. And then the music stops and the dogs all sit by their owners and the owners say “Speak” all at the same time and the dogs answer with two sharp barks.
Mr Leonard wanders back onto the stage but I don’t listen to what he says because I’m staring at the dogs and my brain is filled with replaying all the tricks I saw them do and wondering what it will be like tomorrow at the dog show and if there’s still time to teach Kevin more.
The whole school is clapping again as the trainers and their dogs leave the stage, three to the left and three to the right, and this time I don’t cover my ears because everything doesn’t seem as loud as before.
I can only think about getting home to Kevin.
Everyone is talking about PAWS.
EVERYONE.
It’s lunchtime and I’m sitting in the tree garden by my classroom where it’s quiet, but even here as I eat my ham sandwiches and banana, the only voices I hear that pass by, both children and adults, are talking about dogs. Morning tea was the same, and even in class after the assembly when we were supposed to be writing our short stories, all we did was talk about dogs. After lunch, in our final lesson of the week, Ms Westing has said we’ll be allowed to share stories about our pet dogs, or stories about any dogs we might know. Or cats, because Ella B prefers cats, she said, and everyone agreed that cat stories were okay too.
A flash of white hair passes the tree garden and I call out “Derek” before I can stop my mouth because he’s the only person I know with hair that colour. He stops and looks at me and waves, then strolls over to the bench where I’m sitting.
“Hi,” he says. “Can I sit with you?”
I nod and so he does, placing his metal water bottle on the ground by his feet and taking the lid off his see-through lunchbox. He starts crunching on a carrot from a small bag of carrot sticks, dipping them in a pot of browny yellow sauce that kind of looks like mustard but is much thicker.
He glances at me and I look away quickly, back at my own lunch, because Ned says it’s rude to stare so I shouldn’t do it, and I think sometimes I do but don’t know it.
“It’s called hummus,” Derek says and shrugs. “Want to try some?”
I stare at the dip and I don’t think I do so I shake my head. “No thanks,” I answer.
“Cool.”
We carry on eating, the wind still blowing and making the trees and leaves flap and shush around us. It’s cooler today than yesterday but not cold enough that I need to put my jumper on. Mum says I’m quite a hot person and I think she’s right.
“What tricks can Kevin do?” Derek asks, so I tell him all eight of the tricks we’ve practised so far. “Cool,” he says. “That’s a lot of tricks. Vinnie can’t do tricks,” he adds, and then he laughs.
I’m not sure why he laughs but Derek’s happy face is a lot better than his sad one.
“Do you like your dad?” I ask.
Derek has been swinging his legs back and forth but now they freeze for a moment. “Yeah, I like my dad,” he answers eventually, his legs moving again.
“Why don’t you go fishing with him any more?”
“He’s been too busy at work.” Derek sighs and I wonder if I’ve said something I shouldn’t have. “My mum and dad are getting divorced.”
I’ve heard the word before but I don’t know completely what it means.
“So yeah, Dad now lives in a different house to us, up in Brisbane.”
I wrinkle my forehead, thinking about how Mum and Ned have been a bit sad since Dad went away to work and I feel sad for Derek because his dad won’t be coming back to his house but mine will.
We carry on eating and I think about the things that I know make Derek happy. “Will you enter Vinnie into a contest tomorrow?” I ask.
“Dunno,” Derek answers with a shrug before biting into his kiwi fruit. He glances at me sideways but this time I don’t look away. “Funny that my eyes are your favourite colour and yours are mine, right?”
I nod. That is quite funny but I don’t think I want to swap eyes because Mum says my eyes are like chocolate buttons and I like that they match Mum’s and Ned’s as well.
Someone stops by the entrance to the tree garden, blocking the light, and I look up to see Ryan standing there. I freeze, putting my half-eaten banana in my lunchbox and clipping the lid back on, clip clip, because once Ryan took my vanilla cupcake and took one bite before throwing it in the trash. I don’t think Derek has noticed Ryan because he’s still chewing his kiwi fruit and his legs are still kicking back and forth under the bench. I hope Ryan doesn’t come any closer but just in case he does, I take off my cap. I don’t want him to whack it off like he usually does because sometimes that hurts and he messes up my hair.
But then Ryan raises one hand and it looks like he might be waving at me. I frown back at him and I wish I could see his face but it’s hidden beneath the peak of his cap and then he sprints off.
I keep frowning and glance sideways at Derek, who is still chewing and kicking his feet, and then I look back at where Ryan stood but all I see are kids in the distance dashing to and from the toilet block, back to whatever they’re playing.
I scratch my head and then put my cap back on, open my lunch and finish my banana, watching a line of ants marching along the arm of the bench.
I can count the hands of eleven more children stretching and waving in the air from my seat by the door, all trying to get Ms Westing’s attention. Everyone has a story they want to tell about their dogs – or cats – and we only have time for one more before the siren goes for the end of the day and the end of the week.
And that means PAWS is just one more sleep away.
“Okay, let’s have . . . Matilda to finish.”
“Yes!” Matilda shouts and shoves her chair back with a loud scrape that makes me narrow my eyes a bit and shudder, but even though I still don’t like Matilda because of what she did on Tuesday, I am interested in her story, so I keep looking ahead like all the other kids.
I haven’t put my hand up even though I think 6W would like the story about Kevin running away to Derek’s house and making dog friends with Vinnie. Standing at the front of the class means everyone will look at me.
My favourite dog story so far is Joshua’s, who told us about the time his family went to the rescue centre to get one small dog but came home with three big ones. He said he, his mum and his dad all chose the one they liked best and they couldn’t decide, so they got them all. He also said it was a sad place and his mum cried and that they wanted to bring more dogs home. I don’t think I want to go to the rescue centre because even hearing Joshua’s story about the dogs in the small cages made me want to cry.
Ella B was picked to talk about her cats – two tabby and one Siamese – and Wu and Isaac and three more children told stories about their dogs, or dogs that belonged to their neighbours or their family members.
It seems that everyone loves dogs – or cats. This afternoon has been the best day ever and all the kids in 6W have been happy and friendly and nice to each other, and to me, asking how my leg is and if I’m going to PAWS tomorrow, and I think this is all because of how dogs make people happy.
I haven’t spoken to Jared yet. He’s sitting at his desk next to Ella and he’s looking down at his desk and his expression looks sad. I wonder what’s wrong with him but then Matilda starts to tell her story and her voice is loud, which makes Jared look up.
“My nana and papa’s dog is a diabetes dog and has saved my papa’s life,” she says, her words slow and slurred but still clear enough for me to understand.
“Wow,” says Ms Westing. “That really is amazing. What’s your nana and papa’s dog’s name?”
“Alex,” Matilda answers and all the heads of 6W turn to face me at the same time. My heart pounds, duh duh duh, and I swallow and look down at the wooden tabletop, at my rainbow of pencils, and my green robot notebook that Ms Frisp gave to Ms Westing at lunchtime to return to me.
“Well, how about that?” Ms Westing says, and I wonder what she’s going to say next. “Obviously Alex is a name given to only very special friends.”
Angel nudges me, and I hear the murmurs of other children in the class as they talk to each other. I wish I could hear the words they’re saying but my heart is beating too loud in my ears and I just keep looking at my pencils. I realise I’m smooshing my lips together because what Ms Westing said was a compliment.
But I don’t know if it’s true because none of the children in my class are my real friends.
“Thank you, Matilda,” Ms Westing says, and then the bell sounds. “Before you go,” Ms Westing continues in a big outdoor voice, “I would like to say thank you all for being so well behaved today and for those who shared their dog stories–”
“And cat stories!” Ella shouts, and me and all the other kids laugh.
“And cat stories,” Ms Westing repeats. “I know there are a lot more of you who had stories but didn’t get to tell them, but that’s okay, because I think we all agree that dogs – and cats – make wonderful friends and perhaps we should all try to be more like them.”
I hear giggles from some of the children and others make barking sounds, but I am sure Ms Westing doesn’t mean to do that, or to walk around on all fours and eat from bowls on the floor without knives and forks. This makes me smile.
“I hope to see you all tomorrow at PAWS! Good luck to those entering their dogs into the contests.”
And then the classroom erupts into the sounds of children packing away their things, pushing their chairs under their desks and rushing from the room.
I focus on putting my pencils away and then Angel taps the desk in front of me before resting her palm on the robot notebook.
“May I take a quick look now?” she asks.
I glance across at her, at her black hair and pale skin and kind eyes and I nod.
She flicks through the pages and I continue packing away my things. I stand and slide my chair under my table, and Angel closes my book.
“Wow.” She smiles at me. “Just wow, Alex. You should start sharing your sketches with more people.”
I smile, trying not to smoosh my lips.
“Come on, Angel.” We both turn and see Linda holding open the classroom door, her schoolbag already over her shoulder.
“Coming,” Angel says. She turns back to me and hands me my robot notebook. “I’m sleeping over at Linda’s house tonight. Thanks for showing me these sketches. See you tomorrow at PAWS.” And quietly, her shoes pad pad pad from the classroom.
