What Comes Next, page 4
I stood on the corner across from Johnny Arena Elementary waiting for my sisters when they got dismissed on their first day. At that time of afternoon, we had the sun shining bright on our backs, creating long shadows that stretched in front of us. Liv and Abby kept busy playing shadow tag and shadow poses, while I kept my eyes peeled for any sudden black SUVs. But it wasn’t anything I saw that scared me, it was what I heard. We weren’t even in the driveway yet when the sounds of Jack’s manic barking reached us.
“Jack-Jack!” Abby cried.
We took off running.
The moment we opened the door to the house Jack stopped. We rushed into the kitchen where Dad had positioned the crate and found our puppy soaking wet, but not in pee, as you might be thinking. The bottom of Jack’s crate was covered in a layer of slobber about an inch thick. It was disgusting, not to mention the spit splattered up and down every nearby wall and all over the surrounding floor. Jack’s eyes were completely bloodshot and his tongue dangled out the side of his mouth—but his tail wagged when he saw us.
“He’s all wet and he smells,” Abby whined.
“Let him out!” Livvy implored.
Together, my sisters and I got things cleaned up and Jack-Jack toweled off. When we finished drying him, he walked over and downed an entire bowl of water. Then he found his bed and crashed, utterly exhausted.
The only thing we hadn’t bought brand-new for Jack was his crate. According to Dad, he still had the biggest, baddest, strongest one ever made left over from Sparky. That crate had worked perfectly for Spark, so there was no reason not to use it for Jack.
“You don’t mess with a good thing,” Dad said, “especially when it comes to the crate. The crate is—”
“The most important part in training a puppy,” Livvy finished. “We know.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Abby added.
Mom laughed. My sisters were right. We’d heard Dad say this about a hundred times.
“Well, it is,” Dad stressed. “Jack’s going to love it. You’ll see.”
We saw all right. Jack hated his crate, which explains why he became the main topic of conversation at dinner that night.
“Ms. Stacy sounds lovely,” Dad said, interrupting my sisters, “but we need to talk about Jackson.”
At the sound of his name Jack picked his head up and looked at me.
“Do you think he was barking all day?” Dad asked.
“There was a layer of slobber on the bottom of his crate!” Livvy emphasized.
“And on the floor and the walls too,” Abby added.
Mom sighed. “This letter sure makes it sound like he was.”
The letter she was referring to came from an anonymous neighbor who, at the time of writing, wanted us to know that our dog’s incessant barking had been going on for more than an hour. The letter writer hoped we could do something to prevent that from continuing beyond the next few days—nice of them to give us a little time—or else they were prepared to take more drastic measures, such as calling animal control and the police.
I reached down and gave Jack a reassuring pet. I didn’t care about any letter. I wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to him. It would all work out—I hoped.
Round and round Mom and Dad went about what to do, but the truth was they didn’t have a clue. They never expected Jack to have an issue with his crate.
“Maybe he’ll be okay tomorrow, now that he knows we’ll be home and we’re not leaving him for good,” Dad said.
“Really, you think it’s that simple?” Mom asked, sounding doubtful. I was thinking the same thing.
“I’ll leave his towel with him. That should give him some comfort, like a little kid’s blankie does. You’ll see.”
Dad’s famous last words.
19
ON REPEAT
The first two weeks of school were on repeat. I slid through each day unnoticed—not talking to anyone and not having anything to say at dinner. I liked it that way and so did my sisters because they always had lots to share. Jack-Jack liked it too. He had his favorite spot beside my chair, where he lay for story time every night.
First, it was Liv and Abby’s class pet that they couldn’t stop talking about. The “pet” was nothing more than a glorified stuffed bunny named Snowball that the kids took turns taking home. The bunny came with a journal that the children had to write in, telling about Snowball’s adventures with their family. Pretty lame, but Liv and Abby thought it was amazing.
Better yet was their classroom mystery box. Each week a different student got to take the mystery box home to choose an object to hide in it. When returned, the kids would line up, and one after the other they’d reach inside the box to feel the hidden object and try to guess what it was. If you guessed correctly you got to pick something out of Ms. Stacy’s prize bin, but if no one guessed correctly then the hider got the prize—and according to Liv and Abby, Ms. Stacy had the best prizes! They loved the mystery box, but they hated that Simon always pushed his way to the front of the line and got to go first.
Actually, Simon was the only thing my sisters didn’t seem to like about school. I’d heard that boy’s name more than any other. The kid wouldn’t leave them alone. According to their stories, he was always touching Abby’s papers and taking her pencils, bothering her when she was trying to do her work, and he pestered Livvy on the playground. But all my sisters got from Mom was your classic unhelpful-adult advice.
“Oh, girls. I’m sure that little boy likes you. That’s why he won’t leave you alone.”
That was all they got because Mom and Dad had bigger fish to fry than some twerp named Simon. The crate situation had not improved. Dad had relocated Jack to the main bathroom so our neighbors couldn’t hear his barking, but beyond that, nothing Dad tried seemed to help.
Whenever we left Jack, he went nuts. And I mean crazy nuts. Dad had started recording him with an old video camera so that we could see just how bad it was. Jack was a lunatic. Grabbing the bars in his mouth, biting and squeezing them. Slamming and pawing and jumping against the gate. And barking. His barking never stopped.
If we left anything inside the crate, it was destroyed. Towel ripped to shreds. Ducky gutted and no longer quacking. Dad even tried some special vest that was supposed to fit Jack snugly and calm him down. Forget it. Nothing worked.
“I called the vet to ask her advice,” Dad announced at dinner, sounding defeated. He and Mom were at their wits’ end. I was beginning to worry they might say we had to give Jack up if we couldn’t find a solution soon.
“And?” Mom asked.
“She suggested we try a frozen KONG filled with peanut butter.”
“That’s it? A KONG filled with frozen peanut butter is going to fix everything? Did you tell her how bad he is in the crate?”
“I told her we were struggling,” Dad said, lowering his head.
“Struggling! Andy, the dog goes berserk. You’ve seen him. He needs drugs.”
“The KONG is going to work,” Dad said, trying to sound optimistic.
I glanced down at Jack and I swear even he raised his eyebrows at the suggestion.
“Fine,” Mom said. “You try your amazing KONG trick, but when it doesn’t work—”
“I’ll call the vet back and ask her about starting an anxiety medicine.”
“No. You’ll tell her we want to start an anxiety medicine,” Mom said, putting her foot down.
“Maybe we should try leaving him out of the crate,” Livvy suggested.
Instantly, Jack’s tail started wagging.
“Fat chance,” Dad said. “Do you want him to destroy our house?”
“Maybe he won’t,” Abby said.
“Have you seen what he does to the things we leave in the crate? Out of the question,” Dad said.
Jack’s tail stopped.
If Dad had listened to my sisters, it would’ve saved him a lot of headaches. If Mom had listened to my sisters, maybe I wouldn’t have had to take the Simon situation into my own hands.
20
REPEAT INTERRUPTED
Two weeks of school without incident, without being noticed—and then that all changed. The classroom intercom beeped in the middle of science class.
“Excuse me, Mr. Morris,” interrupted a voice.
My teacher paused the video about volcanoes that we were watching. “Yes?” he replied.
“Would you please send Thea Ettinger down to the office?”
“Thea?” he repeated, clearly confused.
The man didn’t even know I existed—and I liked it that way. But annoying-intercom lady had just blown my cover. And with my classmates too.
“The weird girl’s name is Thea?” one of the dumb boys whispered.
“Guess so,” his buddy responded.
“Hey, Thea. See ya. Wouldn’t wanna be ya,” the first boy sang, which got laughs from the rest of the class.
No, you wouldn’t, I thought.
I didn’t acknowledge the jerks and I didn’t wait around for Mr. Morris to try anything stupid, like attempting to talk to me. I was a little bummed about missing the rest of the video but I grabbed my things and bolted.
I made my way to the office, wondering why I was even being called down. It wasn’t like I’d done anything wrong. I thought about not showing up, but that seemed like a surefire way to end up on people’s radars, so I sucked it up and went.
“Can I help you?” the woman behind the front desk asked when I entered. It was annoying-intercom lady. She even looked annoying.
I shrugged.
“Did you need something?”
Again, I shrugged.
“Well, I’m not a mind reader, so unless you start talking, I’m not—”
“Thea?” a different woman asked after entering the office behind me.
I turned around and nodded.
“Thank you, Rita,” the new woman said to the annoying one. “I’ll take it from here.”
I followed the new woman out of the main office and into a smaller room around the corner.
“Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the sofa beside her desk.
I sat.
“I’m Ms. Riley, the seventh-grade guidance counselor. I had you called down because I like to meet with all of our new students, just to check in and make sure everything is going well. So…how is everything going?”
I nodded.
“Off to a good start. You’re finding your way around okay?”
More nodding.
“No problems with classes?”
I shook my head.
“That’s good.” Ms. Riley shifted in her chair and flipped open a folder on her desk. “There was something else I wanted to mention. I was looking through your file and it says here that you recently endured a traumatic event. I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you if you’d like to talk about it.”
Like to talk about it? Was this woman for real? Was I talking at all? How dumb was she? Seriously, who certified these people? I got up from my seat and walked out. I was ready for her to try stopping me, but to her credit, Ms. Riley was smart enough to let me go.
Science was still in session, but I was in no shape to go back there, so I hid in the bathroom until it was over, my mind racing. The question I wanted answered was why had Mom given my old school permission to put anything about the accident in my file? There wasn’t anybody here that I’d ever want to talk to about Charlie. I was trying to move on from Charlie. I thought she knew that. The more I ruminated over it, the angrier I got. And I was ruminating all the way till dinner.
21
DINNER BLOW-UP
The peanut butter KONG didn’t help. It kept Jack busy for a few minutes, but then he spent the rest of the day going beserko—like usual.
“I’ll call the vet tomorrow,” Dad promised, once everyone was seated at the table and Jack had taken his spot by my chair.
Mom didn’t even acknowledge him. “How were your days?” she asked, turning to my sisters and me. She was beyond done with Dad and his stupid crate.
“I brought home the mystery box!” Abby exclaimed. “I get to hide something and if nobody guesses then I get to reach into Ms. Stacy’s prize bin.”
“Only if Simon doesn’t ruin it,” Livvy grumbled. “Last time he dumped the object out of the box so the rest of us didn’t get a turn.”
“That’s great,” Mom said.
That’s great. That was what she said. That’s great! Why? Because she wasn’t listening! I was frustrated for my sisters. And angry. I wasn’t even in their class and I was sick of this Simon kid. He was your classic behavioral issue that the teacher and school couldn’t handle. That was all fine and good until you were the one stuck putting up with the jerk. The boy probably had a file an inch thick. A file. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I was on my feet.
“The stupid guidance counselor called me into her office today,” I exploded, startling everyone at the table. After all, I didn’t talk. “She wanted to know about—” I stopped, fighting the sudden lump in my throat. “About the traumatic event mentioned in my file,” I croaked.
“What?” Mom exclaimed.
I glared at her.
“Thea, I didn’t think anyone would try talking to you about it. I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t keep the tears from coming. I turned from the table and ran to my room.
22
LOYAL JACK-JACK
I collapsed onto my bed, sobbing and clinging to my pillow. It wasn’t my parents who came after me, but Jack-Jack. He hopped up next to me and rooted and weaseled his way under my arms until he was snuggled between me and my pillow. He nosed my neck and licked my salty cheeks.
I pulled him close and squeezed him tight. “Jack-Jack, I don’t want to forget Charlie, but remembering him still hurts,” I whispered into his fur. “I wasn’t ready for Ms. Riley to ask about his accident.”
I sniffled and Jack licked my chin.
“You have Charlie’s eyes, Jack-Jack. Every time I look at you, I see him.” My voice caught.
Immediately, Jack gave me another round of kisses. I swear he was listening and doing his best to tell me it was going to be all right.
My loyal dog stayed by my side, never moving an inch. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep. The emotional roller coaster of the day had taken its toll and left me exhausted—but I did not find rest.
* * *
—
I’m standing on the bank of Clover Creek, watching Charlie cast and reel, in awe of his skill and the beauty of it. “Why do you like fishing so much?” I ask.
“It’s not just fishing; it’s nature,” Charlie says. “Nature doesn’t judge people. Doesn’t care what we look like or how much money we have. I like that.”
“You talk like some great philosopher. I’ll have to start calling you Charlie Aristotle or Charlie Plato,” I tease.
“I’m not any philosopher and I’m not even all that smart. I just see things different than most. It’s because of my eye,” he says, somehow keeping a straight face.
I laugh. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
He grins and continues fishing, but I find myself thinking more about what he said. “You know, there’s something else that treats people the same no matter looks or money.”
“Oh yeah. What?”
“A dog. I hope my parents let us get one again sometime soon.”
“That would be cool.”
The fog moves in then, wrapping around us like a blanket. I look down to see loose stone and dirt under my feet. I’m not by Clover Creek anymore, but standing on the side of the road. I can’t see, but I feel Charlie next to me—and then the black metal streaks by, ripping Charlie away.
I start running. I slip in the gravel, lose my balance, and fall down the embankment. I scramble back to my feet. Prickers grab at my legs, biting, trying to trap me, wanting to slow me down. I kick and thrash. I won’t stop. I can’t stop. I need to get help.
I kick and thrash harder, struggling to free my legs. And then I run. I run and run until I feel the wet fog against my neck and cheek, and soft whimpers reach me through the mist.
* * *
—
It was dark out, and late, when I stirred awake to find Jack-Jack still by my side, pressed against me. His soft cries told me he knew, and his gentle kisses told me it was okay now. I squeezed him tight, burying my face in his fur. We stayed like that until Jack lifted his head and looked toward the door.
“Thanks, buddy,” Dad whispered. “She could use a best friend, so you take care of her for me.”
Jack’s tail thumped lightly against the bed. I heard Dad sigh and then turn and walk back downstairs. I swallowed against the knot in my throat.
Jack-Jack never spent another night in his crate after that.
23
THE MYSTERY BOX SET-UP
I was up early the next morning, already in a sour mood. I’d gone to bed without any dinner, so I was a bit hangry. It didn’t help any when the first thing I spotted after venturing downstairs was Abby’s mystery box sitting on the floor near the front door. Most likely, Mom had told Abby to leave it there so she didn’t forget it. If Mom had been listening last night, she would’ve known there was no chance of that happening. Abby was beyond excited. But Mom hadn’t been listening because she didn’t care—not about any box or my sisters’ problems with Simon. My blood began to boil all over again.
