“Dakota!”
I hear her muffled voice. “I think I got it.”
“DAKOTA! DAKOTA!” I shout as the big metal mechanical arms lift the blue bin she’s inside.
“OH NO! STOP! STOP!” I wave wildly to the driver, a big guy moving his head to a song’s beat.
Cupcake is twisting around, barking in every direction. I hammer my fist against the window. The driver finally sees me.
“Whhhaa?” He pulls a lever that stops the metal arm.
Dakota’s bin hovers in the air.
“MY SISTER IS IN THE RECYCLING BIN!” I yell.
He pulls his earbuds out, jumps down from the cab, and walks to the back.
“Can you get me out?” Dakota’s voice is small and scared.
“You people,” he mutters, climbing up the side of the truck and reversing the arm. He brings the bin back down to the ground with a lurching jolt.
Then he hurries back to us. “I’m gonna lift you out,” he tells Dakota.
“I got to hold on to Marilyn,” Dakota says.
“Who?” He looks back at me. “Somebody else in there?”
“No,” I say. “Marilyn is in the newspaper.”
“She’s dead,” Dakota explains.
The driver shakes his head. “I knew this was going to be a bad morning. Didn’t I, Mama?” He taps his truck. Then he lifts Dakota out of the bin and gently places her down. “You okay, little girl?”
Dakota nods. She’s got little curds of cottage cheese clinging to her hair. Her face is filthy with newspaper ink. She’s holding the newspaper in her hand.
“I got it!” She grins. “But who’s Mama?”
“She my truck,” the recycling man says.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Dakota pats the side of the green truck.
“Okay.” The man smiles at Dakota and pats her head. Then he turns to me. “Take her home, get her cleaned up. She is a sight.”
Dakota beams through the white cottage cheese speckles and baked beans hanging from her hair. Cupcake sniffs her shoes.
“C’mon, we got to go,” I say.
Cupcake has been quiet, but when I untie her and we take off, she starts barking again and pulling me along. Dakota has both arms hugging the newspapers against her chest.
When we get to our apartment building, we tromp down the stairs and turn the knob as quietly as possible. But as soon as the door swings open, Mom and Izzy are there with their coats on. Mom’s purse is over her shoulder; Izzy is holding Mom’s hand.
“Oh, thank God you’re all right.” Mom’s voice trembles.
We nod.
“Where were you?” she whispers.
The look on Mom’s face makes me feel terrible. We scared her half to death.
“What happened?” she asks us.
“Mommy, Dakota smells.” Izzy uses her fingers to close off her nostrils. Dakota is making our apartment smell like spoiled food.
Dakota gives me a sideways glance. “I got kind of dirty, but we got the papers. We got more money for Cupcake.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about and frankly I don’t care. You are not under any circumstance to leave this apartment after dark without me, ever. EVER!”
“But we got valuable papers we can sell! The money—” Dakota squeaks.
Mom puts her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear one more word about that money.”
Dakota’s mouth clamps shut.
“And you…” She turns to me. “You know better.”
“But, but I found newspapers worth a lot,” Dakota says. “They are famous.”
I nod. “Dakota figured out some of the newspapers are valuable. The ones on the days of important history.”
“You are not to put yourself in dangerous situations for any reason. ANY REASON! Do you understand?”
We nod. Better not to argue with Mom when she’s this upset.
“Dakota, you have simply got to learn to follow instructions.”
“I do follow instructions. My instructions.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it! Say this will never happen again. Both of you. Say you will never go out alone at night.”
“This will never happen again,” we both say.
“And?”
“And we will never go out alone at night.”
Our mom stares at Dakota, then at me. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? Anything could happen out there in the middle of the night. Why would you want to put me through this?”
“We didn’t think you’d know,” I offer, but as soon as the words come out I know this was a stupid thing to say.
“Rubbish! Just rubbish!” she shouts.
I hang my head.
“Take showers. Both of you. We’ll talk more about this after school.”
Mom grounds us for a whole week, which doesn’t bother Dakota but about kills me. The weather is sunny and my team holds practice without me!
When we ask Mom about Torpse’s deadline, she says she’ll go talk to him. But every time she knocks on the door, there’s no answer.
Mom lets us sell the historic newspapers on eBay, so it could be worse. And then, when Crash is supposed to watch us, he takes us to the park with the tennis court, so I get to play a little bit. At school Mr. Gupta asks me why I had to miss and I have to tell him. What else could I do?
He listens closely to the entire story. Then he nods and says, “Landlord problems are a lot for a fifth grader to deal with. I am sorry, Liam. Do you think you can make next practice?”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
“Good.” He smiles.
* * *
But today it’s raining again, so no practice. Just my luck.
It’s a week and a half after the day Torpse said we had to get rid of Cupcake, and he hasn’t said one word about it. He must have been bluffing.
Now we have $327.93, which isn’t enough for UC Davis, but it might be enough to get Mom’s attention. She can’t give Cupcake away if we earned this much money…can she?
We’re discussing the money when Izzy starts talking about a second person again. “I’m tired of Apples to Apples,” I say. “Couldn’t we play something else?”
Izzy looks confused.
“Go get one of the Brownies,” I tell her.
She gets her brown horse and I get some old tennis balls and we go up on to the driveway. Izzy sets her horse up to watch me practice my serve toss. And then she chases the balls down for me and sets them in a neat line for me to throw again. When there are no balls to chase, she works on tying her shoelaces. She has it now, and she keeps practicing so she won’t forget.
After a while, Dakota comes out to join us. “I wonder how long it will take for a big company to buy my hover umbrella,” she says.
“You haven’t even designed it yet.”
“I know. But Mr. Gupta will help. He says I should think hard about machines that hover.”
“Like what…a helicopter?”
She nods.
“Helicopters are even more expensive than drones. But it would be awesome to have a helicopter hovering over you everywhere you go,” I say.
She nods. “I was wondering if you are a flying bug in a car and the car is moving forward, will you move forward with the car or be slammed back. Because maybe there could be—”
“Second person. Second person. Second person,” Izzy says.
“Izzy, I’m trying to think of something,” Dakota says.
“Second person!” Izzy takes a deep breath and gets up in my face. “Mommy and I go to the doctor and the doctor say one thing.” She counts on her fingers. “Mommy says second person.”
“Yeah, so?” Dakota says.
“No, wait.” I put my hand up. “What do you mean, Iz
zy?”
“When doctor say one thing, Mommy say second doctor.”
“Oh,” I gasp. “A second opinion. Izzy wants us to get a second opinion for Cupcake.”
Izzy’s face relaxes.
Dakota’s head pops up. “Another vet’s opinion. We have the money for that. Izzy, that’s brilliant!”
“Second person.” Izzy and I high-five, her face glowing like it has ten lightbulbs inside.
After school Mom and Cupcake are supposed to pick us up and take us to Cupcake’s vet appointment.
We wait in the car line for Mom’s little red car. Instead, Dad’s blue car roars up. Dad’s car is loud because he needs a new muffler.
Dad cranks down his window. Cupcake is in the car on top of the cardboard that covers the broken seat. Dad’s car is clean because Dakota and Izzy and I washed it last weekend.
I like Dad’s car because it’s old, so no airbags, which means I get to sit in the front.
“I got dibs on the front on the way back,” Dakota says as she and Izzy pile in.
“Is Mom okay?” I ask as I buckle in.
“She’s fine. She had to work. Two waitresses called in sick. I’m helping her out,” Dad says.
“Do you know we have Cupcake’s vet appointment today?” I ask.
“Why do you think I brought the dog?”
Dakota nods. “What about the pee samples. Did you bring them?”
“Say what?”
“The pee samples. The vet is going to need them. I have before Cupcake got sick and after.”
“Your mother didn’t say anything about that. Did the vet request these samples?” Dad asks.
“It’s a new vet. She doesn’t know she needs them yet,” Dakota says.
“Ahh,” Dad says. “Don’t you think we better let the veterinarian do her job? That’s what you’re paying her for, Dakota.”
Dakota leans forward. “It’s important. We won’t get another chance.”
“It’s way out of our way, honey.”
Dakota scowls. She wraps her arms tightly around herself. Then she perks up again. “Did you hear how we made the money for this?”
“Your mom told me all about it. Look, give us a minute, Dakota. Liam is eager to hear about the latest changes to insurance policy.”
I peek over, hoping he’s being sarcastic.
He isn’t.
But he can’t get a word in because Dakota is telling him all about how we made money. Then she waits for him to say how brilliant she is.
He looks over at me. “Mr. Torpse said you couldn’t have a dog.”
“Unless she stops peeing in the house,” Dakota jumps in.
“I’ve got a buddy who has ten acres up in Sonoma. Cupcake could have her run of the place. And you three could spend all that money you made on a new TV.”
“No!” Dakota shouts. “Mom said we had another chance!”
I try to stay calm. Dad likes it better when we don’t shout.
Dad keeps going. “I know Liam wants a new tennis racket. And there’s probably something you and Izzy want.”
“No he doesn’t,” Dakota butts in.
I think about a new racket. Would I have won that tiebreaker with Moses if I’d had a better racket?
Then I try to imagine Cupcake running free on a farm. No. She loves us. She wants to be with us all the time. She wouldn’t be happy without us, and we would be miserable without her.
No one to greet us when we get home. No one to pet when things go wrong. No thank-you visits after we feed her. No morning wake-up nose in our faces. It’s bad enough not living with Dad, but not having a dog…That is just too sad.
“Mom said we could take her to the vet,” I say.
Dad nods. “I know, Liam. I’ve got the dog and your bag of money. I’m just presenting another alternative here.”
* * *
When we get to the vet, we all pile out of the car. Dakota snatches the money bag, and we head for the waiting room. Then the veterinarian’s assistant, who has dogs tattooed on both arms, lets us into a room with a metal table and glass jars full of dog biscuits. When Dr. Judy comes in, Dakota starts talking right in her face, so close that a drop of spit flies onto the vet’s glasses.
“I took her samples before and after she became incontinent. I have Cupcake’s pee marked before and Cupcake’s pee marked after. But Dad wouldn’t let me bring them. Will you charge extra if we have to come again?”
The vet takes a step back. She takes off her glasses and cleans them.
“What’s inconanent?” Izzy asks.
“It means when Cupcake pees everywhere,” I explain.
“A cupcake made of pee. Yucky,” she says.
Dakota doesn’t even hear this, she’s so intent on the vet. “I did not know exactly what to test,” she says, “but I observed differences. Before was slightly cloudy. After was clearer.”
Dr. Judy raises her eyebrows at Dad and then turns back to Dakota. “I like the way you’re approaching the problem. But there are a lot of factors that may have come into play here. Were the jars clean? How old are the samples? Was she fed the same thing on both days? Then, too, if she’s drinking a lot of water, her urine is likely to be clearer.”
Dakota nods, taking this in.
“Actually…” The vet opens the manila folder labeled Cupcake Rose and runs her finger down the notes. “Your previous vet sent her records. The medicine Cupcake was on has significant side effects. Increased urination is one of them.”
Dakota and I look at each other. “That’s what we thought,” I say.
“Have you noticed her panting more than usual?”
We nod.
“There’s another medication, which doesn’t have those side effects.”
“Why’d they give her medicine that makes her pee all the time?” Dakota asks.
“Not every dog experiences this. And not everybody knows about the new meds. Besides, the old medicine is cheaper than the alternative, so we generally recommend it first.”
“How much more expensive is the new one?” I ask.
“It costs ninety-eight dollars,” she says. “For six months. Till her digestion stabilizes.”
“And today’s visit is?” Dad asks.
“One hundred dollars.”
“We have enough!” Dakota swings the big plastic bag of quarters and dollar bills in Dad’s face.
“I don’t think we’ve ever received payment in quarters before. Quite the kids you have,” Dr. Judy whispers to my father.
Dad laughs. “Don’t I know it.”
* * *
Cupcake is curled up in the back, stinking up the car we just washed. Dakota is so excited she forgets she had dibs on the front seat. Dad drives us to the special doggy pharmacy. Dakota counts out more quarters and Dad goes in to get the medicine.
“Dakota?” Izzy asks. “Am I smart enough to be a nerd?”
Dakota rolls the window down and I take a deep breath of fresh, non-doggy-smelling air.
Dakota reaches over to touch Cupcake. “You get automatic membership because you’re my sister.”
“Me.” Izzy pats her chest. “Am I a nerd?”
Dakota takes a deep breath. Her eyes flash on mine. “We wouldn’t even be here without you, Izzy. You’re the one who said we should get a second opinion.”
“I did?”
“You did.”
I nod. “She’s definitely a full member.”
Izzy grins. “What about Dad?”
“Dad?” Dakota asks.
“He a nerd or a Greek?”
“Am I a what or a what?” Dad looks in the window. He has the medicine and a bowl of water.
“I don’t think we know for sure yet,” Dakota says.
Cupcake gets out to take her me
dicine. As the dog laps up water, Izzy says, “I hope.” She uses her left hand to cross the fingers of her right hand. Then she holds her crossed fingers in the air.
“What did she say?” Dad asks me.
“We need French fries.”
Dakota laughs as Cupcake scrambles back into the car.
I think Dad’s going to ignore me, but a few minutes later he pulls up to the burger drive-through.
“French fries!” Dakota and Izzy yell.
“Didn’t get a chance to cook today.” He winks at me.
We are each gripping a burger bag and a drink when we turn onto our street. Dad stomps on the brakes to avoid the traffic. There are so many apartments on Las Flores that the street gets congested. My phone buzzes with a text from Dodge. Walkin to ur house.
I text back. Gd.
There are people in yellow vests doing street work, a furniture delivery truck trying to maneuver around some orange cones, and a lot of cars stuck waiting. “Mind if I drop you here?” Dad asks. “I don’t want to get caught in that mess.”
Dad pulls over and we pile out. Dakota holds the medicine. I grab Cupcake’s leash.
“See you next week.” Dad waves.
“Bye, Dad! Bye!” we call as he drives away.
We’re at the top of the hill when I spot Moses.
I do a double take, hoping I’m wrong. But this time it really is him. I look around for a place to hide. There’s a stairway up ahead. If only we can get there. “C’mon,” I say.
“Hey, Moses! Moses!” Dakota waves.
Moses turns. “Liam!”
My face feels sweaty, my stomach queasy.
Moses trots back to us. “Hey.”
I wish I could dissolve into liquid and pour down the storm drain.
“Moses! You remember me, right?” Dakota hops up to him.
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