With the end of the Frisbee contests, I expect life to percolate back into the usual slow Coffee routine, but it doesn’t. Just before the Thanksgiving holidays, Mom comes home and says, “I have a special proclamation.”
I think she’s going to tell me that we’re moving back to California or she’s gotten a promotion at work or something. Instead, she announces that she’s leased a corner shop downtown and has decided to open a combination coffee bar and bookstore.
“I’m calling it ‘The Coffee Place’,” she tells Grandpa and me. “Get it? Isn’t that clever?”
“But how—”
“Grandpa here generously took out a loan on the house,” Mom explains. “After we get The Coffee Place fixed up and opened, we have about six months to start making a profit.”
“And then?” I ask her.
Mom chuckles. “Who knows? Six months seems like a lifetime right now. Who can predict farther than that?”
Looking back at my own last six months in Coffee, I can see her point. But what it means is that from thenuntil Christmas, Luke and I spend weekends, afternoons, and vacation days helping her and a bunch of contractors get the place in shape. Mom prints up flyers with coupons offering a 10 percent discount, and we hand them out all over town. We finally get the new books on the shelves on December 20, the night before the grand opening, and the shop looks pretty spiff. The next morning—winter solstice—I’m amazed what a hit The Coffee Place is. Mom puts Luke to work restocking shelves and helping people find books, and I operate the cash register. Man, people just pack the place. They gulp down gallons of espressos, mochas, and lattes and buy hundreds of dollars worth of books.
“Can you believe this?” I ask Luke. “Where’d all these people come from?”
“I don’t know, but they’re sure buying a lot of books.”
“And drinking a lot of coffee.”
“Don’t expect it to keep going like this,” Mom tells us one evening after we close up, and she’s right. After the Grand Opening and the Christmas shopping rush, things slow down a bit—but not nearly as much as she predicts. I’d always thought of Coffee as a hick town, but it turns out to have a lot more variety than I ever realized. Hippies, New Agers, bankers—just about every type of person you can think of—all start hanging out at The Coffee Place. I don’t know anything about business, but even I can see that Mom’s store is probably going to make it.
All this time I’ve pushed the possibility of Luke moving away to the back of my mind. Luke hasn’t said anything more about it and with each passing day I figure it’s that much more likely that he and his folks will decide to stay. One day, after work, though, Luke drops the bomb.
“We’re moving to Portland next week,” he tells me. The lead weight returns to my stomach, and I can see by the look on his face that he feels just as lousy as I do.
“Is it for sure?” I ask.
Luke nods. “Aw…yeah. My parents put our house on the market yesterday. Dad says we’ll rent a place in Portland until the house here sells.”
He tells me that his dad has decided to start a new veterinary practice after all, but his parents just need a change and want to get out of Coffee. It sounds all too familiar to me, but I try not to show my disappointment.
“But did I tell you?” Luke says. “My parents said I can get a dog again. Maybe even two.”
I smile. “That’s great.” If there’s anyone who should have a dog—or maybe even a hundred of them—it’s Luke.
My mom suggests we invite Luke and his family over for a little farewell dinner before they leave. She makes her famous baked macaroni and cheese and after we finish eating, Luke and I throw the ball for Streak one last time. In the backyard, we talk about how maybe we can visit each other in the summer. We also promise to write and e-mail each other, but it doesn’t make us feel much better. Before Luke goes, I give him a photo Mom took of Streak catching a Frisbee at the regional contest in Missoula. He wipes his eyes and mutters, “Thanks.” We shake hands and I feel stupid and sad doing it. What I really want to do is make him stay here, but I know I can’t. He has to go and I have to stay and suck it up.
The only thing that helps me feel less awful about Luke leaving is I’ve got lots of work to keep me busy. When classes start up again after New Year’s, The Coffee Place starts becoming a regular hangout for students from my school and the high school. They pour in every afternoon after last period and I’ve got to race to keep up with all the orders and clean off the tables. I also try to pay special attention to one particular customer.
Almost every day Catherine and her friends come in and sit in the same seats. Pretty soon I make a Reserved sign for their table to make sure no one else takes their spot. When the after-school rush slows down, I casually amble my way over there. We chat about classes, books, music, who likes who at school, and that sort of stuff. More and more, though, I notice Catherine talking to me instead of her girlfriends and once or twice, she even drops in by herself. One afternoon I get up my courage and invite her to a movie. To my surprise, she says yes. We go out that Friday night and have an even better time than I expect. After the movie, we sit at a local diner called 4 Bs and talk until almost 11:00. Afterward, I walk her home. I’m too nervous to try to kiss her or hold her hand, but I get the feeling she wouldn’t mind if I did.
The next morning—Saturday—I decide to take Streak for a walk in the park near Grandpa’s house. Three inches of fresh powder have fallen during the night, but the sun is out, turning Coffee into this dazzling winter wonderland.
I take a tennis ball with me and toss it for Streak along the way, thinking of Catherine and what a good time we had the night before. When I reach the park, though, I see someone throwing a Frisbee for his dog. It’s Brad and Shep.
For a moment, I consider turning around and finding a different park. Brad and I haven’t said a word to each other since our conversation at the Smoking Tree and that’s been fine with me. He’s stopped bullying me, but he never did ask for help with math and to tell you the truth, I never expected him to. I’m happy just having him out of my life and I’m guessing he feels the same way.
But today we’re the only two people anywhere in sight and it would seem way too obvious for me to turn around and walk away. Instead I suck the twenty-degree air into my lungs and shuffle through the powder up to Brad.
He glances at me, but quickly returns his eyes to Shep, who’s bounding back to him with a yellow Frisbee in his mouth.
I throw the ball for Streak and say, “How’s it going?”
Brad grunts, but I can’t tell if any real words come out. He takes the Frisbee from Shep and tosses it again. Shep bounds after it and catches it, and before I can stop him, Streak tears after him, kicking up a wave of white powder.
“Streak, come!” I call.
Streak ignores me and grabs Shep’s Frisbee right out of his mouth. I expect Brad to get mad, but he doesn’t. The dogs are soon ripping through the snow, having a great game of chase and steal-the-Frisbee. It’s not the first time Streak has shown me that dogs sometimes have more sense than people do, and I decide to try and follow his example.
“Shep’s looking real good,” I tell Brad. “You must have been working him a lot.”
I see a bit of pride show through on Brad’s face. “Yep. We’re going to kick your butt in the Frisbee contest next year.”
“Did you see that agility training in Missoula?”
A grin escapes from Brad’s face before he can pull it back. “Yeah. That was cool.”
“You ever think of doing that with Shep?”
Brad’s brief grin fades away and he shakes his head. “Too much work.”
We fall silent again.
Then I ask, “How’s school?”
“A waste of time, like always.”
That about exhausts my ideas for conversation, so we both stand there watching the dogs race in crazy arcs and circles through the snow. After a couple of minutes I whistle for Streak and
he reluctantly comes running. I give him a doggie treat and when Shep pants up behind him, I ask Brad if I can give Shep one, too.
Brad shrugs.
Shep wolfs down the treat and I scratch him on the head. I put Streak on his leash and say, “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
Brad tosses the Frisbee again. “Yeah.”
I walk away, feeling relieved our little encounter is over. I also feel something else, but can’t quite put my finger on what it is.
Streak and I head toward home and when we’re about a block away from our place I spot Grandpa and Mom out front working on a snowman.
“Hey, we need some help!” Mom calls to us when we get closer. “Grandpa’s out of practice.”
“Speak for yourself, April,” Grandpa says, gamely trying to scoop some snow together.
I’ve never built a snowman before and neither has Streak and it looks like fun. We jump in, rolling up the largest snowballs possible. We get a good base built and plop the torso on top of that. Then I roll up a head about the size of a bowling ball.
As Mom and I position the snowman’s head on top of his body, I suddenly figure out what it was I was feeling earlier. It doesn’t have to do just with Brad and the Frisbee contest, or with The Coffee Place or Catherine, either—though they’re all part of it. It’s just everything together and what’s happened over the last six months. Even though Luke is gone and I still miss my dad and California, what I figure out is this:
Whether I like it or not, Montana is starting to feel like home.
About the Author
SNEED B. COLLARD III is a biologist, world traveler, speaker, and author of more than fifty books for young people, including THE PRAIRIE BUILDERS, A PLATYPUS PROBABLY, and BEAKS!—all Junior Library Guild selections. He also wrote the YA novel FLASH POINT. Collard graduated with Honors in marine biology from the University of California at Berkeley and also a holds a master’s degree from U.C. Santa Barbara. He now resides in Missoula, Montana, and was recently honored with the distinguished Lud Browman Award for his achievements in scientific writing. His first novel DOG SENSE was inspired by Mattie, his brilliant Frisbee-catching Border collie.
To learn more about Sneed, explore his website, www.sneedb-collardiii.com.
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