The Vanderbeekers to the Rescue

by Karina Yan Glaser

“It was closed down,” Oliver told him. “Health violations because of the animals.”

  Orlando ran his hands through his hair and looked away from the Vanderbeekers. “Oh no. What did I do?”

  “It’s okay,” Hyacinth said, patting his arm. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Jessie glared at her siblings. “What do you mean, it’s not his fault?” Then she looked back at Orlando and pointed a finger at his chest. “You ruined Mama’s inspection. Her business was destroyed because of those animals!”

  “I’m so sorry, Jessie. I didn’t know—”

  “And why did you tell me you were out of town?” Jessie interrogated. “You lied to me.”

  “Jessie, chill,” Oliver said.

  “I will not chill!” Jessie yelled.

  “I will make it up to you, I promise,” Orlando said, his eyes pleading. “Let me explain.”

  Everyone looked at Jessie, and she finally huffed and said, “Fine. But this better be good.”

  After breathing a sigh of relief, Orlando said, “Come with me.” He turned around, and they followed him down the street until he stopped at the end of the block, where there was an abandoned parking lot filled with broken bottles and trash.

  “Well, that’s gross,” Jessie said. “This is what you wanted to show us?”

  Orlando ignored her. “Did you know this lot is where the most animals are abandoned in the whole entire city?”

  “Why?” Hyacinth asked.

  Orlando pointed across the street. “Because Manhattan’s Animal Care Center is right there, and when someone needs to give up their pet, that’s where they go. But sometimes the owners don’t want to go inside and fill out paperwork or pay the owner-surrender fee, so they leave the animals chained to this fence and hope the shelter employees see them and bring them inside.”

  Jessie softened. The Animal Care Center was not great, but being abandoned in a dirty lot was much, much worse.

  “Sometimes they get brought inside and processed for adoption,” Orlando said, “but there’s not enough space for all the animals that are getting abandoned, so the animals left out here are usually euthanized right away. I was tired of walking by this lot and seeing the animals here. And since I couldn’t take them home, I thought maybe your family could.”

  “Why didn’t you call me instead of leaving them outside our door?” Jessie asked.

  There was a long pause.

  “Because I felt like I ask you for too much already,” Orlando finally said. “I eat at your house all the time. Your dad pays me to help him do chores, even though I know he doesn’t need help. Your mom bought me these shoes! But I couldn’t let those animals stay outside like that. I knew you would take care of them.”

  “Well, Mama definitely did not pay full price for those shoes,” Jessie told him, pointing at his sneakers.

  “Yeah, she bought me these shoes from the bargain bin when I was six years old,” Oliver piped in, pointing at his own sneakers. “It took four years for me to grow into them. Anyway, if we didn’t like hanging out with you, we wouldn’t let you eat dinner with us.”

  “That’s true,” Hyacinth said. “Oliver used to hate Herman Huxley, and you should have seen how mean he was to him.”

  “We like having you around,” Jessie told Orlando. “And you help me with science all the time. I like being science partners with you. It’s not like we’re tallying up friendship scorecards or anything.”

  Orlando looked away and coughed, and Jessie thought a mood lightener might be in order. “What’s the deal with the chickens, Orlando?”

  Her words worked, because he choked out a laugh. “There’s a poultry processing plant not too far from here,” he told them. “Sometimes the chickens escape.”

  “And you thought they would be good in our backyard . . . why?” Jessie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Orlando said. “They looked so lonely wandering around. I was worried they would get run over by a car or that someone would make them into dinner.”

  “I’m never eating chicken again,” Laney declared.

  “I like having the chickens in our backyard,” Hyacinth said. “They peck at my sneakers.”

  “We hope they lay eggs,” Jessie said. “We gave them nesting cubes.”

  Orlando finally noticed New Dog and patted her head. Franz, jealous that he had to compete for head rubs with New Dog, pushed his nose into Orlando’s hand. “This girl was being bullied by an off-leash dog when I first saw her,” Orlando told them. “I couldn’t let her stay chained to the fence.”

  “I’m glad you saved her,” Laney told him.

  “We’ll find her a home,” Orlando said. “Right, buster?”

  Hyacinth froze. Where had she heard that name before? Then she remembered.

  Mr. Huxley!

  “Buster! That’s it!” Hyacinth yelled. “We need to get Isa, now!” She sprinted down the street with both dogs chasing her.

  “Hyacinth!” Oliver called as he ran to catch up.

  “We need to get Isa! Then we’re going to convince Mr. Huxley to give us that storefront!” Hyacinth yelled back.

  And just like that, the Vanderbeekers, plus Orlando, Franz, and New Dog, were off again, running full speed toward Isa and her audition.

  Thirty-One

  It was unfortunate that when Isa got nervous, her palms got really sweaty. Sweaty palms did not go well with violin playing.

  The audition was running behind, and Isa was sitting in what looked like a kindergarten classroom while she waited for her name to be called. In the room with her were a flutist who was obsessively playing three notes over and over again and another violinist practicing with his mother. The mom was scowling and correcting his posture, and Isa felt a little sorry for him. There was also a cellist, but he wasn’t practicing. He was playing a video game on his phone.

  Her scheduled audition time had been twenty minutes ago, and she had a feeling she might be next. Benny hadn’t been able to stay—he had a shift at the bakery—and she had been sitting in a too-small chair by herself for forty-five minutes. Isa wiped her sweaty palms on a cloth she kept in her violin case. The door to the classroom opened, and everyone’s heads swiveled toward it. A woman wearing her hair in a ponytail and carrying a clipboard stuck her head inside.

  “Isa Vanderbeeker?” she said.

  “That’s me,” Isa said.

  “You’re next.”

  Isa wiped her palms on the cloth one more time, then grabbed the neck of her violin, hooked the bow on her finger, slung her violin case over her shoulder, and made her way out the door and down a long, dark hallway. Her shoes echoed on the cold linoleum behind the other woman. She began to hear music as they approached the end of the hall, and when they turned the corner, the sound grew louder. The woman with the clipboard stopped in front of a door.

  “Wait here,” she told Isa, then disappeared around the corner, giving Isa no further instructions.

  Isa waited, and a few minutes later, the music stopped. There were some rumblings of conversation, and then the door opened. A boy about her age with hair that looked as if he hadn’t combed it in two weeks stepped out of the room. He flashed her a smile, held the door open for her, and said “Good luck” as she passed him.

  “Come on in,” said a rumbly voice that she would have recognized anywhere. It was Mr. Rochester—the very Mr. Rochester the Vanderbeekers had deceived a year and a half earlier when they had pointed him in the wrong direction when he had had an appointment to see and possibly rent their beloved apartment. He was sitting with two other people: a young woman with curly red hair wearing her coat and a scarf and a hat and gloves, and an older man. A cane hung from the armrest of the older man’s chair. They sat behind tables that faced away from the windows.

  “Sorry it’s so cold in here,” Mr. Rochester said without looking up from the notes he was making on a piece of paper. “This room smelled like rotten food, and we need the windows open to make it bearable.” “We hope it’s not too c
old for you.” The woman shivered as she wrapped her hands around a mug.

  “Isa Vanderbeeker, right?” Mr. Rochester asked, finally looking up at her.

  Isa swallowed and nodded.

  Mr. Rochester glanced at her over the top of his glasses. “Have we met before?”

  Isa tried to croak out an answer, but before she could, the woman said, “We’re running twenty minutes late. You may begin.”

  Isa was tempted to wipe her palms on her dress, but she didn’t. First, because it was not professional to wipe your hands on your dress in front of judges, and second, because the dress belonged to Allegra, who probably did not want Isa’s sweaty handprints on it. Instead, Isa picked up her violin, closed her eyes for a brief second, and took a deep breath.

  The Violin Concerto in B Minor, third movement, by Camille Saint-Saëns, begins dramatically. Isa closed her eyes, and she let the image of a crashing storm pummeling the city appear in her mind. She let the piece retreat and grow, remembering Mr. Van Hooten’s advice to really linger on the notes and not worry about what was coming up later in the piece.

  By the time she had reached the second half, the tempo increased to rapid marcato notes that bounced on the strings. Isa relished the opportunity to play without New Dog barking, without thumps from Laney’s gymnastics above her, without interruptions from her siblings.

  She approached the climax of the piece, her fingers moving so quickly that her brain didn’t seem to register what her body was doing. Then something that was not her violin’s music nudged its way into her ears. At first it was a low buzzing, and Isa pushed it away. But the noise only grew louder, until she could ignore it no longer.

  She knew that noise. Isa glanced up from her instrument for one fatal moment.

  In the window was New Dog, her front paws resting on the windowsill, her head tilted to the sky, barking along with Isa’s violin. Franz was too short to see, but she knew he was there because his howls came through the window loud and clear. Jessie and Orlando were collectively trying to pull New Dog away from the window while Hyacinth did the same with Franz. Isa could glimpse the top of Oliver’s head as he (unsuccessfully) hid behind a bush, and Laney was jumping up and down and waving at Isa as if they had been separated for months.

  Isa’s usual demeanor was steady, calm, and able, but those particular characteristics eluded her at the moment. She was like a violin string wound too tight, ready to snap.

  And snap she did, because before she knew it, she burst into big, chest-heaving laughter. The following week, when Isa had had time to process it all, she would blame her reaction entirely on the stress and pressure of the previous five days. She continued to the very last note despite her mini-breakdown. Mr. Van Hooten had trained her to complete auditions even if there was a wardrobe malfunction, a missing accompanist, or, apparently, dogs barking maniacally at her. In the end, it probably didn’t matter. The judges weren’t paying attention; they were standing at the window.

  The older man was lecturing her siblings, pointing his cane at them and talking loudly to make himself heard over the raucous barking.

  “This is quite unprofessional,” the woman said, glancing at her watch.

  Mr. Rochester didn’t say anything, but when he turned back to look at Isa, she saw that he had placed his memory of her. He absolutely knew they were the family that had sabotaged his apartment hunting less than two years ago. And just like that, Isa’s laughter fizzled to flatness.

  “Thank you for coming in,” he told Isa, sitting back down to fill out his audition notes. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Isa bit her lip and turned to the door. When she opened it, the flutist was standing there, chewing at her pinky fingernail.

  “Good luck,” Isa told her.

  Isa made it only a few steps away from the door when all her siblings, plus Orlando and the dogs, came crashing down the corridor.

  “Oh my gosh, Isa, I’m so sorry,” Jessie said, breathless.

  “Did we mess up your audition?” Hyacinth asked, worried. “I don’t know what got into New Dog.”

  “Of course we messed up her audition. Or at least, she did,” Oliver said, pointing at New Dog.

  New Dog whimpered and let her legs slide on the linoleum until she flattened herself against the floor.

  “She runs really fast,” Laney added.

  “She probably smelled Isa,” Orlando told Oliver. “Dog noses have three hundred million olfactory receptors.”

  “Well, she could have heard her,” Jessie said. “Dogs can hear four times the distance of a human with normal hearing. And you know how much she loves Isa’s violin.”

  “We’re sorry,” Hyacinth said to Isa. “Really, really sorry.”

  Isa looked back at them. They did look very apologetic, especially the two dogs. Her mind flashed back to what Mr. Van Hooten had said the day before, right before their connection was cut off: Do your best, and remember the important things.

  “It’s okay,” Isa said. “I forgive you.”

  “Good,” Oliver said. “Because we need your help.”

  * * *

  As they speed-walked to Herman’s apartment, Hyacinth did her best to explain her idea.

  “Remember when we were hiding at Herman’s place and his dad came in? And remember how he looked at New Dog and called her Buster?”

  “Yeah,” Isa said.

  “It was bugging me,” Hyacinth said, “and this morning it struck me: New Dog must remind him of a childhood dog or something. You know how Papa always talks about his dog growing up?”

  “Leroy,” Oliver said. “A schnauzer.”

  “What a name,” Orlando said.

  “Leroy understood every word in the English language,” Laney informed Orlando.

  “He was pretty much a perfect angel, according to Papa’s stories,” Isa added. “A real-life Lassie or Benji.”

  “So you’re thinking,” Jessie said to Hyacinth, “that we can soften Mr. Huxley up by bringing New Dog back there, hoping she sparks memories of a beloved childhood dog that may or may not be named Buster, then create enough goodwill in him that he might consider letting us lease a space for Mama’s bakery?”

  Hyacinth looked back at Jessie. “Yes?”

  “I like it,” Jessie said, and her siblings and Orlando agreed.

  They turned their attentions to New Dog and scrutinized her appearance. Laney, who had a hairbrush in her backpack, fluffed up New Dog’s short fur to make her more presentable.

  They were ready to face Mr. Huxley.

  Thirty-Two

  The Vanderbeekers, Orlando, and the dogs were almost at the front door of Herman’s building when a water balloon fell to the ground in front of them and burst, getting nearly all of them wet. Laney and Hyacinth screamed. The dogs yelped.

  “Hi!” Herman said, waving from the fourth-floor balcony. “Sorry to splash you!”

  “What is wrong with you?” Oliver demanded.

  “My building key is attached to the balloon,” Herman called out. “I didn’t want you to buzz in and tip off my dad.”

  Hyacinth looked on the ground, and there was the key, tied to a broken piece of balloon.

  “You couldn’t find a better way of getting us the key?” Jessie yelled, shaking drops of water from the bottom of her pants.

  “It was the only thing I had handy,” Herman explained.

  Jessie rolled her eyes, then used the key to enter the building. They synchronized their watches. Isa, Laney, Orlando, and the dogs stayed in the lobby, while Hyacinth, Oliver, and Jessie entered the shiny elevator and went up to the fourth floor.

  Hyacinth rang the doorbell, and Herman, even though he was expecting them, did not answer. That was part of the plan.

  Mr. Huxley opened the door, which was also part of the plan. Hyacinth could tell from his face that he was Not in the Mood to Talk, which was something the Vanderbeekers had accounted for.

  “Herman is studying for state tests right now,” Mr. Huxley told them.
>
  “He’s studying during spring break?” Oliver blurted out. Hyacinth nudged him in the ribs. “I mean, that’s very . . . smart of him.”

  “It’s an important academic year,” Mr. Huxley said.

  The Vanderbeekers nodded solemnly, as if they knew exactly what he meant. Which they didn’t.

  “I have a meeting to prepare for,” Mr. Huxley said, and he started to shut the door.

  Getting the door shut in their face was not part of the plan, and in an act of bravery that surprised even her, Hyacinth stuck out her foot to prevent it from closing.

  “Can we ask you one thing?” Hyacinth said. Mr. Huxley looked as if he was going to say no, so Hyacinth hurried on. “Herman showed us some of your real estate listings, and there’s one that we were really interested in.”

  Mr. Huxley sniffed. “I don’t rent to kids.”

  Hyacinth knew that also translated into I don’t rent to Vanderbeekers, but she didn’t let that stop her. “It wouldn’t be for us; it would be for my mom. She’s a professional baker.”

  “She’s amazing,” Oliver said.

  “If you tell us your favorite cookie, Mama can make them for you,” Hyacinth said. “For free.”

  “Renting retail space is expensive, much more expensive than cookies,” Mr. Huxley told them, as if the Vanderbeekers did not know that.

  “We were looking at the space on 143rd Street,” Jessie said. “The really rundown one. Herman showed it to us. He said you were offering six months of free rent in return for renovations.” She pulled the freshly printed business plan from her book bag. “Everything is in our business plan. Our goals and how we’ll meet each one,” Jessie told him. “The third page is particularly exciting, if I may say so myself.” She handed him the document.

  Mr. Huxley made no move to take it.

  “I’m sure you’ll find renting to us mutually beneficial,” Oliver said. “That property would get cleaned up and renovated for free.”

  Mr. Huxley was not swayed. “That property is not a priority,” he said. “It makes me no money.”

  “So you’ll let us have it?” Laney asked.