Cages

by Peg Kehret

  As they leashed the last set of cage-mates and started back to the kennel, Mr. Morrison said, “It’s time for these old bones to sit. I wouldn’t want to disappoint any dogs who have been waiting for their concert.” He took his campstool to the kennel and positioned it in the center of the walkway.

  “I’m going to play with Lady for awhile before I leave,” Kit said.

  Mr. Morrison began a rousing chorus of “Beer Barrel Polka,” while Kit got Lady. As she walked toward the door, with Lady trotting at her side, Mr. Morrison stopped in the middle of his tune.

  “Ah, Kit. Look there, girl,” he said, pointing at Lady. “You’ve earned the love light.”

  Puzzled, Kit looked at Lady. “What light?” she said.

  “In her eyes, girl. In her eyes. See how her expression changes when she looks at you? It’s the love light shining from within.” He played a few random notes on the harmonica. “Lucky we are when we’re seen through the light of love,” he said, “be it shining in the eyes of human or beast. Some folks go all their days without ever seeing it directed at them. It’s a splendid, special look. Cherish it.”

  He began playing, “Sweet Sixteen,” and Kit hummed along as she led Lady out to the exercise yard.

  As Kit played with Lady, she paid careful attention to the way Lady looked at her. Mr. Morrison was right. Lady’s whole face seemed to glow from within whenever Kit spoke to her. The love light was indeed a splendid, special look.

  That night, she told Tracy about Lady and about what Mr. Morrison had said. Tracy had come over to do homework together, but as usual, they spent most of the time talking about other things.

  When Kit tried to explain the love light, Tracy nodded. “I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “I never heard it called that before, but I’ve seen it.”

  “You have? Where? Who?”

  “When my cousin got married. I got chills up my arms when I saw how he and his bride looked at each other. It was so—so adoring. Like they’d love each other always, no matter what happened.”

  “You sound like Frankie,” Kit said.

  “You’re right. I didn’t think of it until now but at my cousin’s wedding, I saw what Frankie sees in the play. Love light.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Kit said. “And it’s exactly the way Lady looks at me.”

  “Personally, I’d rather see some love light in the eyes of a tall, dark and handsome young man,” Tracy said, “but if you can’t have that, a dog will do.”

  “Lady is such a sweet dog,” Kit said. “It just breaks my heart to see how she looks at me when I leave.”

  “I’m really proud of you for volunteering there,” Tracy said. “It must be awful to see all the unwanted dogs and cats in cages. I don’t think I could do it. No wonder they love you.”

  Before Kit could respond, Tracy jumped up and cried, “Oh, I can’t stand it! I have to tell you!”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I am so proud of you for volunteering that I did something about it.” She assumed her Harriet Headline voice. “HONORS HEAPED ON UNSELFISH GIRL,” she cried. “POPE GRANTS SAINTHOOD.”

  Apprehension flitted on the edges of Kit’s mind. “What do you mean?” she said. “What did you do?”

  Tracy’s eyes danced and she spoke slowly, as if she wanted to drag out the suspense.

  “You know the Good Citizen Award at school? The one they give at Awards Night on the last day of school, when they give the Ninth Grade Scholarship and the sports letters and all?”

  Kit nodded warily while her insides rollercoastered.

  “You might get it.” Tracy beamed, looking as if she would explode at any minute if she didn’t get to tell more.

  “Me? Why would I get it?”

  “Because I nominated you.” Tracy plunked down on the edge of Kit’s bed. “I saw the nomination blanks in the school office. It was the same day you told me you were going to do volunteer work with homeless animals and I thought, if anybody deserves a Good Citizen Award, it’s Kit. So I put down why I was nominating you and today in the mail, there was a letter saying that you are one of the finalists.”

  Triumphantly, Tracy whisked the letter from her purse and thrust it at Kit.

  Kit opened it and began to read. We are happy to inform you that your nominee, Kit Hathaway, has been chosen as a finalist for the Good Citizen of the Year Award. We agree that her volunteer work at The Humane Society is worthy of recognition. The winner will be announced . . .

  Kit quit reading and looked at Tracy. She was serving a sentence for shoplifting; she couldn’t possibly accept any kind of award for volunteer work.

  “Even if you don’t win, you’ll get an Honorable Mention certificate, for being a finalist. Isn’t that great?”

  Slowly, Kit handed the letter back to Tracy. “I can’t accept any award,” Kit said. “You’ll have to withdraw my nomination.”

  Tracy looked at Kit as if she’d just sprouted whiskers. “What are you talking about? Why can’t you accept it?”

  “I just can’t.” Kit looked down at the floor. “You shouldn’t have nominated me without telling me.”

  “I wanted to surprise you,” Tracy said. “I thought you’d be glad. I thought . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” Kit said. “I know you were trying to do something nice for me and I appreciate that but I can’t be a finalist for the Good Citizen Award.”

  There was a long silence. Too long. Kit continued to inspect the floor.

  “What’s wrong?” Tracy said.

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Don’t give me that. There has to be a reason why you want me to withdraw your name.”

  “Because I don’t deserve the award.”

  “The committee will decide that. Obviously, they think you are deserving, or you wouldn’t be a finalist.”

  Kit got up and walked to the window. She was not a true volunteer. The award should go to someone who was helping because she wanted to help, not to someone who had been ordered to help by the Juvenile Court Committee.

  But she couldn’t explain that unless she told Tracy about the shoplifting. It would have been bad enough to tell Tracy when it happened. It would be even worse now, after she’d already worked out a way to have it disappear from her record. She would never have to tell anyone at all.

  “I can’t explain it to you,” Kit said.

  “First it was my party. Now this. What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I know you better than that. Something is wrong.” Tracy’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. “We’ve never kept secrets from each other,” she said. “Whatever it is that’s wrong, you know I’d be on your side.”

  Kit was tempted. It would be such a relief not to pretend anymore, not to keep hiding the truth from Tracy.

  “Remember the TRIK Club?” Tracy said. “When we vowed to be friends forever?”

  I remember. And we also vowed to be honest and good. No loyal member of the TRIK Club would ever shoplift.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  Tracy looked at her for a long moment. Then she shrugged and said, “OK. OK, I’ll withdraw your name.” She put the letter back in her purse and stood up.

  “Thanks, anyway,” Kit said.

  “Sure.”

  A few minutes earlier, they had been chattering like crows in a cornfield. Now there didn’t seem to be anything else to say.

  After Tracy left, Kit stood at the window for a long time, looking for stars in the black sky. Had she done the right thing? She knew it was right to withdraw her name, but had she been right not to tell Tracy the reason?

  She didn’t like keeping a secret from Tracy. She and Tracy had been best friends since second grade, when they discovered a mutual love of peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Tracy had always been there for Kit, had always understood Kit’s moods. Tracy was the only one who knew about Wayne’s binges and about the Triple-B Treatment and about Kit’s hopes for the Ninth Grade Scholarshi
p.

  Was that why Tracy had nominated Kit? Maybe she suspected that Marcia Homer had the best chance for the scholarship now, because of the play. Maybe she was using the Good Citizen Award as a way to boost Kit’s chances for the scholarship. If so, she needn’t have bothered. With Miss Fenton on the court committee, Kit knew there was no way she could win the scholarship now.

  Kit closed her eyes and took a deep breath. In the past, Tracy always made Kit feel good about herself because Tracy believed Kit was wonderful. Of course, Kit felt the same way about Tracy. Tracy was wonderful. She was fun and smart and cheerful. And unselfish. It was typical of Tracy to nominate Kit for an award, rather than trying to win something for herself.

  A year ago, Kit would have been thrilled with Tracy’s nomination. Now it made her feel guilty because, in addition to Tracy’s other good qualities, Tracy was honest. Kit was sure Tracy would never steal anything.

  And that’s why I can’t tell her, Kit thought. I don’t want her to know what I did because she would think less of me and I want her always to think I’m wonderful.

  Even if I’m not.

  FREE to Good Home: “LADY”

  Small Friendly Dog. Terrier mix. 2 years old.

  KIT added her name, homeroom, and phone number before she tacked the notice on the bulletin board in the school cafeteria. She had decided to pay Lady’s adoption fee, even if she didn’t get to keep Lady herself; it might help Lady get adopted. Maybe someone Kit knew would take Lady and Kit could go visit her sometimes.

  As she stepped back to make sure her printing was big enough to attract attention, she saw Tracy approaching. Kit pointed to her notice.

  “I had this idea after you left last night,” she said. “Maybe if I pay the fee out of my baby-sitting money, Lady will have a better chance.”

  Tracy just looked at her.

  “I’d rather have Lady myself, but a home with someone else is better than no home at all.”

  Tracy was silent.

  “I figure the word FREE will at least attract some interest. All I have to do is get somebody to look at Lady and from then on, she’ll sell herself.”

  When Tracy still said nothing, Sharon Shocker pretended to read from a newspaper. “PHILANTHROPIST OFFERS RARE, VALUABLE DOG TO PUBLIC.”

  Tracy didn’t laugh.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you think it’s a good idea?”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Tracy said. Her tone of voice didn’t match her words.

  “What’s wrong?” Kit said.

  “That’s what I’d like to know. Here you are, offering to use your own money to pay the fee so somebody else can adopt a dog but you won’t let me nominate you for the Good Citizen Award. It doesn’t makes sense, Kit. Won’t you reconsider? I haven’t withdrawn your name yet; it isn’t too late to change your mind.”

  “I can’t change my mind.” As Tracy looked at her, Kit felt a distance between them, an awkwardness that had never been there before. She knew that Tracy still hoped Kit might confide the reason why she had refused the Good Citizen nomination.

  She imagined the headline. “BRAINLESS WONDER ARRESTED FOR SHOPLIFTING. FAMILY DISGRACED. FRIEND HORRIFIED.” No, Kit corrected. Make that “EX-FRIEND.”

  They walked in silence the rest of the way to class.

  When they got to speech class, Miss Fenton held up a glass fishbowl filled with slips of paper. “Instead of a final test in this class,” she said, “you will each give a major speech, one which will require some original research.”

  Immediately, Arthur asked, “What’s the difference between original research and unoriginal research?”

  His buddy, Phil, said, “Unoriginal research is when you copy my notes.” Both boys snickered.

  “Original research,” Miss Fenton said, “means facts that haven’t been published. Instead of looking only in the library for information, you will have to talk to people. Do an interview. Gather ideas and opinions on your own.” Miss Fenton nodded toward the fishbowl. “I’ve chosen a variety of topics and put each one on a piece of paper. You will draw the topics at random.”

  A few kids groaned and started to complain but the plan sounded fair to Kit. She had noticed that some people always balk at new ideas. They’re suspicious of anything different, no matter how good it might be.

  Miss Fenton ignored the complaints. Instead she held up the fishbowl and looked directly at the class. A boy in the front row got up, reached in, and selected a topic for his speech.

  Kit looked at Tracy. Tracy gave a little nod. They went to the front of the room, put their hands in the fishbowl and each took a piece of paper.

  Kit opened hers on the way back to her desk. She stopped in the middle of the aisle and stared at the paper in her hand. TEENAGE SHOPLIFTING. Was this Miss Fenton’s idea of a joke? Had she planned it so Kit would draw this topic?

  She turned and looked at her teacher but Miss Fenton was not watching Kit; she was holding the fishbowl while two other students selected their topics.

  I can’t do it, Kit thought. I cannot stand in front of the class and give a speech on shoplifting. I’d be a nervous wreck. I’ll stay after class and ask if I can trade this topic for a different one.

  “Look what I got,” Tracy said. She handed her paper to Kit and Kit read the words, SIBLING RIVALRY. “Now, how am I supposed to know anything about sibling rivalry,” Tracy said, “when I’m an only child?”

  “Research,” Kit said. “Original research.”

  “What did you get?” Tracy held out her hand for Kit’s topic.

  Kit hesitated. If she showed it to Tracy, she couldn’t ask for a different topic. If she refused to show it to Tracy, Tracy would wonder why, and Kit would never be able to explain. She couldn’t have another obvious secret from Tracy. That would be too much.

  Slowly, she handed the paper to Tracy.

  Tracy looked at Kit’s paper. “That makes me feel better,” she said. “You don’t know any more about shoplifting than I know about sibling rivalry.”

  Kit said nothing.

  “My cousin, Glorie, could talk about shoplifting,” Tracy said. “When Glorie was invited to join the Ace Club at her school, part of the initiation was that she had to shoplift something from Sears. All the other club members waited outside, in the parking lot, and Glorie had to go in and swipe something and bring it to them.”

  “What did she take?”

  “A scarf. She said she was scared to death but she just stuck it in her coat pocket and walked out with it.”

  “Nobody stopped her?”

  “She said there was nothing to it. She never wore the scarf, though. She was afraid her mother would ask her where she got it and if her folks ever found out she stole it, they’d kill her.”

  Nothing to it, Kit thought. Right. Maybe it was easy for Glorie, but it sure as heck wasn’t easy for me.

  “I told Glorie she was nuts to do it,” Tracy said. “What if she’d been caught? She could end up in Juvenile Court over a stupid scarf that she didn’t even want.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said she wanted to be an Ace.” Tracy rolled her eyes. “Glorie never did have the brains of a flea. And it turned out that she didn’t get to be an Ace, anyway. The initiation was really a test of honesty. If Glorie had refused to take something from Sears, she would have been in the club. Because she took the scarf, she wasn’t.”

  Tracy glanced again at her own topic. “There’s one good thing about sibling rivalry,” she said. “I can just interview kids I know. You’ll probably have to talk to a police officer or the security guard at one of the stores.”

  Kit shivered. Just the thought made her blood turn cold.

  That afternoon, Kit picked up the photographs that were taken during rehearsal. She had to choose which one to have enlarged and reproduced for the big posters that would go in store windows.

  The one of Tracy’s scene was good but the one of Marcia alone was best. The expression on her face
captured the essence of the play.

  Kit never hesitated. She chose Marcia’s picture for the main posters. Marcia might have a big mouth but she was a good actress and she deserved to have her picture on the posters.

  Kit decided to use the other photos for smaller signs around the school. When she got home, she spread all of her art materials out on the living room floor and experimented with different layouts for the signs. She glued the photo of Tracy to a large piece of red construction paper and began lettering in the name of the play.

  She concentrated so hard that she didn’t hear the telephone ring, nor did she hear Wayne answer it. She didn’t know about the call until he began yelling.

  “What the hell is going on?” Wayne hollered from the kitchen. “Dorothy! Kit! Damn it all, where is everybody?”

  Now what, Kit thought.

  “I’m right here,” Dorothy called, as she hurried down the stairs. “What’s the matter?”

  Wayne stormed into the living room. “That phone call was an attorney for Pierre’s,” he yelled. “She said we owe them three hundred dollars and they’re going to sue us if we don’t pay.”

  “Calm down,” Dorothy said. “It isn’t good to get so angry. You’ll have a heart attack.”

  Kit slowly put down her colored markers and looked at Wayne. His face was flushed. He stood beside her, glaring down at her.

  “The attorney said Kit was shoplifting,” he said. “The store claims we owe three hundred dollars for civil restitution. She said she sent a letter and a bill. If it isn’t paid by next Monday, they’re taking us to small claims court.” He ran his hand nervously across his head.

  Kit could tell from the look on Dorothy’s face that she had received the letter and the bill. She always read the mail first; it would be easy for Dorothy to keep the letter a secret from Wayne. But why didn’t she show it to Kit? Did she think Pierre’s didn’t really mean what they said?

  “Now, Wayne,” Dorothy said, “I can explain.”

  “I don’t want explanations,” Wayne thundered. “I only want to know one thing. Is this true? Was Kit stealing? Because if she was, I’m going to . . .” He stopped, as if unable to think of any punishment worthy of the crime.