I made no mention of seeing or talking to dead animals in the report. Even so, Darvish speaks sense.
Still, the grade rankles my sense of fairness. It seems I am forever doomed to demonstrate untold responsibility, maturity, and common sense and receive no credit for it. Maybe I am expecting too much.
After all, there are those precious few that appreciate my efforts. I turn now to face them.
Peanut waddles his cube-shaped girth toward me. He caresses my cheek with his trunk. “Hey, now. Don’t fret. Next time I see a trail of peanuts, I’ll think before I follow them. You taught me that.”
Mei Mei steps up to me, her Taser-fried hairdo going every which way. The panda no longer glows gold, but the look in her eyes sends tingles of warmth through my chest. “I am grateful to you, Rex Dexter,” says Mei Mei, hugging me. “You saved Kou Kou. You made right a great wrong. You are my friend.”
Sea-Monkey approaches me slowly, his deep brow raised high. “One time, I saw a tree frog fall seventeen stories from the forest canopy, colliding midair with a flying squirrel and hitting several sharp branches on the way down. I plucked it out of thin air at the last possible second, saving its miserable life.”
He grins at me. “You did better than that.”
“On my report?”
“On everything.” He wraps his big, hairy gorilla arms around my neck.
The shark clears its throat pointedly. The gorilla nods, reaches around, and lifts the shark from his bottom.
“My dear boy,” says the shark. “It has been a true delight knowing you. May I say, on behalf of my esteemed colleagues, how very grateful we are to you. You have done us all a tremendous service, and we are eternally thankful for the resolution you have brought to each of us.”
My mouth hangs open.
Sea-Monkey puts the shark back on his butt where it belongs and it clamps on happily.
“Nobody else knows what you did,” says the gorilla. “But we know.”
The shark nibbles his rump with what I assume to be agreement.
Tater Tot nudges me softly with her crispy-fried nose-horn. “Wow. Just wow.”
“What?” I ask.
She sniffles. “I’m really gonna miss you. That’s what.” She folds me warmly into her big rhino hug. “You did good,” she whispers.
I choke back a sob. As I sink into the reassuring arms of a rhino, it hits me hard. I’m going to miss them, too.
“Do you have any soda?” squawks Darvish. “These chia seeds are making me constipated.”
I glare in his direction. “Do you mind? I’m having a moment here.”
“Well, how am I supposed to know? I can’t see them!” He hangs his head and returns to his chia.
Yep, life is returning to normal.
But my dead pets are fading away. They slowly turn to mist before my eyes. I feel a lump rising in my throat. Somehow, I know I won’t be seeing them again.
“Thank you, Rex,” Tater Tot whispers.
And they are gone.
I sit down. I take a shaky breath and wipe my eyes. A bittersweet sadness washes over me. And with it, a sense of peace.
“Oh, are you done with your moment?” asks Darvish sarcastically. “Now can I have a soda?”
“Ooh! Soda!” says Drumstick. “Me too?”
Yep, he’s still here. It seems the chicken has nowhere better to be.
I’m glad.
I shoot a grin at them. “Yes,” I say. “You both definitely deserve a soda.”
“Well, it’s about time I get a little appreciation,” says Darvish.
“Though let’s be clear,” I say. “A good sidekick should avoid artificially sweetened drinks. Your blood sugar could drop right when I need you most.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” says Darvish. “I’m not your sidekick.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” I walk over to Drumstick, and we do a very complicated fourteen-step handshake.
I would teach it to you. But it’s secret. Just for us second-best buddies.
39
I knew it would only be a matter of time before my mom and dad asked about my research report grade. And the day after my zoo pals have faded into oblivion, my fate has caught up with me.
I hold the paper out to them.
“C-plus?” says my mom. “Hmm.”
“It’s not great, Rex,” says my dad. “But it’s not terrible, either. Better than your last biology test.”
“Ms. Yardley does say you demonstrated confidence and self-assurance,” my mom concedes.
“That’s really great,” says my dad.
“The woman has it out for me,” I explain. “It’s not technically my—”
I stop myself. I look at the paper. Then back to them. “To be fair, I could have done more research.”
They look at each other as if they are about to cry, which baffles me. I can’t tell if they are happy or upset.
“That’s a very mature way of looking at it,” says my mom.
“I agree,” says my dad. “Very responsible. You keep that up and maybe you’ll be closer to getting that dog than you thought.”
I get a C+ on my research report and they are ready to give me a dog.
Classic.
Enlightened or not, these people make no sense. But I have long since quit trying to unravel the mysteries of my parents.
“No hurry on the dog,” I say. “Whenever you think the time is right.”
Their mouths hang open in shock. I have rendered them speechless.
But the simple truth is, I’m no longer in a rush to get a chocolate Labrador.
I mean, I just spent the last couple weeks hanging out with a dead rhino and a dead elephant and a dead gorilla and a dead shark and a dead panda bear. After all that, a plain old dog seems kind of boring.
But my parents seem to attach bigger cosmic meaning to my statement. A meaning that appears to be making them weepy. Because Dad seems to have something in his eyes and Mom turns all misty and starts mumbling something about “growing up so fast!”
Grown-ups are so weird.
40
So that’s it.
I told you that you probably wouldn’t believe me. But it’s all true.
Whether you believe this story or not, allow me to share a couple parting thoughts from my stockpile of worldly and otherworldly wisdom:
If you ever find yourself in Middling Falls, and you wander over to PetPlanet, you might come across an old, broken-down carnival game called The Reaper’s Curse. It doesn’t work anymore.
But if you can somehow miraculously get it going (they say peeing on the cord sometimes works), the bony dude inside is likely to challenge you to a bet. And if you lose, you’re going to be cursed.
Two things worth noting:
1. Getting cursed by the Grim Reaper stinks big-time.
2. And then… somehow… it doesn’t.
Oh, also… avoid Middling Falls altogether, if you can. It’s really boring. Well, it used to be really boring. I confess, things have gotten more exciting lately.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, my ride will be here soon. Sami Mulpepper and her mother are picking me up at any moment.
Oh, did I forget to mention? The Evening of Enchantment dance is tonight. My mom has acquired my turquoise corsage. Turns out, corsage is just a fancy word for flower. Who knew? Apparently, my mom. I suppose I could have looked it up. But my mind has been on other things.
The zoo is closed. Talon Smithfield is facing charges. The zoo board is under investigation. It seems almost frivolous to go to a dance when I am fresh from the trenches of righting so many wrongs. But I deserve an evening of enchantment. I have earned some rest and relaxation.
There is just one problem. I do not feel enchanted. I do not feel restful. I do not feel relaxed.
I feel like I might throw up.
Now that the moment is upon me, it occurs to me that there is one thing more nerve-racking than facing down six recently deceased ghost
animals. And that thing is facing Sami Mulpepper in a blue-green ball gown. I do not know what was going through my mind when I agreed to undergo this ordeal.
Darvish is not going to the dance. That is because my best friend is a coward. Or a genius. I haven’t decided which one.
But I have survived some truly alarming events in the last couple weeks. I will survive one evening of school-sanctioned merrymaking in a gymnasium.
And then I have stuff to do.
Serious stuff.
Significant stuff.
Stuff with real cosmic meaning.
Because, according to my dead chicken, there’s a dead narwhal waiting in my beanbag chair.
And he probably needs my help.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My name is on the front cover. But this is not just my book. There’s a whole mess of people responsible for the story in your hands. Personally, I blame them.
I’ve listed some of the top culprits below. If there’s anything you loved about this story, anything that made you laugh, anything that lifted you up from the humdrum day-to-day, now you know who to thank.
You’re welcome.
But these guys really helped, too. A whole big bunch.
• Jodi Reamer, my agent, my friend, and my own personal Darvish. Or maybe I’m her Darvish. Or maybe one of us is the chicken. Regardless, I’m super thankful she’s in my corner.
• Tracey Keevan, editor extraordinaire, who believed in this whackadoodle story, fought for it, breathed fresh life into it, and asked for two more just like it.
• Jamie Alloy, Melissa Lee, Esther Cajahuaringa, Christine Collins, and a whole squad of living, breathing, talented people at Disney Hyperion, who designed, marketed, and generally made this book so much cooler than I ever could.
• Hugo Cuellar, for his wonderfully weird illustrations.
• My dad, possibly my biggest fan, who is personally responsible for accosting far too many strangers on the streets to tell them about my books.
• Shelly, Reese, and Ethan. My crew. My team. My reason for writing. My inspiration for creating. If I was a dead gorilla with a dead shark attached to my heinie and I could pick anybody to haunt, it would totally be you three.
• And finally, the legions of incredibly kick-butt elementary school librarians I encounter on a regular basis. Thank you for putting my stories into kids’ hands. It is a monumental pleasure to partner with you in our mission to create kids who love books.
The Incredibly Dead Pets of Rex Dexter Page 12