by Daphne Maple
I nodded reluctantly. I hated the thought of keeping my mom waiting again. But at the same time I knew I needed every second of practice time Madame Florence was willing to offer me.
So while the class stretched out the stress of our intense workout, I ran through the steps on my own. And as my classmates slipped out of the studio, back to the dressing room, I ran through the sequence again, this time under Madame Florence’s careful eye.
“Hold your arms a bit higher on the axel turn at the end,” she said to me after we’d run through it twice. “But I do think you’re getting there.”
That was high praise from Madame Florence, so I was beaming under all the sweat as I scurried into the dressing room to grab my stuff. I didn’t have time to change, so I just shoved my street clothes into my dance bag, grabbed my backpack, and raced down the stairs to the front of the building where I knew my mom would be waiting in the parking lot, probably tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. Or texting someone from work on her phone.
Except she wasn’t doing either of those things, because she wasn’t there. The lot was empty, save for Madame Florence’s black car off in the far corner. I stood on the bottom step, looking in each direction, but there were no vehicles coming, no sign of my mom. Had she forgotten? That seemed impossible. While I forgot things a lot, my mom never, ever did. Had she waited for me, gotten fed up, and left? I could see her getting annoyed, but not abandoning me on a chilly fall evening two miles from home.
Clearly I needed to call her. I set my stuff down and began rooting around in my backpack for my phone. My mom always told me I needed to put it in the same pocket every time, so it would be easy to find. But while that seemed like good advice, I never remembered to actually do it. And when I finally found my phone, which had gotten wedged inside my binder, the battery had died. I was shivery in the cool air and about to go back inside to ask if I could use Madame Florence’s phone when I saw my mom’s car turning into the lot.
I practically ran over and pulled open the door. “Is everything okay?” I asked breathlessly. Seeing her there, with her hair perfectly styled, her business suit as crisp as it had been that morning, made me realize how worried I’d been.
“I had that late conference call at work, remember?” she asked, frowning slightly. “I reminded you about it this morning.”
“Oh,” I said, sinking down on the seat. “I forgot.”
I heard my mom sigh quietly and my relief at seeing her was replaced by the heavy feeling of having let her down. “Sorry,” I said. “I guess I was just so focused on remembering my dance bag and all my stuff for school that I missed it when you told me.”
We were stopped at the light on Main Street and now my mom smiled at me. “I know how busy you are, sweetie,” she said. “I just hate for you to worry unnecessarily.”
“I’ll listen better next time,” I said.
But as my mom turned the car down Spring Street and our house came into view, and I thought about walking Mr. S, helping with dinner, and getting at least a little more research done on those Mongolian horses, I was the one sighing.
Because I knew that doing better was a lot easier said than done.
I stayed up late that night working on my report. Normally my mom came to my room to tell me to turn off the light and sleep, but she was under a tight deadline to finish a brief and didn’t notice as my bedtime crept past. I’d been happy to get the work done, but now, after pressing snooze on my alarm clock one too many times and racing to walk Mr. S and get dressed in record time, I was not happy at all. It was a gray, gloomy morning, and my whole body felt like I’d slept less than an hour. Plus I hadn’t had time for breakfast, so my stomach was grumbling as I ran to meet my friends. I’d grabbed a banana and I couldn’t wait to eat it as we walked to school.
“Hey, Sasha,” Bri said, smiling brightly. Her hair was in a complicated twist that looked totally sophisticated and made me feel sloppy in my ponytail that was already coming loose. The fact that I was wearing yesterday’s jeans, which had been on the floor and thus the easiest thing to put on, did not help.
“Morning,” I mumbled, starting to peel my banana as we crossed the street and headed for school. But I must have been gripping the banana too hard because inside it was a soggy, totally inedible pile of mush.
“Do you want some of my lunch?” Bri asked, noticing my face as I dumped the ruined fruit into the trash can on the corner. “I have fried rice and almond cookies.”
“Oh, that’s okay, thanks,” I said, but just then my stomach gave out a loud growl, making my friends giggle. Normally it would have cracked me up too, but today I was too hungry and cranky to laugh.
Bri unzipped her bag and pulled out a small Tupperware full of cookies.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked. I was so famished I was ready to eat the container too.
“Go ahead,” Bri said.
“Thanks.” I took out the delicate wafers and pretty much inhaled them. They helped, but I was still hungry.
“My mom and Alice had dinner together last night,” Bri said, tucking the empty cookie container back in her bag. Bri carried a messenger bag instead of a backpack like the rest of us, which made her look like one of the eighth-grade girls. The cool ones. “My mom said they talked a lot about Violet and some new ideas for helping her adjust to being at the shelter. Which will also help her when she gets adopted by a family.”
“That’s great,” Kim said. I kind of wanted her to ask why I was in a bad mood but she was too interested in what Bri was saying to notice.
“Yeah, and they also talked about expanding the foster program,” Bri went on, clearly proud to be the one in the know.
“Terrific,” Taylor said, sidestepping a puddle on the sidewalk. “That’s really important.”
I agreed with that—saving dogs from shelters where they could be killed if they weren’t adopted out fast enough was a cause we all cared about deeply. But I did worry a bit that it would take Alice away from Dog Club business and now, when things were so busy and Violet was still having issues fitting in, it felt like a hard time for her to be away more.
“It would be wonderful if we could find homes for some of the dogs who’ve been in the shelter a while, like Boxer and Gracie,” Kim said, her feet crunching on a few stray fallen leaves.
“I’d miss Boxer,” I said, thinking about our boisterous and loving big guy. “But he’d be so happy to have a family of his own.”
“Whoever takes him better have him join the club, though,” Taylor said. “That or we’d have to visit him every week.” I grinned, remembering back at the very beginning of our time at the shelter when Boxer and the other big dogs had made Taylor nervous. Things had really changed since then. And thinking about that made my mood pick up.
“Opening more spaces at the shelter will be great,” Kim said. She’d put her sandy blonde hair back in barrettes today and was fiddling with one of them.
“Speaking of open spaces for dogs, were you able to talk to those families on the club wait list yet?” Bri asked, turning to me expectantly.
I sucked in my breath because yet again I’d forgotten. What with wanting to help my mom, walking Mr. S, and the report, my evening had been crammed. But I couldn’t admit it to Bri, with her perfect hair and her cool messenger bag, who always did everything she was supposed to. And who was nowhere near as busy as me.
“I left a message,” I said quickly, the lie thorny in my throat. I coughed a little but it didn’t help.
“Great,” Bri said, nodding.
We stood in silence on the corner for a moment as we waited for the light to change and I squirmed slightly, worried my friends could tell I was lying. I promised myself that I’d call that afternoon to make up for it.
“How’s your research going?” Taylor asked Kim, as the Walk sign lit up and we crossed over Bridgeford Drive.
Kim sighed. “Not great,” she said. “I’ve found all these sources to read, but it’s hard to f
igure out what I need to include to give a full sense of Tanzania. I mean, he said write about culture, but what if I choose the wrong parts of the culture?”
Mr. Martin was a very enthusiastic social studies teacher, but sometimes his directions were kind of vague. “Yeah, I have the same problem with mine,” I said. “I read all this neat information about wild horses, but I know I need to write about other cultural stuff too.”
“I’m going to go to the library this afternoon and ask Ms. Cho to help me find some books and figure out what to focus on,” Kim said. Ms. Cho was the school librarian and always got excited to help students with anything related to books. She was the perfect person to ask for help. “You should come too, Sash, and we can have a study fest.”
“Good idea,” I said. I had a rare afternoon off and spending it in the library sounded like a great plan.
“What about Mr. S?” Bri asked. “Doesn’t he need to be walked right after school?”
I knew she was trying to help, but I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of annoyance that she’d found a way to mess up my plans.
“On dance days he has to wait a little longer,” I said, feeling guilty but knowing I really needed to get some work done if I wanted to finish this report on time. “I think if I just stay an hour or so in the library he’ll be okay.”
“I can walk him,” Taylor offered. “Your house isn’t that far from my photography class. And that way you can stay at the library ’til dinner.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked, relief washing over me at the idea of a few hours to work on my report.
Taylor laughed. “Mind getting a little puppy time with Mr. S? I don’t think so.”
“Thanks,” I said gratefully. “Now I just have to figure out what else to research.”
Mrs. Cronin, Humphrey and Popsicle’s owner, drove by on her way to work at the bank and waved. “Food is an important part of culture,” Bri said as we waved back. “And so is art.”
“You’re lucky you get to write about pizza and all the famous statues they have in Italy,” I said, hearing a slight edge in my voice. “I don’t even know what they eat in Mongolia. It’s not like there are Mongolian restaurants everywhere, the way there are with Italian restaurants.”
“Actually, we lived near a Mongolian restaurant in DC,” Bri said. Her family had moved from DC two years ago, and although Bri loved Roxbury Park, I knew there were certain things she really missed about her old hometown. And judging from the look on her face, it seemed like this restaurant was one of them. “They had this special barbecue and it was delicious.”
“That sounds tasty,” Taylor said, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m not sure it can compete with Southern barbecue.”
Bri laughed at that. “They’re totally different, don’t worry. No one would ever question the deliciousness of Southern cooking.”
Taylor ginned. “Glad that’s understood.”
Bri glanced at me. “Sasha, I can tell you about the menu or we could look it up online. There might even be a Mongolian place in one of the bigger towns around that we could go to some weekend.”
I felt bad I’d been snippy when she was being so helpful.
“I’m not sure I have time for that, but it’d be great if you could help me look up your restaurant online,” I said gratefully. “Thanks.”
Bri grinned. “The only thing is that it will make us hungry,” she said.
And as if on cue my stomach growled again.
This time when my friends laughed, I joined in too.
5
Once again I was late to meet everyone at our lockers before heading out to Dog Club. But this time I had a good reason.
“Sorry,” I said, rushing up to my friends, who were grouped around Kim’s locker, waiting for me. “I got a text from the Santagelos and I wanted to write back right away.”
“Who are the Santagelos?” Kim asked as we walked briskly for the front door of the school. The halls had pretty much emptied out, which meant I was running even later than I’d thought. “And why are they texting you?”
Usually Alice was the go-between with clients unless I was using the shelter phone, since my mom didn’t want strangers to have my number.
“The first family from the Dog Club waiting list,” I said, shooting a glance at Bri, who smiled. “Alice and I both talked to them and we decided it’s okay for them to be in touch with me about scheduling because it’s gotten complicated. They’re super busy, so we’re having trouble finding a time for them to bring their dog Boris in for a visit.”
“Boris is a cute name,” Taylor said as we headed out into the sunny afternoon. “What kind of dog is he?”
“A Newfoundland,” I said, grinning at the thought of one of the big black dogs joining the club. “And he’s still a puppy, though he’s been trained. Mrs. Santagelo said he’s like a big teddy bear.”
“Aw,” Taylor said, grinning along with me. “He sounds awesome.”
“Yeah, I can’t wait to meet him,” I agreed. “I wish it wasn’t so hard to set a time for him to come in, but Mrs. Santagelo is the weekday manager at Old Farm Market and her husband travels most of the time for his job, so they aren’t around very much.” “Hard” was an understatement: I’d been on the phone most of last night trying to find a time that worked and we had finally agreed on Friday afternoon. But the text I’d just gotten said that her work schedule had changed and we needed to start over. “I also set up an appointment for a second family, the Golds, to bring their dog in,” I said. “Her name is Dixie and she’s a mix.”
“You did a lot of work last night,” Taylor said.
I nodded. “Yeah, but it was good to get it done,” I said. I decided not to think about how the hours on the phone had made me fall even further behind on my report. The afternoon in the library had shown me how much more work I had to do to finish it. It didn’t help that after reading a bunch of menus from Mongolian barbecue restaurants, I’d discovered that it wasn’t even Mongolian! It had been invented in Taiwan. I was glad I’d found out, though—Mr. Martin would not be impressed if I wrote about cuisine that wasn’t even from Mongolia.
“I’m glad we’ll be filling up the club,” Bri said. “And getting some of those families off the wait list.”
“They were excited,” I said, grinning at the memory. “I felt like I was calling to tell them they won the lottery. Mrs. Santagelo actually screamed she was so thrilled.”
Taylor grinned. “That’s so cool. Those calls must be fun to make.”
I nodded but couldn’t help thinking that they would be more fun if they didn’t take so long.
We paused at the corner as a neighbor who lived down the block, Mrs. Attie, drove by and waved.
“So remind me what we need for our sleepover on Saturday,” Bri said. “I want to make sure I get everything right.” This was her first time hosting our weekly sleepover and she was clearly excited about it.
“Well, as long as you have my caviar and truffles, you’re ready,” Taylor said in a snooty British accent that cracked us all up.
“I don’t even know what a truffle is,” I said.
Taylor shrugged. “Me neither. It just sounds fancy.”
“Forget fancy,” Kim advised Bri. “We’re just happy we get to hang out at your house.”
“I want to make sure we have everything we need for the milk shakes, though,” Bri said. We had a tradition of creating delectable milk shakes complete with a variety of mix-ins.
“Make sure you get Oreos,” Taylor said. “And caramel sauce for Kim. Sasha’s favorite is rainbow sprinkles, so definitely don’t forget those.”
I smiled. The sprinkles added both color and crunch to my milk shakes, and while I liked trying different ice-cream flavors and new mix-ins, my sprinkles were essential.
“Got it,” Bri said. “And you’ll bring Mr. S, right, Sash? So he and Lily can have a doggy sleepover?”
“Definitely,” I agreed. Our pups were really cute all cuddled
up together.
“I need to remember to bring my camera for some doggy sleepover shots,” Taylor said, smiling.
“That would be awesome,” Bri said. “And you guys will finally get to meet my dad because he’s actually home this weekend.”
“Cool,” Taylor said, and Kim and I nodded in agreement.
“He brought back these special dried soybeans so my mom can make us her famous tofu in a clay pot,” Bri added proudly.
Normally I think all of us would have wrinkled our noses at the thought of eating tofu, but we’d sampled enough of Bri’s mom’s cooking in Bri’s lunches to know that anything she made was going to be delicious. Plus it was fun to eat authentic Chinese food. I was definitely looking forward to this sleepover.
We scuffed through a pile of leaves that had blown onto the sidewalk, their fresh smell perfuming the air.
“Okay, so I’m getting Waffles and Lily,” Kim said, beginning to go through our afternoon pickup schedule. Just then my phone chirped with a text. Sure enough it was from the Santagelos, asking if Monday at six would work. I began typing back, explaining that six was when the club ended and so it wouldn’t be good for them to come to the shelter then.
I tried to follow what my friends were saying, but it was hard to text and listen at the same time. And when I nearly tripped on a crack in the sidewalk I realized it was hard to text and walk too. Kim took my arm to help guide me as we walked the last block together.
“See you guys in a few minutes,” Taylor called when we’d reached the corner. I waved as my friends headed off to get their dogs, then typed in more dates and times for the Santagelos to consider. We finally found a time that worked—next Wednesday—and I stuffed my phone into my backpack and took off down the street toward Waffles’s house. I didn’t want to keep him waiting!
But when I climbed the steps there was no sound of dog paws padding up to the door and no bark of greeting when I opened it. The house was empty and Waffles’s leash was missing. What was going on?