by Daphne Maple
I resisted the urge to snap at all of them and took a deep breath. “Yes, I do,” I said. “It makes a lot of sense and of course I want to do what’s best for the dogs. I just wish we’d talked about this before I spent a hundred hours scheduling the visits.”
Kim opened her mouth, most likely to say something apologetic, but Bri spoke up first. “We would have if we’d thought of it,” she said in such an offhand way I could tell she didn’t think it was a big deal.
But it was and I was tired of everyone not understanding that.
“You thought of nagging me about calling to set up those visits every minute of the day, though,” I said, not caring that I was snapping now.
Kim’s eyes widened and Taylor looked panicked. But Bri just sucked in a breath and glared at me. “Sorry for caring about the club and not wanting to neglect new clients,” she said in a snotty tone that made my blood boil.
“I care about the club!” I nearly shouted.
Lily and Mr. S stopped playing and looked up at me uncertainly.
Kim put a hand on my arm. “Sash, we all totally appreciate how much work you do for the club.” She shot Bri a look before going on. “I’m really sorry I didn’t think of this before. It’s my fault you had to do all that extra work.”
“I’m sorry too,” Taylor said quickly. She was tugging on one of her braids. “I’ve thought a lot about helping Violet get better adjusted at the shelter, but it didn’t occur to me until now that one of the best things we could do was hold off bringing in new dogs.”
The anger drained out of me. “No, it’s not your fault, either of you,” I said, sinking back down into the beanbag chair so I could snuggle Mr. S, who had pressed up against my leg. He always knew when I was upset and tried to make me feel better. “I knew Violet was having problems too. I should have thought about how she’d react before I started calling people.”
“What’s good is that we realized it before we actually brought another dog in,” Taylor said, smiling in relief that everything was okay again.
But just like at Dog Club earlier that week, it wasn’t okay, not really. I could still feel a hot coal of anger burning in my stomach every time I looked at Bri, whose expression was hard and who clearly didn’t feel like she had done anything wrong at all.
“Dinner’s ready!” Bri’s mom called.
The four of us trooped back downstairs, the dogs following. “We should give them food before we eat,” Bri said to me and I nodded.
Kim and Taylor helped Bri’s dad bring out what truly did appear to be a feast while Bri and I got out cans of Mighty Meat Mix for our dogs. Lily and Mr. S jumped about in frantic delight as we took turns with the opener and I couldn’t help grinning.
Bri was smiling too. “Lily acts like I’m serving her a five-star meal every time I scoop out some of this for her.” She held up a spoon heavy with gloppy dog food and we both laughed.
“Mr. S is the same,” I said. “And I don’t get it because not only is it gross, it’s the same thing every single day. But he acts like it’s some incredible new delicacy every time.”
“I guess that’s a good thing, right?” Bri said, trying to set down Lily’s bowl. It was hard because Lily was so eager to eat she kept getting in the way. “I mean, better to be happy about the same thing every day than bored by it.”
“Good point,” I said, managing to get Mr. S’s food on the floor for him.
We headed into the dining room, the coal in my stomach cooled by our moment of bonding over our dogs.
The polished wooden table was covered with steaming serving bowls, and as the scents of sesame oil, garlic, and soy sauce hit me, I realized I was famished. Bri’s dad was dishing out rice for everyone and Bri’s mom smiled when we sat down. “Let me tell you about the food and then you can decide what you want to try. There’s eggplant and black bean sauce, stir-fried beef, sesame chicken, broccoli and garlic sauce, spicy potatoes, tofu in a clay pot, and dried string beans.”
“Everything sounds fantastic,” Taylor said as Mr. Chen began passing the dishes around the table. “I want to try it all.”
“Me too,” I agreed, spooning some of the potatoes onto my plate. They were cut in thin, crisp strips and smelled delicious.
Soon we all had our plates filled and began to eat. I started with the tofu, which was rich and spicy, better than any tofu I’d ever had.
“This is fantastic,” Taylor said. She had started with the chicken.
“I love the potatoes,” Kim added. “How do you get them so yummy?”
Bri’s mom smiled. “Rice vinegar,” she said.
“They remind me of vinegar potato chips,” Bri said. She and her parents were using chopsticks and she expertly scooped up a bite of rice along with some string beans.
“Only better,” Kim said, helping herself to more. She, Taylor, and I were using forks, but at some point I wanted to ask Bri to teach me how to use chopsticks because they looked neat.
“I usually don’t even like broccoli, but this is so good,” Taylor raved, spearing another piece. “This is the best sleepover meal ever.”
Bri and her parents beamed.
“Thanks,” Bri said. “But your dad’s fried chicken is pretty spectacular, Taylor. And Kim, the mac and cheese your mom makes is the best I’ve ever had.”
As the three of them went on and on about the great dishes their parents made, I ate my food quietly, feeling like an outsider because my mom usually just ordered pizza for our sleepovers. Everyone always said they liked it, but I noticed no one was mentioning it now. My mom was good at so many things that I didn’t expect her to cook four-course meals for me and my friends. But in the face of all the wonderful things everyone else’s parents cooked, I felt left out.
As I took another bite, my thoughts went back to the conversation in Bri’s room and I realized maybe I’d gotten so upset because Bri, Kim, and Taylor had made the decision about not bringing new dogs into the shelter without me. They could have waited for me before discussing something that was such a big deal, but they hadn’t. Whatever the cause, it did not feel good. And suddenly the tofu, which I’d loved when I first tried it, tasted like a wet napkin in my mouth.
I was silent for the rest of the meal and while we helped bring in the dishes after we’d finished. Not that it mattered, because Bri talked enough for all four of us.
We offered to help wash up but Bri’s parents shooed us out of the kitchen, so we headed into the den where we’d planned to spend the rest of the night watching movies. The room was cozy, with a bookcase in one corner, a table to hold snacks and drinks, and a thick tan rug. Pillows were piled next to the sofa, and the walls, like the ones in the living room and dining room, were decorated with scrolls that had Chinese calligraphy and flowers.
“What should we watch?” Kim asked, flopping down on the cushy red sofa set up opposite the big flatscreen TV.
“Maybe we should watch 101 Dalmatians in honor of Violet,” Taylor joked.
The others laughed but I was still feeling annoyed about what had happened, so I didn’t join in. Mr. S cuddled against my legs and I sat down on the rug so I could pull him onto my lap. Taylor settled on the sofa next to Kim, Lily at their feet.
“You guys are so cute,” Taylor said, taking out her phone and snapping a picture of me and my dog. For that I did smile.
“You should get some doggy sleepover shots of him with Lily,” Bri said.
“That would be great,” I said. It felt good to agree with something Bri said.
Taylor ran upstairs for her camera while Bri pulled out some toys for the dogs to play with. We had fun throwing them around and posing with the dogs while Taylor captured everything on her camera. I was finally in a good mood when Bri suggested we head back to the kitchen to make our milk shakes.
“We went a little overboard getting ingredients,” Bri said as she began pulling ice-cream cartons out of the freezer. “But we wanted to have everything we needed.”
“I think y
ou’ve got that covered,” Taylor said admiringly as Bri set six flavors of ice cream on the counter. “The only problem is I’m not sure what kind to have.”
“That just means you should mix flavors,” Bri said.
Taylor grinned. “I like that solution.”
I did too, though clearly we couldn’t just mix everything. The salted caramel and mint chocolate chip would be great together, but add in the coconut pineapple and things could get gross fast.
Now Bri was taking sauces out of the cupboard—caramel, fudge, strawberry, and peanut butter—along with packages of Oreos, chocolate-covered almonds, and pretzels.
“We got some fruit too,” she said, going over to the fridge and pulling out containers of fresh blueberries and strawberries. “And I think that’s everything. I’ll get the mixer and we can get started.”
My friends were so busy selecting flavors and add-ins that they didn’t see what was missing. But then Kim’s brow creased. “Um, Bri, did you get the rainbow sprinkles for Sasha?”
Bri’s eyes widened and she nearly dropped the hand-held mixer. “Oh no,” she moaned. “I forgot. Sasha, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said. Because what else could I say? She and her mom had gotten everything under the sun to make these milk shakes as special as possible. “This is all great. I don’t need the sprinkles every time.”
“You can branch out and learn new delights,” Taylor added in a perfect imitation of Mr. Martin.
We all laughed at that, but mine sounded loud and fake in my ears. I pasted a smile on my face as I scooped ice cream into the big glass Bri handed me because I knew I was being ridiculous: the sprinkles really weren’t that big of a deal. And yet, the one thing she forgot to get was the one thing that mattered to me the most.
And that needled at me for the rest of the night.
7
“I’m sorry,” I said miserably, brushing a damp curl out of my face. The music for the dance was still playing, but I had come to a screeching halt after messing up a series of barrel turns, a pretty basic jazz step that I should have been able to do in my sleep.
Madame Florence’s lips were pursed, but she nodded to acknowledge my apology. I had stayed after dance for more rehearsal time, but it wasn’t going well. At all.
And I knew why: ever since Saturday night when the girls had decided not to include me in their discussion about new dogs at the club, my thoughts had been stuck on a hamster wheel, unable to let it go. It wasn’t just that they’d left me out: it was the way none of them cared, really cared, that so much of my time had been wasted for nothing. I’d tried to explain it to Kim before the sleepover, that I did more work for the club than anyone else. But she hadn’t gotten it then and still didn’t seem to get it now. The fact that I had the most work was bad enough, but the fact that no one except me even realized it made it worse. And those thoughts spinning around and around my mind had made it impossible to get any research done on Sunday, made me distracted in school, and were distracting me now. Just when I was supposed to be flying through my solo, I was grounded, my body heavy and slow, like a walrus instead of the seagull I needed to be to get all the steps right.
“Let’s stop for today,” Madame Florence said. “Get some rest, review the routine at home, and we will try again after your next class.”
“Okay. And I’m really sorry,” I said, feeling awful as I dragged myself back to the dressing room. Now I’d wasted my teacher’s time, not to mention my mom’s. And mine. The last thing I needed was to spend thirty minutes being bad at my dance.
My mom knew I’d be late leaving the studio but she still looked impatient when I got into the car a few minutes later. I’d barely fastened my seat belt before she was pulling out of the lot.
“How much longer will these extra rehearsals go on?” she asked, a slight frown on her face.
“I think until the show,” I said. “But that’s in a couple weeks, so not too much longer. Sorry.”
My mom glanced at me and smiled. “I’m proud you’re working so hard,” she said. “And I know you need the extra time since you have a solo. It’s just tough getting home so much later.”
“I know,” I said, sinking down a bit in my seat.
My mom reached over and patted my arm. “It’s worth it to be raising such a skilled dancer,” she said affectionately.
I gulped, glad she hadn’t seen what a mess I’d made of my dance just now. I had definitely not felt skilled.
Mr. S raced up the moment we walked in the front door, happy to see us and ready for his walk. “I’m just going to take him out and then I’ll be back to help with dinner,” I told my mom, reaching for Mr. S’s leash. Which was not on the hook where it was supposed to be. Where had I put it after I walked him this morning? I looked on the chair, the banister, and the dresser before finally getting down on my hands and knees to look on the floor. It had fallen behind the dresser and poor Mr. S was pawing at the door by the time I had it.
“Sorry, sweet boy,” I told Mr. S as we hustled outside. He looked up and gave a small bark, forgiving as always. But as he stopped to sniff the Cronins’ mailbox, I felt that hot coal of anger in the pit of my belly again. And this time I wasn’t just feeling angry with Bri: I was angry at Taylor and Kim too. Because if I wasn’t so busy with Dog Club clients, I’d be done with my report, on top of my dance, and able to do things like help my mom with dinner and walk my dog on time. And every other word out of my mouth wouldn’t be “sorry.”
I knew it was my fault I wasn’t organized. But how could I even start to organize myself when I had this much to do and no one helping me with any of it?
I hurried Mr. S back into the house where my mom was banging dishes around trying to get a salad made and a frozen lasagna heated up and on the table. I set out plates and silverware—after taking off my sneakers, of course—and we finally sat down to eat.
As I took my first bite of the creamy cheese, soft noodle, and gently spiced sauce, I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Apparently dancing badly gave me even more of an appetite than dancing well!
Clearly my mom was hungry too because we both nearly finished our first servings before she asked me about my day.
“I did well on our math test,” I said, remembering that brief moment of pleasure when I’d gotten my paper back today. Of course I’d taken the test almost two weeks ago, before things got crazy busy. Our math teacher was slow to correct and return our work. But I was still pleased with my score and from my mom’s smile I could tell she felt the same.
“How are your other classes going?” she asked, taking second helpings of both salad and lasagna.
“Pretty good,” I said quickly. I was sure I’d bombed my most recent English quiz and obviously social studies wasn’t going well. But until I had actual grades to report, it didn’t seem worth getting into. Which meant it was time for a new topic of conversation. “I didn’t know you and Taylor’s dad were working on a case together,” I remarked, remembering what Taylor had said about it a few days ago. I leaned forward to cut myself another piece of lasagna.
My mom shook her head. “We’re not,” she said, her eyes on my food as I tried to get the lasagna from the pan to my plate. A thousand strands of cheese stretched between the two points. My mom reached over and deftly sliced them so they wouldn’t drip all over the table.
“Thanks,” I said. “But I thought you had a business dinner with him last Friday, to talk about a case or something.”
My mom’s cheeks turned pink, maybe from the bite of lasagna she’d just taken: it was hot. “Oh, right, of course,” she said quickly. “We were just talking about billing.”
I wasn’t sure why two lawyers at a firm would need to discuss billing—wasn’t that what an accountant did? But then again, it wasn’t the first thing I didn’t understand about my mom’s job. I knew that her work helped protect the environment, but she lost me whenever she started talking about injunctions or the different types of briefs she drafted�
��and I wasn’t even really sure what a brief was.
I helped clean up after we’d finished and then headed upstairs: it was time to stop thinking about Dog Club and get some serious work done on my report.
But the second I settled into my desk chair, about to open the first book from my pile of books about Mongolia, my phone beeped with a text. I debated even checking it, but what if it was something important? So I swiped past the screensaver, which was a picture of all four of us at the shelter, dogs piled on our laps, and saw that it was from Mrs. Santagelo, confirming that she’d be at the shelter tomorrow.
Yikes! I was sure I’d texted her about the change in plans. I scrolled through my phone and groaned out loud when I saw my mistake: I’d typed out the text but somehow sent it to my drafts folder instead of to the Santagelos. I wrote a response to Mrs. Santagelo, explaining the change and apologizing. Then I checked to see if I’d remembered to cancel with the Golds. While I was doing that, I got an email with the messages that had come in to the Dog Club website—three potential clients who would require responses. I was about to start in on those, but then I heard back from Mrs. Santagelo, who was understandably annoyed with me. She even asked if our club was always this disorganized! I’d be in trouble with Bri if she ever saw that. This was so not the way to get good word of mouth for our club!
I wrote out a heartfelt apology to Mrs. Santagelo, then responded to all three messages from potential clients. At least I had remembered to text the Golds over the weekend, so that was one less thing to do.
But half an hour later, when I was finally able to start work on my report, I heard Mr. S whine softly—he needed to go out. And when I looked at the clock, I saw why: hours had passed since I had last taken him and it was getting close to my bedtime.
I was blinking back tears as I headed downstairs to walk my dog. The way things were going, I was going to fail this report!
8
The next morning was crisp and sunny and for the first time in ages I was actually on time to meet everyone at the corner for our walk to school.