by Jan Blazanin
Beside me, Laurel watches him disappear. “Your dog can move! The only time I was that excited about being in school was freshman year back in Evanston. Our drama teacher came to first period with three hickeys on his neck. I sneaked his picture with my cell during class and posted it on Facebook.” She nods and smiles. “Now, that was educational.”
Inside the building there’s an odor that reeks of barn yard. I’m used to smelling cafeteria food and jock straps moldering on locker shelves, but this is much worse. The air—damp, heavy, and still—intensifies the stench.
Emergency lights in the ceiling create alternating sections of dark and light reflecting off the rows of lockers in the hallway. Everything is quiet. “The pigs are probably shut in Hammond’s office,” Laurel whispers as she starts toward the main office, which is halfway down the hall on our right.
One floor above us, I hear a series of barks followed by a chorus of high-pitched squeals and the clatter of hooves.
“Or not.” I jog toward the stairway. My flip-flops buckle under my feet, so I yank them off and toss them into a corner. Taking the steps two at the time, Laurel and I race to the second-floor landing. We bump fists for luck and push through the swinging double doors into the hallway.
There we find ourselves nose to snout with three wildeyed, not-so-little pigs. Like flightless geese on steroids, they’re rumbling toward us in V formation, their chunky bratwurst bodies waddling from side to side. Carmine nips at their hooves in a howling, barking frenzy.
Laurel dives across the hall into a recessed doorway. I retreat through the swinging doors, slip in a puddle of pig poop, and clutch the stair rail with both hands. For a second, my feet touch nothing but air. Then I grip the edge of the top step and pull myself to safety. For the first time in my life, I’m thankful for my freakishly long toes.
For one traitorous second, I consider leaving Laurel, Carmine, and the pigs to work things out among themselves. But I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for the few hours I’d survive before Laurel hunted me down and killed me.
My left foot is greasy with pig crap, and my first step nearly lands me on my butt. I look around for something to wipe it on, but there’s nothing but tile and brick.
“Aspen, I need you! Get in here!” Laurel shrieks.
Taking shallow breaths—the smell of pig waste has put me off deep breathing—I push through the double doors. Poor Laurel is pancaked in the doorway on the other side of the hall. With her hands and feet braced on either side of the doorframe, she’s trying to suspend herself off the floor. Directly under her, the pigs are being held captive by Carmine. Their hooves scrabble on the slippery floor as they try to shove their way through the closed door. Their piercing squeals are making my ears ache.
Laurel’s face is the color of the brick wall, and her arm muscles are quivering. “Do something!”
If I think about what I’m going to do, I won’t. Barefoot, my teeth gritted, I wade into the whirlpool of pigs and dog. Overheated pig flanks crash into my knees, and I hug the wall for support. If I go down, there’s a better than even chance I won’t get up.
I zero in on Carmine, who is panting and frothing at the mouth. I straddle him like a bow-legged cowboy and clamp onto his back with my knees. With both hands holding his collar, I haul him back with all my strength.
He doesn’t budge.
Based on our many dog-walking fiascos, I know how much harder Carmine pulls than I do, but I was hoping adrenaline would give me an edge. Unfortunately Carmine is drooling adrenaline, and he has the advantages of four-legged traction and actual muscle mass.
“Carmine, come. Be a good boy.” His eyes roll in my direction, which means he’s hoping for a reward. Since he has a year’s supply of food within inches of his mouth, that can’t be it. Carmine eyes me again. His sides are heaving, and his tongue is hanging halfway to the floor.
“Are you thirsty, boy? Want a drink of water?”
When Carmine turns his head toward me, I know I’ve got him. Holding his collar and gurgling baby talk, I lead him down the hall to the drinking fountains. With my hip I push the rectangular button on the front of the wheelchair accessible fountain. As soon as Carmine sees the water, he stands on his hind legs and slurps.
Now that Carmine isn’t holding the pigs hostage, they shuffle away from Laurel. Freed from the doorway, she hurries over just in time to see Carmine running his tongue all over the bottom of the fountain. “My God, Aspen! The people who drink that water have enough problems without having to deal with dog slobber!”
As if dog drool in the basin of the water cooler is our biggest sanitary issue tonight. “If we survive this ordeal, I’ll disinfect it.”
Carmine is straining toward the spouting water, and I wrestle him back. It’s not coming out fast enough for him and he’s looking for a way to climb in. “Find a container we can fill with water, or tomorrow people will be drinking where a dog’s butt has been!”
“Eeuw!” Laurel covers her mouth. She looks up and down the hall as if waiting for a parade of dog dishes to march past. “Where can we get a water bowl?”
Holding Carmine back is making my shoulders ache, and the smell of hot, drooling dog and pig crap has my stomach bucking like a wild horse. “Let’s think. You’re standing by the teachers’ lounge where they drink liquids like coffee in…what do they call those things? Oh, yeah, coffee cups. Might that be a place to look?” I suggest in my most patient, reasonable voice.
“There’s no need to get nasty!” Laurel gives me her spooky, one-eyed glare before she opens the door to the teachers’ lounge.
Keeping a death grip on Carmine’s collar, I check to make sure the pigs aren’t planning an attack. They’re grouped at the end of the hall staring at me with their piggy little eyes. Their huge, flappy pink ears wave like palm leaves, and their flat snouts are splattered with black Dalmatian-type spots. They’re actually cute in a pre–pork chop kind of way.
Laurel opens the door and sticks her head out. “Good news, Aspen! There’s a unisex bathroom in here. Carmine can drink toilet water until he explodes.”
“You hear that, Carmine?” I tell him. “Lots of water!” Laurel holds the door open, and I lead Carmine in. When he sees the toilet, he springs at it and sticks his head in the bowl. I wag my head toward the hall, and Laurel and I slip out. The lounge door opens inward, so no matter how hard Carmine shoves, he’s trapped.
“An excellent idea,” I tell Laurel. “Now all we have to do is get the pigs outside.”
“Yeah, that’s all we have to do,” Laurel says with more sarcasm than necessary, considering she got us into this mess. She cups her hands around her mouth. “Hey, pigs, the coast is clear!” she calls. “Time to hit the road!”
“Very funny. Cut back on the attitude, Pork Queen, or I’ll leave you to deal with the Snout Sisters by yourself.”
Laurel shoves her sweaty bangs out of her eyes. “How do you know they’re sisters? They could be guy pigs.”
“You are such a city girl.” Although this is the only time outside of the Iowa State Fair I’ve seen a pig in person.
“If you know so much, then answer me.” Laurel peers at me under her lowered eyelids.
The best defense is slinging a load of bull. “What are you, a sex ed dropout? Guy animals have penises; those pigs don’t. End of discussion.” I can’t believe we’re outside the teachers’ lounge at one thirty in the morning arguing over pig genitals.
“I never knew you were such a perv!” Laurel hoots. “I’m trying to avoid being trampled by wild killer pigs and you’re checking them for penises. Gross!”
After I get Laurel off the subject of pig parts, we review our predicament. Now that Carmine is trapped in the lounge, the pigs are showing an unseemly interest in us. Their mouths are open, and they’re snuffling toward us at an alarming pace. I’m pretty sure one of them is salivating.
“Do pigs bite?” Laurel asks. She ducks behind me and watches their approach over my shoulder.
A quick sidestep puts me behind her. “How should I know? My dad’s an insurance agent, not Old MacDonald.”
Laurel tries to get around me again, but I block her with my elbow. “They’re still coming. What should we do?”
When did I become the freaking pig guru? “They look hungry. Hold out your arm and see what they do.”
Carmine woofs from inside the teachers’ lounge, and Laurel’s eyes light up. “Wait. Carmine was more interested in water than food. The pigs probably are, too!” She pounds my shoulder, knocking me against the wall. “Think about it. The poor things were pig-napped and shoved up a flight of stairs. Then Carmine chased them all over the place. They’re probably dying of thirst.”
Laurel’s moods shift at mind-blowing speed. Two minutes ago these were wild killer pigs. Now she’s feeling sorry for them. But a good idea is a good idea. “If I’m right—and I know I am—we just fill a container with water,” she continues, “and our three bacon bits follow it right out the door.”
A flashbulb goes off in my brain. “Or right into the elevator, which has to be easier than persuading them to walk down the steps.”
I leave Laurel minding the pigs while I raid the lounge for water containers. Now that I’m not wrestling Carmine, I notice that the lounge is cramped and dingy with walls the same yellowish brown as the pig deposits on the floor outside. In the middle of the room is a scarred-up table surrounded by eight mismatched cafeteria chairs. A refrigerator older than my grandmother stands beside the bathroom door. Carmine is stretched out on a sagging couch with his head on the arm nearest the door. When I walk in, he opens his eyes and yawns.
“Go back to sleep, troublemaker.” Carmine groans and his eyes droop shut. Why doesn’t he obey like that when I ask him to do something important?
At least I don’t have to waste time looking for a water bowl. A stainless-steel bowl half-filled with popcorn is sitting on the countertop beside the sink. As I pick it up, three cockroaches—one of them bigger than my thumb—scamper out of the leftovers. They dive over the rim of the bowl and disappear into the crack between the counter and the wall.
My teeth clench against a scream. Pig poop and cockroaches. What’s next? Holding the bowl with two fingers, I prepare to dump the bug-ridden popcorn into the trash can. Then I stop. Maybe the pigs are hungry. A few cockroaches won’t bother them. I find a grocery sack under the sink, pour in the popcorn, and fill the greasy bowl with water.
With the sack crushed in my armpit and holding the bowl of water in both hands, I lurch back into the hall. “Make way for Aspen Parks, caterer to the stars. I don’t like to brag, but my clients include Miss Piggy, Porky, Wilbur, and Piglet, just to name a few!”
“Shh! Not so loud. I just got them calmed down.” Laurel leans against the wall, rubbing one of the pigs on the snout and scratching another behind the ears. The third one is snuffling her leg. “Come here and touch them. They feel all warm and bristly.”
The skin between my shoulder blades bunches up. “Uh, maybe later. I’ve got water and popcorn. Let’s see if they’ll follow us to the elevator.”
“Do you hear that?” Laurel coos. “Popcorn and water! Yummy!”
I hold the popcorn sack at arm’s length. “Here, pigs. Popcorn. Good stuff.”
Their heads swivel toward me, their ears perk up, and their blocky heads bob up and down. The next thing I know, six beady eyes are trained on me, and the grunting, snuffling trio of pigs is closing in fast. I hand the popcorn off to Laurel and hold the water down where they can see it.
“Show time, Laurel,” I say from the corner of my mouth.
We shuffle backward toward the elevator with the pigs hot on our toes. To keep them interested, Laurel scatters popcorn kernels along the way. The pigs vacuum up the corn without breaking stride and keep on coming. I reach back and push the elevator button without taking my eyes off them. Who knows what a hungry pig might find appetizing?
When the doors slide apart, I set the bowl of greasy water on the floor and back out in a hurry. “Toss the popcorn inside,” I tell Laurel. “Then we close the doors and let them out on the first floor.”
“We can’t leave them alone in the elevator!” Laurel says. “They’ll be scared.”
I rub my aching temples. “Fine. Keep your new friends company. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Laurel steps to the back of the elevator and shakes the popcorn bag. “Come on, girls. Go for a ride with Aunt Laurel.” The pigs troop in with her, and she pushes the button.
That girl is in serious need of a pet.
I sprint down the stairs to the first floor, but Laurel and the pigs are already waiting for me in the hall outside Principal Hammond’s office. The pigs are rooting for old maids in the torn grocery bag, and Laurel is patting one of them on the back. “Rose and Daisy liked the elevator, but Sunflower here seemed nervous. Weren’t you, baby girl?”
Laurel rests her hand on Sunflower’s head. “I wuz scared, Auntie Laurel.” Laurel’s lips barely move and the gravely, baby-talk voice sounds nothing like her. “But you made me feel all better. I wuv you.”
My neck hairs prickle. Laurel’s teacher impersonations are amazing, but her pig-channeling routine is spooky. I’m half expecting “Auntie Laurel” to sling a leg over Sunflower’s back and ride off into the sunrise. Seeing this side of her leaves me feeling unsettled, like last year when a bunch of us went to Hooters after a basketball game and saw the school librarian waiting tables.
“This is great. Now we just set them free, and we can go home.” Laurel is scratching Daisy’s cheek. Or maybe that’s Rose. “Being a good citizen is exhausting.”
“We can’t just turn them loose on the street, you know.”
Laurel gives me a blank look. Then she rubs her eyes with her pig-scratching hand, and the glazed look clears. “God, of course not! They might get lost or hit by a car. What are we going to do?”
I let out a defeated sigh. “The one thing I wanted to avoid at all costs. I’ll have to call Manny.” I pat my shorts looking for my cell phone and discover two problems. First, my gym shorts don’t have pockets. Second, my phone is at home on my bed. “Let me use your cell.”
“No freaking way!” Laurel shouts, causing the pigs to do a nervous shuffle that’s dangerously close to my bare toes. “Manny can’t see me like this. My hair is a mess, and I haven’t brushed my teeth.” She holds her hand up to her mouth and breathes on it. “My breath smells awful!”
Pigs have been rubbing against her, and a chunk of poop is stuck on top of her left shoe, but yeah, her breath is the big issue. “Come on, Manny won’t even …” I haven’t yet found a kind way to tell Laurel that yearning after my brother is a waste of time. Manny likes his girls tall, slutty, and really busty. If his selection process goes beyond that, I haven’t seen evidence of it.
But Laurel’s not listening to me anyway. “Can’t we call somebody else?”
“Like who? A pig chauffeur?” I throw my hands up in frustration. “Our choices are your dad, my parents, or Manny. You choose.”
“You’ve lived here your whole life, and you don’t know anybody who has a pickup?”
“Some of my parents’ friends, maybe. And, of course, there’s Buster. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to drive back here and pick up the very same pigs he dumped off. We could get Ferret and Kong to help us load them up.”
Laurel sighs and hands over her phone.
Manny answers the third time I call. “Laurel, quit calling,” he mumbles. “This isn’t Aspen’s phone.”
“Don’t hang up! It’s Aspen. Laurel and I have a situation.” I explain in as few words as possible, surprised at Manny’s low-key reaction—until I hear the snore. “Manny, wake up! Laurel and I are being held hostage at the high school! It’s life or death!”
“Then call the police.” The last word is muffled by a yawn.
“Listen, Manfred, I blew my weekend busting my ass for your graduation party. If you’re not here in ten minutes,
I’m telling Mom what you did Saturday night.”
“Keep your shorts on. I’m coming.”
“So what did he do Saturday night?” Laurel wants to know when I close the phone.
“I wish I knew. After tonight, I’m going to need some major leverage.”
I’m waiting in the parking lot when Manny coasts in, after cutting his lights a block away. I step up to the driver’s side, and he powers down the window. “This better be serious.”
Pig tales don’t lend themselves to sugarcoating, so I lay out the facts. The further I get into the story, the lower Manny sinks in his seat. After I finish, he’s so still that I wonder if he’s asleep with his eyes open. Then his head moves slowly from side to side. “So right this minute, your friend Laurel and three medium-size pigs are standing outside Hammond’s office?” I nod. “And what am I supposed to do about it?”
“Well, the pigs aren’t that big. I thought maybe the three of us could lift them into your trunk—”
Manny explodes out of his car. “No way are pigs coming near my car! I just spent a hundred and fifty bucks to have this baby detailed.” He lays his hand protectively on the roof.
I sort of knew he was going to say that. “Look, Manny, if we don’t get the pigs out of here, Laurel and I will be suspended—probably worse.”
“And how is that my problem?”
“Laurel and I don’t have transportation, so it’s only logical for people to think you were in on it. Laurel may even have mentioned your name on her Facebook page. Think how upset Mom and Dad will be when you’re banned from graduation.”
Manny’s jaw works back and forth, grinding the enamel off his teeth. “Show me.”
Laurel’s sitting against the wall with her legs stretched out. The pigs are lying on either side of her, asleep. She puts her fingers to her lips.
“Not that big?” Manny growls. “They’re half grown.” He walks away, shaking his head. But he flips open his phone and makes a call.
I step over a snoring pig and settle in next to Laurel. “Who’s he calling?” she whispers. I shrug, lean my head on the wall, and close my eyes. The next thing I know, Laurel is poking my shoulder. “Aspen, wake up. Manny’s friend with the truck is here.”