I am just about to the trap when I see something white to my left. I stay still and look. Oh no, it’s another skunk. No, it’s three or four skunks. Babies. I cannot believe this. I must have trapped their mother. I have separated a mother from her babies. That’s not good. Now what?
My heart is beating fast. I worry that my breathing is too loud and too fast. Can baby skunks spray? I have no idea. Okay, one thing at a time. I have to chance it. Crawling a little farther, I grab the handle on top of the trap and pull it toward me. The skunk babies stay still. The fox kit looks at me with big, shining eyes. I’m sure I am scaring it, but I have no choice. I crawl backward with the cage—a hard thing to do—until I think I’m safe to stand. Then I hold the cage away from me because I don’t know if the fox will scratch or bite me through the cage. Even though I would totally deserve it.
I make a wide circle past the workshop, coming out on the far side of it. I can approach the fox enclosure without the mama skunk seeing me, I think. Quickly, I open the door of the enclosure fence and set the trap down just inside. I hope the fox mother isn’t healed enough to charge at me to get to her baby. I fumble with the clasp, trying to release the kit. The mother stays back in the coop, but she barks at me. The kit is silent. Finally, the clasp comes loose and the kit races out the trapdoor toward his mother. I pull the trap back and slam the enclosure door shut.
Okay, one problem solved. The kit is back. I repair the fence. Now I just have to somehow let the skunk out so her babies don’t get lost or starve overnight, and I’ll be all set. How do I do that without getting sprayed? If I can figure this out, my parents don’t need to know how I messed up.
But just as I’m turning around, the headlights from my parents’ car sweep over me. Darn. Now I have no choice but to tell. I slowly walk over to meet my family.
Mom sends Jayvee inside, and I try to explain to my parents what is going on. I show them the hole that I cut and patched.
“So the kit is back with its mother?” Dad asks.
“And you’ve trapped a mother skunk,” Mom says in a stern voice.
“That’s about right,” I say.
I follow Mom into the house while Dad masks and suits up to release the skunk. He has plenty of experience, but it’s not a sure thing that he can release the skunk without getting sprayed.
“Have a seat,” Mom says when we get to the kitchen. I sit.
“Mom—” I begin, but my mom holds her hand up for me to stop talking.
“So you cut a hole without asking first,” Mom says. She leans against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed in front of her. “And you did this in order to take pictures. And then you patched the fence.” She pushes away from the counter and takes a step toward me. She keeps her arms crossed.
She continues, “And it didn’t occur to you that you might need permission from us?”
“I thought if I patched it right, it wouldn’t be a problem,” I say, looking down at my hands. I shift in my chair and try to sit straighter.
“And . . .” Mom prompts.
“And . . . and, I guess I figured if I asked, you would say no,” I whisper. I hadn’t thought out my reasons until I said that. Bad excuse.
“Brenna,” Mom drops her arms and then raises them up to her head. “I might have expected this when you were younger, but not now.”
“I’m really sorry about the fencing,” I say.
“I thought you were more mature than this,” Mom says, sitting down beside me.
More mature? I thought I was, too. My stomach does a little flip.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. What else can I say? I really messed up.
“Your father and I will talk about an appropriate punishment. Head up and get ready for bed,” Mom says. She taps the table and sighs.
“My science class presentation is tomorrow. I still have some work to do on it.”
Mom shakes her head slowly and says, “Fine. Don’t stay up too late.”
I listen for Dad to come in. I can tell he didn’t get sprayed because we would already smell it if he did. Whew. That’s one more relief tonight. I turn on the computer.
Mom pokes her head in a little later.
“Your father says he’s going to show you how to properly make holes and patch that fence. He seems to understand your need to take pictures clear of the fencing. You better pay sharp attention so that this never happens again.”
“I will, I promise.” I give my mother a big hug.
“This doesn’t mean there won’t be punishment for your poor judgment, because there will be.” But she hugs me tight and pats my back and says, “Next time, do better.”
I don’t know yet what the punishment will be. But it’s good to know I’m already forgiven. I go back to my project.
Maggie and I never did talk about doing it together. I can’t imagine she wants to work with me now. And it’s too late to call her anyway. I have to research and make a poster. Now I wish I hadn’t told David that we each had to make our own. I would have liked to borrow his and save myself a little work tonight.
I research and work on my presentation for hours.
I don’t mean to. But when I get involved in animal research, it’s hard to know when to stop.
Besides people buying and then abandoning chicks, ducklings, and bunnies, I find out how they dye them. It’s crazy! Some people inject the chick eggs with dye a couple days before they hatch. And other people mist on a spray paint when they’re just hours old. The people who do it say it’s non-toxic and doesn’t hurt the animal. But that’s ridiculous. It just adds to the idea that the animals are for decoration. If people want bright and pastel colors at Easter, they should dye Easter eggs, buy jelly beans, eat marshmallow chicks. Not turn living creatures into toys.
I think about the dyed bunnies at the feed store. I think I know what I will do about them.
I finish my report. When I am done writing it, I print out some photos of dyed bunnies and chicks and attach them to my poster board. I think about bringing in my computer to show a few photos that I took of our ducklings but then decide I have enough without it. I stack my report and poster beside my bed and look at the clock. It’s after three in the morning! If my parents knew I was still up, I’d be in so much trouble. More trouble than I’m already in, anyway.
The next morning, Maggie is still ignoring me when I get to science class. I walk past her and bring my report and poster up to show Mr. Shuler.
“Oh Brenna, we agreed on a short report. By the look of that stack of paper, you would need the whole period. I’m afraid I can’t give you that much time.” He shakes his head slowly.
“I’m sorry. I guess I got carried away,” I say holding my stack.
“What can we do here?” Mr. Shuler asks. He picks up my poster and reads it. “This is good work, Brenna. As usual. But you’re going to have to present the class with an edited version. Ten minutes. Tops,” he says.
I leaf through my papers and think about what to say and what to leave out. Mr. Shuler passes me a highlighter, and I try to work quickly while he tells the class about the upcoming robotics competition.
I decide to talk about how fragile ducklings are and their need for water. About how they would most likely drown if abandoned. How many bunnies are bought as pets and then let go in the wild where they are not capable of surviving. And finally, about the crazy practice of dyeing and buying colored chicks and bunnies.
The whole class is interested in my report. Even Maggie, as much as she tries to hide it, is paying attention. And when I am done, my class claps. This is a surprise because it isn’t the polite kind of clapping that kids do when a teacher claps. It’s spontaneous. I bet they care as much as the Vet Volunteers do about the terrible things happening to all these baby animals.
“Well done, Brenna,” Mr. Shuler says. He stands and leans on his desk.
> “Thank you. Is there a way to share these reports at the high school? David Hutchinson, Sunita Patel, and Zoe Hopkins have posters, too. And maybe Maggie.” I look back at her desk. I can tell she heard me say her name, but she isn’t looking my way. “Maybe we could present in some biology classes?”
“Interesting thought,” Mr. Shuler begins. “Let me see what I can do. I’ll get in touch with the department head over there.”
And then I have another idea.
I will explain my idea to everyone at lunch.
But when I get there, Maggie—again—is a no-show. She’s avoiding me, I’m sure. She’s putting so much effort into it. And as ticked off as I am about it, I’m also worried that she might not be eating lunch just to be sure she doesn’t have to talk to me.
Sunita has her book with her again. She nods as I sit down and immediately goes back to reading. She fishes celery sticks out of a plastic baggie without looking and nibbles away.
David eats and talks to his buddy, Bruce, who sits directly behind him. Bruce’s table is always a little bit wild and a lot too loud for the size of the cafeteria. And the fact that David sits right behind him doesn’t stop Bruce from yelling over to our table. Bruce is also in Maggie’s and my science class.
“Did you see Brenna’s report?” Bruce shouts to David.
David tips back on his chair’s back legs so he is face-to-face with Bruce.
“Nope. Bet it was good, though,” he says. That’s one of the great things about David. He isn’t embarrassed to sit with girls in the cafeteria. He doesn’t pretend not to like any of us Vet Volunteers whenever he’s with his school friends. He treats us the same slightly crazy way, no matter where he is or who he is with. David is true David.
Bruce says, “It was.” And then yells, “Hey, Brenna, the part about the chick dyeing was awesome!”
I am sitting in front of David, so there is no reason for Bruce to yell at me. But Bruce is Bruce.
“Glad you liked it,” I say in a regular voice. I always hope Bruce notices that he can hear us just fine, but he never takes the hint.
Then David tips forward so all four legs are on the floor. His brow is furrowed, and he actually stops eating. “Did we have some chicks die, too? I thought it was just the duckling.”
“Bruce is talking about dyeing. With a y,” I say. “Not dying with an i. Wait a second. I guess that’s dyeing with an e not dying with an i. You know, like the bunnies at the feed store?”
Zoe and Maggie have joined us. Maggie doesn’t look at me, but just coming to the table is a great start.
Zoe sits and asks, “What’s this about dying?”
She shakes her head and opens her lunch sack. David looks even more confused.
I try again. “You know how people tie-dye shirts and pillowcase? And some people dye their hair?”
Zoe nods.
“Well, there are people who actually dye—as in color—animals. Specifically, baby chicks, ducklings, and bunnies. I talked about it in my science class report,” I tell them.
Zoe snaps the salad bowl closed. “You have got to be kidding!” she says. “Is that legal?”
“Some places it’s not. But too many places it is. In fact, David and I saw two dyed bunnies at the Ambler feed store.”
“It’s true,” David says. “Pink and purple.”
I take a spoonful of yogurt. I won’t tell the Vet Volunteers what I intend to do about those bunnies. They just wouldn’t understand. But I need their help with the second part of the plan.
“There is something we can do about it.”
“What’s that?” David asks. He swipes my banana. “May I?” he asks, holding it up.
“Go ahead,” I say. “Anyway, I talked to Mr. Shuler about us bringing our reports to some of the high school science classes. Not all of them, maybe just the biology classes.”
David looks at Zoe.
Maggie says, “Would you stop trying to make us go to the high school?” She wipes her mouth with her napkin. “None of us want to go with you.”
Maggie looks over at David, as if daring him to contradict her.
David looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. He tips back on his chair and asks Bruce if he has any food to spare.
Zoe says, “I wouldn’t mind going over to the high school.” She grins. “If it will help animals.”
Maggie stares at her cousin and says, “Sunita isn’t going to want to do this, either.”
Um, Sunita is sitting right there.
“Sunita can decide for herself,” I retort.
This gets Sunita out of her book. She looks up and glances around at us without understanding.
I take a deep breath. It makes no sense to get worked up about any of this. If my friends knew some high school kids, they would not be fighting me on this. So I try to explain.
“Listen, there is nothing to worry about. Nothing for any of us to be nervous about. Why is everyone so anxious about the high school? They’re just students. Like us.”
No one says anything. Maybe they don’t understand.
So I explain, “The high school kids can get more done. People listen to them more than they listen to us.” I turn to David, “Remember when we were at the feed store and the tractor-supply store?”
He nods.
“Well, they would have taken us more seriously if we were older. If we had some teenagers helping us with our Vet Volunteer projects—like this problem of abandoned animals—we could get so much more done. For instance, Nick, one of my friends in the Outdoor Club, I bet he would want to help us. And I’m thinking of moving our Environmental Club meetings to the high school. They have bigger rooms, and I know we’d get more high school kids participating if we held the meetings there.”
I look over at David. He isn’t saying anything for or against. Sunita looks stunned. Maggie looks down at her sandwich. Zoe is quiet, too.
That’s when Mr. Shuler stops by our table. “Hi, kids. Brenna, I got the okay for those reports. We’ll talk later about sending you kids over.”
Mr. Shuler leaves, and Sunita says, “I don’t understand all of this high school interest.”
Maggie says, “Brenna prefers the company of older kids. She’s choosing them over us.”
“Yeah,” Zoe adds, “she’s abandoning all of us.”
I don’t feel like seeing my friends after school, so I decide to go to the Outdoor Club’s meeting. I probably shouldn’t be going there uninvited, but I’m sure if I can just talk to the faculty adviser, they’ll let me stay. Nick probably doesn’t know that it’s okay because no one from the middle school ever wanted to join before. But it’s a club, not a class, so how could they have rules against middle school students?
I scoot up to the room where they hold their meetings. But there’s a sign on the door reminding the club members that the bus for the Envirothon will be out front at 2:30. Rats, they’re on a field trip. I’ll go sit in on the Photography Club meeting, as long as I’m here. Maybe that adviser can tell me how to go about joining a high school club.
I slip into the classroom and take a seat by the door. Everyone stares. The whole room goes quiet. The adviser crosses the floor and says, “Brenna, right? What are you doing here today?”
Before I can answer, I hear a student in the back say, “Are we babysitting today?”
Another girl says, “Hope we’re not expected to change diapers.”
My face goes red. I can feel it burning. The adviser walks me out and says, “Did you leave something behind?”
“I just thought that maybe it would be okay—”
“We can’t have students who aren’t enrolled here just roaming around the school. You were invited yesterday. But you may not just barge in anytime you want. I’m so sorry, but it’s against the rules. We’ll see you again when you’re in high school, dear.”
/>
She says all this with a smile on her face. But her eyes are not smiling. What’s worse, she left the door open so all the kids heard her chew me out. I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my life. As I leave, I hear a boy shout out, “Busted.”
On the school steps, I turn the opposite way from home and start jogging. I am going to do something grown-up right now. I am going to do something that I can tell the Outdoor Club about. They’re nicer than the Photography Club kids, anyway. They’ll be impressed. I bet I’ll be invited to join when they hear what I’ve done.
I rush into the feed store and quickly walk down the aisle toward the cage with the dyed bunnies. As I’m looking at the latch, I hear a familiar voice, “Hey, Brenna, can’t stay away, huh?”
It’s David. And I see David’s father behind him talking to the manager. Rats. David looks at my face and says, “What’s up? What are you doing?’
“I’m going to free these bunnies,” I whisper. Somehow saying it out loud—even whispering—makes this now seem like a bad plan.
“Free them to where?” David whispers back.
“The rehab center,” I reply.
“And then what?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Find them homes when we find homes for the others? I haven’t really figured that part out.” I feel ridiculous all of a sudden.
“But that’s stealing, isn’t it?” David stares at me. He looks disappointed with me.
“I don’t really think it’s stealing if we give them a better life,” I reply.
“I think it’s still stealing, and how do you know they’ll have a better life than with whoever it is already bought them?” He points to a SOLD sticker attached to the sign. When David makes more sense than I do, it’s time to go home.
I let out a big sigh, and as the air rushes out of me, so does all thought of this ever having been a good idea.
“Please don’t tell anybody what I was about to do,” I say to David.
Treading Water Page 8