“That seems early to be introducing you.”
“I actually met her first,” I say. “Remember that time I fell off my bike a few weeks ago? She’s the one who helped me and bandaged my ankle. Dad met her when he picked me up.”
“Huh,” Mom says. “Well, how do you feel about her coming here? Your dad dating is pretty new and different, and this is already a big day for you, and—”
“I’m fine with it,” I say. “Seriously. I really like Beth. I invited her.” I picture what Mom’s face would do if I said Actually, I tricked them into going out specifically so they’d come here together.
“Oh,” Mom says, obviously surprised. “Well, if you have any feelings about it and you want to talk about them, I’m always here. I know it took some work to get used to having Krishnan around.”
“Are you mad that she’s coming?” I ask. I’ve been so busy thinking about what might happen between my dad and my stepdad that it hadn’t even occurred to me that this might be weird for Mom.
Her face softens. “No, baby. It’s fine. I just . . . wasn’t expecting it.” She looks at her watch, and her Super Competent Mom expression slides back into place. “It’s twelve thirty—you should probably start getting ready. I’ll text Krishnan and have him take Elvis out for a pee break.”
All of a sudden it seems like there are four hundred nervous tentacles slithering and sloshing around in my stomach, tangling around one another, but I say, “Cool. I’m going to run to the bathroom too.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
I roll my eyes. “No, Mom, I’m twelve. I can go to the bathroom by myself.”
“Okay.” She kisses my cheek. “I’ll meet you at ring eight. You know where to go?”
I tell her yes, but as she walks off in the other direction, I suddenly do wish I had someone to go to the bathroom with. I pull out my phone and text Mir.
Me: Almost here?
Mir: Mom says ten minutes!
Me: Come straight to ring 8. You guys probably shouldn’t say hi till after or Elvis will get really excited and I won’t be able to calm him down.
Mir: ok!
The bathroom floor is covered in dog hair and sequins, and there are signs posted above each sink that say ABSOLUTELY NO DOG-WASHING IN BATHROOMS. I pee and wash my hands, fix the flyaway wisps that have escaped from my bun, and apply my lucky watermelon lip gloss. My stomach is still twisting with nerves, but when I look at my reflection in the mirror, the girl who looks back at me—the girl the judge will see—looks confident and ready to win. Despite all odds, that girl made two people fall in love. A first-place ribbon isn’t out of her reach.
I plant my hands on my hips in a power pose, and even though I know it’s really dorky, I tell my reflection, “You’ve got this.”
A middle-aged woman wearing a shirt that says I LIKE BIG MUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE pats me on the shoulder as she passes by on her way to a stall. “Yes, you do,” she says. “Knock ’em dead, baby.”
I get a little lost on the way to my ring, so Mom and Krishnan beat me there. After I rubber band my show number to my arm, I take Elvis’s leash from my stepdad . . . and just like our very first show, he immediately starts tugging on it, shifting from foot to foot and whining. A girl a bit younger than me walks by with an adorable corgi, and Elvis lunges for him and tries to sniff his butt. The girl gives me a look like Can’t you control your dog? and I feel my face turn bright red. I can put on a mask of confidence all I want, but Elvis knows what’s underneath, and he’s going to let everyone else know too. It seems so unfair that he can read my mind without even trying while I struggle so hard to understand what’s going on inside his head.
I look around wildly, unsure what to do, and it suddenly feels like all the other kids are staring at me, laughing at me, even the tiny boy in the tiny suit who’s carrying a tiny Chow Chow. He can’t be more than six or seven, and even he doesn’t think I belong here.
And the truth is, I don’t. I didn’t earn my spot in this show; almost everyone else won a bunch of other shows to qualify, and all I did was get randomly picked from a list of lottery applications. I’m a total fraud. What on earth made me think I could do this?
Elvis lunges after another dog, and I pull him back. “No, no, no,” I whisper-scream, and my voice comes out high and hysterical. “You have to calm down, we practiced this, you have to—”
“Ella,” Krishnan says, and he grips my shoulder. “Look at me.”
I do, and staring into his warm brown eyes helps a little. “You can do this,” he says firmly. “Elvis can sense if you’re panicking, so you have to try to relax. You’ve practiced a million times, and you’re going to be wonderful out there. Okay?”
“We love you so much,” Mom says, and she gives me a hug. I breathe in the familiar smells of her citrusy perfume and shampoo, and it makes me feel the tiniest bit calmer. “We’ll be sitting right there the whole time. Look at us if you get nervous.”
“Okay,” I say, but it comes out like a question.
And then I hear my name from across the ring, and when I look up, Miriam and her mom and Keiko and Jordan are all there on the other side, smiling and waving like crazy. Each of them is holding a giant, brightly colored sign covered in glitter and stickers. Miriam’s says GO ELLA & ELVIS! Keiko’s says YOU GOT THIS! Jordan’s just says WOOF! in a speech bubble coming out of the mouth of something I assume is supposed to be a dog but looks more like a Sasquatch. Seeing my friends instantly makes me feel better, like a puzzle piece has snapped into place inside my brain. Now there’s only one more missing piece, and he’s on the way, and if he gets here in time, everything is going to be perfect after all.
As if I’ve summoned him, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I pull it out, the screen says DAD.
“Are you here?” I answer, breathless.
“We’re at the front entrance,” he says. “I’m so sorry we’re late. There was an accident and we got stuck on the highway forever. Where should we go?”
“Ring eight,” I say. “It’s in Hall B. Hurry!”
“We’ll be right there,” he says. “Good luck, in case we’re too late to hug you before you go on. Beth and I can’t wait to see what you and Elvis can do.”
“Thanks,” I say, and just like that, all the tentacles in my stomach slink away, back into the slimy depths where they live. Everyone I love is here, which means everything is going to be okay now. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, and the moment I do, it’s like someone has flipped a switch inside Elvis—he stops tugging, sits down on the floor, and starts swishing his tail calmly back and forth. I am 99 percent sure it’s the “I’m ready” wag.
“Well, look at that,” Krishnan says. “Good job, Ella.”
“Everything’s going to be fine,” I say, and for the first time today, I really believe it. Sure, maybe I did win the lottery instead of qualifying for my spot here. But that doesn’t mean any of these kids are better than me. Everyone here had a first win at some point. Today is going to be mine.
18
The judge arrives, and the steward calls the kids who are ten and under into the ring. I give the judge a once-over as the kids trot past me with their dogs. She’s older than my mom but younger than my grandma, and she has a severe black bob that makes her look like she should be playing the mean boss on a TV show about lawyers. I’m surprised for a minute that there isn’t a single sparkle on her navy blazer, but then she moves, and I see that her skirt is somehow plaid and covered in sequins at the same time. She’s gentle and playful with the dogs, but she doesn’t smile at any of the kids. A couple of them seem scared of her, but not me. She’s clearly looking for perfection, and that’s what I’m going to give her.
Dad and Beth show up as the judge is examining the last dog, and my whole body lets out a breath of relief, right down to my fingernails. All the chairs are taken, but they manage to squeeze in between two families who are standing near the corner of the ring—when I do my down-and-b
ack, I’ll be running directly toward them. Beth smiles and waves when she sees me looking, and Dad shoots me the secret good luck hand signal I’ve been craving at the last few shows. I can’t give him two thumbs-ups back because I’m holding Elvis’s leash, but I do one angled one with my free hand. Having him here makes everything feel right in a way the other shows haven’t. He even looks like his old self in this blue-and-yellow plaid shirt I remember from before the divorce, when he wore button-downs all the time and grungy T-shirts were only for yard work.
I put my hand on Elvis’s head, and he gives it a sneaky lick. He’s still doing the ready wag, and I feel like he’s telling me he knows how important this is. He’s going to do his very best to help me win.
The steward calls for the intermediate competitors, and I grip Elvis’s leash tighter. “Let’s go, buddy,” I tell him, and he gets right up and walks next to me into the ring, his tail still swishing happily behind him.
The moment I walk through the gate, my world narrows to the size of the ring, and nothing outside of it matters. I feel so laser-focused that I don’t even look at my family or my friends. Just knowing they’re there and sending me love is enough.
Time seems to be moving both faster and slower than usual, stretching out and collapsing in on itself like taffy on one of those pulling machines. One minute I’m posing for a picture with the ten other kids in my group; I blink, and Elvis and I are waiting for his turn to be examined; I blink again, and I’m up at the front of the ring next to the judge without a clear idea of how I got there. I get Elvis into a perfect stack super fast thanks to all those hours we spent practicing with Krishnan, and when I dig a treat out of my pouch to hold above his nose, the judge nods at my arm and says, “Clever.” My heart starts doing pirouettes—I don’t think she’s said anything personal to any of the other competitors. I am so, so in.
Elvis stands absolutely still as the judge feels his skull and checks his teeth and tests his ribs. He’s alert and eager, as cooperative as he’s been on our very best days of practice, and I can feel everything falling into place. The judge finishes her exam and scratches him behind the ears, and he leans into her lovingly and wags his tail like mad. “Good boy,” she says. “Down and back, please.”
Elvis and I glide across the ring together, working in perfect harmony like a single six-legged creature, execute a perfect turn at the end, and glide back. We are totally in the zone. When we reach the judge again, Elvis does what I’m pretty sure is the treat wag, so I feed him one, and when he locks eyes with me, I feel like we understand each other perfectly. There’s no way the judge could help but notice.
“Right around, please,” she says, and we float effortlessly around the ring. I’m absolutely as good as everyone else here. Elvis and I reach the end of the line and stop behind another girl and her bloodhound, and Elvis lies down on the floor and gazes up at me. I crouch down next to him and pet him, feed him treats, whisper to him about how amazing he is. I’ve finally given my very best performance, and my very best has almost always been good enough to get me what I want. I feel light and airy as I watch the judge examine the rest of the dogs, like I’m hovering just above my body. It’s pretty obvious we’re going to win.
And then the judge finishes working her way through the line and says, “Everyone all the way around together one more time, please.” We follow the bloodhound in a perfect loop, and when everyone claps, my world expands a little bit. I see Krishnan snapping pictures, and my mom beaming with pride, and my friends holding up their signs, and my dad and Beth clapping and cheering, and the whole world feels perfect. Every obstacle and frustration I’ve been through in the last couple months has been worth it for this moment.
The judge calls certain dogs into the center of the ring: first the Border collie, then the Rottweiler, then some sort of small fuzzy terrier. It feels so inevitable that she’ll call Elvis and me next that I’m not even nervous, and sure enough, she beckons us forward. I stand there at the end of the line, straight and tall. I can almost feel the ribbon in my hand.
And then the judge nods once, her helmet-hair swinging forward, and says, “Yes, that’s how I want them. One, two, three, four.”
But I must not be processing things correctly, because I swear she started counting from the wrong end of the line. I’m supposed to be number one, not the girl with the collie.
“What?” I say, but my ears are suddenly ringing, and I’m not totally sure I said it out loud.
Collie girl crouches down and hugs her dog, and then she makes her way down the line, hugging each of us. Her hair brushes my cheek as she embraces me and says, “Good job,” but I’m so stunned that I don’t even lift my arms to hug her back. I wait for someone to correct her, but instead the steward comes out, marks her number down in the judging book, and hands her a big purple first-place ribbon. And then there’s a ribbon in my hand, too—a plain green one stamped with words in gold.
NATIONAL DOG SHOW
KENNEL CLUB OF PHILADELPHIA
JUNIOR DIVISION, INTERMEDIATE GROUP
FOURTH PLACE
“Congratulations,” says the steward, and then I’m being herded out of the ring, past the line of teens waiting to compete. I have a vague feeling that I should be crying, but I’m so disconnected from myself that I can’t even tell if there’s a lump in my throat or not. Dad and Beth are closest, and they’re next to me in a moment. Elvis leaps right up on Beth, who scratches his ears and says, “Oh my goodness, who’s the best boy? Who’s the most handsome boy?” and Dad pulls me into an enormous hug.
“Ellabee, that was amazing!” he says. “You had so much control over him!”
“It was just like at Westminster!” Beth says. “That was so impressive.”
“Not impressive enough,” I say into my dad’s chest, and my voice comes out croaky and quiet. I guess I do have a lump in my throat after all.
Dad pulls away enough to hear me. “What’d you say?”
“I said it still wasn’t enough.” That familiar prickly feeling starts up in my sinuses, but I clamp right down on it like Elvis on a rawhide and forbid myself to cry. Even the little kids aren’t crying.
“What do you—” Dad starts, but then Mom and Krishnan slip in next to us, and Elvis abandons Beth to jump up on my stepdad. “That was perfect, Ella,” Krishnan says, rubbing the back of my shoulder. “I’ve never seen you handle him so well.”
Mom pulls me into her arms and kisses me on the side of the head the moment Dad releases me. “I’m so proud of you,” she says into my hair. “You were wonderful.” Then she turns to my dad. “Hi, David. Thanks for coming. And you must be Beth.”
Dad and Beth awkwardly greet my mom, and Krishnan busies himself with petting Elvis. My dad crosses his arms tightly over his chest and doesn’t speak to my stepdad, and Krishnan doesn’t acknowledge him either, but there they both are, standing a few feet apart, and nobody’s freaking out. I’ve proven that it is possible for them to be in the same place at the same time, and under any other circumstance, I’d be out-of-my-mind thrilled. But considering what happened in the ring, it’s hard to even focus on the two of them or on a future past this moment.
“This isn’t how things were supposed to go,” I say, and my voice manages to crawl around the lump in my throat this time. “I did everything right. I was supposed to win.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Mom says. “You must be disappointed. But you know how subjective all of this is. The judges have such different tastes. Krishnan and Elvis had a great day earlier, and they didn’t win either.”
“But that’s different,” I say. “This isn’t about taste! That judge was looking for the best dog, and we can’t control what Elvis looks like, but this one was judging me. I did everything I was supposed to do, and I tried to pay attention to exactly what Elvis was telling me, and I still— I didn’t— I should’ve—”
And then my friends are there, piling on me like a bunch of puppies, poster board crinkling between us and
shedding glitter all over my dress. “You were soooooo good,” Miriam squeals. “Fourth place! That’s amazing!”
“And it was only your second time in the ring!” Keiko says. “You’re totally a natural. A dog show prodigy.”
“I didn’t—” I try to say, but Miriam starts talking again before I can get a full sentence out.
“Where’s Beth?” she whispers. “Is she here? I want to see her.”
“She’s right—”
And then Jordan lets out an audible gasp.
“What’s wrong?” asks Mir. “Are you okay?”
Jordan’s staring wide-eyed at Beth, who’s crouched on the floor next to Krishnan, scratching Elvis’s belly. My friend looks equal parts scared and horrified, like she’s watching a zombie eat someone’s brain.
“Aunt Libby?” she says.
19
Beth looks up, and her face brightens. “Jordan! Oh my god, hi! What are you doing here?”
“I’m friends with Ella,” Jordan snaps. “I’m allowed to be here.”
Beth laughs. “Of course you are. I’m just surprised to see you.” She looks back and forth between us with delighted wonder. “You two are friends? That’s so crazy. Jordan, I was telling Ella a few days ago about how I had this awesome niece I thought she’d love. And I was right! I can’t believe you already know each other! The universe is so amazing.”
“Wait,” I say. I’m feeling so many emotions at once that I’m having a hard time processing what’s happening. “Wait. This is Beth. Why are you— Her name isn’t—”
“It’s Elizabeth,” Beth says cheerfully, like none of this is weird at all. “You’re both right. I go by Beth now, but I was Libby as a kid. My family still calls me that. Jordan’s my oldest sister’s daughter.”
Oh no. We set my dad up with horrible Aunt Libby?
I’m so shocked that I can’t even speak—I just stand there with my mouth gaping open like a dead fish. But Jordan starts laughing hysterically. “Oh. My. God,” she gasps, bending over to catch her breath. “Are you kidding me right now? Of all the hundreds of profiles on Head Over Heels, hers was the one you—”
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