Dog Show Disaster

by Missy Robertson

  “Here are some materials that will make your jobs easier. Madison, there are huge lists of names in there of people who have donated in the past. Ronnie, here are lists of the last few years’ adult volunteers. And Samara—here are lists of supplies we already have stored in sheds and closets around the campus. Oh, and in that file is the name of a printing house in town that will do brochures, posters, and even T-shirts for a reasonable price.”

  “You okay, Carroway?” Miss Lewis raised an eyebrow in my direction. “I think we’re off to a great start. Now, we just need to come up with a date for the event—I believe it’s usually on a Saturday around the fourth weekend in May, right?”

  “That would be May twenty-seventh.” Madison scrolled the calendar on her phone. Then she looked up. “Eight weeks from this Saturday. We can really tear it up in that amount of time, right, Allie?”

  “Tear it up?”

  “It’s an expression. It means we can do an awesome job.”

  “Of course,” I said. “We will do an awesome job.”

  “Good.” Miss Lewis smacked her hand on the table. “Let’s schedule our next meeting for Monday. That will give you all a few days to recruit your team members and report back on your progress. Let’s do it after school. Plan for three hours. I’ll have some burgers delivered.”

  Madison, Ronnie, and Samara quickly packed up their stuff and returned to the quad for the remainder of the lunch hour. On my way out, Miss Lewis stopped me.

  “Carroway, I made copies of these, and I also made electronic files.” She handed me the rest of the colorful folders. “Go ahead and read through everything. I think we’re going to need a few more subcommittees.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I took what must have been fifteen folders off her hands. It felt like I added a fifty-pound brick to my backpack.

  “And for the record,” Miss Lewis said. “I don’t think people are tired of hearing about your family at all, so make sure you invite them to participate in the Bark Fest. Remember, one person’s opinion about you does not reflect the whole of society.”

  I nodded. “Gotcha.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Up a Tree

  Those folders in my backpack weighed me down for the rest of the school day. Not physically though. Mentally.

  You’re doomed, Allie. What made you think you could be the one to head up this project? You have no experience at all, and you’re already busy with homework and filming the show. This is going to be a flop. You may as well quit now.

  It was like all those folders were pushing me into my desk, suffocating me, and finally, during math—our last subject of the day—Mr. Vicker, who was now our long-term sub, said something about it.

  “Allie, do you feel alright? You don’t seem like yourself.”

  Mr. Vicker had somehow managed to walk in front of my desk without me noticing.

  “Oh, uh . . . I’m fine. Just daydreaming, I guess.”

  More like “day-worrying.”

  Mr. Vicker sighed. “I get it. It’s been a rough week, and it’s only Tuesday.”

  I grinned. “At least we have a nice long-term sub.”

  Mr. Vicker laughed. “Well, we’ll see what you say in a few weeks. I’ve never had to make you do real work before. Now I have to prepare you for state testing, assign an English paper, and a science project, and—get this—the grades I give you will determine if you advance to the ninth grade or not. That should make you shiver in fear.”

  I kind of laughed too, but then my head and hands broke out in tingles. “Really? You’re gonna give me all that work, knowing that I have Bark Fest in eight weeks?”

  “Bark Fest?”

  “Yeah, that’s what we’re calling it. The OMS Bark Fest Carnival and Dog Show. All proceeds go to the West Monroe Animal Shelter.”

  “I love it. You kids are so creative.”

  “Can that count for the science project? I mean, the whole thing is an experiment.” I grinned my most charming grin.

  “No,” Mr. Vicker said, “but nice try.”

  The bell finally rang to end the school day, and Aunt Janie—Lola’s and Ruby’s mom—came to pick us up.

  “Your backpack is huge, Allie-gator. Throw it in the back.”

  I ran to the back of the SUV, pulled open the liftgate, and hoisted it in. And for some reason, I wanted to crawl in next to it, curl up in a ball, and not talk to anyone on the twenty-minute drive home.

  That, I knew, would never fly with the cousins, so I didn’t even try. I had barely buckled my seatbelt when they started in with the questions.

  “So, tell us what happened,” Kendall said. “Everyone was buzzin’ at lunch about Madison Doonsberry’s proclamation that someone’s going to win a chance to be on her dad’s show.”

  I just about lost my breath. “She’s talking about that already?”

  “It’s all over social media,” Lola said. “Check it out—here’s her post on the FriendClips app.”

  Lola handed me her phone, and I read aloud the words on the screen:

  Hello, Friends! I, Madison Doonsberry, have been tasked with raising funds for the West Monroe Animal Shelter at this year’s OMS Bark Fest Carnival and Dog Show. Will you help me make this year’s event the best ever? For every two-hundred dollars in goods or services you donate, you will be entered into a drawing, and the winner (to be announced at the carnival) will have a cameo appearance on the hottest reality show in Louisiana—Lunker Law! Follow the links below to donate, or call Ouachita Middle School for more details.

  At the bottom of the post was a cute picture of a golden retriever puppy. How could anyone resist that?

  “Click the link,” Lola said. “She already has donations.”

  “Huh?” I clicked, and it took me to a funding page that showed a goal of . . . twenty thousand dollars? And two-thousand had already been raised? In three hours?

  “Isn’t social media amazing?” Kendall shook her head. “News spreads like wildfire.”

  “Wildfire destroys things,” Aunt Janie said. “Why don’t you pick a better simile?”

  Kendall thought for a minute. “Stomach flu?”

  “How about peanut butter?” Hunter rubbed his belly.

  “Try again,” I said. “Peanut butter will kill me.”

  “Sorry, Allie, but I’m hungry.”

  “So, the only things we can think of that spread quickly are bad?” Ruby fiddled with her orangey-red braid she had pulled over her right shoulder.

  “Hmmm,” Aunt Janie gave us a concerned look from the rearview. “I’d say that’s something to consider when it comes to social media. I’d be careful with it if I were y’all.”

  I sat in the tan beanbag chair in the Lickety Split that afternoon and watched as donations increased on Madison’s funding page.

  She made it sound like she was the one in charge of the whole project!

  I pulled up my FriendClips page—the one I had begged my mom to let me open just a couple of months ago, when I turned thirteen. The first week I posted a bunch of silly selfies and I “checked-in” everywhere I went. That got me an immediate lecture from my dad on the dangers of giving up my location to everyone on the Internet.

  “But Dad, I only have twenty-five followers, and they’re all family.”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “No more checkin’ in.”

  So that kind of made me scared to post anything else.

  I clicked back to Madison’s personal FriendClips page. Four thousand fifty-five followers. How can that be?

  I did a quick search for Parker Doonsberry—just to see if he was on.

  No.

  “Hey, Allie, Allie, Allie! Are you up there?”

  It was Hunter. I put down my phone, pushed myself out of the beanbag chair, and stepped out onto the balcony.

  “Hey, Hunter, come on up. You’ll be happy to know I have food.”

  I had packed enough for an army, and told my mom and dad that I wouldn’t be home for dinner since I had a ton of home
work and project planning to do in the Split. Since we’re living at my Aunt Kassie and Uncle Wayne’s house till our new house is built, there are so many people at the dinner table, I would hardly be missed.

  Hunter climbed up the spiral stairway, and when he got to the top, he greeted me by bonking me on the head with a cardboard tube.

  “Wrapping Christmas presents in March?” I asked.

  “This . . .” Hunter held the tube high in the air. “. . . is not a Christmas wrapping-paper weapon. It is a secret plan to make a fortune for the animal shelter.” Hunter walked over to the writing desk, popped the plastic end off the cardboard tube, and pulled out some rolled-up papers. He spread them out, and put some books on the corners to keep the papers flat.

  “This little baby is called the ‘Dimple-Dunk 5000.’”

  “A dunk tank?” I raised both palms toward the ceiling. “Hunter, we always do a dunk tank.”

  “Not one like this, we don’t! This one is huge! It holds 5,000 gallons of water, the victim sits up higher, and the window is bigger so the people can see the person underwater better. It’s also going to be painted in camo. I knew you’d appreciate that.”

  I checked out the plans. It looked like a dunk tank on steroids.

  “I always feel a little sorry for the poor person who gets dunked over and over again. They look like a drowned rat.”

  “And in the Dimple-Dunk 5000, they’ll look like a big-old drowned nutria rat!”

  Hunter held his hands out to his sides. “It’ll be amazing. And we can have people pay big for who they want to dunk the most. Think about how much we could make dunking Mr. Langley or Jared Strickland . . . or even Miss Lewis!”

  “Yeah, Hunter, but the person would have to agree to be dunked for that to work.”

  “Use your leadership gift to talk them into it.”

  “Leadership gift?”

  “Yeah. People don’t win elections by a landslide if they don’t have a leadership gift.”

  “Hey!” A voice called from below. “Is anyone up there? ’Cause I’m not climbin’ if there isn’t company.”

  Kendall.

  I peeked my head over the railing. “Good timing, cousin! We’re checking out Hunter’s money-making idea for the Bark Fest.”

  Kendall came up, looked over the plans, and shook her head. “No way anyone is gettin’ me in that thing.”

  I put one fist on my hip. “Oh, come on, Kendall. Think of your sweet little Ellie-dog. How would you feel if she was in a crowded, run-down shelter waiting on a family? Would you be willing to be dunked for her?”

  Kendall rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine! You got me. I’ll do it. But I won’t like it!”

  Hunter shot me a knowing glance. “See, I told you. Leadership gift. People naturally follow you.”

  “Tell that to Madison Doonsberry,” I said. “She seems to think she’s the leader of this project.”

  “Well, she’s definitely aggressive.” Kendall pulled out her phone. “Have you seen how many hits she’s gotten on her FriendClips post? Like 4,000 or something like that.”

  “Helloooo! I have craft ideas!” Lola made her way up the stairs carrying what looked like several wooden boards. Ruby followed, lugging a tote filled with craft paint and little brushes.

  Lola spread all her materials out on the 5-in-1 game table Mamaw had gotten for us at a garage sale.

  “I miss our old Scripture boards that used to hang in the Diva,” Lola began pulling little paint bottles out of the tote. “We need to see God’s Word in big, colorful letters. So, I’m making new ones. Do y’all have any new favorite verses?” We all sat down on the cushy chairs to think.

  “I don’t know if we should use wooden boards again,” I said. “Those last ones were mold traps.”

  Lola grinned. “I’m way ahead of you, Allie. These may look like wood, but they’re plastic. See?” She held one up and flicked it with her fingernail, making a hollow sound. “I just painted them to look like wood.”

  “Pure craft genius,” Kendall said. “You should make some of those and sell ’em at Bark Fest. You know, if you donate two-hundred dollars’ worth of goods or services, your name will be put in the drawing . . .”

  I put my hand out. “Hey, people, no Carroways on the competitor’s show! Come on!”

  “I was just kiddin’.”

  “Let’s not change the subject.” Lola scolded us with her paintbrush. “I want you to give me Bible verses.” She took a pen and a pink post-it from the writing desk drawer and got ready to write.

  “Psalm 46:10,” I said. “Be still and know that I am God.”

  Lola jotted it down. “That’s a good one for you, since I’ve never really known you to be still.”

  Ruby giggled. “God made her to be a back-flipping machine.”

  As she said that, I was wriggling in my chair. It is hard to be still.

  “I saw Mrs. Mellon and her baby this morning,” I said, “and all I could think of was how all that teeny-tiny baby can do is lay there and let people take care of her. She has no control over her life at all. And that verse popped into my head.”

  Lola nodded. “I feel out-of-control most of my life.”

  “I’m a control freak,” Kendall said.

  “And I feel like I’m losing control of this Bark Fest and it’s only day one!” I punched my fist into the beanbag. “Lola, make that verse big and clear so I can look at it a lot over the next two months.”

  “You got it, Allie.”

  “Thanks.” I pulled the many multicolored folders out of my backpack and held them up to show my cousins.

  “Miss Lewis gave me these folders to read tonight. Do any of you know how to run a dog show?”

  Ruby jumped to her feet. “I watch them on TV all the time! I can do that for you.”

  “Really? But what about your bake sale?”

  Ruby grinned. “Mamaw can run that with one hand tied behind her back. Plus, I can still help her bake.”

  “Wow, thanks Ruby. I feel much better already.”

  Ruby took an empty folder from me, grabbed a pen, and labeled it ‘Dog Show File.”

  “It’ll be fun. Hey, you should schedule that dog clinic with a trainer soon, though, so the owners have plenty of time to work with their dogs. I know Max is a slow learner.”

  I pointed right at her. “Good call. I’m going to contact Mr. Felix right now and make a date.”

  I pulled up his contact information and dialed the number of the animal shelter.

  “Hello, Allie!” Mr. Felix greeted me. “I was just telling the employees about your project and how it is going to help our dogs. Everyone is very excited!”

  I smiled. “I’m happy to hear that! Everyone is excited on our end too. Hey, Mr. Felix, you’re a dog trainer, right? Well, I was wondering if you would be willing to put on a clinic to teach kids how to train their dogs to do tricks and stuff . . . You would? That’s the best! Can we pick a date a couple of weeks from now, like—say, Saturday, April 15th? . . . Kiroli Dog Park? . . . That would be a perfect location. Okay, yes . . . that time works. My team and I will get the word out to the school and the rest of the community! Thank you, Mr. Felix. I’m looking forward to it!”

  I hung up the phone, feeling confident again.

  “April 15th, it is, at 9:00 am, Kiroli Dog Park. Can you all come?”

  Kendall scrolled the calendar on her phone. “I’ve got no plans.”

  “Me either,” Hunter said. “Except we’ll miss our weekly Donuts-in-the-Split meeting.”

  “I’ll bring donuts to the event,” I said.

  “Then it’s a go for me and T-Rex.”

  “Hey, Lola,” Kendall said. “When’s Madison’s birthday party? Isn’t that on a Saturday?”

  Lola looked up from her painting. “Oh, yeah. That’s this Saturday, and I still feel a little funny about going.”

  “Did you get her a present yet?” Ruby asked.

  Lola nodded. “I got her that same necklace I was wea
ring the other day since she liked it so much.”

  “And she shamelessly begged you for it.” Kendall rolled her eyes.

  “Well, that made the choice easy. I was also thinking of making her one of these Scripture boards, but I don’t know what verse to put on it. Do any of you know if Madison is a Christian?”

  “Parker told me that he accepted Jesus as his savior a year or so ago,” I said. “I didn’t ask about Madison.”

  “I don’t get a Jesus vibe from her—that’s for sure.” Kendall got up, pulled a Bible from the bookshelf in the corner, and flipped through some pages.

  “I’ve got a verse,” Ruby chimed in. “How about 1 Peter 5:7: ‘Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.’”

  “I like it,” Hunter said. “If she’s a believer, it will be a good reminder. If she’s not, it will give her something to think about.”

  “Okay, 1 Peter 5:7 it is.” Lola agreed.

  I sat down on the beanbag chair and sorted the stack of folders on the floor in front of me. My fingers began to tingle, and I yawned, to try to get a deep breath. It didn’t come easy. I pulled my phone out and checked Madison’s funding site again. Donations were up another thousand. It didn’t seem like Madison Doonsberry had cares or worries at all. So far, everything she had done for this project was turning to gold.

  “Hey, Lola . . .”

  “Yeah, Allie?”

  “Can you make an extra 1 Peter 5:7 for me? I think I need to hang it right . . . there.” I pointed to the spot on the ceiling where I was staring.

  CHAPTER 17

  Party Pooper

  I sat on my bed and flipped the calendar over to the new month. April 1st. My toes began to twitch as I realized the Bark Fest was getting closer. It was also April Fool’s Day—and Madison Doonsberry’s thirteenth birthday. How fitting, except that it was Parker’s birthday too, and that didn’t make sense at all.

  I wonder if Lola is nervous about going to the party.

  For some reason, I was nervous about Lola going to the party.