So his short was going to be an epic battle between Caveman and Zombie Cheerleader.
Right now, Caveman was running step by step (which meant picture by picture) across the desktop, past little LEGO buildings. Caveman didn’t know yet that Zombie Cheerleader was hiding behind one of them, waiting to jump out and clobber him over the head with her pom-pom and then eat his LEGO brains.
“Your short is going to be so good,” I said.
“Um-hm,” he grunted. He moved Caveman’s foot forward and snapped a picture.
“It’s going to be really funny when they start fighting.”
“Why are you in here?” He moved the other foot. “You always say how boring it is to watch me do this.”
I’ve noticed with TJ that sometimes it works best when I just tell him the truth. “I’m trying to figure out what to bribe you with so you’ll go dog walking with me after school tomorrow. I don’t think Mom will let me go by myself.”
He thought for a minute. “All my chores after dinner tonight.”
I sighed because that was a lot. Mom always said that since she cooked, we had to clean up. After dinner, she went into the living room to relax with a book, while me and TJ split the work: wiping the counters, loading the dishwasher, and sweeping the kitchen floor.
Doing the whole thing would be a lot. But Baxter was worth it.
“OK. Deal.”
So after dinner, Mom went into the living room, and TJ leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the kitchen table. “This is the life.” He grinned.
As I was doing all the stupid chores, I decided to convince Mom about the dog walking after she’d had her long hot bath. She was always relaxed after that.
While Mom took her bath, I sat on my bed with all my dog books. I wanted to figure out what kind of dog Baxter was.
I opened up all four books to the section on dog breeds and studied the pictures.
Baxter was the size and color of a Scottish deerhound, and he had their crazy silver eyebrows and scruffy beard, too. But he had a strong, shaggy tail more like a flat-coated retriever. His ears were long and floppy like a wirehaired vizsla. And his bushy mustache and “muttonchop sideburns,” as Professor Reese had called them, looked more like a Glen of Imaal terrier.
Deerhounds were smart, the books said. Retrievers were cheerful. Vizslas were energetic. And Glen of Imaal terriers were good with kids.
All of which sounded just like Baxter.
Mom came in to kiss me good night.
“You know how I’m supposed to look for opportunities to be dependable?” I said. I told her why walking Baxter would do that plus how Fun! TJ thought it would be and how we’d stay together the whole time and stay in the neighborhood, too.
“I can see you’ve given this a lot of thought.” She nodded. “There’s one thing I’m worried about, though.”
“We’ll be really careful! We’ll look both ways before crossing the street!”
“What I’m worried about is you getting too attached to Baxter.” She patted my arm. “You know Professor Reese isn’t going to keep him, honey.”
“I know. It’s just for a few days. But please, Mom? I really want to!”
“OK. We can give it a try.”
Yes!
Mom kissed me good night and went back to her room.
I looked out my window toward Professor Reese’s house. There was a light on in the living room, but I figured Baxter was down in the lab with her because it looked like Professor Reese was working late: the basement window was glowing.
But the weird thing was, the light coming from the window was red.
The red light grew brighter and brighter, like maybe she was turning on the equipment, piece by piece—even the tanning bed that used to be a tanning bed—growing redder and redder until suddenly . . .
The house went dark.
5
7:15 on the Nose
In the morning, I walked into TJ’s room to wake him up. He was lying on his stomach with the blanket all wadded up beneath him and his arms thrown over his head—sort of like if Superman was flying and crash-landed in a basket of laundry. His pillow had slid to the floor from the force of the impact.
I tapped my finger on the back of his head. “Anybody home?”
He swatted at me. “Go away!”
TJ’s blanket wadded up made me think he’d had a nightmare, where he was fighting snarling wolf dogs with black lips. So I left the rest of the Crispy Rice for him and ate Wheat Flakes instead, which taste OK, only they don’t talk to you while you eat them.
Mom was in her room, getting dressed for work. As soon as I finished eating, I yelled, “Can I go see Baxter now?”
“It’s too early. You can stop by on your way to school.”
I slumped against the counter. Then I remembered that I hadn’t told Dad all about everything yet. “OK, I’m going to Dad’s.”
“Seven fifteen on the nose, Jordie. Watch Dad’s clock,” Mom yelled back. “And can you make sure TJ’s awake?”
I went back into TJ’s room, grabbed his hoodie from the floor, and threw it at him, because an atomic bomb could go off underneath the nightstand before he’d wake up, never mind an alarm clock. “Mom says get up!” Then I ran over to Dad’s.
Dad works at the music store, selling guitars and ukuleles and banjos, but they don’t open until ten, so he’s always relaxed in the mornings.
He was sitting on the couch in a black T-shirt and blue jeans with his guitar on his lap and a cup of coffee on the floor by his bare feet. He nodded at me and kept playing.
I filled a mug with water and stuck it in the microwave to make hot chocolate.
Suddenly, I thought, Microwaves are heating up the water. I’d seen them on the posters in Professor Reese’s lab, and now I knew they were part of the electromagnetic spectrum and made the water hot enough to melt the floaty little marshmallows.
I’d never really thought about how the water got hot before—I’d always just pushed the start button.
I added the cocoa mix and then settled on the couch. I told Dad all about Professor Reese’s lab and the lights going out.
“Hmm. A lot of older homes in our neighborhood have old wiring. She probably had a tripped circuit breaker,” Dad said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“If you have too many things plugged in, it can overload the circuit. The circuit breaker trips to avoid overheating.”
“But we have an old house, too,” I said. “Our circuits never trip.”
Dad shrugged. “She must have been trying to draw a whole lot of power.”
“Huh,” I said.
Then Dad’s phone rang.
He winced. “It’s Mom.” He pushed the button and said, “A bright and shiny good morning!”
I thought, Uh-oh.
I looked over at Dad’s clock. 7:21. I’d just blabbed my way through another great opportunity to be dependable.
“Uh-huh . . .” Dad said into the phone. “Seven fifteen on the nose . . .” He cupped his palm over the mouthpiece and whispered to me, “Mom’s mad at us.”
I dumped my cup into his sink and ran back home because I’ve noticed if I get there before she hangs up, then she’s annoyed at me but also annoyed at Dad who’s still on the other end of the line. It’s not as bad split up like that.
I shut the front door as quietly as possible and hurried to TJ’s room because I’ve also noticed it looks like I’m not as late if I’m waiting for him.
He was in his room, setting up for the next picture of his short.
“Hurry up!” I said. “I want to say good morning to Baxter!”
“We still have three minutes.”
“But I need to see where she hides the key. C’mon, TJ! We have a deal!”
“OK, OK!”
Mom was still talking to Dad. It was a good time to leave.
“TJ’s finally ready,” I yelled to Mom. “Bye!” I hustled him out the door and over to Professor Reese’s.
TJ hung back on the sidewalk, but I went up and rang the doorbell. Baxter woofed Hello hello hello hello until Professor Reese opened the door in a yellow leotard and black footless tights. She kind of looked like a bumblebee except she was holding a newspaper. “What’s a six-letter ‘tropical fruit,’ Jordie?” she said, as Baxter pushed past her.
“What?” Then I saw that the newspaper was unfolded to the crossword puzzle. “Um, banana?” Baxter stuck his cold, wet nose in my hands. “Hi, Baxter!”
“Of course!” Professor Reese scribbled it in. “With all those a’s I kept thinking papaya, but the y didn’t fit.” She waved to TJ. He waved back.
Meanwhile, I was petting Baxter all over. He wagged not just his tail but his whole back half. He wagged so hard, he practically fell off his own back feet. Then he bounded down the walk toward TJ.
TJ swung his backpack off his back and held it in front of him like a shield or maybe a battering ram. “Sit! Stay! Heel!”
But Professor Reese gave a whistle before Baxter’s exuberance had a chance to knock TJ over. Baxter came right back to her. “He is so smart,” she told me (Baxter, not TJ). “While I do my morning crossword, I like to do yoga—the blood flow is good for the brain. And Baxter’s been helping me. Every time I do a downward dog pose to help me figure out a word, he does upward dog, and our noses meet.”
“I wish I could hang out all morning with Baxter.” I fluffed up his crazy silver eyebrows to make them even crazier.
“Well, you have the next best thing: your mom called this morning to say it was OK for you and TJ to walk him after school.”
“I can’t wait!” I said, because even if Baxter slept at Professor Reese’s house at night, if I took him for a walk during the day, he’d be half my dog.
“Let me show you where I hid the key,” she said. “It’s by the back door . . .” She led me around the side of the house, with Baxter coming, too, and TJ, not at all.
As we walked, I said, “I saw your lights go out last night.”
She smiled. “I had too many things plugged into the same outlet in the lab.”
“For your project that you’re still figuring out?”
“Yep.”
“Huh,” I said.
“Ah, here we are,” she said as we reached the back door. “The key’s under the pink begonia,” which, it turned out, was a flowerpot full of pink flowers.
I lifted the clay pot and there was the key. “OK.”
I turned to Baxter and patted my shoulders. He reared up on his hind legs and planted his paws. “Ever since me and Baxter saw eye to eye on Saturday, he’s understood me. Watch this!”
I smiled at Baxter. “I get to walk you after school!”
He grinned back.
“See, he’s smiling!” I said.
“Interesting,” Professor Reese said. “He appears to have highly developed mirror neurons.”
“What’s that?”
“They’re special cells in the brain. Some scientists believe mirror neurons help infant animals learn from their parents,” Professor Reese said. “They may help an animal understand the actions of another animal.”
“TJ didn’t believe me,” I said to Baxter. “But I knew you understood me. Right?”
I nodded, and he nodded back.
Professor Reese laughed.
I eased Baxter’s big paws off my shoulders. He dropped back to the ground. All three of us smiled the whole way back around to the front of the house, and then the only person not smiling was TJ.
He scowled the whole way to school, but I didn’t care—we had a deal, so he had to go on the dog walk later.
When I got to the school playground, I ran to find Megan. I knew she’d be excited to hear about Baxter because when we grow up, we’re going to open a vet/beauty parlor. I’ll take care of the dogs and give them a bath, while she does the dog owners’ hair at the same time. As Dad said when I told him our plan, it really will be a full-service salon.
I told her all about how cute Baxter was. “And I get to take him on a walk this afternoon!”
“Aww! I wish my house was closer to your house—you could walk him over so I could meet him,” she said.
I could tell Megan was jealous that there wasn’t a Baxter living next door to her, which was nice for a change as usually I am the one being jealous. Megan gets to do a million lessons like piano and ballet and horseback riding. All I get to do in the afternoons is hang out with TJ (and you certainly don’t need lessons for that).
“Ask your mom when you can come over!” I said. Then we ran over to the playground bars, where Aisha and Jasmine were waiting.
“Baxter is soooo cute!” I told them as we swung around backward on the bars.
Aisha hopped down from the bar and grabbed her notebook and pencil out of her backpack. “What does he look like?”
I described his silvery-gray fur and his long, long nose and crazy eyebrows, and she started trying to sketch Baxter. “Like this?” she asked.
“Oh! I forgot!” Jasmine hopped down, too. She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a plastic bag. “I tried a new recipe with my mom yesterday—cranberry-orange scones.”
So we all munched on scones and watched Aisha try to match her dog sketch with my description, with me saying, “I think his ears are a little longer,” and, “His eyebrows are definitely way crazier!” and her erasing and redrawing the sketch until it almost looked just like him. “He is cute!” she said.
“Totally,” I agreed.
Then Aisha closed the cover of her notebook, and Jasmine crumpled up the empty scone bag, and they both picked up their backpacks and started running toward the classroom.
“Where are you going?” I yelled.
“The bell rang. You didn’t notice?” Megan swung her backpack up onto her shoulder and hurried after them.
Sure enough, the playground monitor was walking our way. I grabbed my backpack and caught up to Megan.
“Do you think your mom will let you come over tomorrow to meet him?” I asked.
“Maybe. I have a piano lesson. We’re practicing for our recital.”
But for once, I wasn’t jealous, because now I had Baxter.
By the time we reached the classroom, our teacher, Mrs. Abernathy-Clarke (who the class calls Mrs. A.), was looking at the clock. But technically, we were sitting down as the tardy bell rang, so it was OK. All I needed to do was quickly finish telling Jasmine (to my left) and Aisha (to my right) about how swishy Baxter’s tail was—
“Jordie.”
—but Mrs. A. was already talking so much I wasn’t even sure they could hear me. I whispered louder while Mrs. A. was writing on the overhead—
“Jordie . . .”
—because I just needed to add one more thing about how Baxter’s ears felt as soft as velvet—
“JORDIE!”
—before I wrote down the big, long answer to question number three.
Mrs. A. seemed extra impatient all day, and I barely had time to tell Megan and Aisha and Jasmine everything else about Baxter during lunch and afternoon recess.
But then, at the end of recess, I suddenly had a terrible thought: What if some new family with a really good home had seen the flyers we put up? What if they’d called Professor Reese after I left for school and then rushed over to her house?
What if when Baxter saw them his whole back half wagged so hard he practically fell over? And then he ran to their car woofing Hooray hooray hooray hooray and never looked back?
What if when I got home from school, he was gone?
6
The Buzz, the Pop!, and a Little Bit of Screaming
As soon as the bell rang, I didn’t even wait for TJ, even though we’re supposed to walk home together. I ran straight to Professor Reese’s house.
I grabbed the key from under the potted pink begonia and unlocked the back door. I hurried through the kitchen and the dining room, but at the living room, I stopped short.
It looked like
it could have been in a magazine. All the packing boxes were gone. Neat rows of books filled the bookcase. The black coffee table was completely empty except for a glass vase with a single white rose. The room smelled lemony clean, like nobody lived there (or at least, like TJ didn’t live there). It was like a museum, only without the red velvet ropes to keep you out of the displays.
I thought, What if I knock something over? Or break something?
It looked like all the petals of the rose would come fluttering down if I even sneezed. I wasn’t sure I belonged there—like I had to be quiet and careful.
“Baxter?” I said as carefully as I could.
A second later, I heard his toenails scrambling up the basement stairs.
He bounded out of the basement stairwell, his tail spinning a million times a minute. I dropped to my knees, held my arms wide open, and let him crash into me. “You’re still here,” I said into the fur on his neck as I petted and petted and petted him.
I sat back onto the floor, and Baxter climbed all over me, panting in my face.
“I’m so happy to see you.” I smiled, and Baxter grinned back.
The living room felt better, now that Baxter was there. Because if his whapping tail and crazy bounding hadn’t broken anything yet, maybe I wouldn’t, either. The purple couch and the orange chair looked as comfortably mushy as our couch. The wooden floor gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window, but the wood was old and scuffed, just like at our house. If Baxter belongs here, I thought, I do, too.
I stood up. “Are you ready for a walk?”
Instead, he turned and looked back toward the doorway to the basement stairs.
And that’s when I noticed a strange buzzing sound, and since the lab was down there, I thought, Well, it’s probably not the washing machine.
At that moment, I realized that Professor Reese might be home and that I hadn’t knocked on the door, I’d just let myself inside. But it seemed sort of silly to go back outside, lock the door, hide the key under the begonia, and go around to the front door to ring the doorbell.
Following Baxter Page 3