Sled Dog School

by Terry Lynn Johnson

  As Matt watched, Tubbs began tipping sideways. He grabbed frantically at the handlebar but missed and clutched the snow hook instead. When the sled hit a bump, Tubbs dropped the hook and his arms windmilled.

  Matt gasped as he watched the disaster unfold. He stiffened in panic when Tubbs performed a spectacular dive off the sled.

  What’s he doing messing around? Matt couldn’t even help him from where he was. Too late, he realized they should have shared a sled.

  A spray of snow off the back of Tubbs’s sled showed Matt that Tubbs was still connected to it. The loose snow hook had caught the rolled-up cuff on his left leg.

  Fester and Tonka had their mouths open wide with deranged glee as they charged toward Matt. All he could see was the bottom of Tubbs’s boot as he was dragged by his leg.

  Matt heard muffled yelling. Tubbs was reaching for the hook, but all that did was spray a bigger arc of snow. Tubbs’s team sprinted about thirty feet behind Matt’s team, completely focused on catching up to Matt.

  Matt had to concentrate on his own sled for a moment as they whipped around a corner. When he turned back to watch the team behind him, he saw them reach the same corner. Tubbs rolled to the side of the trail as if he were water-skiing behind a jet boat and had been flung out of the wake.

  Matt had to do something. Even though his team was still moving, he grabbed his hook and sunk it into the snow. As the dogs ran, the hook carved two ruts into the trail before it snagged on something, stopping them dead.

  “Stand on the hook!” Matt yelled at Lily. He didn’t have a second to lose. She climbed out nimbly while Matt prepared to catch the runaway team charging up behind him.

  “Whoa!” He grabbed the handlebar of the sled as it slipped by and jumped on the brake. The team slowed to a rolling stop. Matt glanced down at Tubbs and cringed.

  “You okay?”

  Tubbs lay on the trail and groaned.

  Matt reached down to pull the hook from Tubbs’s cuff, but it didn’t come loose. In Matt’s hurry to free it quickly, the hook caught and twisted in the ripped fabric of the coveralls.

  Without the snow hook to stop them, Fester and Tonka decided they’d had enough of a rest. They took off again. Tubbs dragged beside the sled by his leg while Matt, still holding on to the handlebar, pounded the brake to slow them down. Lily was still with Matt’s team standing on their snow hook. She yelled at them not to leave her alone. Matt could hear his dogs going berserk as they faded behind.

  “Let go of the hook!” Matt screamed.

  “What?” Tubbs screamed back. “Take it! Take the hook!”

  Matt was kneeling on the runners, trying to jerk the hook loose, when the dogs whipped around the next bend in the trail. He wasn’t prepared for the sharp curve and went flying off the sled.

  He landed on Tubbs.

  This was completely not how Matt had pictured their first run.

  “Cold!” Tubbs screamed into Matt’s ear since Matt was riding right on top of him. Matt took a moment to notice that Tubbs made a good sled.

  Tubbs was somehow missing one boot. His white sock stuck out like a beacon pointing the way. Lying face-down on Tubbs, Matt reached across Tubbs’s leg and grabbed the snow hook. He leaned all his weight onto it as he planted it into the trail like he had with his own team—even with Tubbs’s cuff still attached. The hook sank into the snow and the team jerked to a stop.

  Both boys lay there panting. Tubbs had snow packed up his pant legs, filling the coveralls with lumps.

  “Am I dead? Did we die?” Tubbs asked.

  “Maybe.” The snow squeaked underneath Matt as he rolled off.

  Tubbs sat up. His face was blotchy red, his nose was running, and his hat was gone. The braided string on his mitts had twisted into a knot, pinning them around his neck. Snow was caked deeply into his dark hair, making it stick up like a snowy crown.

  “You passed the first test,” Matt said. “You didn’t let go.”

  They looked at each other. A slow grin spread across Tubbs’s face.

  “You were right about one thing . . .” Tubbs wiggled his sock as if he had just noticed it was missing a boot. “I didn’t have to run.”

  “Since it costs twenty-two cents to make each cup,” Destin said, “we’ll be making twenty-eight cents of profit with each sale.”

  Who knew a cocoa stand could do so well?

  Destin scribbled out his math on the board.

  Expenses:

  hot chocolate mix

  $13.50

  insulated cups (100)

  $6.50

  mini marshmallows

  $2.00

  total

  $22.00

  Cost of each cup of hot chocolate

  $22.00 divided by 100 cups = $0.22 per cup

  Destin walked proudly back to his seat as Mr. Moffat clapped.

  “That’s what I’m looking for, people! Before we know how much to charge, we need to know how much it costs to make each unit. Right, Destin?”

  Mr. Moffat added to Destin’s numbers on the board, his hands moving enthusiastically as if he were a mad composer leading an orchestra.

  EXPENSES ÷ UNITS = COST PER UNIT

  “Expenses divided by the number of units equals cost,” he said, finishing with a flourish. He faced the class with excitement in his eyes.

  Matt had started today feeling more confident about his update. He finally had something to report. But now he wished he’d gone first. After listening to Destin’s weather forecasts and market survey on the location of his stand, Matt wanted to flee down the hall, exit the school, and go hang with Foo.

  Tammy had more charts today, this time comparing flavor experiments for her lip-gloss. And she even brought in sample jars of shimmery goop in all different colors.

  “Where are the numbers, Ms. Fuller?” Mr. Moffat asked. “We need to see the rest of the assignment, and that’s the costs per unit.”

  Tammy kept her smile. “That’s next week after we start sales, Mr. Moffat. Next week!”

  “Hmmm . . . very well. But I’m looking for at least five weeks of tracking expenses—depending on when you actually get started with your sales—by the end of this assignment. Matthew, how has your week gone?”

  Matt forced himself to the front of the room.

  “Loudly, now.” Mr. Moffat nodded encouragingly.

  “I got a client,” Matt said.

  “You got one client?” Tammy asked with a smirk. Jen Hunt giggled beside her.

  “Mr. Misco,” the teacher began. “For this assignment you need at least three clients to be a viable business. Did you follow up with your market research and find ways to advertise to customers? Do you need assistance?”

  “No!” Matt said. “I’m getting more clients. I know I need more. But I have one and we’ve started the lessons.”

  Mr. Moffat pushed his glasses up and gave Matt a meaningful look. “Do you have numbers?”

  “I’m still working on that.” Matt glanced over at Tammy. “Next week!”

  “Okay, looking forward to it,” Mr. Moffat said. “Chloe. Please tell us how your week went with your jewelry-making business.”

  Matt slumped into his chair. He hoped Tubbs was going to hold up his end of the bargain.

  Seven

  Tubbs and Matt agreed that they should probably keep the details of their first run to themselves. No need to share them with parents until Tubbs actually found a skill to report about.

  “Maybe we should just focus on Flute for a while,” Tubbs said over the phone that week. “You said you were going to train him.”

  “I will. But you have to get back on the horse, so to speak. Next time will be better, I promise.” Matt still had no idea how he’d train that dog. And now he wasn’t sure he could even train Tubbs. Matt hadn’t been expecting someone so uncoordinated to sign up. But it was hard to hold that against Tubbs. He‘d gotten dragged down the trail and hadn’t even cried. Tubbs was all right.

  “Anyway,” Matt conti
nued, “you said you were going to get me more clients. How’s that going?”

  Tubbs cleared his throat. “Well, it’s been harder than I thought.”

  Matt tried not to kick the wall in frustration. Instead, he slid down to the floor with the curly phone cord stretched out. Dragon climbed up Matt’s leg, his sharp nails digging through the thin material of Matt’s pajamas. “Have you tried putting up posters at your school?”

  “Huh. That’s actually a good idea.”

  “It would be good if you could do that tomorrow. We’ve lost a whole week now and I still need two more paying customers. There isn’t much time left.”

  Matt thought about Tammy’s pie charts and Destin’s cost-per-unit sales numbers and felt as if he were standing on the starting line while everyone else raced ahead.

  “I can come over this Wednesday after school. Mom said—” Tubbs was interrupted by screaming in the background. A woman shrieked something about “that idiot dog.” Matt heard a crash and Tubbs’s voice came out as a whisper. “I gotta go. We can start Flute’s training on Wednesday, okay?”

  After he hung up, Matt picked up Dragon and pressed his nose into the pup’s cheek, smelling his sweet puppy breath. There wasn’t any smell better than a puppy.

  Matt felt sad for Tubbs. At least Matt’s mom was nice—weird, but she didn’t shriek at him like that. Or threaten to take the dogs to the pound. She just expected Matt to be smart.

  “There you are,” Dad said, coming into the kitchen. He clapped his hands together. “Story. Teeth. Bed. Yeah?”

  Dragon tripped over himself trying to keep up with Matt on his way to the living room. Lily was already on the couch fitting doll dresses onto the pups. As Matt settled beside them, Boots blinked up at Matt from underneath a wig. Lily held up a book toward Mom.

  While his mother read, Matt wondered how he would train Flute while keeping the huskies from picking on him. Matt had to come up with something before Wednesday. He needed a plan. And not just for Flute.

  Matt had assumed Tubbs would just copy whatever he did, but clearly Matt needed to teach Tubbs dogsledding step by step. Mushing wasn’t something Matt had to think about. Now he struggled to imagine everything he did while running dogs. How did he keep his feet on the runners? How did he steer the sled into a curve? He couldn’t remember ever learning how to run, but there was an old picture hanging in the hall of his first Kid ’n’ Mutt race, when he ran with only one dog. He needed to start Tubbs with something simple.

  And he needed to come up with numbers like Destin had. What were Matt’s operating costs? Should he write down what the dogs ate? How much was a sled dog worth?

  Mom’s voice growled as she imitated a talking bear. Matt directed his attention to her. This was his favorite part of the story.

  * * *

  As soon as Tubbs arrived with Flute after school on Wednesday, Matt knew something was up. Tubbs had an unusual expression on his face.

  “What?” Matt asked. Did Tubbs want to quit lessons after what had happened on Sunday?

  Tubbs’s eyes almost disappeared as a smile creased his face. He tugged on Flute’s leash. “You were right. The posters worked.”

  “They did?”

  “We got a client. I got a text from someone named Alex who goes to St. Albert School. He heard about my posters and wants to sign up for lessons. He said he had to ask his mom, but then he replied again today. She said yes. He’s meeting us here on Saturday!”

  Matt slapped Tubbs on the back. “Yes!”

  Maybe Matt would complete this project after all. Suddenly the image of having two students falling off sleds came to mind. No, he’d do things differently now. He was the expert and he was going to act like it. Matt raised his chin. His school was growing.

  “Now you have to train my dog!” Tubbs stroked Flute’s head.

  Matt gestured for Tubbs to follow with Flute toward the pen. Time to test his idea.

  “Sled dogs don’t like pets,” Matt said. “It’s like they know they’re different and they don’t trust them. But maybe they just need time to get used to one another.”

  They locked Flute in the pen and then headed toward Bandit. He was the most outgoing dog from a litter born last year. When Matt released Bandit, the young dog dashed straight to the pen. Bandit stopped to touch noses with Flute.

  “They’re about the same age,” Matt said. “If Bandit likes Flute, maybe the rest of the dogs will too.”

  As Matt placed his hand on the latch of the pen door, he glanced at Tubbs, who mirrored Matt’s worry. This could get messy. Flashing-teeth, flying-fur, flowing-blood messy.

  As soon as Matt opened the door, Bandit dived into the pen with Flute, and Matt sucked in a breath. But then the dogs approached each other cautiously. Matt was surprised, since the last time Flute had bounded toward the dogs as if he’d had a death wish. He must’ve learned as he’d sat in the pen on other days and watched everyone.

  When Bandit bowed down to play, the two began chasing each other up and down the long length of the pen. Tubbs sighed in relief.

  “He doesn’t seem to care Flute’s different,” Matt said. “That’s a good start.”

  * * *

  Saturday morning Matt had chores done on time and breakfast over with, even though he felt as knotted up and tangled as a stowed gang line.

  “You seem to be taking this project seriously,” Dad said. “I’m happy to see you applying yourself to schoolwork.”

  Matt didn’t tell him that this assignment was the most serious thing he’d ever had to do.

  Tubbs was the first to arrive. It was as if his mom couldn’t get away fast enough every time she dropped him off.

  It had been only a few days since Tubbs was last over, but Matt was glad to see him. At school Matt would often smile to himself thinking about Tubbs and his crazy dancing, or his interest in outhouses, or his loud personality.

  And he drank their milk.

  It made the bus ride home easier.

  “Is he here?” Tubbs asked now, shuffling toward Matt. “Alex, the new guy?”

  Tubbs sounded worried too, which made Matt feel better. What would the new guy be like? Would he be nice like Tubbs? What if he couldn’t hold on to a sled? And what would he say about Matt’s family? Would he be like Jacob? Matt wished he didn’t need other clients to interrupt his days with Tubbs.

  “He’s not here yet. You want to put Flute in the pen and I’ll get Bandit?”

  Before Matt had a chance to unhook Bandit, though, the dogs started the alarm as a black SUV pulled in.

  Dad appeared from the kiln shed. He’d been getting ready to fire glazes today and he was already crumpled. Matt wished his dad wore normal clothes. He cringed as his dad strode across the snow in his clogs.

  But Matt quickly forgot about Dad when he saw Alex step out of the car.

  Alex was a girl.

  Eight

  The girl was scrawny. She had squinty eyes and shoulder-length dark hair that hung straight from under her hat. She wore a matching ski suit with big boots. Even though she was shorter than everyone there, the way she held her head made Matt feel as if she were looking down her nose at him. Her gaze reminded him of Tammy or Jen, the know-it-all girls in his class who shared looks when he read out loud.

  Matt loosened his scarf.

  “Hello,” Dad said, extending his hand to the woman behind the girl. He realized at the last minute that he was covered in glaze and wiped his fingers hastily on his apron before shaking hands with the tall, thin lady draped in a long fur coat. Matt noticed his dad also had glaze in his hair.

  “We’re here for the classes,” the lady said in a clipped voice. She looked over at Matt the same way the girl had.

  “That’s my son, Matthew,” Dad said in a voice that caused a flock of birds to burst into flight out of a tree. “He’s doing a project.”

  “He’s running the sled dog lessons?” the lady asked.

  “That’s right. Your daughter will be in g
ood hands.”

  “Yes, but . . . he’s the one teaching?” the woman asked again dubiously.

  “He’s been running dogs since he could walk. He knows everything I do. I trust him completely.” Dad beamed at Matt with pride, and Matt felt his face start to burn.

  The lady stared at Dad for a moment, obviously not sure what to say. Then she turned to the girl. “This is Alexandria.”

  “Alex,” Alex corrected. She looked Matt up and down, and then her gaze moved to Tubbs and on past to the dogs, who were starting to howl. “Mother, I’ll be fine. The yard looks just like the ring at riding lessons.”

  “Alexandria takes English riding lessons, you see—dressage, actually—in the summer. We were looking for something to round out her extracurricular activity for the winter season.”

  Matt had no idea what dressage was, but by the way the woman spoke, it sounded as if he should be impressed. Tubbs started pretending he was bent over a galloping horse as if in a Western. Matt pressed his mouth tight to stop from laughing.

  Alex’s mom raised her eyebrows at Tubbs but then ignored him. “I’m Patricia Stevens,” she continued. “Extracurricular activity is important to young growing women. Helps them develop to become involved community members. I’ve been heavily involved with the Young American Girls’ Etiquette and Manners Club since its inception, but we’ve outgrown that now, haven’t we, sweetheart?”

  “I’m sure that’s wonderful,” Dad said. “You’d like a kennel tour, yeah?”

  Mrs. Stevens looked as if she’d just stepped in puppy poop. She quickly shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

  She pulled on her gloves and turned to Alex. “Listen well, dear—you’ll need to write everything down later. I’ll pick you up at two.”

  Once she was gone and Dad went back to the kiln shed, Alex marched toward the dogs.

  “Well?” she said. “Are we getting started? What’s the lesson plan? What are the parameters of success? Do we get a certificate at the end? I heard it’s a five-week course and I’ve missed the first week. I’ll have to get caught up.”