There's No WiFi on the Prairie

by Nicholas O. Time

  I like hanging out in the library after school, even though I don’t study. I don’t need to study, which I know sounds obnoxious, but I’m just really lucky. I inherited my mom’s “elephant” memory. (That’s what she calls it—she hears or sees something once and then remembers it forever; and there’s an old expression that says “an elephant never forgets.”) So if I just listen in class and do my homework, I never have to actually sit down and study. Unlike my friend Ethan, who is sitting across from me right now, labeling the parts of a cell and doing it mostly wrong.

  I sigh and continue playing MineFarm on my phone. I can correct him in a minute. A few weeks ago Ethan asked me to tutor him after school, which I agreed to do, not only because he’s a really good friend but also because the library is quiet, unlike my house, so being here is actually pleasant.

  Ethan passes me his paper to look over, and I point out where he’s mixed up different parts, as well as spelled mitochondria wrong.

  Ethan groans. “Ava, if I didn’t like you so much, I’d really dislike you. You get straight A’s and you don’t do anything to earn them.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’m sorry. But I can’t help having an elephant memory. Plus, I have my phone, so anything I don’t know, I can just look up, and poof! There it is. Technology is a wonderful thing.”

  I bring my eyes back to my phone, where some zombies have gotten loose in my MineFarm game and are eating all of my cows. Shoot! I’ll have to steal some of Ethan’s cows, I guess. He always takes really good care of his farm. He’s probably one of the best gamers I’ve ever played with.

  Ethan must hear the sound of my cows being eaten because he pipes up, “Ava, don’t even think about stealing my cows.”

  “Um, okay.” I start to do it anyway.

  Ethan is rewriting “mitochondria.” “How’d you get this elephant memory anyway? Can I buy one at the mall?”

  I smile. “Doubt it. I got it from my mom. When she was younger, she got into a really fancy college out in California but didn’t end up going because she wanted to stay close to home. I can’t believe it! If I had the chance to move to sunny California, I’d be there in a minute.”

  “To be closer to your dad?” Ethan asks.

  My parents are divorced and my dad lives in Los Angeles now. My mom and my younger twin sisters and baby brother and I live here on the east coast, and my mom works full-time, so there are always babysitters and missed meals and messes and laundry. Ugh. My house is a disaster. My dad lives alone and has a housekeeper, so when I go see him, it’s like heaven.

  “I’d like to live in California partly because of my dad, I guess,” I tell Ethan. “But also because life is just nicer there. Haven’t you seen the TV shows? It’s warm and sunny all year, and there’s less stress. Everyone is just hanging out outside. Everyone is happy there. It’s the place to be.”

  I manage to steal about six of Ethan’s cows, one at a time, and put them in my MineFarm cow pen. I turn the volume down on my phone so he doesn’t hear me.

  “I know what you just did,” Ethan says as he starts to pack up his homework. “And you’re cheating yourself, you know.”

  “Huh? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say innocently.

  “Stealing my cows! The fun of the game is in working hard and building your farm from scratch. And keeping it going, bit by bit, every day. But you just skip all that and take my animals. It’s called MineFarm, not YoursFarm.”

  Ethan laughs to himself, and I can’t help laughing along with him. He knows me so well. It’s nice to have a friend who will let you steal his cows and then really not even care about it. And make stupid jokes about it.

  As I’m looking at Ethan, I see something very weird out the window behind him. It’s an actual cow. Like, a real, live cow. And it’s looking at me.

  I start laughing really hard. “Hey, Ethan. Don’t have a cow, but—”

  Ethan shakes his head. “I’m not having a cow. I’m actually being very cool about the fact that you constantly steal supplies from me and I still play with you.”

  “No, no,” I say. “Look, there’s a cow right there, out the window! In the school yard! A real cow!” I point over his head, and Ethan turns around and sees it.

  “That is a real dairy cow,” Ethan says. “Holy cow. Holy COW! And is that . . . ?”

  I nod my head. Not that it wasn’t already weird enough, but our school’s librarian, Ms. Tremt, is now outside patting the cow and trying to lead it away from the front of the school.

  “I’m going to go help her!” Ethan says, jumping up. He runs toward the side exit door of the library and is outside in just a moment. I can’t believe what I’m seeing, but it looks like Ms. Tremt and Ethan are talking to the cow, trying to verbally convince it to go somewhere. Of course, it looks like it weighs about two tons, so good luck to them.

  Ethan looks through the window at me and throws up his hands. He clearly thinks Ms. Tremt is a bit batty. Then he tries clapping and calling to the cow like he would call to a dog. Surprise, surprise—that doesn’t work either.

  I shake my head at their ridiculousness and do a quick search on “how to move a cow” on my phone. Technology. Seriously. It’s the best.

  The answer pops up in less than three seconds, and I start digging in my lunch bag for my leftovers. As soon as I have something in my hand, I go outside and walk straight up to the cow.

  I can hear Ms. Tremt talking now. “What if somebody sees you?” she tells the cow. “You could fall into the wrong hands! You can’t just take the situation into your own hooves, you know.”

  I give the cow a piece of the carrot I’m holding, then begin walking away, holding the rest of the carrot. The cow follows me, as easy as one, two, three. Thanks, Internet! You’ve saved the day, for the billionth time.

  “Well done, Ava,” Ms. Tremt says. “You have a real way with animals. Now, could you please lead your new friend into the back room of the library for me?”

  I look from her to Ethan and back to her. “Uh, Ms. Tremt? Shouldn’t we call animal control or something? Or the ASPCA? Or, um, a vet? My mom is a vet. I could call her.”

  Ms. Tremt smiles broadly at me, then uses her lime-green fuzzy scarf to point in the direction of the side door to the library. “That won’t be necessary, Ava. But thank you for your suggestions. Just take Ms. Cow to the back room.”

  I do as she asks, because even a kooky grown-up is still a grown-up, but I exchange more than a few looks with Ethan while doing it. All I can think about is how big of a mess that cow is going to make when it goes to the bathroom in the middle of the school’s library. Maybe Ethan and I will have to study at his house tomorrow after school.

  As soon as the cow is settled in the back room with Ms. Tremt, I go to gather up my things. My phone beeps that it’s five thirty p.m., and I realize how late I’ve stayed. “I’ve got to get home,” I tell Ethan.

  He nods and helps me pack up. “Oh yeah! I forgot it was your big night, right?”

  I roll my eyes. “My big night” is just the night that my mom’s and my favorite TV show, World’s Weirdest Animals, comes on. “Exactly. So I need to jet. Are you coming?”

  Ethan shakes his head. “Nah, not yet. Ms. Tremt asked me to come to her office and help her with something real quick before I go. But I’ll see you later on MineFarm. I’ve got to start breeding more cows, apparently.”

  I laugh and wave good-bye, then head out the side door again, this time to the bike rack where my scooter is locked up. There are a few kids grabbing bikes, and I wait a moment before I push in to get my scooter.

  Once I have it unlocked, I send a quick text to my mom to let her know I’m leaving school and w
ill be home in seven minutes. As I’m sliding my phone into my backpack, someone slams into me, and a bunch of my homework papers explode out of my bag and fly all over the ground.

  Ugh! I guess I forgot to zip it up. I do that sometimes. I bend to pick them up, and as I do, I see it was a Viking—yes, a Viking—that slammed into me. He’s wearing metal armor and a horned helmet and everything.

  “Um, hello?” I say.

  He grunts, and to my surprise, starts helping me to pick up the papers. He hands me a stack, then says, “Many hands make light work.”

  Quick as lightning, I put the two very weird things that have happened that day together. “You wouldn’t happen to own a cow, would you?” I ask.

  He narrows his eyes. “Yes, I do. In fact, all cows are my cows.”

  Hmm. This just got weirder. I decide to leave the, uh, Viking and the cow situation in Ms. Tremt’s capable hands. I figure she’ll know what to do. Weird things always seem to be happening in the library and around Ms. Tremt, now that I think about it. I turn back to the Viking. “Um, okay. Gotta go!”

  I hop on my scooter and sail home. Hopefully it will be less chaotic than it was in the library this afternoon. But I doubt it.

  My scoot home is one of my favorite parts of my day. It’s the calm before the storm, so to speak. This time of year, the sun is still shining, the breeze is cool on my face, and I am blissfully alone.

  Then I reach my house and have to go inside.

  As soon I as walk in, I can tell it’s one of those days. There are piles of stuff everywhere. My twin sisters’ backpacks are blocking the door. There’s a line of shoes from the living room to the kitchen. A basket of folded laundry has been sitting on the couch for two days, but no one has put it away.

  “Hello?” I call.

  “In here!” Mom calls back cheerfully. I can hear a note of strain beneath the cheer though.

  I hang up my backpack and jacket and put my shoes in the shoe cubby. Then I step over the trail of my siblings’ stuff and make my way to the kitchen.

  Mom is unpacking the lunch boxes, so I hand her mine and take a seat on a stool at the counter. There’s nothing cooking on the stove and I don’t smell any good smells in the air. I do detect a hint of dirty diaper from my baby brother, Adam, who’s in the playpen in the corner.

  “Shouldn’t dinner be ready, Mom? We only have, like, twelve minutes until our show starts,” I remind her.

  Normally Mom tries to feed the younger kids earlier on Tuesdays, so that she and I can eat together and watch World’s Weirdest Animals. It’s the only time she and I get to do anything alone. Ever.

  “We’re behind today, Ava,” Mom explains. “I had to stay to help with a patient, and the babysitter took the kids to the park, so everyone has just gotten home.”

  I groan. I can’t help it. I know it’s rude, but I was at school all day and I’m hungry and tired.

  “You know,” Mom says, still managing to sound mostly cheerful but with an impatient edge now, “if you’d help me, I could get things going a lot faster.”

  “Ummm,” I say. I know I should help. But there’s so much that needs to be done. The messes, the laundry, the baby. It’s overwhelming. Where would I even start? Besides, isn’t that Mom’s job? To take care of us? I’m still a kid too! I just happen to be slightly older than the other ones who live here. “I guess I could,” I say grudgingly.

  Adam starts wailing in his playpen, and I’m afraid Mom will make me grab him and change his diaper, but my sisters, Tania and Tess, come in and get him. They’re only in third grade, but they’re pretty helpful. Maybe because there’re two of them.

  Mom starts some water boiling in a pot and pulls out a box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce. “I guess this is dinner,” she says with a sigh. “You could make a salad,” she suggests to me.

  Ugh. I hate washing all those vegetables. Mom makes me wash everything really carefully because of pesticides. It takes forever.

  “Umm,” I say again. I’m pretty good at not saying No, I won’t help but not getting up and actually helping.

  Our dog, Sunny, is following Mom around, like all animals do, and Mom accidentally steps back on him and trounces on his front paw.

  Sunny yelps and limps away. Exasperated, cheerfulness gone, Mom glares at me. “Ava Marie, either help me get dinner on the table or take the dog out. But do something before I lose my mind. Please.”

  “I’ll take Sunny out,” I say quickly. Walking Sunny is my favorite chore, because it’s outside, it’s quiet, and because Sunny doesn’t wear diapers or wipe sticky fingers on me or steal my headbands. He might be my favorite family member, in fact.

  I hop up and retrieve Sunny’s leash from the hook by the door (one of the only things in the house that’s in its proper place, because I’m the one who hung it there). “Here, boy!” I call, and Sunny comes running. I glance at the clock as we’re heading outside. “Only two minutes till the show starts, Mom! We’ve never missed it . . .”

  Mom throws me a look that’s like a bucket of icy water. Something tells me this may be the night we miss the show. But Mom is usually able to ride the waves of chaos around here without getting stressed. It’s one of her best qualities. Whereas I get totally overwhelmed and escape.

  I hop on my scooter, and Sunny and I head down the sidewalk together. Sunny doesn’t mind if I scoot while we walk, because he’s that sweet of a dog. He’s just happy to be outside and free. It’s so nice out, in fact, that I decide we should go around the whole block.

  “Let’s not go back right away, Sunny,” I tell him. “See if they miss us.”

  I know that I’m grumpy because I’m hungry, but I’m also bummed I’ll be missing my one-on-one time with my mom. Watching our show is really all we get, because Mom is so busy working full-time at the emergency vet clinic and taking care of the four of us (five, if you count Sunny). I had to ask just to get her to agree to make World’s Weirdest Animals our special thing every week, because Mom doesn’t even have time to realize that we don’t get alone time together. She probably wouldn’t even have thought about it.

  I pull up MineFarm on my phone to see if Ethan has started rebuilding his cow population yet. But he isn’t there. That’s odd. He usually spends a lot of time on MineFarm in the evening, because he says it’s the best time for him to concentrate on his crops. I text him to see what’s up, but he doesn’t answer.

  I look at the time and realize my show has already started. Grrr. Luckily, I have the app for our cable company on my phone, so I can manage the kid controls for my brother and sisters, and I can also set the DVR to record the show. I do that quickly, so Mom and I can at least watch it later, maybe, when everyone else is in bed. Again, technology rules!

  The app then shows me its main page, which has news from the cable company. One of the headings catches my eye.

  OPEN CASTING CALL! KIDS AGES 10–14!!

  Do you have a flair for the dramatic? Have you always imagined yourself being on TV and living in California? Can you memorize things quickly and easily? If so, you might be the star of our next big show! Please join us for an open-call audition for our new tween hit, Sunny Days in L.A.! We want to meet you!

  I think my jaw literally drops. This audition was made for me. I can memorize scripts! I can live in L.A.! I can be a huge TV star and live the good life!

  “Sunny, should I audition for a TV show and move to California and live with my dad? Wouldn’t that be soooooo nice? You can come with me. I’ll be able to afford fancy dog treats and a fancy new scooter for myself.”

  Sunny looks up at me, his ears perked. He looks like he’s thinking it over. I take that as a yes.

  “I think I should do it. I can make it to the audition after school tomorrow, no problem. We’ve got a school field trip in the afternoon, and then I’ll just scoot over to the cable company’s offices and show them how quickly I can learn lines. What should I wear, though? That’s the real problem.”

  Mentally, I begin to
scroll through my wardrobe, hoping I can think of something that screams “TV star.”

  I’m thinking so hard I steer my scooter directly into a cow. On the sidewalk!

  “Moooooooooo,” says the cow. It blinks at me, all friendly and happy, and noses at my hand for a treat. It’s the same cow from earlier. It’s got to be. But didn’t I leave it in the back room of the library?

  Now it’s just standing on the sidewalk, blocking our path. Sunny barks at the cow, and the cow moos back and looks at me adoringly. But I have no time for dealing with cows right now, no matter how friendly they may be. The cow will just have to find its own way home.

  “Something’s weird around here,” I say. “C’mon, Sunny. Let’s get home for dinner.”

  As we come in the back door, I hang up Sunny’s leash. Tania and Tess are at the kitchen table, finishing their spaghetti. I must have been gone longer than I thought. Probably because I was thinking about my TV audition.

  “Where are Mom and Adam?” I ask.

  Tania gets up to clear her plate and put it in the sink. “Adam had a tantrum, so Mom put him in the bathtub and now she’s trying to rock him to sleep. She hasn’t eaten yet.”

  Tess gets up to join her. “We’ve got to take our showers now and do homework. Mom said so. You probably do too.”

  I ignore this last part.

  “Yeah, okay, good night,” I tell my sisters. I fix myself a plate of the already cold spaghetti and head into the living room. At least I recorded the show so Mom and I can watch it when she comes down. In the meantime, I can watch my favorite trivia show and eat.

  • • •

  Sometime later, I feel Mom shake me awake. The TV is still on with the volume way down, but the lamps are off and it’s pitch-black outside.

  “Ava, honey, go up to bed,” Mom says.

  “What? Did I fall asleep? I was waiting for you to come down so we could watch our show. I recorded it.”

  Mom sighs. “I’m sorry, Ava. It took me forever to settle Adam, and then I had to help the twins with their homework and read to them. And I had to clean up the kitchen. But it’s ten o’clock now, and you have school tomorrow. So please go up to bed.”