Walking the Dog

by Linda Benson

  “What?”

  “We heard about this situation from some friends,” he says. “The girl’s family life has been, well, troubling. And the girl has had some problems.”

  “Her name’s Sophie,” I spit out. “She’s a girl in my class. She’s nice. And she saved the dog from being run over.”

  “Jared, don’t use that tone of voice.”

  “And she picked me to help her walk the dog.”

  There. That’s all there is to say about the matter. I’m not sure why everyone makes such a big deal out of what happened to Sophie in the past. She’s just a girl—with pretty blonde hair and nice eyes. Leave it alone already.

  “I’m going to go do my homework,” I say. I push my chair in under the table. Right now, math sounds more appealing to me than listening to my parents. But I can still hear them talking, even after I slam the door to my room.

  I’m working on long division when my dad comes into my room. Doesn’t even knock. He’s got this heavy “I need to talk to you, son” look on his face.

  “Yeah?” I say.

  “Your mother wanted me to come discuss this with you,” he starts in. “We think it might be a good idea if you didn’t spend any more time with this girl.”

  My stomach feels like somebody socked me in the gut, but I don’t say a word.

  “I’m sure she’s probably a perfectly nice person, Jared, but…”

  “But what?” I say. “I don’t get it. Everybody’s always whispering about her, like she did something wrong or something.”

  “It’s not that, son. It’s just that—we think she’s had some experiences that go beyond what a girl her age should know.”

  You mean molested, I think. The word springs to the front of my brain, but I don’t say it out loud. A hot wash of embarrassment prickles the back of my neck.

  “We don’t know for sure,” he continues. “But we heard some things about her past. Hopefully this girl is now in a better situation and can get some counseling, but I’m just not sure if she’s the right kind of person for you to associate with.”

  “But she’s a friend,” I blurt out. “She sits next to me in class, and she’s good at math.” My hands clench into fists at my sides. “You act like she’s got some disease or something. She’s just a normal girl, like anyone else. In fact, she’s a whole lot nicer than most of the girls in my stinkin’ class.”

  “Jared, I know you’re upset, but I want you to see our perspective. Being a parent is not always easy. Sometimes you have to make decisions that aren’t popular.”

  “Like what?” I feel like I walked into a trap, and wish I hadn’t asked that question the minute it comes out of my mouth.

  “We just feel that this girl, because of what she’s been through, may be too knowledgeable about…” he clears his throat “adult matters. Your mother and I don’t want you to spend any more time alone with Sophie. Period.”

  “What?” I throw my math book down on my bed. “You’re crazy. There’s nothing the matter with Sophie. She’s good with animals, and she’s nice to talk to and everything. What the heck’s wrong with her?” Hot tears sting the corners of my eyes. Stupid parents. I stomp out of the bedroom, shouting back at my dad. “What the heck’s wrong with you anyway?”

  Dad makes good on his word. With one phone call to the principal, everything changes. Suddenly, it’s not just me and Sophie in charge of walking Lester. Everybody in the classroom gets a turn to walk the new pup now, and sometimes even Mister Gannon comes along. We rotate, and since school is almost over, I probably won’t get another chance to be alone with Sophie.

  And she acts totally different around me now. Something is spoiled between us, and I’m not sure how it happened. When I try and catch her eye in the classroom, she won’t even look at me. It’s not my fault, I want to say. I want to tell her how I feel, that I miss being alone with her, but I never get the chance.

  One morning before class, I wait for her on the school front steps. I see the dark Oldsmobile pull up. A woman with red hair is driving—I guess it’s Sophie’s mother—puffing on a cigarette and coming the wrong way through the parent drop-off lane again. She acts like she’s in a hurry to be gone, almost pushing Sophie out the car door.

  I smile at Sophie as she comes up the steps. “Hey. How you doing?”

  Sophie doesn’t answer. I can’t tell if she’s mad at me, or what. There’s only three weeks left of school, and then I won’t see her for the whole summer.

  Chapter 8—One Man’s Junk

  MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND is hotter than blazes. I wish we could go up to Lake Roosevelt, like we did last year. But my parents decide that it’s too soon after Petey’s accident, and his arm isn’t strong enough for swimming.

  Instead, Dad gets the brilliant idea that we’re going to stay home and have a garage sale. The whole garage is filled with stuff that my parents don’t use anymore.

  “Who’s gonna want this junk?” I ask.

  “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure,” says Dad.

  It all looks like a bunch of junk to me.

  Mom makes me clean my room and bring out all the toys that I don’t play with anymore. I usually give my old stuff to Petey. But some things he doesn’t want, and some stuff is just plain broken.

  We spread everything out on tables, and for almost a week, we’re busy putting little yellow sticky tags on everything to mark the price. It’s a lot of work. Mom says we have to mark everything or people won’t make an offer on it.

  We have to stay home all weekend and help with the sale. I’d really rather go for a bike ride. “What am I supposed do to when all the people get here?” I ask. “What if nobody even shows up?”

  “Oh, you’re going to be surprised, Jared.” Mom is putting last-minute touches on the tables, making sure everything is in order. “We’ll have a lot of customers. You’re old enough to count back change to people, and you can also help me keep an eye on Pete.”

  Keep an eye on Pete. I get so sick of doing that.

  By the time I wipe the cobwebs out of my eyes Saturday morning, the whole yard is covered with people. There are cars stopping up and down the street, and parents and little kids are pawing all over our stuff.

  I throw on a t-shirt and some pants and head outside. Pete is sitting in a lawn chair next to Dad, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

  “I’m hungry,” he whines.

  Dad opens a box of doughnuts from the supermarket. “Our special deluxe garage-sale-day breakfast,” he announces.

  Okay by me. I shove a chocolate fritter in my mouth. Pete fingers a sugar doughnut.

  Lots of little kids are checking out my pocket watch, my robot man, and old video games. Pete is selling some stuffed animals he hasn’t played with in years. He hasn’t marked any of them with a price.

  “How much you want for this one?” asks a woman with stringy hair. She has a baby on her hip, and another little kid hides behind her legs.

  Petey looks at me, unsure of what to say. Mom and Dad are busy bargaining over an old lawnmower and a picnic table. I guess it’s up to me.

  “Fifty cents?” I say.

  “I’ll give you thirty-five cents,” announces the lady.

  “Okay, I guess that’s fine.”

  She counts me out the correct change, and I put the money in the cash box.

  Petey’s right behind me, dogging my steps. “Hey,” he says. “That was my stuffed rabbit. I should get the money.”

  “Quit whining, Petey. I’m writing it down in this notebook that you sold a rabbit. Okay? We’re going to divvy it up afterwards, when the sale is over. You’ll get your money.”

  “No fair,” he says.

  What a baby. I wish he’d stop following me around. I can’t believe how many people come to a dumb garage sale on such a nice morning. They are buying my old clothes, books, my mom’s used dishes, and even Dad’s broken tools.

  I’m starting to get the hang of bargaining, and I’m even beginning
to enjoy myself. People are coming and going, parking everywhere. I don’t notice right away when a brown Oldsmobile pulls up.

  I glance up from counting change, and a red-haired woman that looks kind of familiar is walking up the driveway. Behind her, I catch a glimpse of a girl with yellow-white hair. My breath sticks in my throat, and I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.

  Sophie is standing there. Sophie is right in my very own yard.

  Chapter 9—The Red Bike

  THE RED-HAIRED WOMAN is digging through boxes of used clothing. Sophie pulls at the strands of her hair. She looks embarrassed.

  After a minute, when I can breathe normally again, I walk over toward her. I don’t know if she’ll even talk to me, but now I have a good excuse.

  “Are you guys looking for anything special?” I say, in my best salesman voice.

  Sophie points to the red-haired woman pulling blouses out of the clothing box. “That’s my mom. She loves to go to garage sales. She makes me go with her almost every Saturday. ‘Hurry up, hurry up,’ she says, ‘we’re going to miss all the best deals.’” Sophie rolls her eyes.

  The way she’s jabbering on, it’s like everything is okay between us.

  “Is this where you live?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “We live a couple of blocks over,” she says. “In those apartments on Brewster Street.”

  The low-income apartments. I look around to see if I should be waiting on other customers, but I don’t see anyone that needs attention.

  “It wasn’t my idea,” I say, “that everybody else got to walk Lester.” I pick up a used coffee maker and stick the price tag back on it. “I liked it when it was just us.”

  Sophie levels her eyes right into mine, as if trying to piece together the truth of the matter. She shrugs her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to miss Lester when school’s over. I might go help out at the animal shelter this summer. Mr. Gannon says they need volunteers to take dogs for walks, get them out of the kennels, teach them things.”

  “Cool. You’re good with animals, that’s for sure.” I can’t believe she’s standing right here in my yard, talking to me. Like we’re best friends or something.

  “I think I might be a veterinarian someday,” she says.

  “Yeah, I could see you doing that. How are you planning to get to the animal shelter anyway?”

  “I don’t know. Ask my mom for a ride, I guess.”

  “Do you have a bike?”

  “No,” she says.

  “We’ve got one for sale. Maybe you could ride up to the shelter.” I’m talking fast now, not sure where I’m going with this. “It’s my aunt’s old bike. It’s a pretty good one, only fifteen bucks. Why don’t you see if your mom will buy it for you?”

  Sophie gives me a quick sideways glance. Her eyes are just as blue as ever.

  My brain is moving now, running away on its own. “Maybe I could even ride up there with you sometimes.” My dad is back around the side of the house, plugging in an old drill to show someone that it still works. Petey is right beside him, trying to help. My mom has gone into the house for a measuring tape, and a heavy-set lady is holding up a pair of our old curtains.

  Sophie wanders over toward the red three-speed, balancing it against her. “Mom, can I have fifteen dollars for a bike?”

  “Fifteen dollars?” she says. “What do you want a bike for? You never even ride one.”

  “I would if I had one. It’d be good exercise.” Sophie glances back in my direction and throws her leg over the seat, testing the height.

  Her mom fishes around in the pocket of her sweatpants. “All I’ve got left is five dollars,” she says, waving the bill in the air. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes from the other pocket, lights one, and takes a long drag.

  Five bucks is pretty cheap for a bike, I think. But I nod my head and hold my hand out for the money, before she changes her mind. Sophie and me lift the old red bike into the trunk of the Oldsmobile.

  As Sophie and her mother drive away, my mom comes back out of the house. “Who was that?” she says.

  “Just some girl that bought Aunt Sally’s old bike,” I say, thinking fast. “They really needed it. So I made them a good bargain.”

  “Great,” says my mom. “You’re getting the hang of things.”

  I put the five dollars from Sophie’s mom into the cash box. I hadn’t really done anything wrong, had I?

  Chapter 10—The Fight

  WITH ONLY TWO WEEKS LEFT of school, we can almost taste summer. The days seem to drag on forever, and class work seems more boring than ever. Soccer is getting a little rougher during recess. I think kids are just sick of school, and out on the field is the only place they can show it.

  Before lunch, Corey gets into a shoving match with Michael, the big fifth grader from the other class. Nobody even blows the whistle. The teachers and the yard duties are getting loose about stuff going on. Maybe they’re sick of being here too.

  At the beginning of the year, Corey and me always hung out together. He’s still my best friend at school, but something’s not the same. He always wants to throw the ball hard at somebody during dodgeball. He’s pretty intense during soccer games too.

  Sophie still keeps to herself. We don’t get much of a chance to talk. There are so many activities going on these last two weeks—we have award assemblies, and testing and early dismissals. And Sophie still goes to see the counselor, Mr. Gannon.

  Finally, during lunch recess, I spot her walking the track by the back fence all by herself. I’m in the middle of a soccer game between fifth and sixth graders, but the sixth grade boys are killing us, and it’s not like we’re ever gonna catch up. Seeing my chance to talk to her alone, I go for it.

  “Hey, you guys take over,” I say to Corey, and start walking off the field toward Sophie.

  “No way, Westin,” yells Corey. “You’re in this. You’re playing.”

  I shoot Corey a dirty look, ignore him, and keep going. When I reach the track along the back fence, I feel a warm breeze blowing against us. Sophie’s yellow-white hair lifts and falls against her face.

  “Man, feels like summer already,” I say. “I can hardly wait to get outta this place.”

  “Me too,” she says.

  “Been riding your bike?”

  “I’ve been riding up and down Brewster. I know it’s only a three-speed, but I like it.”

  “You still going up to the animal shelter this summer?”

  “Yeah. I got my schedule already, and I start the week after school is out. Mondays and Thursdays, from ten to twelve. And I’m gonna ride my bike. Mom said she didn’t care.”

  “Cool. They need any more dog walkers?” I ask. “I’m experienced, remember? I walked Lester for a little while.”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “I can ask.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice two people running, closing in on us from the soccer field. Corey and Mike. Mike has really put on some size this year—he’s almost as big as a high schooler.

  “Jared, quit talking to your girlfriend and get back in the game,” hollers Corey.

  “What’s the big deal?” I say. “Recess is almost over anyway. It’s not like we’re gonna win or anything.”

  “It’s not cool to quit in the middle like that,” he says.

  “That’s right—loser,” sneers Mike. “We know why you like that girl anyway.” He snorts through his nose, like he’s the funniest guy in the world, as if Sophie’s not standing right there listening.

  “Yeah, she knows about stuff,” snickers Corey.

  “Yeah, Westin, stuff that boys like you need to knooww about.” Mike drags the word out and nudges Corey.

  “Shut up,” I say, clenching my fists.

  Sophie shivers next to me, with a look on her face as if she’d like to disappear.

  “Let me spell it out for you,” snorts Mike. “S—E—X.”

  Corey laughs so hard, he’s practically hiccupp
ing. “Maybe she can t-teach you a thing or two, Jaar-red.”

  “Shut. Up.” I can feel the anger boil up inside me like a balloon ready to burst.

  “Ooh, shut up,” says Mike, in a whiney voice. “The little boy says shut up.”

  I’m not sure how it happens. One minute I’m standing there talking to Sophie. The next thing I know, I’m running toward them. I climb on top of Mike and hammer my fists into his thick neck. I smell the sweat coming off him as he humps his broad shoulders up against my blows. I’m too mad to even be scared. The blood burns in my brain.

  Corey says something, but I barely hear him. “Take it easy, Westin. We were just joking.”

  I tackle Corey next, and we wrestle to the ground. I punch him till I can’t breathe, and my mouth fills with the sour taste of blood and sweat. My mind swims in a sea of red-hot anger, and I can barely see.

  In the corners of my mind, I’m vaguely aware two yard duties stand over us. “Boys, get up. Stop that immediately.”

  But I can’t stop. I spit out cuss words and punch Corey hard in the face. Mike grabs my arms and pins them behind me, dragging me away.

  After a few minutes, my mind begins to clear, and the yard duties march us inside. As we’re escorted down the hallway of shame, I realize where we’re going. The door shuts behind us and we’re in the detention room, waiting for the principal.

  The detention room. This is where the troublemakers get sent, the bad kids. I’ve seen it from the outside, but I’ve never been here before. I wonder what my parents will think when they find out.

  The stale air makes me gag. I shoot hard looks at Corey and Mike. Nobody talks. The other two drum their fingers against the stiff wooden benches. I squirm in my hard chair, waiting.

  The principal comes for Mike first, and then Corey. She calls us one at a time and takes us into her office. She closes the door behind her, and it takes forever before she appears for another one of us.

  Finally, it’s my turn.

  “Jared Westin,” the principal says.

  I don’t know what Corey and Mike say to her. I’m not sure what happened out there on the playground myself.