Dog Day Afterschool

by Tommy Greenwald

  WHEN I’D TOLD my parents I wanted to go visit Mr. Bratford, they didn’t say anything for a full two minutes. Finally, my dad looked at my mom, who nodded.

  And then she said, “Okay.”

  So on Sunday, I found myself heading to the state prison.

  At the beginning of the drive there—it was pretty far, almost two hours—Baxter’s mom asked me a question: “Are you sure about this?” When I said yes, she just nodded and turned on the radio.

  Mrs. Cragg was with us too. She was Mr. Bratford’s sister, and the minute I told her my plan, she said she wanted to come. I didn’t try to stop her. I was kind of glad, to tell you the truth.

  I guess I fell asleep in the car, because as soon as we pulled up to the giant gate in front, I woke up and saw Mrs. Bratford looking straight at me.

  “Just about time to go inside,” she said.

  Now, you probably could have guessed this already, but I’ve never been to a prison before. I’ve seen a lot of them on TV, but this one was a lot different. For one thing, it was huge. For another, there was no way you could tell it was a prison from the outside. It looked more like a really ugly hotel.

  But the main thing was, it was really quiet. No shouting or rattling of bars or anything like that. It almost felt like a library, but the people weren’t there because they liked reading. They were there because they liked breaking the law.

  When we arrived, we were led into a room that looked kind of like a cafeteria, except there was no food. Just a bunch of tables, and benches, and a few guards standing around, keeping an eye on things. We sat down at one of the tables and waited. And waited, and waited, and waited some more.

  “It’s always like this,” Baxter explained. “We have to get here at an exact time but then we wait for a while before Dad comes.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard him call his dad “Dad” before.

  Finally, after about twenty more minutes, the door opened and Barnaby Bratford came in. He looked completely different than the last time I’d seen him, when he was lying with a broken back on the Boathouse floor. For one thing, he now had a black-haired wig to cover up his bald head. For another, he’d shaved his beard.

  But the most amazing difference was, he looked small. And lost.

  Believe it or not, I actually felt a little sorry for him.

  He stuck out his hand, and I shook it.

  We all stood there in silence for a minute, until Mrs. Cragg said, “Barnaby, I’m sure you remember Jimmy. He’s a terrific young man, and he wanted to come up here and see you.”

  “So it’s true,” he said. “You really did want to visit me. I’m very surprised. But also grateful.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything.

  “It gives me a chance to apologize to you in person,” continued Mr. Bratford. “I was on a wrong path there for a while. A terribly wrong path. But I’ve found my way back to the right one.”

  “It’s true,” Baxter said softly. “My dad is a different person now.”

  “That’s great, sir,” I said.

  “How is your dog?” Mr. Bratford asked.

  “Very good, sir,” I answered.

  He laughed, a little sadly. “Young man, please don’t call me sir. I certainly haven’t done anything to earn that.” He hugged Baxter for a quick second, then looked back at me. “I’m so happy that you’ve become friends with my son. I’ve heard all about your adventures together.”

  “We’re called the CrimeBiters,” Baxter said.

  “Well, I can certainly see where that name comes from.” Mr. Bratford tried to smile, but I saw him wince, which reminded me that the last time I saw him, he had just crashed through a hole in the roof and fallen twenty feet.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Bratford? I mean, is your back better?”

  He nodded slowly. “Well, to be perfectly honest with you, Jimmy, it still causes me a bit of pain every now and again. But I accept it. It reminds me of where I came from, who I was, and who I never want to be again.”

  I nodded, and he nodded, and it seemed like that was all there was to say on that subject.

  Mrs. Cragg cleared her throat. “Jimmy has something he’d like to ask you, Barnaby,” she said. “Go ahead, Jimmy.”

  “Well, sir—I mean, Mr. Bratford—this might sound really strange, but I’d like your advice.”

  “That does sound strange,” Mr. Bratford agreed, and everyone laughed awkwardly.

  “The thing is, my friend runs an animal shelter downtown,” I said. “He is being kicked out because the guy who owns the building sold it to some people who are turning it into a shopping center. I was wondering if you had any advice on how to stop that from happening.”

  “Why would you think I could help?” Mr. Bratford asked.

  I took a deep breath. “Well, because I know you used to own a business and you might know—uh—how to, you know—how the system works?”

  Mr. Bratford’s eyes crinkled up, and he actually laughed, for the first time. “Well, now, hold on. Are you saying you want to know if there’s a way that you can maybe bend the rules a little bit?”

  “Oh gosh, no!” I said quickly. “But … is there a way to prevent something like this from happening?”

  “Well, the old me might have suggested one thing,” Mr. Bratford said, still smiling a bit. “But the new me suggests something else entirely. You need to go talk to the only people who are even more sneaky than crooks.”

  We all leaned forward in our chairs.

  “Who’s that?” Baxter asked.

  “The politicians,” said Barnaby Bratford.

  WHICH IS HOW Baxter and I ended up in Mayor Rhonda Murpt’s office the very next day.

  It was an impressive office, by the way. Mayor Murpt was the mayor of a pretty small town, but she had a big, beautiful office, with wood paneling on the walls, a huge couch with flower-patterned pillows all over it, and a desk the size of a car. It didn’t feel very office-y. It kind of looked like the home study of a super rich, super important person.

  “Whoa,” said Baxter. “This place is sweet.”

  Earlier that afternoon I’d called and found out that the mayor had public office hours every afternoon from four to five, so I made an appointment for 4:15. Then I called Baxter to meet me downtown. I told Mrs. Cragg I was going to the skate park, because I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be thrilled with the idea of my taking Abby to the mayor’s office.

  “The skate park?” Mrs. Cragg had said. “But you don’t skate.”

  “I’m thinking of learning.”

  “Hmmm,” she’d said, like she wasn’t quite sure whether or not to believe me, but she still let me go.

  On our way to see the mayor, Baxter asked if we should invite Daisy and Irwin, but I shook my head. “Irwin will laugh and say it’s a terrible idea, as usual. And Daisy was pretty convinced we were wasting our time, remember?” I had a brief moment of doubt, but I wished it away. “Let’s just see what happens, and we can fill them in later.”

  FACT: It’s decisions like this that usually come back to haunt you.

  When we got to city hall, the first person we saw was a security guard who was chomping on a cheeseburger. He took one look at Abby and said, “No dogs.”

  Little did he know, I’d done my homework. “Isn’t this a public building?” I asked. “Aren’t you public servants? And aren’t we the public?”

  The guard was a little too shocked by my confidence to say anything.

  “That’s what I thought,” I added. “There is no law that says a member of the public can’t bring his pet to this building. So please, let us pass.”

  In the lobby, we saw people with cameras, hanging around like they were waiting for something to happen. One woman saw Abby and raised her eyebrows, but the rest of them just looked at us and yawned. I guess we weren’t all that interesting.

  Meanwhile, the guard decided we’d interrupted his cheeseburger long enough. “Just don’t let th
at dog make a mess,” he said with his mouth full, as we waited for the elevator.

  “Oh, she would never do that,” I said, just as Abby sniffed a man’s leg suspiciously. “Stop that!” I whispered loudly. She stopped. Phew.

  When we got upstairs, a well-dressed woman met us at the elevator. “You’re here to see Mayor Murpt?”

  “We are,” I said. “We have an appointment.”

  TIP: Never show up at the mayor’s office unannounced.

  The woman looked us up and down, especially Abby. “Wait here, please.”

  Abby examined the lady’s foot and then let out a little sound, halfway between a yip and a growl. “We must vet our appointments more thoroughly,” the woman mumbled to herself as she walked away.

  “Vet?” asked Baxter.

  “Short for veterinarian,” I said. (Which was totally incorrect. I found out later it means “examine carefully.”)

  We sat down and waited. I glanced up at the walls, which were covered with pictures of a woman who must have been Mayor Murpt, posing with semifamous local people, like the high school girl who won the state championship in the mile run, and the guy who broke the world record for pogo stick jumping.

  Finally, we heard a loud, extra chipper voice. “It’s not every day I get a visit from two schoolchildren. And their little dog too! How wonderful!”

  We all looked up and saw a very small, very thin woman in a yellow dress walking toward us. Two inches behind her was a guy in a suit, who looked barely older than Misty’s boyfriend, staring at his cell phone.

  “I’m Rhonda Murpt,” she said, holding out both her hands. “It’s so good to see you here today.” She gestured at the guy behind her, who nodded at us. “And this is my chief of staff, Eric Miranda. He keeps the trains running on time.”

  “What trains?” I asked.

  She laughed. “So adorable! My youngest constituents are my most valuable, for it is you kids that will keep our democracy thriving for generations to come. And who’s this?” she asked, looking down.

  “Her name’s Abby,” I said.

  “Well, hello, little Abby,” said the mayor, and she bent down to scratch Abby’s back. Abby doesn’t love getting her back scratched though, so she let out a little growl.

  “Oh gosh,” said Mayor Murpt. “I didn’t hurt her, did I?”

  “Of course not,” I said. Then to Abby I hissed, “Be nice.”

  “Come in, come in!” the mayor chirped, and we all followed her into the office. She pointed at the big flowery couch. “Please sit! Can I get you children anything to drink? Some juice?”

  PROFILE

  Name: Rhonda Murpt

  Age: Not sure, but I’m pretty sure her hair was dyed

  Occupation: Mayor

  Interests: Running the town, getting re-elected so she can keep running the town

  PROFILE

  Name: Eric Miranda

  Age: Way too young to act like such a big shot

  Occupation: Mayor’s assistant

  Interests: Helping the mayor look mayoral

  I said no, but Baxter asked for apple juice. As soon as it came, I was mad that I hadn’t asked for juice too.

  Mayor Murpt’s phone rang. She glanced at it, decided to ignore it, and looked up at us with a bright smile. “So, do you mind if I ask where your parents are?”

  Baxter and I looked at each other, neither of us sure what to say. Finally Baxter said, “We wanted it to be a surprise,” which seemed like a good answer, even though I wasn’t quite sure what the it would turn out to be.

  “I see.” Mayor Murpt put on her best business face, even though I could tell she was wondering what the heck she was doing sitting there with two children. “And how can I help you kids?”

  “Well,” I said, “we wanted to know if you could help us. The shelter where I volunteer and where I adopted Abby is going to close in a few weeks because the person who owns it sold it to some other people who want to tear down the building and turn it into a big shopping center.”

  Mayor Murpt’s smile faded for a second, but she recovered quickly. “Whoa there, slow down just a minute,” she said. “A shelter? An animal shelter?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Northport Animal Rescue Foundation. Most people call it Northport ARF. It’s run by a man named Shep Lansing.”

  “And they also have training for pets,” Baxter added. “Abby trained there. She used to eat all of Jimmy’s mom’s shoes, but now she’s a lot better.”

  “Can you help us?” I asked the mayor. “Can you stop the sale of the shelter? Someone told us that the town can step in if it’s for the public good.”

  “Well, now, that’s a very interesting question,” said Mayor Murpt. “Of course, a government is able and, in fact, required to protect the rights of its citizens. But it cannot overstep its bounds and impinge on the rights of its citizens either. That would not be in the best interests of our democracy.”

  “Impinge?” Baxter asked.

  “Interfere with,” Eric Miranda clarified.

  “Correct,” said the mayor. “I am happy to look into this situation, but I’m not sure there’s anything I can do.” She snuck a quick look at her watch. “Well, thank you so much for stopping by. You really are terrific kids. The future of our city and our nation is in good hands!”

  She got to her feet, and Mr. Miranda leaped up to stand behind her.

  “So you really can’t do anything to help?” I asked. “You’re just going to let all those poor cats and dogs and bunnies get thrown out into the street?”

  “As I said, it’s a private matter,” the mayor said, already looking at her phone. “The government cannot step in. I do wish I had better news.”

  I felt deflated. “Come on, Baxter,” I said. “Let’s go tell Shep.”

  I bent down and woke Abby up from her nap. She stretched, yawned, and then for some reason let out a real growl. I even saw some fang.

  I hadn’t seen her fangs in three weeks. I’d almost forgotten how big they were.

  “Abby!” I said. “Stop that!”

  The mayor laughed. “Oh, it’s okay,” she said. “She’s probably just smelling my dog.”

  As we headed for the door, I heard Mr. Miranda say, “Madame Mayor, do you mind if I talk to you for a minute?” Then he looked at us and said, “Hold up just a minute, guys.”

  As they talked quietly in a corner, Abby kept staring at them. She was making a very soft sound, and it wasn’t the friendly type.

  I tugged on her leash. “Stop embarrassing me in front of the mayor.”

  I was getting more and more nervous that something bad was going to happen, but two seconds later the mayor walked over to us with a big smile on her face.

  “Eric thinks it would be a nice idea to get a few pictures, which we can put on our website and release to the press,” Mayor Murpt said. “I agree, it would set a terrific example for other youngsters, seeing us together—we can show them that it’s never too early to care about your community.”

  Baxter and I looked at each other. “A picture?” I asked. “With us?”

  “That’s right,” Eric Miranda said. “We’ll tweet it out to all her followers. Now, if you two wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to stand over here.”

  Mr. Miranda spoke quietly into his phone. Two seconds later, the door opened, and all the people we’d seen at the front door of the building rushed in, with cameras and laptops and notebooks. The next thing I knew, we were all gathered by the big wooden desk, right next to two giant American flags on two poles, posing for pictures.

  “Why don’t you pick Abby up?” Mr. Miranda suggested. “Might make for a better optic.”

  “Okay,” I said, even though I had no idea what optic meant. Abby wasn’t exactly thrilled about getting scooped up, but she didn’t fight me either.

  FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! Baxter and I were excited to pose for the various cameras, already planning what we’d say to all the jealous kids back at school. But then I got a pit in
my stomach as I suddenly realized that Daisy and Irwin would be two of those kids.

  “Ah yes, ladies and gentlemen of the press,” said Mayor Murpt. “So glad to have you here with us. I’m very happy to welcome these youngsters here today to learn about government.”

  “What were the kids doing here?” shouted out one guy with a camera.

  “New campaign managers?” another yelled, and everyone laughed.

  “Just two curious kids wanting to learn,” Eric Miranda interrupted. “And please, no policy questions. Just pictures.”

  The camera people took their pictures, but most of them looked pretty bored.

  “Typical photo op,” one mumbled.

  “Photo op?” Baxter asked.

  The mayor chuckled. “Photo opportunity,” she said. “Which is one of the most important duties of any politician.”

  The cameras snapped away. My mouth was getting tired from smiling.

  “How many more pictures?” I asked, to no one in particular.

  A woman with red hair and a notebook laughed. “Not too many,” she said. “Pretty cool being in the mayor’s office though, isn’t it?”

  “Totally cool,” I said. “The mayor is so nice. Even though she couldn’t really help us.”

  “Help you with what?” she asked.

  “We were trying to save the shelter downtown, but I guess there’s nothing we can do.”

  A guy with a camera glanced over in my direction.

  “The animal shelter?” asked another guy. “With all the cats and dogs? What’s happening to it?”

  “Thanks, everyone!” said Eric Miranda. “I think we have everything we need.”

  But the press people had woken up.

  They started asking questions, even though Mr. Miranda kept repeating, “No questions, please,” and, “This is not a news conference.”

  Finally, Mayor Murpt held up her hand. “It’s true. These young children have asked if there’s any way to block the sale of a building downtown, and we’ve explained how in a democratic society, government is not allowed to prevent a private business transaction.”

  “How about a petition?” said the red-haired woman with the notebook.