by Daphne Maple
“And what is it about?” my mom asked almost breathlessly.
I stifled a sigh. Why did parents think it helped when they got all worked up about stuff like this? It only made it worse. The last thing I needed was more pressure.
“It’s just about what we bring to the volunteer work and how we’ve made a difference there,” I said quickly. I still had some mac and cheese left but I wasn’t feeling as hungry anymore.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” Matt said, giving me a quick nod. “And I’d be happy to find my old essay and let you look at it if that would help.”
I smiled gratefully at my brother. “It would, thanks,” I said.
“Kim is going to have tons to write about,” Sasha said loyally. “She’s amazing with the dogs—everyone there is totally impressed. She’s definitely the star volunteer.”
My mom’s face finally relaxed and I shot Sasha a grateful look.
“It does sound like an interesting assignment,” my mom said. “I’m sure you’ll both do a wonderful job on it.” She reached for the casserole dish. “Sasha, can I get you more mac and cheese?”
“Yes please,” Sasha said with a grin. “I really missed your cooking while we were away.”
“Not that tuna casserole,” Matt said with a knowing grin.
We all groaned at that. Last spring my mom had tried out a new recipe when Sasha was sleeping over and it had not been a success. And that was putting it mildly! My mom had meant to add a sweet chili pepper but accidently cut up a super-hot one. Our mouths were scorching after one bite and I think we had to finish a gallon of milk to cool off.
“I certainly learned my lesson about keeping my chili peppers separated,” my mom said with a chuckle as she served Sasha another helping of the steaming mac and cheese. “So what else are you doing at the shelter?”
I knew she was asking because of the essay but I’d take any chance I got to talk more about the dogs and less about school. “Actually Alice and I were talking about another puppy at the shelter, Hattie,” I said, pausing to take another bite. My appetite was back now.
“She’s really shy,” Sasha said. “And scared of everything. Alice hasn’t been able to find a home for her.”
“Right,” I said. “And today Alice was telling me that she thinks part of the problem is that Hattie is really attached to Lily. Hattie needs some more time on her own so she can get more independent.”
“That sounds like a way you girls could make a difference,” my dad said.
He was thinking about the essay too but in this case I hoped he was right. I really wanted to help Hattie find a home. “I was thinking we could play with Lily more when we’re at the shelter and keep her busy,” I said to Sasha. “That way Hattie can learn to be on her own more.”
“That’s a great idea,” Sasha said. “Also maybe Taylor and I can play with the other dogs while you help Hattie get more comfortable with people.”
I wasn’t thrilled to hear her bring up Taylor yet again but thinking about Taylor and the dogs reminded me about how weird Taylor was with Boxer. “Speaking of Taylor,” I said, “did you notice her acting a little funny at the shelter today?”
Sasha’s brows wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
“Well, like she was giving Boxer really mixed signals, jumping back when they were playing instead of telling him no when he hopped up,” I said. “And she spent most of the afternoon talking to Tim and Caley instead of playing with the dogs.”
“She was great when we were washing Popsicle,” Sasha pointed out.
My dad had stood to start clearing the table but he paused. “It sounds to me like she might be scared of the bigger dogs.”
Both Sasha and I shook our heads at that. “She was really excited about working at the shelter,” Sasha said. “She downloaded all these funny dog apps to her phone and stuff.”
“It was no big deal,” I said, pushing back my chair so I could take my dishes in. But Taylor’s tight face and her confusing behavior with Boxer still had me puzzled.
After dinner Sasha and I went up to my room.
“It all looks the same,” she said happily. It was weird to think it had been more than a month since she’d been here. Usually she was over a couple of times a week. And it did look the same, with my puppy posters, the china dog collection on my bookcase, the blue rug with a stain where I’d spilled tomato soup when I had the flu in third grade, and my old cherry comforter.
“I do have something new,” I told her. I was about to show her when I bumped into my desk, which was piled high with books and papers from school. A bunch of papers flew to the floor and I bent to pick them up.
“You are so lucky to have clutter,” Sasha said with a sigh.
Her room was always pristine, of course. “It makes it hard to find stuff,” I pointed out. “Like last night it took me ten minutes to find the vocab sheet Mrs. Benson gave us.”
Sasha wrinkled her nose. “That’s because she gives us so much homework it’s impossible to keep track of it all.”
“Yeah, but doesn’t your mom have a file system set up for you?” I asked. “And your bookshelf organized in alphabetical order?” I’d been thinking I’d have to do something like that if Mrs. Benson kept giving us so much work. Which I knew she would.
“Yeah but it’s actually harder to find stuff when it’s all put away,” Sasha said, stretching back against my pillows. “Because I always forget where I put it.”
I laughed. Sasha was always putting things away in drawers or her walk-in closet, and then forgetting where they were. I could see how it would be the same with all the papers from Mrs. Benson. Really there was no good solution when that much homework was involved.
I set the pile of papers on my desk, then walked over and closed my closet door.
“Your dog collage,” Sasha said, sitting up.
A lot of girls in our class made collages cut out of fashion magazines or of their favorite movie stars. But I’d made one entirely of dogs.
“I’ve been doing some work on it since we started at the shelter,” I said. The collage had all kinds of dog pictures and stickers plus bits of information about dogs. Before she left for Lake George Sasha had helped me make a dog paw border that went around the whole closet door and I couldn’t wait to show her what I’d added since.
“Oh, it’s Boxer,” she exclaimed as she got up to take a closer look. I’d taken pictures of all the shelter dogs with my phone and glued them in, along with snippets of information about their breeds. I used a different color highlighter on each one so it had kind of a rainbow look to it. “He’s definitely high-spirited and curious,” she said, reading the printout about boxers.
“It also says they need people to be firm with them,” I said, thinking back to Taylor and how passive she’d been with him.
Sasha looked a little lower down and squealed. “Me and Mr. Smashmouth!”
I grinned. “Yeah, I took that one when you weren’t looking.” It was a picture of Sasha snuggling Mr. Smashmouth, her face buried in his fluffy white fur. His little face was totally blissful.
“The shelter is so great,” Sasha said happily, standing on her tiptoes to see my photo of Hattie.
“I know,” I agreed. “It makes me happy every time I look at pictures of the dogs from there.”
“Now you just need a picture of Popsicle,” Sasha said. “And I want to help you decide where to put it. We can take a picture of her next week.”
“Definitely,” I said. I was relieved to hear she still wanted to work on the collage with me. Maybe some things were changing but at least this was the same. “This is really fun, us hanging out,” I added.
Sasha stiffened the tiniest bit. “Yeah, but you and Taylor are going to be great friends too,” she said.
So she’d noticed that we weren’t great friends. “I’ve been trying to be nice,” I said. I wanted to add that it didn’t seem like Taylor was really trying but I knew that would upset Sasha.
“Don�
��t worry,” Sasha said. “I know the three of us are going to be best friends.” She looped an arm around my neck. “Let’s go make milk shakes.”
We loved making milk shakes with all kinds of add-ins like chocolate chips or crushed sugar cookies but right now I didn’t really feel like it. The way things were with Taylor it was pretty impossible to imagine us ever being real friends. And Sasha saying “best friends” made it even worse.
Still, I trailed after Sasha, hoping against hope that she was right. Because if she wasn’t, I was in danger of losing my best friend.
6
Monday morning I knocked on the Cronins’ door. The sky was gray and it felt like rain was coming. I hoped to get Humphrey back home before it started. I heard the sound of Humphrey’s nails on the wood floor as he came to the door, followed by the click of Mrs. Cronin’s high heels.
Mrs. Cronin opened the door with a smile but her phone was pressed against her ear. I nodded to let her know she could get back to her call and I’d take it from here. Humphrey was rubbing against my ankles and I bent down to pet him while she headed down the hall saying something about interest rates.
I grabbed Humphrey’s leash and a few minutes later we were on our way.
“Working at the shelter has been great,” I told him as we walked. As always his ears pricked up at the sound of my voice. “I think you’d like the other dogs there.”
Humphrey paused to sniff the rosebushes at the end of the Vincents’ drive. “Boxer might be a bit too energetic for you,” I said as I gave his leash a tug and we got back on our way. “But you’d like Lily. She’s calmer and she loves to play, like you.”
Humphrey bobbed his head agreeably.
“I bet you’d like hanging with other dogs, wouldn’t you?” I asked, turning back. The clouds hung low overhead and I knew we didn’t have much time before the downpour. We’d finished the first half of our route anyway. “It’s too bad we don’t have time to go to the dog run at the park when I walk you in the mornings.” The one time I’d taken him on a Saturday he’d been delirious with joy, playing tug-of-war with a poodle and then sniffing every corner of the fenced-in area with an old cocker spaniel. “Maybe we can go another time.”
It was funny to be thinking about planning a playdate for a dog but Humphrey had really enjoyed himself. He’d actually been the most energetic I’d ever seen him.
Back at the Cronins’, Humphrey took the porch steps slowly, then collapsed on his side as I rang the doorbell. Mrs. Cronin opened it a moment later and laughed when she saw her dog. “Tired, Humphrey?” she asked him.
Humphrey opened one eye and looked up at her.
“Your breakfast is ready,” she said.
Clearly Humphrey knew the word breakfast because he was on his feet immediately. I grinned as I unhooked his leash and watched him pad back in the house.
Mrs. Cronin was smiling too. “He goes crazy when he sees the kibble bag,” she said fondly. “So now I get it out and prepare his breakfast when he’s walking with you, so I don’t trip over him when I’m trying to feed him.”
“Good idea,” I said. So much of being a good dog owner was just thinking creatively like that.
“Kim, I wanted to ask you something,” Mrs. Cronin said as she paid me for the morning. “Our vet said Humphrey needs to walk more and we wondered if you might be able to come some afternoons, after school, to take him out.”
“Oh, I wish I could,” I said regretfully. “But the days I’m not at the shelter are homework days and I can’t miss them.” My parents were really serious about me having three afternoons a week to just do homework either at home or at the Rox. I’d never admit it but it was kind of a good rule, considering how long it took me to get all my homework done. Still, I complained about it a lot. And I did wish they’d let me miss forty minutes to walk poor Humphrey.
“Of course that makes sense,” Mrs. Cronin said. Her voice was understanding but I could see her brows furrow. “Do you have any friends who might be able to help? A professional walker is too expensive and I hate for Humphrey to not get the exercise he needs.”
I hated that thought too. Exercise was really important for dogs, especially walks where they were stimulated by all the new smells, sounds, and things to see. Animals could get depressed if they were shut inside too much, just like people.
“I’ll ask,” I promised Mrs. Cronin.
“Thanks,” she said.
The rain was starting as I headed down the steps and I took a minute to put up my puppy-print umbrella. Sasha had a matching one and it made me look forward to rainy days so I could use it. But today I was too busy thinking about poor Humphrey to enjoy it. I really hoped Sasha or even Taylor could help.
“I wish I could,” Sasha moaned. The three of us had just met up on the cafeteria line and the smell of overcooked meat loaf and baked beans hung thick in the air. “But I have ballet during the week now.”
“I thought that was Saturdays,” I said, skipping the meat loaf and grabbing a turkey sandwich, my usual lunch except on pizza days. Sasha was reaching for a cheese sandwich while Taylor got salad and strawberry yogurt.
“Sasha got moved up to intermediate ballet, which is on Wednesdays instead of Saturdays,” Taylor said.
The fact that Taylor had known this before me was like a smack. It might have seemed like no big deal, but the thing was, Sasha and I always knew every detail of each other’s schedules. And half the time I was the one who reminded her what she was doing after school because she was always forgetting. She sometimes joked that I was her secretary. Now it looked like Taylor was stealing my job as secretary and maybe even as best friend.
“I just found out yesterday,” Sasha told me as she handed over her money to pay for her food.
“When my family was over for dinner,” Taylor added, brushing one of her braids out of her face.
Was she trying to make me feel worse?
“Well, congratulations,” I said, working to sound enthusiastic. It was hard when my stomach was all clenched up.
We headed to our table, along the back wall near a window. In elementary school we’d had long benches but here there were round tables with rickety plastic chairs. We usually sat by ourselves even though six or seven people could squeeze in at one table. Right now I was wishing the tables just sat two, though at this point who knew if Sasha would choose to sit with me or Taylor. I kind of didn’t want to find out the answer to that.
“Hey, guys,” our friend Dana said. She and Naomi, Emily, and Rachel always sat at the table next to us. “Have you started your essays for Mrs. Benson yet?”
My stomach clenched up even more thinking about that.
“Ugh, no,” Taylor said, setting down her food. “I have no idea what to write.”
“We’re working at the community center garden,” Emily said. “So it’s easy. We can just write about what we plant.”
“And hope it grows,” Rachel added.
“Lucky for us we won’t know until the spring, long after the essay is handed in,” Naomi said with a grin.
We laughed at that. Then we settled in at our table while the four of them began making plans for that afternoon.
“I’m sorry I can’t help out with Humphrey,” Sasha said, getting back to our conversation. “Taylor, can you walk him?”
Taylor shook her head. “I wish, but I just signed up for a photography class,” she said. “And I’m going to need the other days to take pictures.”
“Too bad,” Sasha said, picking up her sandwich. “Kim, you should see Taylor’s photos. She’s really good.”
Another thing they had shared without me. I was becoming more and more of an outsider. I pulled at the crust of my sandwich but my stomach was too knotted up to actually take a bite.
“Hey, maybe Taylor can take that picture of Popsicle for you!” Sasha said.
“I’d love to,” Taylor said quickly. “What’s it for?”
“This amazing dog collage Kim made on her closet door,�
� Sasha bubbled. “Just wait till you see it.”
“That’d be great,” Taylor said. She didn’t sound that excited about it. Or maybe it was just that I hated the thought of sharing my collage and my room with her. Almost as much as I hated sharing my best friend.
“What do you think, Kim?” Sasha asked.
I looked at some boys throwing potato chips at each other a few tables away, instead of at Sasha or Taylor. “Okay,” I said. What else could I say?
“So that’s set,” Sasha said. She had inhaled the first half of her sandwich and was starting in on the second, while Taylor was scraping out the last of her yogurt. Clearly their stomachs were fine. “Now we just need to get Humphrey his exercise.”
I’d almost forgotten but I was glad she hadn’t. I really did want to help the Cronins and Humphrey.
“The question,” she went on, “is how can we do it?”
7
“So here’s something I don’t get,” Taylor said later that afternoon when the three of us were heading to the shelter. The rain had stopped but everything around us was dripping and shiny, like it had just gotten a good cleaning.
“What?” Sasha asked cheerfully. The sidewalk was narrow as we headed down Main Street and somehow I was stuck walking a little behind them, like a kid trying to keep up. So I was anything but cheerful.
“Why is everything in your town named after your town?” Taylor asked, tossing her braids as she gestured to the Roxbury Park Drugstore.
Sasha laughed but I felt my back stiffen. “Not everything,” I said defensively. “Nimsey’s Crafts isn’t”—I waved my hand as we passed the cozy store—“and neither is the Bundt Cake Bakery.” I noticed the Roxbury Park Coffeehouse right next door but decided to ignore it.
Sasha leaned back to poke me in the ribs with a playful elbow. “Taylor has a point,” she said, grinning. “An awful lot of places are named for the town.”
I shrugged and looked away.
“Do you guys know what you’re going to write about for our essay?” Sasha asked, clearly trying to change the subject.