Better With Butter

by Victoria Piontek

  She’s already wasted twenty seconds texting, figuring out what was happening, and racing to the computer. By the time she finally presses pause, she freezes me on-screen at thirty seconds, the height of my panic. A mere instant before someone yells, Get her off the stage! and Principal Huxx comes to carry me off.

  I’m like one of those people from Pompeii, suspended in time at the exact height of my horror.

  Jamie laughs. “I’m sorry, but that’s hilarious! She’s so frozen, she looks like an icicle. No, a snowman. Ha! She’s Frosty …” He looks around the room to gauge the response to his joke. “You know, like the snowman? Come on! Frosty. It’s funny.”

  “If you have to explain it, it’s not funny,” Addie snipes, but despite her defense of me, the entire class starts cracking up, even the nice kids, and I feel like crawling into a hole.

  Ms. Day clicks off the computer. “Jamie. Principal Huxx’s office. Now.” She points to the door.

  Jamie swings his backpack over his shoulder and high-fives his buddies as he walks toward the door. He’s not even sorry. Just before he steps into the hallway, he says, “Later, Frosty.”

  Ms. Day looks pained.

  I put my head back down on the table and hide in my cocoon.

  “Ooof, Frosty is going to catch on,” Mercedes says.

  I hear a smack.

  “Ouch, Addie, that hurt,” Mercedes says, indignant.

  “You’re making it worse.” Addie pats my arm.

  “It’s not her fault people are mean. I’m just saying—” The bell goes off, interrupting Mercedes.

  Everyone bolts for home, except for my table.

  I stay where I am, unmoving. I can’t leave until everyone is gone.

  I feel Addie, Theo, and Mercedes lingering.

  “Um … should we do something?” Theo whispers.

  I understand his confusion. We’re tablemates, which makes us acquaintances, not friends. Friends do stuff together. We just sit next to one another in class.

  “It’s okay, you three. Go ahead and go,” Ms. Day says. “Do me a favor and shut the door on your way out, please.”

  The classroom door closes, and from the sound, Ms. Day pulls out a chair. “Marvel, my deepest apology. That shouldn’t have happened. Looking at my phone is not something I normally do, but I’ve been waiting to hear some news. My sister had her baby. I’m an aunt.”

  She’s obviously excited, so I’m happy for her. “Congratulations.” I don’t lift my head, and my words are muffled.

  “That’s kind of you.” Ms. Day pauses, and the silence is uncomfortable.

  “Can I go home now?”

  “Of course.”

  I wipe my tears away and stand.

  See what I mean? Just when I thought it was safe again, KERPOW.

  By the time I get outside, almost everyone is gone. Only two cars still wait in the car line, mine and a shiny black SUV.

  Addie, Mercedes, and Theo make their way to the SUV, talking and goofing around. They’ve all changed clothes. Addie and Mercedes wear pale blue leotards with black athletic shorts and they’ve pulled their hair into high, tight ballet buns. Theo’s outfit coordinates with them. He wears a T-shirt in the same pale blue color and black shorts. They’re a mini dance company.

  I used to take ballet with them, back when we were all beginners and our leotard color was white. I loved dance. Unfortunately, my anxiety didn’t. I quit after a few seasons. Seeing evidence of their progression (only the advanced dancers get to wear blue) and the three of them hanging out together makes me wish I’d kept going. I’d love to have a group of friends to spend time with after school and to still be dancing.

  Of all the ways my anxiety hurts me, the loneliness might be the most painful.

  I wait for them to climb into the SUV before going to meet Dad.

  I pull open the car door, and Butter tumbles out.

  She rights herself and gives her whole body a good shake. Then she notices me. As soon as she does, she starts bleating and wagging her tail.

  “You brought Butter!” I’m so happy to see her, I scoop her up and hug her, letting the warmth of her soothe my sadness like heat on aching muscles.

  Dad chuckles. “I thought she might brighten your day. But seeing the way she greeted you, I think it made her day too.”

  She nuzzles her nose under my chin, and I snuggle her, embracing her easy love.

  “Ready to get out of here?” Dad asks, and turns the car on.

  I scramble into it. I’ve never been more ready to leave a place in my entire life.

  * * *

  The next morning, I find Dad at the stove again.

  The house smells like vanilla cake. “Yummy, what are you making?” I sit down with Butter on my lap, relieved it’s the weekend. I get to hang out with her for two whole days, and I don’t have to go to school, which is amazing. I seriously need a break from that place. The bummer is that, even when I’m away from it, my thoughts wander back there like a homing pigeon.

  Worrying is my brain’s background music. Sometimes the volume is high, sometimes it’s low, but it’s never off. I can literally worry about anything, but right now it feels like the current playlist is the same five songs—“Stage Fright,” “Everyone Laughed,” “Caught on Video,” “They Called Her Frosty,” “Sixth-Grade Failure”—on a constant loop.

  That’s what I love about being with Butter. When I’m with her or taking care of her, the volume gets so low, I’m almost free of it.

  Dad holds tongs and wears a T-shirt that says Captain Dad, a Father’s Day gift from a few years ago. He stacks waffles onto a plate and sets them on the table. “My specialty. Remember?”

  “Oh, yeah … that’s right.” I actually did not remember until he mentioned it. These are the things that bother me. I get mad at myself for forgetting special details. It feels disloyal. I stash loves to make waffles away with the other little bits of information I’m collecting. Next time he leaves, I’m going to do a better job of remembering him.

  Butter puts her head on the table and sniffs the waffles.

  I scooch the plate just out of her reach.

  “Waffles!” Reef comes downstairs. He’s wearing his pajamas and sporting some major bedhead. He high-fives Dad. “I’ve missed these!”

  Mom wanders into the kitchen. She’s dressed in her Mom uniform—baseball cap, vintage rock-band T-shirt, and jeans. She kisses Dad on the cheek. “It’s really nice to have you home.”

  “It’s the only place I want to be.” Dad gives her a one-arm hug because he’s still holding the tongs in the other hand.

  No one notices me at the table. It’s like my family reunion invite went to spam, but I get to watch it all on their social media stories. (#blessed #dadshome #meanddadarebesties)

  “Okay, cadets! Let’s eat.” Dad ushers them to the table.

  Mom finally spots me. “Nope. Absolutely not. No goats at the table.” Since she left early yesterday, she doesn’t know Butter ate her breakfast there already.

  “Butter and Marvel can stay, right? Just for a few waffles?” Dad might be in charge of sailors at work, but Mom’s commander of us kids.

  Butter stretches her neck out trying to reach the plate. She wiggles a leg free and puts a hoof on the table.

  Mom points at it. “That’s where I draw the line.”

  I stand and swipe a waffle. “That’s okay. I’m going to teach Butter how to walk on a leash this morning anyway.”

  Mom and Reef look at me like I’m bananas.

  “That’s weird,” Reef says. But he’s not paying too much attention. He’s looking at his phone under the table.

  “Three things.” Mom counts points off on her fingers. “One, I’m not sure goats walk on leashes, so set your expectations accordingly. Two, Butter is temporary. Keep that in mind. I don’t want you getting too attached. Three, you need to get the posting up online and put posters up today. I’m sure her owner is worried sick about her.” Mom snatches Reef’s phone from
him.

  Reef sighs, “Seriously? Marvel can bring a goat to the table, but my cell phone is banned?” He shoves a forkful of waffles into his mouth and starts chewing.

  “No goats OR phones at the table.” Mom pours cream in her coffee. “These feel like commonsense rules I shouldn’t need to actually say out loud.”

  I wish Mom would stop reminding me Butter is temporary. Every time I hug Butter, I wonder if it’s the last time. I can’t imagine not having Butter by my side and agonize over what would happen if I’m not there to protect her. “Mom, I found Butter eating garbage. I don’t think anyone except me is worried about her … and maybe Dad.” He seems to really like Butter, and it makes me feel like we have something special in common.

  Mom glances at Dad.

  He pretends to be overly interested in his waffles.

  I can tell Mom is concerned I’m already too attached, which I am. I can also tell she blames Dad. It’s going to be fine, though. Butter is the best thing to ever happen to me. Her terrible owner is never going to find her and take her away because I’ve devised a foolproof plan to make sure it doesn’t happen. It can’t. We need each other.

  Butter squirms, anxious to get down and play. I hold her a little tighter. “Goats can do anything dogs can do, and they’re supposed to be super easy to train.” As if to prove me wrong, Butter gets free of my embrace and tumbles to the floor, somehow landing on her feet. She’s very catlike.

  “O-kay,” Mom says, slightly sarcastic.

  “She hasn’t had any training yet. You can’t expect her to know how to behave.” When I’m done, Butter is going to be perfect. Mom will be so impressed; she’ll insist I keep her, and I can stop worrying about losing her.

  I take Butter to my room and let her explore while I google walking your pet goat. I make sure to check on her frequently this time, looking up every couple of minutes. I don’t want another math book incident. I already have too many school stressors.

  Surprisingly, I get a ton of hits. I click on a couple of videos and absorb the basics.

  All I have to do is put the leash on Butter and pull her forward. When she walks, I reward her with a treat, preferably a Cheerio.

  I pretty much don’t need school. Everything I need to know is on YouTube.

  Butter and I go into the garage, and I scrounge around until I find some rope that will work for a temporary leash. I load my pockets full of Cheerios. Then I take Butter to the front yard.

  I tie the rope to Butter’s collar and gently pull like the video showed.

  She FREAKS out. She hops and spins around at the same time. She’s a bucking bronco.

  I don’t understand. YouTube made it seem easy.

  I give the leash some slack.

  Butter calms down.

  I pet her and feed her a Cheerio.

  She gobbles it up.

  I try again.

  Butter freaks again. She’s like a fish caught on a line, frantic to escape.

  I try three more times. Butter goes bananas EVERY SINGLE TIME.

  I plop down on the grass, exhausted. Stupid YouTube.

  Addie rolls by on her skateboard. Since I live close to the school, kids are always biking, skateboarding, and hanging out in my neighborhood, which I don’t like because every time a kid zooms by I’m reminded of the very place I’m struggling to forget.

  Addie notices us and turns around. She stops, steps on the back of her board, and when it flips up, she catches it. Apparently, she’s a prodigy and good at everything. “No way! Is that a goat?”

  “Yep.” I give Butter extra slack in her leash to let her graze. As long as I’m not pulling the rope tight, she’s fine.

  “She’s adorable! Where’d you get her?” Addie sits down next to me and takes off her helmet. Addie is the one person I think of as a friend, but while we’re friendly to each other, we’re not people who actually do stuff together. I’ve known her since kindergarten, and I don’t think she’s ever sat on my lawn before.

  Butter stops grazing and comes over to me. She wants attention.

  As I pet Butter, I tell Addie about finding her eating garbage, her fainting gene, and protecting her from Jamie and his brother.

  “Ugh, he’s the worst. No wonder he was so mean yesterday.”

  We’re both quiet for a second, and it’s awkward.

  “You’re not still bothered about that Frosty thing, are you?” Addie snaps off a blade of grass and twists it.

  “No.” I am, but I don’t tell Addie. Somehow confessing how much it bothers me makes it so much worse and I don’t want Addie to feel sorry for me. A pity friendship is way worse than not having one at all.

  Addie offers the blade of grass to Butter. “I wish I’d found her. Then I’d have a goat.” I know the way she means it, but Addie doesn’t need a goat. She has everything else—skateboarding tricks, speaking skills, ballet, lots of friends.

  Butter sniffs the grass suspiciously.

  “Can I pet her?”

  “Of course.” I put Butter in Addie’s lap.

  Addie gently rubs Butter’s head and back.

  Butter wags her tail.

  “Oh my gosh! That’s the cutest thing ever.” Addie’s smile is huge. Butter spreads happiness wherever she goes.

  “I know, right? She’s amazing.” I show Addie how much Butter likes it when I pet her on her belly.

  Addie tries it out.

  Butter closes her eyes, thoroughly enjoying the attention.

  “What were you doing when I first saw you and Butter?”

  “Trying to train her to walk on a leash. It’s not going great.”

  I demonstrate.

  Addie giggles.

  Butter shakes her head and snorts defiantly. I love her, but she is SOOOO frustrating. I wonder if Mom ever feels that way about me.

  Addie thinks for a minute. “What would happen if you made a trail of treats for her to follow?”

  I shrug. “It’s worth a try. I don’t have any other ideas.”

  Addie makes a line of Cheerios around the lawn.

  I hold the rope loosely. “Let’s pretend to ignore her.” If Butter is anything like me, she won’t take the bait, just to prove she can’t be manipulated.

  Addie and I talk about books while sneaking peeks at Butter. We discover we both love The Penderwicks and get sidetracked talking about which characters we like best.

  While we’re talking, Butter eats one Cheerio, looks around, and eats another.

  Butter eats a few more by stretching her neck out as far as it will reach. Man, she’s stubborn.

  Addie and I wait.

  Butter tries to get another Cheerio without walking forward, but it’s too far away. She raises her head and sniffs the air.

  I hold my breath.

  She slowly steps forward and nabs the next treat. Then she takes another step.

  Addie and I mime cheering.

  Butter walks forward.

  To keep Butter moving, Addie rushes ahead of us to drop Cheerios on the ground.

  We make circles around the lawn as Butter gets the hang of it.

  “She’s a quick learner.” I feel really proud of her.

  “Do you think she’s ready for a longer walk?” Addie asks.

  Riding high on Butter’s success, I don’t think before I speak. “Yeah, where to?”

  Addie ponders our destination. “Oh, I know! Let’s go to the pet store. They have some kittens up for adoption.”

  I hesitate.

  “If they’re not busy, the girl who works there will let you hold them. I go there all the time. You could buy a toy or something for Butter,” Addie says.

  I bite my bottom lip, thinking. Three things occur to me at once. Butter needs a real leash. The trip to the pet store will be a good test of Butter’s new skill. If she’s mastered leash walking, it proves to Mom how easy she is to train. But what seals my decision is the realization that this is the first time Addie has ever invited me somewhere. “Let me tell my mom. Can y
ou watch Butter for me?”

  “No problem.”

  I run inside.

  Mom and Dad are doing the breakfast dishes. “Can I go to the pet store to get a leash for Butter?”

  “Alone?” Mom asks, surprised.

  I know why she’s stunned, but I don’t have time to explain it. Addie’s waiting, and it feels like something special is happening between us, like we might be going from friendly to actual friends. “With Addie and Butter.”

  Mom raises her eyebrows, but I can tell she’s pleased. She elbows Dad. “Give her twenty dollars for the leash.”

  Dad hands me the money and smiles. “I thought Butter was temporary.”

  Mom hits him with a dish towel.

  I run out the door.

  The whole way to the pet store, Addie walks ahead of us making a trail of Cheerios.

  The walk to the store usually takes ten minutes, but it takes Addie, Butter, and me almost forty.

  When we finally get there, Addie says, “That was the longest walk of my life!”

  “No kidding.” Butter might be slow, but she’s acing it. I can’t wait to show off her skills to Mom.

  I start to open the shop door and then stop abruptly.

  Addie bumps into me. “What’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t think about Butter. Can she go in?”

  “Yeah. We take our dogs all the time.” Addie pets Butter.

  Dogs. I didn’t think about dogs being in the store. That makes me nervous. “How many dogs do you have?”

  “Two golden retrievers.” Makes sense. Addie’s personality kind of reminds me of a golden retriever. Kind and friendly.

  I scoop Butter up. “You think there’ll be dogs in there?” I’m rethinking the pet store.

  “Probably.” Addie doesn’t seem bothered at all.

  Maybe I should go home. I don’t want a dog to attack Butter.

  “Don’t worry.” Addie pushes the door open. “It should be fine. My dogs hardly ever have problems in here.” She walks into the store.

  Hardly ever is not never. I feel like I’m the only person in the world who thinks about worst-case scenarios.