Brooke's Not-So-Perfect Plan

by Jo Whittemore

  I pointed at the boards. “Right here.”

  She cocked her head. “Ohhh. Sorry. The rake handle sticking out from the side threw me off.”

  “It’s not much,” I said, “but it’ll protect Rocket from the elements.” I patted one of the boards.

  It shifted and fell over.

  “Whoops!” I lowered Rocket to the ground and bent to pick up the board, placing it carefully among the others. “Okay, Rocket, you ready for the feast?” I patted the grass behind the spread.

  Rocket sniffed at the different items and flopped onto one side.

  “Come on, Rocket!” I coaxed. “Apricots. Yum!” I picked one up and pushed it against his mouth. He sneezed all over my hand. “Yuck!”

  “Maybe he’d like some stew,” tried Heather, bringing the bowl closer. “Look, Rocket!” She leaned down and took a deep whiff. Then she made a face. “Ugh! What’s in this? It smells like dog food!”

  “If it was, Rocket would eat it,” I said.

  Heather put the bowl down. “Why don’t you just bring out some dog food, then?”

  “It wouldn’t be historically accurate,” I said.

  She gave me a dubious look. “I think history went out the window when you cast a dog to play a Mesopotamian.”

  I got to my feet. “Good point. I’ll be right back.”

  I went into the kitchen, with Rocket on my heels, and grabbed one of his ham bones out of the refrigerator. At the sight of it, his tail went wild, and he ran right alongside me back to the yard, leaping to get at the bone. Since he wasn’t used to having the woodpile spread out so far, he ran straight into it, and several boards jostled free and toppled sideways.

  “Look out!” I cried.

  Heather glanced up and quickly curled into a ball. I winced as one of the boards crashed down hard on her hand.

  “Ow!” she yelped.

  I dropped Rocket’s bone and hurried to help Heather. “Are you okay? How’s your hand?”

  “It stings,” she said, sitting up and rubbing at the scratches.

  “Wait,” I said. “Don’t do that. Let’s clean it first to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

  I led her inside to the bathroom and pulled out a first-aid kit while she cleaned her wounds.

  “It’s really not so bad,” she said. “I don’t think I need all that.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know Rocket was going to get so excited.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, showing me her scratched hand. “See? No blood. Let’s go rebuild your shelter and film Rocket.”

  “Good idea,” I said, leading the way outside. “I hope he didn’t get hurt when the boards fell. Rocket?”

  No blur of fur approached me.

  “Rocket?” I walked behind the shed, but he wasn’t there.

  Heather cupped her hands around her mouth. “Rocket! Here, boy!”

  Nothing.

  I scanned the yard, my heart sinking.

  Rocket was gone.

  “Brooke?” Heather put a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think Rocket’s in the yard anymore.”

  “Did he sneak past us and go inside?” I dashed back into the house, running from room to room, stopping in the kitchen and calling his name. Even if he was trapped somewhere, he could at least bark, but the only sound was Heather’s footsteps behind mine.

  “I’m going to call Tim and Vanessa and see if they can help,” she said, pulling out her cell phone.

  I stopped her. “No, it’s fine. I can handle this.”

  Heather started texting anyway. “With four of us, we can search faster.”

  “I’ve got this, really,” I said, reaching for her cell phone.

  She twisted away. “Then they can help with your advice letters while—”

  “STOP!” I finally shouted.

  “WHY?” Heather replied.

  I stepped back, startled. Heather doesn’t get loud. And Heather doesn’t scowl. But she was doing both of those at the moment.

  “Brooke, what is going on with you? Why won’t you let your friends help? It’s not like we’re trying to steal credit.” She flopped down onto a kitchen chair. “And to be honest, it’s a little insulting. Like you don’t think we’re capable of doing anything.”

  I sighed and sat across from her. “It’s not you guys; it’s me. I’m the one who’s incapable: of writing a script, of keeping up with the advice column . . . and every time someone has to help, it just proves even more that I’m not cut out to do anything.” I traced the patterns on a placemat.

  “Brooke, that’s ridiculous,” said Heather.

  “Is it?” I asked. “Last year, I did soccer, coed baseball, made honor roll, and still had time for my family and friends. This year, I’m failing at everything.” I got up and opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink, pulling out a flashlight. I flicked it on and off to test it. “But I’m not going to fail at this.”

  “What are you doing?” asked Heather, joining me.

  “It’ll be dark soon. I’m going to look for Rocket.” I paused. “Will you please stay here in case he comes back, and call me if he does?”

  Heather’s forehead wrinkled, but she nodded. “Of course.”

  I sprinted out the front door and took a right down the street, softly calling Rocket’s name. I wandered the neighborhood until the sun went down. Then I flicked on the flashlight and retraced my steps.

  At the end of the street was a park, the only other place Rocket would go, but between the street and the park was a busy intersection. If Rocket had tried to gallop across that with his usual carefree style, he wouldn’t be paying attention to the rush of cars.

  “Rocket!” I now shouted.

  I paused at the street corner to wait for traffic to pass, glancing in both directions, hoping and praying I didn’t see any furry lumps in the road. When there was a small break in the cars, I dashed across all four lanes and almost collided with the park fence.

  Closed after dark.

  “Crud!”

  The fence bars were too narrow for me to squeeze through, but I could climb over if I had something to get me started. A nearby trash can was the perfect boost, and I was over the fence in just a few minutes.

  “Rocket!” I whispered, in case there might be park security.

  A rustling of leaves from a nearby bush made me jump. But then I heard a panting sound.

  “Rocket! Come on, boy!” I got down on my knees and clapped my hands. “Want a tummy rub?”

  More panting, and a snout poked through the bushes.

  It was not Rocket’s. It was way too big to be Rocket’s.

  And there would be no tummy rub.

  I lowered the flashlight. The snout pushed forward, sniffing the air. I remained in my crouch but backed up several paces. My sneakers shuffled in the dirt, and the dog growled, revealing its massive head, along with several teeth capable of ripping a sixth grader into kibble-sized bites.

  “Good dog,” I said. “Nice dog. Vegan dog?”

  The dog barked and lunged forward, but the branches of the bush caught it. It struggled to reach me, snapping branches and shaking leaves on to the ground. I screamed and scrambled to my feet, running back toward the fence. The beast lunging after me barked with wild abandon, each bark sounding closer than the last.

  “Please, oh, please!” I said to nobody in particular. “I don’t want to die!”

  I broke the tree line and was almost to the fence when I saw Vanessa, Heather, and Tim on the other side.

  “Back up, back up!” I shouted.

  “Brooke! How did you get over there?” asked Heather.

  “Believe me, you don’t want to be on this side!” I grabbed the top of the fence and tried to scale it, but it was too tall without something to boost me.

  Vanessa was apparently thinking the same thing. “Heather, help me,” she said, getting down on one knee and reaching through the fence. Heather imitated her pose, and they clasped their palms together.

 
Just as I stepped into their hands, the dog shot through the trees, barking and snarling. Heather and Vanessa screamed and let me go, clutching each other.

  “Hey!” Tim flicked pebbles through the fence toward the dog. “Over here!”

  It faltered for a second, startled by the presence of so many humans.

  In that brief hesitation something even wilder happened. Tires screeched, and a horn blared directly to my right as the front of a car stopped inches from the fence.

  “Get out of here, you mongrel!” shouted the driver.

  My eyes went wide and tearful. “Dad!”

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  Of course I was. My dad was here.

  “I’m fine!” I turned back to face the dog, a little bit braver. “Get out of here!” I picked up my own handful of pebbles and flung them.

  Screaming people, blinding headlights, and flying objects were finally too much for the dog. It growled and disappeared back into the bushes. As soon as it did, I whirled to face my friends.

  “Now get me out of here!”

  Heather and Vanessa both crouched by the fence again, and this time I pulled myself up and over. Dad waited to grab me, arms uplifted.

  “What on Earth were you doing in there?” he asked, hugging me close while I cried into his shoulder.

  “Rocket ran away!” I sobbed.

  “And you thought you’d ask that nice dog if it’d seen him?” asked Dad.

  I know he was trying to make me feel better, but I couldn’t laugh.

  “Rocket’s probably dead somewhere, and it’s all my fault!” I wailed.

  “Oh, I doubt that,” said Dad. “Rocket’s pretty smart. I think Miss Lillian told me he used to run obstacle courses.”

  “We’ll help you find him,” Tim told me.

  I should’ve been grateful, but instead I just cried even harder.

  “Is she . . . is she deeply moved by my gesture?” Tim asked my dad.

  “Dumb, old, incompetent Brooke can’t do anything. She always needs help,” I blubbered into Dad’s shoulder.

  “What?” he said, leaning back to look at me.

  “Brooke, that’s not what Tim’s saying,” said Vanessa, putting a hand on my back.

  “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself,” agreed Heather. “You say you’re incompetent and that you can’t do anything.”

  I motioned for Dad to put me down.

  “It’s true,” I said.

  “No,” said Heather. “Brooke, it’s not that you can’t do anything. It’s that you can’t do everything. Not unless you have a dozen clones running around.”

  “But I should be able to,” I said. “My dad does.” I looked up at him.

  Dad dropped down to one knee. “You think I don’t pay for it? I work more than I sleep, and I miss spending time with you and your mom.”

  “And you have zero time for a personal life too,” Vanessa told me. “That’s why you’re struggling to balance it all. You’re trying to keep everyone happy.”

  “I had the perfect plan,” I said. “I was going to dominate this year.” I pounded a fist into my palm. “Do everything, win everything . . .”

  “And give everything one hundred percent, which is great,” said Heather. “But when you’re stretched so thin, you’re only giving a fraction of yourself to each thing.”

  “We miss having all of our Brooke,” said Vanessa.

  “I’ll bet even your secret admirer feels neglected,” Tim teased.

  My friends laughed and I smiled.

  “Secret admirer?” Dad raised an eyebrow.

  I wrapped my arm through his. “Just this guy who leaves me notes like ‘You’re okay to look at’ and ‘You’re different.’”

  “Charming,” said Dad.

  Heather bumped me. “You didn’t tell him that each one is sealed with a heart.”

  There was that strange tingling feeling again; this time, stronger.

  “Yeah,” I said, wrinkling my forehead.

  “Anyway, we just want you to be happy,” said Vanessa, giving me a squeeze. “We love you.”

  “We love you sooo much,” said Heather.

  “I think you’re just okay,” said Tim.

  “And your mother and I love you too. Don’t take life so seriously,” said Dad, giving me a smile. “You have to enjoy it.”

  I hugged him and gave my friends a group squeeze. “You guys are the best.”

  Dad glanced at his watch. “And now I think it’s time to resume the search for old Rocket.”

  “Actually”—I tugged on Dad’s sleeve—“I think I know where he might be.”

  “Okay,” he said, herding us all toward the car. “Where to?”

  “Let’s return to the scene of the crime,” I said.

  “The scene of the crime, Officer?” Tim repeated with a snort.

  “Young Sherlock,” I corrected him. At the amused looks from Heather and Vanessa, I added, “I’ve got to start somewhere, and the Hound of the Berryville is as good a place as any.”

  “You made a humorous play off a book title!” Tim clapped a hand over his heart. “I’m so proud.”

  Dad chuckled and backed the car on to the street. “Miss Lillian’s, it is.”

  As he drove I explained my thought process to my friends.

  “Rocket used to run obstacle courses, which means he’s talented at navigating more than a straight path on the ground. He can run around things, up things, over things, and through things.”

  “So he’s running through all the fences in the neighborhood, leaving Rocket-shaped holes?” asked Tim.

  I laughed along with everyone else. “Not through fences, up fences. Fence boards, to be exact.”

  “No offense,” said Vanessa, smirking at her own pun, “but that would mean climbing vertically, and no dog is that talented.”

  “He could climb a fence board if . . .” I looked to Heather, who clapped a hand to her forehead.

  “If it was angled against something. The shelter!”

  “The shelter?” Dad repeated, applying the brakes. “Am I going to the animal shelter now?”

  “No, Dad,” I said. “Keep driving. See, I built a pretend shelter for my history video, leaning old boards against Miss Lillian’s shed. After some of them fell on Heather, I took her inside to get first aid.”

  Vanessa clutched Heather’s arm. “Oh my gosh! Are you okay?”

  “It’s bad. The doctors say I only have eighty more years to live,” Heather replied with a wink. Vanessa pushed her.

  “Anyway,” I said, “some of the boards fell because Rocket ran into them when he got excited over a ham bone I was carrying. When Heather got hurt, I threw the ham bone into the grass because her life is more important than old pork.”

  “Thank you,” said Heather.

  Dad pulled the car into Miss Lillian’s driveway, and I said a quick prayer of thanks that she hadn’t come home yet. Everyone got out, and my friends and Dad followed me into the backyard.

  “That’s where I dropped the bone,” I said, pointing to the grass. “Notice anything?”

  “There’s no bone,” said Vanessa.

  “So Rocket took it when you were inside,” said Tim. “Then he walked up the boards leaning against the shed and . . .”

  We all moved in a cluster toward the shed, and I shone my flashlight on the boards propped against it, the tops of which ended just below a broken section of the shed’s window.

  “No way,” said Dad.

  I crept up to the shed and shone my light inside.

  There was Rocket, snoring on his stomach, bone nestled between his front paws.

  “Mystery solved,” I said with a smile.

  Dad clapped a hand on my shoulder and grinned. “We’ll let Miss Lillian get him out later. Everyone back in the house.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Heather. “Why didn’t he bark when we were calling his name?”

  “If you’d just sneaked off with a treat, would you wa
nt someone to find you and take it away?” I asked.

  “Good point,” she said. “So now what? The star of your film is napping in his trailer, so to speak.”

  “Yes, but I have . . . human stars?” I looked hopefully at my friends. “Please? It’ll only take, like, thirty minutes.”

  “Is Brooke Jacobs asking for help?” Vanessa gasped. “How can this be?”

  Heather put a finger to her lips. “Shhh! She might change her mind. Be cool!”

  “Oh, you guys are a riot,” I said, rolling my eyes. I turned to Dad. “Do you think it’s okay if we use Miss Lillian’s yard?”

  “I don’t see why not,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll sit out here with you, just in case, though. Let me tell Mom.” He stepped into the house to make a call.

  “He does realize you guys live right across the street, doesn’t he?” said Tim. “He could just walk over there and come back later to check on us.”

  I watched my dad through the window. “I don’t mind if he stays here.”

  I didn’t mind one bit.

  Even with a ready-made script and Dad’s help directing, I knew the video wasn’t going to turn out as good as the original, but it made me feel better to know that at least I’d tried. Plus, Miss Lillian gave us all desserts when she came back from her meeting. She didn’t even mind freeing Rocket from the shed. In fact, she seemed a little proud.

  “I guess an old dog can teach himself new tricks,” she said with a chuckle.

  Dad offered to drive all my friends home, and I insisted they go, even after Heather offered to stay the night to help me catch up on everything.

  Before she got into the car, she turned to me.

  “You know I love you, right?”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry for how I acted earlier.”

  We hugged, and she held on to my arms for an extra minute. “Something’s gotta give, Brooke, or you’re going to implode.”

  I nodded. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right.

  When I got back to my house, I added narration to the history video we’d made (correctly this time) and studied for a science quiz that I was fairly certain I was going to fail. After that I tackled my three questions for the website and was just about to work on the Young Sherlocks mystery when Mom insisted I go to sleep.

  The next morning I dragged myself out of bed half an hour early, got dressed, and grabbed a blueberry muffin before heading out the front door.