by Coco Simon
Sliding my knee through the opening in the door, I forced Jenner gently backward, then pulled the door shut. He was a good dog, but a little energetic at first.
“Hey, boy! Hi, buddy!” Jenner jumped up and tried to put his two front paws on my shoulders. I grabbed him firmly by the collar and spoke to him in a soothing voice and patted his head. It had taken a few tries, but I learned that you just had to be very calm with him. Kind of like when you were talking to Jake on the verge of a meltdown. Sure enough, Jenner stopped jumping, and I grabbed the leash from the hook and clipped it to his collar. Then I picked up the pooper-scooper Baggies holder and put it in my pocket. All set.
I looked around before I left. The Andersons’ mudroom was so neat, with everyone’s shoes in individual cubbyholes and the Anderson girls’ jackets and sporting equipment neatly aligned. I loved organization. I inhaled deeply. Something smelled really good. Mmm, I thought. Beef bourguignonne—a savory stew. Mom used to make it a lot. Mrs. Anderson worked full time at an insurance agency so, because of her schedule, she was a big Crock-Pot aficionado. A Crock-Pot cooked all day, and every time you came into the house you smelled dinner. Lately we ate mostly microwave stuff. It didn’t smell nearly as good.
Jenner gave a short bark, and I realized I had been standing there for a minute. “That’s a good boy, now. Time for your walky,” I said. Poor guy. He probably really had to go.
I opened the door, and Jenner charged out, yanking on the leash. “Easy, boy,” I said. Then I turned to find Jake, but he wasn’t standing where I had left him.
“Jake?” I called. Where could he have disappeared to so quickly?
Jenner pulled on the leash toward the sidewalk where we usually go, but I thought Jake must be in the Andersons’ backyard. They had a swing set and that would have captured his attention. I pulled Jenner along and peered over the low, white picket fence into the backyard. No Jake. Uh-oh. He could only have headed down the driveway to the sidewalk. Now I felt a little nervous.
“C’mon, Jenner,” I said, and we trotted quickly down the driveway to the street. I looked left. No Jake. Then I looked right and there, way off in the distance about two blocks ahead, was Jake, motoring along on his scooter. “Oh no!” I cried, and we took off. How long had I been in the house?
Jenner needed little encouragement to run. Greyhounds can reach a top speed of forty-five miles per hour, which is why people use them for racing, and Jenner must’ve been a champion in his day. I was in pretty good shape from volleyball at school, but I could barely keep up with him. Up ahead, Jake was nearing a busier street, and since he had already crossed the two quiet cul-de-sacs that intersected the Andersons’ street, I knew he’d have no qualms about crossing the next street. I had to reach him fast.
“Jake!” I screamed. He looked back at me over his shoulder and kept on going. He could be so bad! All I could think about was that my mother was going to kill me. Jake was still halfway up the next block, scootering at full speed. “Jake! Stop!” I cried, louder this time. But he didn’t even turn around.
Jenner strained at his leash. Jake was nearing the corner, with only thirty feet to go. Jenner and I crossed the final cul-de-sac—I looked both ways first—and we were only about half a block behind Jake. “Jake!” He looked back one more time and his scooter swerved a little, but he straightened it out and kept going. He was headed right for the busy main street. I froze. Then, in a split second, I just let go of Jenner’s leash. He took off at double the speed we’d been running and reached Jake in about fifteen long strides.
Jake was so spooked by the big dog chasing him that he jumped off his scooter sideways, landing with a thud on a soft mound of lawn just before the corner.
I ran as fast as I could and flopped down next to him, gasping, and grabbed his shirt, just in case he hopped back on. Jenner was licking Jake maniacally, and Jake was crying. I grabbed Jenner’s collar, too, so I was hanging on to both of them.
“Jenner! Sit!” I said. “Stay,” I said firmly, holding my palm out flat toward him. I still had one hand on Jake. “Jakey, are you okay? Are you hurt?” I asked. “Don’t cry.”
Jake was more scared and mad than anything else. “That doggy tried to bite me!” he accused, pointing a finger at Jenner. Jenner looked at him and whimpered but didn’t move.
“Good dog,” I said. “Jake, he didn’t try to bite you. He saved you! You can’t just take off like that. It’s dangerous, and dumb, and . . . illegal!” Jake was into law enforcement big-time, so I knew to throw that in.
That got him. Jake stopped crying. “It is not!” he said.
I nodded, knowing I had him now. “Yes. Kids aren’t allowed to scooter alone on the sidewalk until they’re eight. It’s a law.”
Jake looked at me skeptically. “I don’t believe you.”
“Well, it’s true. If we see a police officer on the way to Camden’s, we can ask. Now come on, let’s go. And don’t ever take off on me like that again, or I’ll have to turn you in at police headquarters.” I tried to make my voice sound stern. I didn’t even know where the headquarters was.
I picked up Jenner’s leash and helped Jake back onto his scooter. I let out a big sigh of relief. Everything was under control again. Jenner stepped off the curb to do his business.
“I still get my candy. Two,” said Jake stubbornly. It wasn’t a question but rather a statement.
“Well . . . ,” I said. Mom was always talking about not rewarding bad behavior. And Jake was definitely bad, taking off like that.
Jake’s lower lip began to tremble. “You said!” he accused.
I knew I was in rough territory, but suddenly I was mad too. “Well, that was before you took off, mister!” I said. The aroma of Jenner’s business at the curb was unpleasant. I fished in my pocket for the Baggies clip.
“I hate you!” accused Jake.
I sighed and bent to pick up Jenner’s poop, standing on his leash so he didn’t wander away. Jake was being a pain and now I had yucky dog doo. Nothing was going according to plan. It couldn’t get worse. But as I stood up, I found myself face-to-face with Sydney Whitman, neighborhood resident, founder and president of the Popular Girls Club, and all-around mean girl, and her hench-lady Bella. Well, I thought, I guess my day can get worse.
I never ran into Sydney except at the worst possible moments. Weeks could go by without seeing Sydney. Then I’d go outside to get the mail in my pajamas on a Saturday and she would walk by, saying, “Oh, Emma, are you sick?” I really didn’t like her. I looked at Jenner’s poop bag and Jake’s tear-streaked face, and my heart sank.
“Pee-yoo!” said Sydney, waving her hand in front of her nose. “Is that the kid’s or the dog’s?” she asked, giggling. Bella snickered appreciatively.
I rolled my eyes and said nothing.
“I didn’t know you had a dog,” said Sydney, tossing her long, Barbie-blond hair from one shoulder to the other in a pointless way.
“He’s our neighbors’,” I said. It wasn’t like Sydney knew anything about me, so why should she act like she did?
“Oh good, because he’s so ugly, I was going to feel sorry for you. But I guess I just feel sorry for your neighbors!” She laughed a kind of fake laughter, and Bella joined her.
Poor Jenner, I thought. Greyhounds were funny-looking, but Jenner was a good dog, and he had just saved my little brother. “He’s a good dog, aren’t you, puppy?” I reached down and gave Jenner a loyal pat, and he licked my hand.
“Gross. I hope you wash that hand before you make cupcakes,” said Sydney.
“Yeah!” agreed Bella unoriginally.
Jake stood up. “I hope you wash your face before I take you down to headquarters!” he said loudly, his hands on his hips and his scooter resting at his side. I laughed.
Sydney and Bella turned to look at him. “Isn’t he cute?” said Sydney in a sweet voice.
“What’s your name, little boy?” asked Bella.
Jake puffed up his chest and refused to answer. Good boy, I thou
ght. He might be a pain, but he’s my brother. “That’s Jake,” I said, trying to sound light and breezy. “And he has a date at the candy store. Let’s go, buddy.” Then I turned my back on Sydney and Bella and lifted Jenner’s leash out from under my shoe.
“So long!” said Sydney.
“Later,” I said. Like, much later.
Bella and Sydney continued walking along the sidewalk, and we headed off to cross the street.
“Thanks for sticking up for me, Jake,” I said after a minute.
“Two pieces, right?” said Jake, grinning. Well, the kid was smart. I started laughing.
“Right,” I agreed. “Two pieces for you!” Little brothers were a pain, but sometimes they weren’t too bad.
CHAPTER 3
Home, Not-So-Sweet Home
After we went to Camden’s we took a good long scooter ride around the neighborhood, and Jenner got an extra-long walk. Jake had eaten one Air-Heads and saved another for later. Jenner was tired out and, after a long drink of water, went straight to his doggy bed in the Andersons’ kitchen and curled up for a nap. Mrs. Anderson had left an envelope marked “Emma” on the kitchen island, and I picked it up and opened it, then smiled at the five-dollar bill inside and left, closing the door behind me to lock it.
At home Jake went right for the TV, and I grabbed my backpack and flute case to head upstairs to my room. I never really had a problem getting my work done and my flute practice in each day. It was all a matter of scheduling and maximizing my time. I loved making schedules. It felt good to be able to check things off. Plus I liked knowing exactly what was happening when. That way there were no surprises. I hate surprises more than anything. They make me nervous.
After a while I heard my older brother Sam come home from basketball practice, so I went downstairs and found him wolfing down a chicken Parmesan sub at the kitchen sink. He worked nights at the movie theater and didn’t usually have time to eat with us.
“Hey, Sam,” I said.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said. He wiped his mouth with a paper towel and took another bite.
Sam was handsome. There was no denying it. Girls called the house all the time and hung up, giggling, when I answered. I usually just rolled my eyes. It didn’t really bother me that they called, but it bothered me that Sam seemed to like it. I can’t explain why. I guess I should just get used to it because all my friends have huge crushes on him. Besides being handsome, he was also pretty nice. At least as far as brothers go. He was just so busy between schoolwork (he had to make honor roll to get a scholarship to a Division One college); playing varsity football, basketball, and lacrosse; and his job at the movie theater that he was kind of like a ghost in our family. You’d see signs that he’d been home—a dirty plate, a small pile of laundry on top of the machine—but rarely spy the actual Sam. I was glad to see him.
“What’s new?” I asked, reaching for a cookie. Before I could grab it, though, I went to the sink to wash my hands. I couldn’t help thinking about Sydney and her dog poo comment.
Sam stepped aside and took a long drink straight from the quart of milk on the counter. “Gross,” I said. It was kind of automatic. Honestly, my brothers do so many gross things, I should be used to it by now.
He tipped back the container and finished it. “Mom texted me to say she got taco stuff for you guys. It’s in the fridge.”
“Okay,” I said. At least tacos were easy. I could make them if my dad didn’t get home in time. He was trying to leave work earlier now that Mom had to work evenings, but he didn’t always make it out early enough to make dinner. Usually Jake and Matt were so hungry and whiny that I ended up making it.
“Anything good on this week?” I asked hopefully. Sam’s job at the movie theater meant sometimes he could get me discounts.
“New Will Smith coming. I can get you half-price passes,” he offered. “Four good?”
I smiled, thinking of Mia, Alexis, and Katie. And saving money. “Perfect. Thanks,” I said.
“Got any cupcakes in exchange?” asked Sam.
I shook my head sadly. In a house with three boys, cupcakes went fast. “All out. Sorry. I’ll make more tomorrow. I promise I’ll save you one.” I started to go back upstairs. “Have fun at work!” I called.
“Always do,” said Sam, and he burped a long, loud belch.
“Gross,” I said. Automatic again. There is seriously a lot of burping in my house. “But impressive. Maybe you can get on varsity burping.”
I flopped down into the fluffy armchair in my room. I pulled out my music stand, flipped open to the piece I was working on, opened the flute case, and just sat for a minute with my flute in two pieces in my lap. I love my room. It’s pink, first off, which is my favorite color. Right before I started middle school my mom told me that we could redo it so it wasn’t so babyish. I was really glad to get rid of the Barbie sheets, since I was embarrassed every time I had a friend over. My mom and I worked really hard to get it just right. We went through all these magazines to find just the right look. It took months and months.
We bought a wooden bedroom set—a desk, twin bed with a trundle, a dresser with a tilting mirror on top, and a bedside table—at a yard sale and spray painted it a shiny pale pink. Then we took an old armchair from my grandmother’s attic, and Mom had it reupholstered with white fabric that has a pattern of tiny, pale- and hot-pink flowers with green stems so it looked so pretty.
The pièces de résistance, as my mom calls them (which kind of means the “big deal”), are the walls. We copied a project we had seen on a TV design show where they’d covered the walls in panels of fabric with this kind of foam behind it, so now my room is totally cushy, soundproof, and quiet. It’s like my own little nest.
After a half hour of practice I dashed off a quick e-mail to the club, asking if anyone wanted to go see the new Will Smith movie on Friday night, and then I cracked open my book bag to start my homework. But the computer called to me again, and I gave in. Just one quick peek, I told myself. I logged on to the Williams-Sonoma website, and there it was. The pale pink KitchenAid mixer. All $250 of it.
I thought about how much faster and easier it would be to turn out delicious cupcakes if I had that mixer. Not to mention breads, muffins, cookies, and more. And I knew I would get a jolt of happiness every time I saw it on the counter. It was that pretty. I pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk and took out the dustcover I’d already bought for the mixer on eBay. It had a pink quilted background with a pattern of cupcakes repeating across it—red velvet, white buttercream, and double chocolate with a cherry on top. I hadn’t been able to resist it and only twenty-three dollars, it had been easy to hand the cash over to Mom and convince her to charge it, even though I didn’t yet have the machine it would cover. Dad would have refused, being the more practical of the two parents, but my mom understood the importance of dreaming big. She even bought it for me in the end and wouldn’t take the dog-walking money I gave her. One day, I thought, that mixer will be mine.
Just then, there was a knock on the door. “Emma!” came Jake’s muffled voice. All the boys knew they had to knock on my door. It was a girls-only zone. Luckily my parents strongly enforced the rule.
“Come in!” I called, and Jake opened the door.
“I’m hungry,” he said.
I looked at my watch. Six thirty. “Is Dad home?”
Jake shook his head. I looked at my pile of homework and sighed. Well, I had to eat too.
“Let’s go, officer,” I said. “I’ll make some tacos, okay?”
Jake nodded happily and skipped down to the kitchen.
Tacos are really easy. My mom taught us all how to make them, but I make the least mess in the kitchen, so I try to get there before Matt or Sam does. The family rule is that whoever doesn’t cook helps clean up, and if my brothers are in the kitchen, the cleanup goes to a whole other level. I sautéed the ground beef and set out the condiments while Jake set the table (that’s his job, and he’s okay at it as long as you
remind him that you need forks and knives and not just spoons). Matt rolled in midway through and I told him he was on cleanup duty. He nodded. He’d bailed on babysitting Jake today, so he owed me, big-time. He ran up to shower while I finished the cooking.
“Hello, everybody!” Dad’s voice echoed through the front hall, and the door clunked shut behind him. I heard his keys drop on the tray on the console. Sam had left, Matt was in the shower, and a bomb couldn’t take Jake’s interest from the TV.
“Hey, Dad!” I called in reply. “I’m in here!”
Dad walked in, loosening his tie. He was tall and athletic, like Sam, with the same curly hair and the same twinkly blue eyes. He worked at a bank downtown so he had to wear a suit, but to me it always looked like a costume. He looked most like himself when he was in sweats and a T-shirt with a whistle around his neck. He’d coached many of our teams over the years and also played in a men’s soccer league at night once a week with his friends.
“Hi, honey!” Dad crossed the kitchen to hug me, and he lifted me up and spun me once, then kissed the top of my head. I knew I was getting a little big for it, but that’s what he always did when he came home. At least he’d stopped saying “Hello, my little princess.”
Dad sniffed, looked around, then looked relieved. “Thanks for making dinner. You’re a star.”
I shrugged. “Gotta eat,” I said, but I smiled. My parents could depend on me. They always told me that, and I never wanted to disappoint them. Anyway, I liked doing things myself.
Dad rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands in the sink. Then he grabbed a bag of chips and a bowl and some salsa. “I had hoped to get out early so you wouldn’t get stuck with dinner, but we had a couple of new deals to process, and I couldn’t leave,” he said. “How was your day?”
I thought back to school, then the Cupcake Club meeting. “Oh! Mia’s mom asked us to be in her wedding!” I said. It was exciting, even if it might be too expensive.
“Wow!” said Dad, reaching for a chip. “That’s neat. What do you have to do?”