We Could Be Heroes

by Margaret Finnegan

  To the argument that you couldn’t just take other people’s dogs, they explained that Booler was so lonely and scared and that, surely, a creature’s right to feel safe and loved was way more important than a neighbor’s right to keep an animal he didn’t even appreciate.

  To the briefly mentioned and quickly withdrawn argument that a special-needs dog would be too much trouble, Hank said, “I have special needs. Am I too much trouble?”

  “It’s like they’re a bunch of bully goats,” said Maisie.

  “You mean billy goats.”

  “No, bully goats. They get all mad and say nay, nay, nay.” She bit into an apple and rested the side of her head in her palm.

  “Isn’t it horses who neigh?” Hank asked.

  Maisie paused her chewing. “Irrelevant.”

  Finally, they decided to take legal action.

  “To whom it may concern and also Mr. and Mrs. Hudson,” said the carefully printed letter that Hank and Maisie deposited in the Hudson mailbox. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that people and dogs are created equal and that they are both born with the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And even if a dog belongs to someone else, if that someone else denies a dog its inalienable rights, then that dog can choose a new family. Amen. God bless America.”

  In return they received their own letter. They found it in Hank’s lunch box the next day.

  It said, “To whom it may concern and also Hank and Maisie: Even if we wanted to, there is nothing we can do, inalienable rights notwithstanding. Let the record show, Booler is tied to a fifteen-foot-long rope and has lots of room to move around. Booler has a doghouse for shelter. Witnesses, including one Mrs. Huang, mother to Miss Maisie Huang, note that Booler’s owner brings him inside when it’s really cold. Said owner also feeds and visits with Booler numerous times during the day and does far more than just feed Booler. Said owner provides frequent attention, love and—importantly—anti-seizure medicine. In addition, Booler has two dog friends—known henceforth as Cowboy and Honey—who also provide Booler with daily visits and love. Until such time as legal authorities prove otherwise, we rest our case. In other words, Booler stays put.”

  Hank shook his head. “It’s like they can find a logical answer for everything.”

  “They have an answer, all right,” said Maisie, suddenly excited. “An answer to all our problems! Your mom’s letter gave me a great idea. They want legal authorities; we’ll give them legal authorities. You don’t have a phone, do you?”

  Hank shook his head.

  Maisie’s lips plopped forward as she let out an annoyed blast of air. “My parents are cheapskates too. Come with me.”

  They walked toward the school office.

  “Where are we going?” asked Hank.

  “You’ll see,” said Maisie.

  “But it’s almost time for class.”

  “It’ll be okay.”

  “But… there are birthday cupcakes today. One of the Jacobs brought them.”

  “Don’t worry. Ain’t nothing getting between us and birthday cupcakes.”

  They entered the office, where the woman who guarded the principal’s office sat at a desk, a big pair of earphones covering her ears. She moved the earphones down to her neck and smiled.

  Maisie smiled back and said, “Um, can I use the phone? I have to call my mom.”

  The woman readjusted her glasses. “Now, Maisie, you know the phone is for school business.”

  “This is school business.”

  “And what school business is that?”

  “I think I forgot to take my medicine today.”

  The woman’s chin wobbled as she tutted, “Oh, my. You just leave that to me.”

  “No. I can do it. My mom wants me to be more independent about these things.”

  The woman considered this before saying, “Well, okay. You can call from there.” She pointed to a telephone at an empty desk and then, picking up a file on her desk, walked over to the supply room next door. “Let me know if you need any help,” she hollered, as the steady thrum thrum of the copy machine filled the air.

  Maisie walked over to the phone. She glanced at the supply room and then picked up the phone and dialed. There was a pause, and then Maisie said, “Hello, Mother… um… did I forget to take my medicine this morning?”

  Through the receiver Hank made out Mrs. Huang’s barely audible voice.

  “That’s good. I couldn’t remember. Thanks.”

  She hung up the phone and then picked it up again. She looked from side to side and then gave her lips a confident smack.

  Hank watched her fingers press the buttons 9-1-1 and he looked down at the desktop when she said in a low, throaty whisper, “Hello. This is an anonymous tip. There is a man being verrrry mean to his dog. He lives at 1306 Frankel Street. Good day—I said good day!”

  Quick as a flash Maisie hung up the phone, grabbed Hank’s wrist, and pulled him all the way, running, to the end of the schoolyard, where they collapsed on a bench and each gulped a mouthful of air.

  Hank dropped his hands onto his thighs. He wasn’t sure if he was excited or proud or about to walk off a cliff. So he just sat there, stunned.

  Maisie flung her head back. Her hand rose and fell on her heaving chest. “That was a close one,” she said. Once their breathing had slowed back to normal, Maisie continued, “So you’re probably wondering why I take medicine.”

  “No,” said Hank, who was still trying to figure out if he should panic or crow or just get ready for the promised birthday cupcakes.

  “Really?” Her head darted up with a surprised look on her face. Then her head darted back down. “Well, good. Because that is personal business.”

  About forty-five minutes later two police officers entered the classroom. They were dressed mostly in black—black jackets, black pants, black shoes, black hats. But they had blue shirts, the collars of which peeked out from their coats, and they had yellow badges that shone justice for all—including dogs. The woman police officer had a dark ponytail. The male police officer had glasses and a red nose that he wiped from time to time with a mysteriously never-ending supply of fresh tissues. They stood next to the principal, and when Mrs. Vera saw them she frowned before shuffling slow as ever over to them. Hank watched the grown-ups talk and then he glanced over at Maisie, who was staring at the police officers with a smug smile on her face.

  Mrs. Vera spun around. Her face was purple—and she was glaring at Hank and Maisie. Suddenly, it was very clear to Hank which emotion he was supposed to feel. It wasn’t excitement. It wasn’t pride. It had nothing to do with birthday cupcakes. He had walked off the cliff and was belly flopping straight onto the asphalt.

  Mrs. Vera stood over their desks and boomed, “Maisie and Hank, I don’t know what you were thinking, but you go with these police officers right now.”

  Hank looked at Maisie, and when Maisie stood up and followed the police officers down the hall he did the same, even though his whole body felt a’a and his hands were spinning like crazy.

  And when Maisie shouted over her shoulder, “We were saving a life! A life, gosh darn it!” Hank face-palmed—they were doomed.

  Here was a surprise. Apparently, reports of animal abuse were supposed to go to animal control—not 9-1-1, which was for life-and-death emergencies. And callers were not supposed to make accusations and hang up without giving their names. Calling 9-1-1 for inappropriate reasons—from a school phone—could get a person suspended or even expelled.

  “I don’t even know what you are talking about already. I only phoned my mom,” Maisie replied when the facts were laid out in this way. “You can call and ask her.”

  “The call came from the phone you used, Maisie. It was about your next-door neighbor. And you just admitted to an entire classroom that you were ‘saving a life,’ ” said the principal.

  Hank could barely breathe. The jig was really up this time. He snuck a peek at Maisie. She was taking short
breaths through her open mouth. Her gaze kept shifting left and right. It seemed to Hank that even Maisie was doubting her ability to get them out of this one.

  But then Maisie stood up, looked right at the principal, and said, “I did not call 9-1-1, madam. How dare you accuse me in this way? Lots of kids at this school live near me. Any one of them could have called. They see how that old man keeps his dog tied up to a tree—everyone does. Now good day!”

  Hank watched in awe as she stormed out of the room, her head leading her feet.

  The principal shook her head before turning her attention to Hank. “Now, Hank,” she said, her voice softening. “No one thinks you did anything wrong. Just tell the truth. What happened?”

  The urge to spill the beans pushed at Hank like a wave, but he stood his ground. He stood up and—eyes on the carpet—repeated Maisie’s words. “I did not call 9-1-1, madam. How dare you accuse me in this way? Now good day.” And then he ran to the bathroom and hid in one of the stalls until Mrs. Vera came and found him.

  “That’s quite a caper you two pulled,” she said, holding open the stall door, her voice as unreadable as ever.

  He looked down at his shoes, not sure what to say.

  Her shoulders fell forward and she sighed. She held out her hand, a peace offering. He took it and they made their way back to class.

  “We’re just trying to save Booler,” Hank explained, filling the silence in the empty hallway.

  “Booler?”

  “He’s a dog. He’s like the boy in the horrible book, only seizures are after him, not Nazis.”

  “Is that right?” Mrs. Vera was quiet for a long time. When they were near the classroom she squeezed his hand a little tighter. “I guess I could keep that secret.”

  He looked up, surprised. Sensing opportunity, he added, “So… um… is it time for the cupcakes?”

  “Just about,” she said before letting out another loud sigh. “But I’m afraid that—good cause or not—people who lie about calling 9-1-1 don’t get birthday treats, not in my classroom.”

  Hank turned his head just enough to see Mrs. Vera’s face. She was looking straight ahead, that funny little half smile of hers pulling at her mouth. He really did not know how to make sense of her at all. One moment she was yelling at him, the next she seemed all understanding and nice, and then right after that she was practically pulling cupcakes out of his mouth. He would ask Maisie her opinion. He really did not think Mrs. Vera was an alien, but he knew that his mom was right. She was a piece of work, that Mrs. Vera, a real piece of work.

  * * *

  “Hank had a big day today,” his mother said to his father at dinner. She spoke with a mysterious sort of energy that reminded Hank of a vibrating phone. It was terrifying.

  They were sitting at the table. Well, all of them were sitting at the table except Sam. Sam had finished eating and was toddling around the kitchen. This was the way it was with Sam now. He was always toddling. It was like the minute he learned to walk he decided he wanted to run. So he would take two steps, speed up, and fall right over. Then there would be a tense moment when Hank would wait—his breath held tight in his throat—to see if Sam would start to wail. Hank hated when Sam cried. For one thing, the volume hurt his ears. For another thing, it was just so annoying. It was a high-pitched worm that crawled through his brain.

  “Is that right?” Dad asked. “Tell me about it, Hank.”

  Hank’s mom rested her hand on his dad. Her eyes grew large and Hank knew that this was it. He would be in trouble for sure. He moved the food around on his plate, saying nothing.

  Mom plowed ahead. “Hank,” she said in a voice that almost seemed like a laugh. “Lied. Again.”

  The table became still. Dad put down his fork and looked at Mom. “What?”

  Hank stabbed a roasted potato wedge and shoved it into his mouth.

  “Hank lied again.” Mom explained the phone call she’d gotten from the principal about the 9-1-1 incident. She ended by saying, “Everyone knows it was Hank and Maisie, but I guess they can’t prove it so they’re dropping the whole thing and hoping the two of them have learned their lesson. The point is, Hank lied. Our Hank. He lied. The time with Booler wasn’t a fluke. He is lying regularly now.”

  Dad’s head turned slowly from Mom to Hank. Hank shoved another potato wedge into his mouth and chewed as fast as he could.

  “Buddy,” said Dad. “Good job!”

  Hank almost choked. Everybody always said that lying was a bad thing. They always said that one gift of autism was that it made him especially honest, and now here he was getting congratulated for lying like a common lying liar.

  Dad kept talking. “I mean, no, it’s not okay to lie to your principal or—especially—the police. You can go to jail—I mean, you’re not going to jail. Don’t worry.”

  Dad put a hand on Hank’s shoulder as Hank froze in place, his eyes and cheeks bulging.

  “What I’m trying to say,” said Dad, “is that lying is a big step forward for you. Some kids on the spectrum never master lying! It’s a milestone. We’re super proud of you.”

  But it turned out that milestones were a little like birthday cupcakes. They sometimes came with strings attached. And the strings wrapped around this particular milestone involved a joint punishment for both Hank and Maisie. It was horrible! Their parents had conspired together on it. Each of them was grounded for a week, was stuck with extra chores, and had to apologize in person to the man himself, the cruel Mr. Jorgensen.

  Maisie was outraged. “It’s a complete injustice,” she insisted when they talked about it at school the next day. “My parents are always complaining about people who don’t care about anything but themselves, and here I am caring about something that isn’t me and they make me do yard work, a lot of yard work. I have to weed the garden, and plant tomato seeds, and—get this—I have to turn dirt over. That’s right. I have to shovel up dirt and mix it like a salad. My parents say it’s a real thing, but I think they’re just making stuff up.”

  It wasn’t the chores that worried Hank. It was the apology. He hated apologies. People were always expecting to be looked in the eye during an apology—even his mom expected it—and that always left him feeling so hunted, and he just knew that Mr. Jorgensen would be the type to not only give him the old eyeball but to expect the old eyeball in return. And as the day wore on and the time for the apology grew nearer, Hank began to feel like he had a bowling ball lolling about in his belly.

  The plan was for Maisie and Hank to walk to Mr. Jorgensen’s straight after school. But—what with that bowling ball in his stomach—Hank found himself shuffling more than walking.

  Maisie started to get irritated. “Hurry it up. I want to get this over with.”

  Hank peered at her and shuffled even slower. “You are doing that thing where you tell me what to do.”

  She screwed up her face like she was about to yell something. Then she sighed and began to shuffle beside him. “Fine.”

  They arrived at Maisie’s house to find Mrs. Huang waiting for them on the front porch. It had been a long time since they had needed Hank’s mom at their playdates, but she had promised to be there, just in case Hank needed a little pep talk before meeting the old man. But she wasn’t there, and Mrs. Huang explained that she would not be there until later because Sam had run into a tree and wouldn’t stop crying. And that meant that Hank would have to apologize without getting a pep talk.

  He tried to stall. “Can I have some water?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I need some water too,” said Maisie. She dropped her backpack on the porch and snuck a glance at Mr. Jorgensen’s house. “And maybe a snack?”

  Mrs. Huang pulled her mouth into a little ball. “Fine,” she snapped. “But only vegetables.”

  They went into the kitchen, where she gave them water and dropped a plate of carrots and celery in front of them. Hank ate slowly, eager to drag things out, and he knew that Maisie was trying to do the same thing because he saw her s
lump over and then, a minute later, pretend to be asleep.

  Mrs. Huang sighed. She said, “Hank, why don’t you wait outside for a little while? I think Maisie needs a little mom time.”

  Hank had not been hungry anyway. He went and stood on the porch and peered down the street for his mom.

  He heard barking and turned to see Booler straining at the end of his rope, begging him to come and play. Hank twisted back and forth on the porch column closest to Maisie’s door. He peeked again at the dog. He had never been to Mr. Jorgensen’s without Maisie and he definitely did not want to do so today. But Booler kept barking, and his mom kept not coming, and Maisie kept having mom time, and so finally Hank mumbled, “Okay, boy. I’m coming.”

  He hopped the fence and sat next to the dog. It was weird visiting Booler without Maisie. Make no mistake, Booler delighted in seeing Hank. When Hank scratched Booler’s belly, one of Booler’s legs did a shaky happy dance all by itself. But the visit was also quieter. After a while Hank took his rocks out of his pocket.

  “This is hematite. I got this from the rocks and minerals store in Bozeman,” he said, holding a shiny steel-colored stone in front of the dog’s snout. “And this is marble. I also got this from the rocks and minerals store in Bozeman. And this is just a rock. I found it camping with my mom and dad. We like to camp.”

  Booler looked from the rock in Hank’s hand up to Hank’s face. Then he blinked and nudged the boy’s head with his nose.

  “Which rock is your favorite?” Hank asked. “I like the hematite. It’s very smooth. Wanna feel?” He pulled the rock across a flank of soft, silver fur. Booler dropped his head onto the ground and closed his eyes. A small smile spread across Hank’s face.