CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO AVAILABLE
COPYRIGHT
Nobody likes my older brother except his dog.
I mean, my mom will tell you she likes him, and if you get my little brother, Aidan, to look up from his dinosaurs for a minute, he’ll say David is OK by him, but I don’t really believe them.
David is just like his dog, Bowser. They both have short black hair. They both growl at anyone who comes near them. They both like to shut the door and stay up in David’s room all the time. They’re both kind of pudgy around the middle because they would rather lie around and watch TV than do anything else. They even both have freckles, although David’s are the normal kind, while Bowser’s are just spots of brown fur on his long black face.
It makes sense that they like each other so much. They sure don’t like anyone else! David picks on me and Aidan all the time, and he fights with Mom over just about everything. He won’t let us in his room, he won’t let us talk to his friends, and he won’t let us even try to play with his dog. Not that we would want to — stupid Bowser would probably bark us out of the room if we went anywhere near him.
Bowser is a big, grumpy mutt with droopy black ears and a tan underbelly. He was a lot cuter when he was a puppy. I don’t really remember, because I was only four, but I’ve seen the photos of the Christmas when Dad gave Bowser to David. David was seven. (He was a lot cuter then, too.)
That was the last Christmas before Dad died. He knew he was sick, and so did Mom, but they didn’t tell us until he had to go into the hospital a couple months later. I guess it was something he had for a long time and they didn’t know exactly how long he would be around for, so they didn’t want us to worry about it. But we all got to say good-bye — there are photos of that, too, of each of us sitting on the hospital bed with Dad and him smiling like he loves each of us the best.
I wish I remembered him better. I remember scratchy cheeks when he hadn’t shaved and a big deep laugh and his voice reading Where the Wild Things Are to me over and over again because I loved it so much.
Other than that, all I know is that he liked dogs, because he looks like he’s laughing a lot in the photos with Bowser and David. I would ask Mom to tell me more about him, but that always makes her look really sad. My friend Midori asked me once if Mom ever goes out on dates, but she doesn’t — she’s too busy with work and us, and I think she still misses Dad. Maybe I could ask David what he remembers, if he weren’t so grumpy all the time.
I know Aidan wouldn’t be any help, because he remembers even less than I do. The Christmas when we got Bowser was also Aidan’s first Christmas with us. He’s beaming in all the photos — Aidan’s first stocking, Aidan’s first snowman, Aidan’s first candy cane. He looks like everything in the world makes him happy. You can see why Mom and Dad adopted him. When they went to Cambodia, they were actually planning to get a little girl, but once they saw Aidan, they couldn’t resist him. He just has one of those faces.
He’s still like that now, six years later. He’s pretty much the opposite of David — all smiles and hugs and giggles. When Mom got us a Maine coon kitten two years ago, it was supposed to be for the whole family, but the cat fell for Aidan just like everybody else does, so it’s pretty much his now. He even got to pick the name, which if you ask me wasn’t such a great idea, because now we’ve got Bowser the mutt and … Meowser the cat. I know, my friends all think that’s pretty hilarious. Because Aidan is just so cute.
And then there’s me. I’m the one in the middle. I’m not mean and smart like David, or cuddly and cute like Aidan. I’m just Charlie.
When we walk in the door after school, this is what happens: Bowser runs over and jumps up on David, wagging his tail frantically as if he thought David would never come home. Meowser slinks over more slowly and curls around Aidan’s legs, purring loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.
Nobody says hi to me at all.
That’s why this year I told my mom that instead of a party, I wanted a dog of my own for my tenth birthday. I wanted a dog that would be all mine — one I could keep away from David the way he keeps Bowser away from us. I wanted a dog who would like me as much as Meowser likes Aidan. I wanted a dog who’d be mine and nobody else’s.
You know what they say: Be careful what you wish for….
My birthday didn’t start off well. Maybe that should have been a warning sign.
First I was woken up by my bedroom door banging open.
“Hey brat,” David said from the doorway. “Mom says to get up or you’ll miss your birthday breakfast.”
“Rrrrruff,” Bowser agreed, sticking his nose around the corner to glare at me.
“Not that I care,” David said. “More for me, ha-ha. So stay in bed if you want to. Whatever.” He turned around and stomped back down the stairs with Bowser trotting at his heels.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and looked over at Aidan’s side of the room. Of course he was already awake and gone. He gets up at the crack of dawn and sits outside Mom’s room, reading one of his dinosaur books, until she wakes up. She thinks this is because he likes to give her a hug first thing in the morning. I think it’s because he wants to make sure she doesn’t spend one moment of time away from him.
It was only nine a.m., which made it kind of weird that David was awake, too. Normally on the weekends he sleeps as late as he can — or at least, he stays in his room most of the morning and only comes down for lunch. I guess the smell of something more than cereal for breakfast lured him out this once, like a mean old bear coming out of his cave all hungry and grumpy.
I hunted around the room for my favorite shirt, but I couldn’t find it. I was sure I’d put it on the chair the night before so I could wear it for my birthday. But it was nowhere to be found. Finally I put on jeans and a long-sleeved orange-and-white shirt, combed my reddish-brown hair until the waves went in the right direction, and went downstairs.
Aidan was setting the table in the kitchen while Mom was busy at the stove. He looked up and gave me one of his angelic smiles as I came in.
“Happy birthday, Charlie!” he cried.
My mouth fell open. “Aidan!” I said. “That’s my shirt you’re wearing!”
He looked down at himself with a puzzled expression. Except he couldn’t have been all that puzzled, because not only was it too big for him, the shirt actually said CHARLIE across the front in big green letters. I mean, come on!
“Oh,” he said. “Oops! That’s so funny!” He started cracking up.
“I want it back!” I said. “I was going to wear that today!”
“Well, good morning to you, too, Prince Charming,” Mom said, coming over and kissing me on the head.
“Tell Aidan to give back my shirt,” I said.
“Can’t I wear it just for today?” Aidan asked. “Please? In honor of your birthday?”
I gave Mom a look and she sighed. “He did say ‘please,’” she pointed out. “Could we start off the day without fighting?”
“Oh, fine,” I said, although it wasn’t really fine because I’d been waiting all week to wear that shirt on my birthday, and now it would have to go in the laundry and I wouldn’t get to wear it again until whenever the
laundry was done. Aidan ran over and hugged me, which made Mom smile.
“What a good brother you are,” she said to me. “I can’t believe you’re already ten. When did that happen?” She went back to the stove, retying her sunshine-yellow apron.
“I’ll be eight soon!” Aidan announced. “Two more weeks!”
“That’s true!” Mom said with another smile. “I hope you’ve started thinking about what you want for your birthday.”
“Whatever you want to give me,” Aidan said sweetly. “And some more dinosaur books,” he added quickly. Aidan has already decided he’s going to be a paleontologist when he grows up. He says he’s going to discover a new species of dinosaur and name it after whichever of us he loves most that day, or maybe all of us … Momocharliesaur davidrex.
I think being a paleontologist sounds kind of boring. I imagine it involves a lot of digging in the dirt and cleaning old bits of rock all day to see if they’re bones. Dinosaurs are cool enough, but paleontology? Yawn.
I’m going to be an astronaut. Doesn’t that sound much cooler? I’m going to ride rocket ships into space and see the Earth from far away and be the first person on Mars. That’s my plan, anyhow. Mom thinks it’s a great idea. She says I should work hard at science and math to make sure I can get into astronaut school one day. She even said she might let me go to space camp one summer if I keep my grades up.
Since I can’t actually start training to be an astronaut yet, mostly what I do now is draw pictures of spaceships and rockets and planets and stuff. We covered my school books in brown paper this year so I could draw on them as much as I want, and they’re all full of rockets already. There are little astronauts and moons in all the corners of my notebooks, too.
My art teacher, Mrs. Bly, has tried to get me to draw other things besides spaceships and aliens, but I’m like, why would anyone want to draw a bowl of fruit when they could draw a rocket instead? Right?
My sketch pad was lying open on the table, which meant Aidan had probably been looking at it. He’s still too young for the after-school art class I’m taking, but I know he’ll want to be in it next year, so that’s when I’ll stop taking it. I see him enough at home; the last thing I need is more time with my little brother.
I closed the sketch pad and put it in my backpack by the door, which I’m pretty sure is where it was originally. Aidan, in case you can’t tell, has a really wobbly idea of what “privacy” means. He goes into my stuff all the time, and what am I supposed to do about it? We share a room, so it’s kind of impossible to stop him.
David stomped into the kitchen and threw himself into a chair at the table. He was wearing a black T-shirt and faded dark blue jeans, like he always does. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled. I guess he had some really important video games waiting for him back in his room or something. Bowser crawled under his chair and flopped down with a noisy sigh.
“Here, put these on the table,” Mom said, handing a plate to Aidan. It was stacked high with French toast.
“French toast?” I said. “What happened to pancakes?”
Mom looked flustered. “I thought you wanted French toast,” she said.
“I like pancakes better,” I said. “I’ve always liked pancakes better. That’s why we always have pancakes on my birthday and French toast on Aidan’s birthday.”
“Everybody knows that,” David said, but in this mean, sarcastic way where he was actually picking a fight with Mom and making fun of me at the same time.
Mom wiped one hand across her forehead. “I’m sorry, Charlie, I forgot,” she said.
Aidan looked innocent, but I could guess what really had happened. Mom probably asked him what she should make for breakfast, and he voted for French toast, like he always does. She didn’t even think about what I would want.
Giovanni never makes these mistakes. He’s kind of our nanny, although we don’t call him that because we’re too old to need a nanny anymore. He picks us up after school every day and drives us to activities and does all the housework and takes care of the pets during the day and hangs out with us whenever Mom’s at work. Mom loves it because she can focus on her work, and she says she likes that we have a “good male role model” around, whatever that means. Giovanni would have remembered that I like pancakes best, but of course it was Sunday, so he was at his own house, probably studying for one of his online college courses.
“Well, you’re ten now,” Mom said, “so I’m sure you’re old enough to handle a different kind of exciting birthday breakfast, right?”
David rolled his eyes and pulled out his cell phone. He started pressing buttons in that way that means he’s texting his friends. I think it’s mysterious that anyone would be friends with David, but I guess there’s someone who doesn’t mind texting with him, anyway.
“Charlie?” Mom said hopefully.
“All right,” I said. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. French toast is too eggy for me, and I don’t like eggs. But if I took the pieces with the least egg and covered them in maple syrup, I could sort of pretend they were pancakes.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Aidan offered. “Milk? Orange juice? Hot chocolate?”
“That’s very sweet of you, Aidan,” Mom said, patting his head.
“Mrrrrrroww,” Meowser agreed from the top of the refrigerator.
“It’s OK, I’ll get it,” I said.
“Orange juice,” David said without looking up from his phone, even though Aidan totally hadn’t been talking to him.
Aidan accidentally got in my way while I was trying to get the milk out and I nearly poured it all over him. Maybe Meowser could tell I was a little mad at Aidan, because she hissed at me and lashed her tail, which made Bowser lift his head up and growl.
I had that feeling I always get: that no one in the room really likes me, except maybe Aidan, but he’s nice to everybody so it hardly counts.
“So!” Mom said, trying to sound cheerful as we all sat down at the table. She’d put a vase of fire-colored chrysanthemums, dark red and gold, in the middle of the pale orange tablecloth. Her flowers in the garden are basically her favorite thing in the world; she spends half of every weekend out there taking care of them.
She spread her napkin on her lap. “Who wants to come meet this dog with me and Charlie?”
That cheered me up right away. In all the stupidness about my shirt and the French toast, I’d nearly forgotten we were going to get me a dog today.
“I do!” Aidan shouted, waving one hand in the air.
David rolled his eyes again. “Not if you paid me,” he muttered.
“David, no texting at the table,” Mom said for maybe the five hundredth time. They have this fight constantly, but I kind of think it’s her own fault for getting him a phone, especially one with unlimited texting. He gave her a stony look, then turned off the phone and shoved it in his pocket.
“Where’s the dog?” Aidan asked through a mouthful of French toast. “What kind of dog is it? What’s its name? How did you find it?”
“We found it on a website called Petfinder,” Mom said. “It’s at a foster home not far away. And it’s a dachshund, just like Charlie wanted.”
“One of those stupid sausage dogs?” David snorted. “Figures.”
“He’s really cute,” I said to Aidan, ignoring David. “He’s only a year old, and he was abandoned with his brothers and sisters. He’s the last one left without a home. And they said I could name him whatever I want.”
“Let’s call him Yowser!” Aidan shouted. “So he’ll match Bowser and Meowser!”
“No!” I said. “No way!”
Aidan gave me a wounded expression. “Why not?” he said. “It’d be cute.”
“Barf,” David said without looking up from the food he was shoveling into his mouth. “Lamest idea ever.” Which is maybe the only time I’ve ever agreed with him about anything.
“I think it’d be cute, too,” Mom said, jumping in before Aidan could start crying.
“But Aidan, this is Charlie’s dog, so he gets to pick the name, all right?”
“OK,” Aidan said, pushing his fork around the plate. “I still think Yowser would be cute, though,” he muttered.
“He better not eat Bowser’s food,” David said. “Bowser won’t like that. He better stay out of Bowser’s way.”
“That’s the plan,” I said. I wanted my dog to stay far away from Bowser and David. David is the kind of person who would kick a small dog if he got the chance, and Bowser only pays attention to other dogs long enough to growl at them until they run away.
“Maybe he can be friends with Meowser instead,” Aidan offered.
I didn’t want that to happen, either. I definitely didn’t want my dog to get along with Aidan and Meowser better than with me. It worried me that Aidan was even coming with us to meet him.
“Mom, I’m done,” I said, pushing away my plate. I was still hungry, but I didn’t want any more egg-tasting French toast.
“All right,” Mom said, putting down her napkin and beaming at me. “Let’s go meet this dog!”
I was nervous as we rang the doorbell at the dog’s foster house. The dachshund was really cute in the photo online, but what if he was weird in real life? What if he was hyper or boring or crazy? Or worse, what if he didn’t like me at all?
Immediately there was a volley of loud, high-pitched barking from inside. It sounded like more than one dog. Mom rubbed her purse strap anxiously. “I hope that’s not our new dog making all that noise,” she joked.
We’re not used to noisy dogs in our house. Bowser never barks at the doorbell or the mailman or people coming in. At most he’ll stand at the top of the stairs and growl. He only barks sometimes at other dogs, like if he sees them across the street from our yard.
An old man in a pink plaid sweater vest opened the door and smiled at us. “You must be the Graysons,” he said. “I’m Milton Schwartz — come in, come in.”
“My name is Aidan,” Aidan announced with a big smile as he stepped inside. “Nice to meet you, sir.” He held out his hand for Milton to shake, so then of course I had to do that, too. Aidan can be a little weird and old-fashioned like that with grown-ups, but Milton seemed to like it.
Dachshund Disaster Page 1