by Lois Duncan
That day at lunchtime, when Andi was unloading her tray at the corner table in the cafeteria where she usually sat and read, she was surprised to find another tray suddenly placed beside her own.
“Is it okay if I sit here?” Debbie Austin asked her.
Debbie had not tried to speak to her since asking her to play double jump rope in the school yard, and Andi could not imagine why she was doing so now.
“Sit wherever you want,” she said.
Debbie was unloading her tray and did not seem to notice the ungraciousness.
“I had to talk to you,” she said, “after this morning and what Miss Crosno said about your poem. Before, I thought you were just unfriendly, but I didn’t know you were a poet. That makes it different. I mean, lots of poets don’t play jump rope and things.”
“I do play jump rope,” Andi said. “I didn’t know that’s what you meant by ‘Double Trouble.’“
“Why didn’t you say so?” Debbie sat down across from her and regarded her solemnly. “The thing I wanted to tell you is — now don’t repeat this to anybody, I don’t want the other kids to think I’m a nerd — but I write poetry, too.”
“You do!” Andi said. It never had occurred to her that other girls ever wrote poetry.
“I have a whole notebook of poems at home,” Debbie said. “I keep it hidden under my bed so my brother won’t see it. He says only dweebs write poetry.”
“That’s not so,” Andi said. “It takes very bright people to be poets. Think of Shakespeare and people like that. Besides, you’re not a dweeb. You’re very popular.”
“Well, yes,” Debbie admitted. “I guess you could say that. Still, I don’t have anybody I can talk to — I mean really talk to — about things that matter. Most of my friends feel just like my brother does. I don’t want people to think I’m weird.”
“I personally don’t mind it,” Andi said. Then she paused and added more honestly, “Well, yes, I do mind it some. It would be nice to be popular. Maybe I will be, now that I’ve stopped writing.”
“What do you write about?” Debbie asked. “I mean, what did you write about back when you were a poet?”
“Sad things mostly,” Andi said. “My last poem, the one I sent to the Journal, was about shipwrecks.” She drew a deep breath and quoted:
Death owns a ship that roams the seas,
A ship that the boldest seamen dread.
It’s made of the air and the clouds and the storm,
And its cargo is the dead.
“Wow!” Debbie’s eyes widened in admiration, and she gave a shudder. “That’s the goriest thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t see how any magazine could help but buy it!”
“Well, they didn’t,” Andi said. “I’m practically eleven now, and I can’t be spending all my time on something that isn’t bringing any success. Especially now when I’ve got to start finding ways to earn money, because Friday isn’t getting half the nice things Red Rover is getting and —”
She stopped herself in horror and clamped her mouth closed tight.
“Who is Friday?” Debbie asked, exactly as Tim had the first day he came to the hotel.
Perhaps it was the thought of Tim’s question that did it, Tim’s question and the memory of Bruce’s answer, “Of course he won’t tell.” What right had Bruce had to decide whether or not Tim could be trusted when she herself had not decided? Why should Bruce be able to pick out a friend and make him a member of the hotel staff when she, Andi, didn’t?
Two boys and one girl — it wasn’t a fair balance. How could the girl ever hope to have anything her way as long as the boys outnumbered her? But if there were two girls —
Thoughtfully, Andi regarded the girl across the table from her. Debbie was certainly not a blabbermouth. If she were, she never would have kept the fact that she was a poet from all of her friends.
“Can you keep a secret?” Andi asked.
“Of course.” Debbie’s voice dropped to a whisper, and she leaned forward eagerly. “Is it about a poem?”
“No,” Andi said. “It’s Friday. She’s a dog, and Red Rover’s a dog, and there are three others who are just puppies. My brother and I are running a hotel for them.”
“A hotel!” Debbie exclaimed. “You mean you take homeless dogs off the streets and give them a place to stay?”
“Something like that,” Andi said.
Debbie’s face was aglow with excitement. “That’s awesome! Do you suppose — oh, Andi, does the hotel have an extra room for another guest?”
“It has all sorts of rooms,” Andi said. “There’s a whole second floor. But what other guest are you thinking about?”
“MacTavish,” said Debbie.
“Who?” Now it was Andi’s turn to look blank.
“That’s the black-and-white dog who always hangs around the school grounds. He used to belong to a boy who went to school here, but last summer the boy’s family moved and they didn’t take MacTavish with them.”
Andi was horrified. “You mean they left him here to starve?”
“Oh, he doesn’t starve,” Debbie said. “All the kids feed him, and he sits outside the cafeteria at lunchtime and the ladies who do the cooking put out scraps for him. The thing is, it’s starting to get cold now. What will he do when winter comes and he doesn’t have a warm place to go?”
“Isn’t there anybody who wants him?” Andi asked. She thought of the careful plans her own family had made to leave Bebe with the Arquettes. How could people possibly get into a car and drive off without making any kind of arrangements to have their pets cared for?
“Couldn’t you take him?” she asked.
“If only,” Debbie said wistfully. “But my mother has a cat. Fluffy is a very special, blue-ribbon Persian, and she hates dogs. If we got one, Mom is afraid Fluffy might run away.”
“Isn’t there anyone else who might want him?”
Andi asked the question, but her mind was flying ahead of her. It was moving on wings down the hallway that led from Friday’s pink bedroom, past the family room where Red Rover stayed, and up the stairs to the second-floor hall where a whole row of doors opened into unused bedrooms.
I wonder, she thought, if a black-and-white dog would like blue wallpaper better than green?
CHAPTER NINE
There was nothing difficult about locating MacTavish. When school was out for the day, Debbie led the way to the back of the cafeteria, and there he was. When she saw him, Andi had the immediate feeling that he was waiting there just for her.
“I wish I could help you get him to the hotel,” Debbie said. “I would if I didn’t have a Scout meeting.”
“I can manage fine,” Andi told her. “He isn’t so big. I was afraid he might be the size of Red Rover.”
Actually, although he was a small dog, MacTavish was heavy, for he had gained a good deal of weight eating sandwich crusts and potato chips and spaghetti left over from school lunches. Andi was panting by the time she got him to the hotel.
Still, it was worth it! Never had she seen a dog so happy! She had decided to give him the blue room, as it had a built-in window seat from which a dog could look out over the backyard, and MacTavish leaped up there at once. From there he jumped to the floor and ran around sniffing, exploring the room from one corner to another. Then he leaped upon Andi. Wagging and licking and wriggling with delight, he burrowed into her arms, making little squeaking sounds of joy.
Hooray! he seemed to be saying. At last I have a home!
“You poor thing! Imagine your master going off and leaving you!” Andi hugged the dog hard, ducking her head to keep the busy pink tongue from washing her face. “Just wait until Bruce sees you! Friday’s so busy with her puppies, she isn’t much company for Red Rover. Bruce will be so glad to have a friend for Red to play with!”
She was wrong about that, however. Bruce was not happy at all.
“Another dog!” He regarded his sister with disbelief. “Andi Walker, you must be crazy! Tim and I are worki
ng ourselves to death to take care of the ones we already have.”
“He won’t eat much,” Andi said. “He’s already fat. One meal a day should do him just fine.”
“Fat dogs eat more than thin ones,” Tim volunteered. He and Bruce had stopped by the hotel on their way over to the Kellys’ to get their rakes. “It’s the same with fat people. Their stomachs stretch, and they have to eat more and more food to fill them up.”
“That’s not so,” Andi contradicted. “Aunt Alice is fat, and she hardly eats anything. Besides, we won’t have to buy all the food. Debbie thinks if we ask the ladies at the cafeteria to save the scraps and put them in a bag —”
“Debbie!” Bruce pounced upon the unfamiliar name. “Who’s Debbie? Have you been blabbing around about the hotel? I thought we all promised —”
“I haven’t been blabbing,” Andi said. “I only told Debbie. She’s my best friend, just the way Tim is yours.”
“What do you mean, your best friend?” Bruce exploded. “I’ve never even heard of her! If you have a best friend, why haven’t you ever had her over?”
“I am going to have her over tomorrow,” Andi told him. “She’s going to help me with the hotel housework. Now that we have six guests, there’s too much work for one person to do alone. You boys never help.”
“Never help!” Bruce was so angry that it was all he could do to keep from grabbing his sister and shaking her until her teeth rattled. “What do you call all those hours Tim and I put in after school and on weekends raking leaves?”
“That’s not the same thing,” Andi said. “It really isn’t, Bruce. I feed them and clean up after them.”
Then, because it seemed very likely that her brother might be about to hit her, she snatched MacTavish into her arms and ran out of the room.
“You shouldn’t let her get to you like that,” Tim remarked later, as the boys collected their rakes from the Kellys’ garage. “She’s just acting like a girl. My sisters are the same way sometimes.”
“I know,” Bruce said wearily. “I never used to get so mad at her. It’s just today — bringing home that blasted dog without even checking with us first —”
“He seems like a nice dog,” Tim said. “Those black ears and white face make him look like a clown. Those pups of Friday’s are going to be ready to leave her in another week or so anyway.”
“That’s true. They’re already beginning to eat solid food.” Bruce brightened slightly. “If we get rid of them, that will cut things down by half.”
Even so, he had far from a joyful expression on his face as he and Tim set off down the street toward their afternoon job.
Bruce was exhausted. He had always been a boy who enjoyed having time to himself — time for reading, for playing with other boys, for puttering around with his photography. Now suddenly there was no time at all. When he was not in school, he was working, and when he wasn’t working, he was trying to study — trying because by the time dinner was over and he was ready to settle down to his books, he was usually so sleepy that he could not keep the words on the page from running together.
It showed in his grades.
“I don’t understand what’s happened,” his father said the day report cards came out. “You’ve always been an A student. Where did these Bs and Cs come from all of a sudden?”
“Maybe the schools in Elmwood are more advanced than the ones out West,” Aunt Alice suggested. “Perhaps they grade harder here.”
“In that case, Bruce should be working harder.”
Mr. Walker had no patience with average marks. He knew that both Bruce and Andi were bright children, and he had always expected them to stay at the top of their classes. The fact that his wife was a teacher only enhanced those expectations.
“I know I should, Dad.” Bruce struggled to stifle a yawn. “I’ll get at that math tonight.”
“You look as though you could fall asleep right here at the table,” his mother said worriedly. “Can’t you do some of your studying in the afternoon?” She turned to her husband. “He and Andi both go out to play right after school every day. They’re out all afternoon, every afternoon.”
“I’m not tired. It’s only eight o’clock.” Bruce forced his eyes wide. The last thing he wanted was to be forbidden to spend his afternoons away from the house. “I’m just sort of groggy from eating so much. I’ll wake right up as soon as I get going on that math.”
But the math problems, when he opened his book to them, seemed to be written in a foreign language. There was no sense to any of them, even the simple ones. Numbers danced before Bruce’s eyes like black dots, shifting and whirling about against the white page. By the time twenty minutes had passed, he was fast asleep with his face buried in the book.
There was good reason for Bruce’s weariness. Not only was he doing more outdoor physical work than he ever had done in his life, but he was getting up at five o’clock every morning. It was at this time of day that Red Rover had his exercise.
Exercising the small dogs was no problem. They could romp in the yard behind the hotel where the bushes were a protective screen cutting them off from the street. Every afternoon Andi took them outdoors for playtime, and they went out again after dinner.
Red Rover presented a different problem. He could not be satisfied with chasing a ball around a tiny restricted area. Red was a big dog, a dog bred for running. As his wounds began to heal and his health and good spirits returned, so too did his energy. He roamed restlessly around the hotel, scratching at the doors and propping his big paws on the sills to gaze wistfully out windows. Sometimes he barked.
“That’s not good,” Tim said worriedly. “Even with the house set back like it is, sounds carry. Somebody might be walking past and hear him.”
“I can run him at night.” It was Bruce who had come up with the idea. “That way there wouldn’t be any chance of Jerry and his parents seeing him. I sleep on the couch in the den. Everybody else in the family sleeps upstairs. I could sneak out when they’re all asleep and nobody would know the difference.”
“I wish I could help you,” Tim said. “I feel like a cop-out not doing my part, but my bedroom is next to the girls’. There’s always one of them hopping up and down for water or something. They’d catch me first thing and go tattling off to our parents.”
“That’s okay,” Bruce said. “I don’t mind doing it myself. I’ll set my alarm for two hours earlier than I usually get up and have Red out and back again before it gets light.”
The first time he had tried this, the alarm clock had gone off like a fire alarm. The shrill sound had been so shattering in the stillness of the sleeping house that both his parents and Aunt Alice had awakened in terror.
“What was that? Did you hear that? Was it the doorbell?”
“Telephone?”
“Could someone have set off a car alarm?”
“I’m sure it was an air-raid siren!” screamed Aunt Alice. “Do you suppose some foreign country has decided to attack us in the night?”
Lying huddled in his bed with the now-silent clock clutched protectively to his chest, Bruce heard their frantic voices as they rushed through the upstairs hall, pulling on robes, snatching up the phone receiver, and finally running down the stairs to see if someone was at the front door.
After that he kept the alarm clock under his pillow. This muffled the sound, and soon he grew so used to having it there that he began to waken at the first tiny click before the bell even had a chance to ring.
Getting out of bed was the hard part. Once he was into his clothes and out of the house, there was something exhilarating about being up and about before the rest of the world. The sky, still dotted with stars, and the cold, fresh smell of the air filled him with a special kind of excitement.
Raising the ramp against the window ledge, he would hear Red Rover stirring around inside, already awake and eager for his outing.
“Red?”
He never had to speak more than once. The big dog would
be upon him, tail thumping excitedly, body quivering with anticipation.
Once they were outside, the world opened before them, theirs alone. It was night when they started off along the deserted streets, but soon the dark shapes of trees began to emerge against the gradually paling sky. Red was like a wild thing in the joy of his freedom, first racing ahead, then loping back to circle Bruce and fly off again in another direction.
Then, in what seemed a matter of minutes, it was morning. The sky lightened in the east, turning from gray to a soft pink. Birds began to twitter in the trees, making drowsy, coming-awake noises. Somewhere a baby cried, the sound surprisingly loud through the stillness.
Then the sun itself appeared, a bright red ball over the treetops, and the whole sky exploded with color. It was so much brighter, so much more thrilling, Bruce thought in wonder, than it ever was in an evening sunset! This was the point at which he turned Red toward home.
As he told Tim, he did not mind those morning outings. It was fun being out alone with Red. It made him feel in a way as though he were the dog’s real master.
No matter how much he enjoyed himself, however, the fact remained that each morning he was sacrificing two hours of sleep. The rest of the day seemed to drag on forever. Sitting in class, Bruce would find his head nodding, his eyelids drooping. The sound of the teacher’s voice would begin to drone like a lullaby, and before class was half over he would be fighting to stay awake.
Despite his exhaustion, Bruce did make an effort to do more studying. The grades on his first-quarter report card had shocked him as much as they had his father. He was used to being at the top of his class, and to find himself getting Cs where he once had gotten As was an upsetting experience.
Every night after dinner he spread his books out on the table in the den and tried to concentrate. Often he ended up falling asleep on top of them.
It was during one of these times that his mother came in and found him there. She stood gazing down at him worriedly.
“I can’t understand it,” she said softly. “It isn’t even eight-thirty. Can he be sick, I wonder? Maybe I should make a doctor’s appointment and see that he gets a complete checkup.” Leaning over, she touched his arm. “Bruce? You’d better go to bed. You’re not going to get any studying done tonight.”
