by Daphne Maple
Dedication
For Betsy
Contents
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
Back Ad
About the Author
Books by Daphne Maple
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
The halls of Roxbury Park Middle School were packed with kids talking and laughing as I wove my way toward my best friend Kim’s locker. That was our official meeting place after the last bell rang every day and today I was running a little late.
“Hi, Sasha,” Kim said when I finally made it.
“Let’s get going,” my other best friend, Taylor, said with an easy grin as she slung her bag over her shoulder. It was so bulky and heavy it took her two tries. “I don’t want to be late for class.” Taylor, who was the newer of my best friends, took fabulous pictures and had just started studying advanced photography at the Roxbury Park Art Center.
“And I’m helping my mom out at the Pampered Puppy today, so I should hustle too,” Bri said.
Bri was the newest member of our pack and in some ways I was still getting to know her. She was also the newest member of the Roxbury Park Dog Club, which Kim, Taylor, and I had founded at the start of the year. Seventh graders at Roxbury Park Middle School were required to do community service and the three of us had signed up to work at the local dog shelter, an amazing place that took in homeless dogs and kept them safe and happy until they found new homes. But Alice, who ran the shelter, was having trouble making ends meet. At the same time, Kim’s neighbors were looking for someone to walk their dog, Humphrey, in the afternoons before they got home from work. In a flash of brilliance Kim realized that if we started a dog club after school at the shelter, dogs could get a few hours of much needed exercise and fun, and we could bring in some extra money for the shelter. Many of the dogs’ owners also signed up for pickup service, which meant we’d swing by their homes on the way to club meetings and walk the dogs to the shelter. It cost a bit extra but was worth it for owners who were busy at work.
“Did you guys get that email from Alice last night?” Kim asked. “The one with a picture of Coco in her new home?” The big black and brown dog had been one of our earliest club members and I was sad to see her go, but the picture last night had definitely showed us all how happy she was.
“She’s living the doggy dream,” Taylor said, making us laugh. Coco’s owner had moved to a big farm in Pennsylvania, with acres of land to run on and lots of ducks and squirrels to chase. It really was the doggy dream and I was happy Coco got to live it.
“We have to figure out how many new dogs we can take into the club now that Coco’s gone,” Kim said as the four of us walked toward the door.
The club had been a huge success, especially after we’d been featured in the local newspaper with pictures taken by Taylor. Now we had a wait list and Alice had been able to start up a new venture, a foster program for dogs. We were all huge fans of that project, but it definitely kept Alice busy.
“How many club dogs are there now?” Taylor asked as we walked down the front path of the school. Kids milled around us and a football whizzed past between a pair of eighth graders.
“Popsicle, Jinx, Waffles, Missy, Hattie, and Humphrey,” Bri said as she ticked off on her fingers. Sometimes it still surprised me that Bri was a club member. Not so long ago she’d been mean to Taylor, jealous that Taylor had been the new girl but fit in so seamlessly. To make matters worse, Bri’s mom, who owned a fancy doggy day care, had tried to take our club down. For a while their aggressive advertising plan had worked, but in the end we all realized that there was room in town for two dog care centers. At the same time Bri realized that Taylor was awesome while Taylor, with her big heart, realized Bri just needed friends. Bri began hanging out at the shelter and loved it so much that we asked her to join the club. “Plus Daisy and Gus—and of course Mr. S and Lily.” She shot me a grin when she said the last two names and I grinned right back. Bri and I had both adopted shelter dogs, and they loved going back to visit their pals.
My parents got divorced when I was little, so it was just me and my mom, which could get a little lonely. Bringing Mr. S home had totally fixed that, and I adored my snuggly Cavachon with all my heart. Lately he’d been taking up a lot more of my time though. Mr. S was an older dog and as a result needed to go out more often. Of course I always took him—I needed my sweet pup comfortable, and my mom, who was a bit of a neat freak, did not want an accident in the house. But with everything else I had going on, the extra walks were tough.
“That’s ten club dogs,” Kim said. The brisk wind whipping the fall leaves off the trees had turned her cheeks pink. Winter was not far off and I was glad I’d worn my thick green fleece. I didn’t want my muscles to get cold on the walk over to dance rehearsal. My mom used to drive me, but she was extra busy at work right now and it really wasn’t a long walk to the studio.
“I think we could take in two more dogs since there are four of us plus Tim and Caley,” Kim continued. Tim and Caley were high schoolers who volunteered at the shelter with us. At first it had been a little intimidating to work with older kids, but now we were all really comfortable together. “And that would bring our total to twelve club dogs.”
“That sounds good,” Taylor said, smoothing down her braids. Despite her efforts, the beads at the ends were clinking musically in the wind.
“So you’ll call the next people on the wait list?” Bri said to me in her direct way. Even though she worked hard to control her temper, there were still times when she was blunt in a way that could sting. I knew this wasn’t one of those times: handling new clients was part of my job at the club, so of course she’d ask me about it. But it still made my stomach tighten up because I really did not have time to call anyone, let alone a family from the wait list who would have a ton of questions and take ages to schedule for their trial visit.
“I’ll try to get to it tonight if I have time,” I said, absently twisting a curl around my fingers. Bri and I were both wearing our long hair in ponytails but mine was sloppy, with curls leaking out, while Bri’s straight black hair was sleek, with a few carefully curled strands framing her face. She was twisting the jade charm she always wore on a red string around her neck—Bri was Chinese American and she had told us that the pendant was for good luck.
“We’re all going to be pretty pressed for time with that report we have to do for social studies,” Kim said with a sigh as we waited for a car to pass before crossing Market Street. Kim struggled in school and recently her parents had considered sending her to private school. Eventually they’d agreed to let her stay with us at Roxbury Park Middle School but it was on the condition that she keep her grades up. Tutoring sessions with Taylor’s math genius older sister, Anna, helped a lot, but Kim still got anxious, especially when we had big assignments. And the cultural essays that Mr. Martin had announced today were definitely intimidating. That was a big reason I was so stressed, too—I had no extra time, so how was I supposed to write ten pages about Mongolia, a country I knew nothing about?
“I wish he’d let us choose the place we were studying,” Taylor said. “I’d rather learn about Egypt or France than Iceland.”
“I think Iceland is partly covered by glaciers,” Bri said. She’d lucked out with Italy. She could write about yummy food and the pai
nting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, and she’d be done in no time, unlike the rest of us. “That could be cool to write about.”
“I need to find something interesting like that about Tanzania,” Kim said. Her cheeks were now pale, a sure sign she was feeling anxious.
“I think they have lions there,” I said, remembering something my mom had said about endangered species. She had started an environmental law firm where Taylor’s dad worked too and she liked talking about her cases. “You could write about that.”
“Lions are definitely cool,” she said thoughtfully. “Okay, maybe this report won’t be so bad.”
If only there were lions in Mongolia.
“Yeah, I don’t think it will be that big a deal,” Bri agreed. “And Sasha, I don’t think calling families on the wait list will take that long. We don’t want people waiting forever and not hearing from us.”
I felt a slight flash of irritation at her pushiness. That was total Bri, of course, and I liked it when she was pushing to help the dogs or telling an eighth grader to give us space in the hall. But it wasn’t so great when it felt like she was nagging me.
“We know you’re busy practicing for your performance though,” Kim said, smiling at me and cheering me right up. Dogs and dance were my two favorite things and when I wasn’t at our club, I was at the dance studio, where I took three classes a week as a member of the junior company. Our first big recital was coming up in a few weeks, so I was extra busy with rehearsals, especially since I had a solo in our jazz number.
“We’ll be in the front row,” Taylor promised. “I can’t wait to see you do your thing.”
It was funny to think that Taylor had only moved here from North Carolina this summer since it felt like I’d known her forever. Kim had been coming to my shows for years and always brought me a bouquet of pink roses, my favorite. But this would be the first time Taylor and Bri would be there and I was excited. And a little nervous—I had a lot of work to do if I wanted to be ready. “I’m glad you guys will be there,” I said. “But it is going to keep me pretty busy.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. I can’t wait to see you perform either,” Bri said immediately, the warmth in her voice wiping away the last traces of the annoyance I had felt.
“Do you get to wear a really cool costume?” she went on.
And her words made me realize something that froze me in my tracks, like my shoes were suddenly glued to the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Kim asked, seeing the expression on my face.
“I forgot my dance bag at school,” I gasped. I could picture exactly where it was, on the hook at the back of my locker. I’d planned to grab it last, but then I’d gotten distracted debating whether I needed to bring home my science binder and now, instead of hanging from my shoulder, it was still dangling in my empty locker.
“Can you dance without your stuff?” Taylor asked, her brown eyes full of concern.
“No,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I have to go back for it. I’ll see you guys later.”
My friends called good-bye as I took off running back toward school. But I knew no matter how fast I went I was going to be late for class and Madame Florence, my dance teacher, was not going to be pleased at all.
It was not a good start to the afternoon!
2
By the time I arrived at dance everyone was halfway through warm-ups. I could hear the familiar music and the sound of Madame Florence’s voice leading everyone through the usual stretches as I ran into the dressing room to yank my leotard, jazz pants, and jazz shoes on. Usually the dressing room, with its rows of benches and lockers, was where I shifted gears from school to dance, getting in what Madame Florence called “a dance mind-set.” But today I was too frantic to think about anything but hurrying.
“Mademoiselle Brown, you are late,” Madame Florence said when I finally made it into the studio. I was panting from all the running I’d done to get here and despite the cool fall day, my temples and the back of my neck were sticky with sweat.
Madame Florence took all of this in with an arched brow of disapproval. “Your muscles look tight,” she said. “Take a few extra minutes to relax before beginning your warm-up.”
I nodded obediently, then walked in slow circles, staying out of the way of my classmates, who were all at the far side of the room. I loved the big dance room at the studio, with its soft pink walls and gentle lighting, and the beautiful Degas prints of ballerinas decorating the walls. Being there calmed me down and helped me focus, but it still took almost fifteen minutes to limber up my body enough to dance.
“We have already practiced the dance with your solo,” Madame Florence informed me. There was a coolness to her tone that wasn’t usually there when she spoke to me and it made my chest clench up. I hated when people were angry at me. “We do not have time to go through it again, so you will stay after to run through it with me, yes?”
I nodded so hard my ponytail slapped the back of my neck, even though I knew that staying late would upset my mom. But how could I refuse Madame Florence when she was asking me to do something to make up for my lateness? Plus I really needed the rehearsal time. I decided I’d just do my best to be fast and skip changing back into my school clothes when we were done.
But even so, by the time I flew down the steps to my mom’s waiting car, still in my sweaty dance clothes, she had been waiting for me for a while.
“So you forgot your dance bag again?” she asked with a sigh after I’d explained the delay. We drove down Main Street, the small stores and restaurants golden in the light of the setting sun. She said it like it happened every day instead of just one other time before. Well, maybe a few more if you counted the times I’d forgotten it at home in the morning and had to come back for it before school. But it wasn’t like it happened all the time.
“Yeah, but I’ll be more careful about remembering it from now on,” I said, shifting a little in my seat. Usually I felt relaxed and all stretched out after dance but the frown on my mom’s face had my muscles tightening up. Even passing Sugar and Spice, the candy store I loved, and the Rox, the diner Kim’s family owned, didn’t make me smile like it usually did.
“You said that the last time,” my mom pointed out. She was like Bri when it came to straight talk and I winced at her words.
“I think I’ll put it on the same hook as my backpack so I really can’t leave it behind,” I said. We’d passed through downtown and were now driving along Spring Street, almost at our house.
Finally my mom smiled at me. “That sounds like a good plan,” she said.
And now I could sit back against my seat and feel the calm that came after the hard workout of a dance class.
Unfortunately though, it was short lived.
“Can you put water on for pasta while I change out of my work clothes?” my mom asked as we walked up the front path to our house. We lived in a pretty Victorian and my mom made sure the lawn was always mowed and the flower beds were weeded.
“Sure,” I said. But as we climbed up the front steps I heard Mr. S running in circles in the front hall, clearly desperate to get outside before he had an accident. “Oh, but I should take the dog out first.”
My mom sighed. “Okay, well, that will take a while, so I’ll just put on the water.”
I felt terrible, but what could I do? Mr. S clearly couldn’t wait a second longer. I barely had time to toss my backpack and dance bag inside before snapping on his leash so I could walk him around the block.
I tried to rush so I could help my mom with dinner, but once he was out, Mr. S decided to take his time, sniffing every shrub and mailbox as we went. Just as it looked like we were finally getting back to the house, we ran into the Cronins, out walking their club dogs, Humphrey and Popsicle, after work. It would have been rude not to chat a little. Plus the dogs needed to greet each other. So by the time I got back my mom had dinner well under way, the smell of the marinara sauce she’d gotten out of the freezer and warmed perfum
ing the whole house.
I took Mr. S’s leash off as fast as I could but made sure to hang it on its hook in the hall. My mom was super into keeping things clean, from our home, which sparkled, to our clothes, which never had stains. I did my best to meet her standards, putting my things away, cleaning up after myself, and keeping the downstairs free of clutter the way my mom liked it. Which definitely meant no leash flung over the banister or doorknob.
I headed down the hall to the kitchen and when I walked in I saw that my mom was limping slightly as she took lettuce from the fridge to the counter for salad.
“Did you get hurt at work?” I asked as I went to put on an apron, something I knew she’d appreciate.
“Actually, I tripped over your backpack,” she said. “And twisted my ankle.”
My shoulders sagged as I remembered throwing it haphazardly into the front hall before taking Mr. S out for his walk. The pack had probably landed right at the bottom of the stairs and my mom, who was rushing since I’d been late, must have fallen right over it. I was messing up everything tonight!
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling awful.
“It’s okay,” she said in her tired voice that let me know it was not okay but that she had nagged me enough for one day. Which actually felt a lot worse than being nagged.
“I’ll be more careful,” I promised. “About everything.”
And I meant it, I really did.
So after dinner I helped clean up, I emptied my dance clothes into the hamper, and then I started my homework. I finished up math and English and then started my research on Mongolia. No lions but it turned out they had wild horses, which were pretty cool. In fact, I got so into reading about them that my mom had to knock on the door and tell me it was time for bed.
It was only after I’d taken Mr. S for his last walk of the night and then brushed my teeth and settled into bed that I realized I’d forgotten something: calling people from the Dog Club wait list.
