“I’m not sure if I’m ready to be on a first-name basis,” she said, holding up her palms to ward us off.
“I’ll just bring his cage over,” I said.
When she didn’t object, I lifted up Oscar’s cage and brought it over to my bed where she could see him better.
“He’s really not that bad,” I said. “He’s not dirty at all.”
Mom looked Oscar over without moving any closer.
“That may be,” she said. “But he’s still a rat. And you had no right to bring him into this house.” Her arms crossed again. “You’ll have to take him back.”
I looked at my watch. It was almost five. A spark of hope flared inside me.
“The shelter closes at five,” I said. “We wouldn’t be able to get there in time, and they’re not expecting us.”
Mom frowned. “He’ll have to go back first thing tomorrow, then. And you’re going to have to explain this to your father as soon as he’s home.”
“I know,” I said, a fresh wave of dread splashing up inside me. At the same time, though, I was relieved. It was all out in the open. The stress and worry of hiding Oscar was over. I didn’t have to lie anymore. But now I was going to have to give him up.
Jenna Surprises
I was practicing the piano when Dad got home. I heard him talking to Mom in the kitchen. Was she telling him about Oscar? My fingers stumbled through the minuet. I was supposed to have it memorized by now, and my fingers did manage to keep going while my ears tried to hear what Mom and Dad were saying in the next room. But when I hit a wrong note, I became conscious of playing the piano again, and my fingers came to a faltering stop. I had no idea where I was in the piece. I looked up at my music book, found a spot in the middle of the minuet and placed my fingers over the keys again.
Plunk, plunk. It was hopeless. I couldn’t concentrate, and my fingers wouldn’t get going again. I leaned forward and closed up the music book. Maybe Mom and Dad wouldn’t notice if I finished a little early today.
When I got up from the piano bench and turned around, Dad was waiting for me.
“Mom says you have something to tell me,” he said. From the steely tone of his voice and the grim set to his face, I gathered he must already have an idea of what I’d done. Was hiding a rat in my room really so bad?
Dad ushered me down the hall to my bedroom, where Oscar waited in his cage on my bed. He ignored the cage and waited for me to explain.
“What bothers us the most, Conner,” Dad began when I’d finished explaining, “is that you went behind our backs. You did something you knew we wouldn’t have given permission for.”
“I know,” I said, looking down at the floor. “I shouldn’t have done it, but the others were all allowed…” I knew this wasn’t the right thing to say. I could hear Dad’s intake of breath as he got ready to give the If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you do that too? lecture.
“And I really wanted to help the animals,” I added.
Dad paused.
“I understand that you wanted to help,” he said carefully. “That’s admirable. But you can’t do it by lying or misleading people or by disobeying the rules of this house and showing disrespect to your parents.”
He was really laying on the guilt, and it was working. I wanted to sink into the floor.
“I’m really sorry, Dad,” I said, wondering if my parents would ever trust me again.
I looked down at Oscar and unconsciously reached my finger through the bars on top his cage. Oscar stretched up and sniffed my finger, tickling me with his whiskers. It was what he did every time, but it felt like he was trying to offer me some comfort.
“How long did you tell the shelter you were going to look after him?” Dad asked, the hard edge to his voice softening slightly.
“Two weeks or so.”
“And how many days have you had him now?”
“Five days, including today,” I answered. I raised my eyes to meet Dad’s, a tiny spark of hope lighting in my chest.
“That’s less than a week and a half to go,” I pointed out.
I took a deep breath. If there was a chance of persuading Dad I should finish looking after Oscar, I had to go for it.
“You always say we need to follow through with our commitments,” I pointed out.
Dad’s eyes narrowed, his thick eyebrows becoming a dark V above them.
“Yes, I do say that, don’t I?” he said. “But it’s a bit different when you committed to something you weren’t allowed to commit to in the first place.”
“I know,” I said, looking down again.
Dad sighed.
“Well,” he said. “I’ll talk to your mother about it, but before I do that, you’d better show me how you’ve been taking care of this rat without anyone knowing he was here.”
I looked up at Dad and grinned.
After Dad left my room, there was a knock on my door. Jenna stepped in without waiting for an invitation.
“Hey!” I started to protest.
“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding a rat in here!” she said, ignoring me and looking around.
Oscar was sitting on my shoulder, and I held on to him protectively, not sure what Jenna would do when she saw him. She spied him at once.
“Oh, he’s so cute,” she said. “Can I touch him?”
“Sure,” I said, surprised. I guess I’d been expecting her to say something insulting or to at least act creeped out.
She reached out her hand.
“Let him sniff you first,” I suggested.
She pulled her hand back quickly.
“Does he bite?” she asked, alarmed.
“No,” I laughed. “I just didn’t want you to scare him.”
“Oh.”
Her hand went out again, and this time she held it up to Oscar’s nose.
“His whiskers are so funny,” she whispered.
“Do you want to hold him?” I asked. Trying to see what was happening on my shoulder made my neck sore.
“Can I?” she asked.
I hesitated a few seconds. This was my annoying sister Jenna, after all. I wasn’t sure if I wanted her getting close to Oscar. But it was hard to ignore her interest, and I guess I was kind of pleased to be able to show Oscar off a bit.
I lifted him from my shoulder and put him in
Jenna’s arms.
“You can sit on the bed if you want,” I suggested.
“Thanks.”
She sat down, cradling Oscar in her arms as if he were a doll or a baby.
“What does he eat?” she asked.
I sat down beside Jenna and began to tell her all about Oscar. It was weird having her ask me questions and knowing more than she did about something for a change.
“Hey, what’s my hair band doing in here?” she asked suddenly, jumping to her feet.
I caught sight of the red hair band sitting on my dresser. Oops. I was glad Oscar was still in Jenna’s hands. She remembered him and sat down again, moving more carefully.
“Ah…I borrowed it,” I tried to explain.
“You borrowed it.” She gave me a disbelieving look, eyes narrowed. “Since when do you wear girls’ hair stuff?
And what were you doing in my room without my permission?” she demanded.
“I’ll show you,” I told her. I took the hair band off the dresser and got a couple of pieces of food out of Oscar’s food container.
“Let me have Oscar back for a minute,” I said.
Jenna handed him over, then crossed her arms over her chest and frowned, looking just like Mom had earlier.
I placed Oscar on the bed and held the band in front of him, my fingers closing off the open part.
“Jump, Oscar,” I commanded.
Oscar jumped through the hoop, and Jenna clapped her hands in delight, her angry look evaporating.
“Suppertime.” Mom’s voice interrupted us.
Jenna and I looked up, startled. Mom was standing in the hall, watching us. How l
ong had she been there? Had she seen Oscar do his trick?
“It’s good to see the two of you getting along for a change,” Mom commented, looking from me to Jenna. But she didn’t say anything about Oscar—just turned and walked back to the kitchen.
“I hope you get to keep him,” Jenna whispered as I put Oscar back in his cage.
Verdict
Mom and Dad looked at me across the kitchen table, their faces serious. The food lay in front of us, untouched. I sat frozen in my chair like an accused criminal waiting for the judges to give their verdict.
“We’re not happy about your behavior,” Dad began.
Mom’s lips remained a tight line as she nodded in agreement.
“But the animal shelter shouldn’t suffer for your mistake,” Dad continued. “We’ve decided that you should follow through on your commitment to look after the rat for two weeks.”
My heart leapt. I couldn’t believe it. I heard Jenna’s hands come together in an involuntary clap of excitement, and I was grateful that she was on my side for a change.
“But we better not ever see that rodent out of your room,” Mom added firmly.
I nodded.
“And there’s going to be a punishment,” Dad went on.
“Your mother and I are not happy with how you went about things.”
I nodded again.
“We’ve decided to ground you for the next two weekends,” Mom concluded. “No meeting up with Jake. No bike riding.”
“You can stay home and help around the house,” Dad added.
“But what about piano?” I asked. No bike for two whole weekends would be hard, but if being grounded meant I didn’t have to go to piano lessons, it wouldn’t be a punishment at all.
“Piano lessons are still on,” Dad said, a little annoyed. “You can ride your bike to your lesson and then straight back home.”
I sighed. “Okay.”
“All right then,” Dad said, taking up his fork. “I think we understand each other.” He looked at Mom for confirmation, and she gave him a nod and a half smile.
“Now, let’s eat,” she said, “before this food gets any colder.”
I tried to look contrite as I dug into my food, but inside I was cheering. I could keep Oscar—at least for a little longer.
Under the table, I felt Jenna’s foot give me a nudge. I looked up, expecting to see her gloat over my grounding. But instead she gave me a quick smile. She liked Oscar too.
After supper I returned to my room. Oscar’s cage was still on my bed in full view of the open door. I could set it anywhere I wanted now. Looking around, I decided on a spot under the window. I moved the cage to its new location, then bent down to take Oscar out. I could hardly believe my luck. I was allowed to take care of Oscar. I pushed away all thoughts of what was going to happen at the end of the two weeks.
The next day, Jake came over after school again. We visited with Oscar for a while, then went outside to do some bike practice before it got dark. It was such a relief to be able to leave Oscar for whole chunks of time without worrying about him being discovered.
There was never much traffic on the road in front of our house, so we took our bikes out there. I started with a few bunny hops, jumping the bike up and down, using my body to lift it up off the ground. It was one of the first tricks I’d learned. Once you knew how to do it, it was pretty easy, and it was fun to see how much lift you could get. Jake attempted to lift his front tire off the ground and do a wheelie, but when he didn’t have much success he shifted to a rear peg manual, standing on the back pegs of his bike and swinging one leg to keep the bike going.
“Not bad,” I called after him. “But we should work on the combos we’re going to do for the competition.”
For mine, I thought I’d start with a hop 180, then do a roll back and a bar spin. Working on the 180, I hopped the bike up, then turned the handlebars and my body hard to the right, trying to get the bike to rotate while it was still in the air. Remember to look at the spot where you want to land, I told myself. On the first try I made about a quarter turn. Finally, after several attempts, I did a 180 in midair before the tires clunked down to the ground.
“Hey, that’s pretty good,” Jake commented as he bailed on the trick he was working on and jumped clear of his bike.
“Not quite there,” I said, getting ready to try again.
“I can’t get the bar hop right,” Jake complained. “Can you show me how to do it again?”
I steadied my bike, locked my elbows in place on the handlebars and tucked my knees to my chest, bringing my feet over the handlebars, then dropping them to my front pegs. I balanced on the front pegs for several seconds, then reversed back over the handlebars, one leg at a time.
Gritting his teeth in concentration, Jake attempted to copy me. He gripped the handlebars, lifted his knees and caught his feet on the handlebars. The bike wobbled, and he jumped free.
“Just practice clearing the bars first,” I suggested,
“without trying to land on the pegs.”
I turned back to my own bike.
“Car!” Jake called.
I turned to see Dad’s car approaching slowly. He was home already. Was it that late? I hadn’t practiced the piano yet.
“I’ve gotta go in!” I told Jake, turning my bike toward the house.
“All right,” Jake said reluctantly. “I guess I better get going then.”
But before Jake could take off, the car pulled into our driveway and stopped beside us, continuing to idle. Dad rolled down the window.
“It looks like you boys are getting pretty good at some of those stunts,” he called out.
“Conner is at least,” Jake said, smiling at Dad. “See you, Mr. Lee,” he added with a wave as he pedaled away.
Dad turned to me, his eyes narrowing.
“I’ll talk to you as soon as I park the car,” he said.
I nodded and headed for the back gate while Dad put the car in the garage. We met at the bottom of the back steps.
“You were looking good out there,” Dad said, stuffing his keys into his jacket pocket and adjusting his briefcase under his other arm. “But I thought you were supposed to be grounded.”
“Just the weekends,” I pointed out. He’d said I was looking good. But what could he have seen from the car? Did he really mean it?
“Just weekends?” Dad repeated. “Sounds like a bit of an oversight.”
Panic snuffed out the good feeling I’d had at Dad’s earlier words. He wasn’t going to ground me for the weekdays too, was he? How would I get ready for the bike competition? I had to tell him.
“Dad,” I began, my mouth dry. “I’m not just doing bike tricks for fun, I’m practicing for a competition.”
He paused at the top of the stairs and looked at me.
“What kind of competition?”
“Flatland,” I said, then explained that this meant I had to put together a combination of tricks to perform on a flat surface—in this case, the community center parking lot.
Dad gave me an appraising look.
“I didn’t know the bike stuff was so serious,” he said. “You can keep working at it—as long as it doesn’t interfere with homework or piano practice,” he added pointedly.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, relieved.
He opened the back door and paused, looking meaningfully at his watch.
“I’ll get to the piano right away,” I said quickly, ducking past him and into the kitchen. My heart pounded. I had to show Dad and Mom that I could handle it all—piano, school, bike practice and looking after Oscar. But could I?
Expectations
“Sunday is Chinese New Year,” Mom reminded us at supper. “We’re going to have our family dinner at Ma Ma and Yeh Yeh’s on Friday night.”
In school that morning, Miss Chien had talked about Chinese New Year and how it follows a lunar calendar, beginning on the second new moon after the winter solstice. Winter solstice is like a turning point in the
year. The daylight hours start getting longer again after that.
Miss Chien said that lots of cultures around the world have celebrations of light at this time of year. There’s Christmas, Hanukah, Diwali, Chinese New Year and lots of others. People used to believe that rituals actually helped spring arrive. If we were really traditional Chinese, we would have our dinner on New Year’s Eve, but we just try for a night relatively close to it, when everyone can be there.
“I’m going to make some gok jai to bring to the dinner,” Mom was saying. Gok jai are crescent-shaped Chinese cookies with sweet filling inside—one of my favorites.
“Jenna’s going to help me,” she added, smiling at Jenna, who smiled sweetly in return.
I squirmed in my chair. There was Jenna, kissing up to
Mom again.
“Just as long as you don’t bring flowers to the dinner,”
Dad said to Mom with a chuckle.
I had to laugh. It was a private family joke that had to do with something that happened when Dad and Mom were first married. Back then, Mom had tried to please her new mother-in-law by bringing her a bouquet of white roses, but it had the opposite effect. Ma Ma got upset, and Mom couldn’t figure out why. Dad wasn’t sure either—I guess because he hadn’t realized that Ma Ma never had white flowers in the house. Apparently, in traditional Chinese culture, white flowers are only for funerals. Ma Ma had complained to Yeh Yeh in Cantonese that Dad’s new wife wanted her dead before her time, and Dad had caught enough of it to figure out what was going on. After that, Mom decided it was safer to stay away from flowers altogether.
“I don’t think she’ll be able to find anything wrong with cookies,” Mom said, looking annoyed.
“You really don’t need to bring anything,” Dad said.
“But she never lets me help,” Mom complained.
For the first time it occurred to me that maybe Mom felt bad that Ma Ma always cooked the big Chinese New Year dinner and never asked Mom to help. Mom was a professional cook, after all. Didn’t Ma Ma think she could cook well enough? Or was it because Mom wasn’t Chinese?
“I’m looking forward to that piano recital,” Dad said, changing the subject.
Suddenly my food got difficult to chew.
Truth About Rats and Dogs Page 7
