CeeCee acted as if she hadn’t heard him. “Hi, doggie!” She patted his head and scratched his ears.
“I said get away from that dog!” Alan said. “Plus, I thought you said Mom was coming.”
CeeCee stood and twisted her face at him. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“It’s okay, Alan,” Ray said and stood up. “This dog’s okay.” Then to me, “Is he a show dog?”
Before I could answer, Alan sighed loudly and dragged himself closer, but he stopped short of joining us. “Why does he have red around his eyes?” he asked, curling up the corner of his mouth. “Is he sick or something? He looks weird.”
My eyes narrowed. “He’s not weird.”
He raised his chin at me. “Well, he looks weird. What kind of dog is he?”
“A good dog,” I said, gripping my handlebars tightly.
The kid sneered, then shouted, “His nose is turning pink! Oh man! What a weird dog—you should’ve named him Rudolph.” He shook his head. “Wonder why the pound didn’t kill him.” Then he snatched the ball from Ray and ran down the driveway. “C’mon, Ray!” He shot the ball through the hoop. “Yeah! Two points! Later, kid!”
I wanted to shout—I don’t know what I wanted to shout—but my mouth and my brain got stuck.
“Come on, CeeCee!” he yelled. “That dog might bite you.”
CeeCee stared at her brother with her lip stuck out. Then she turned to me, her eyes big and blue. In a soft little voice, she asked, “He won’t bite me … right?”
I bent down to face her. “Of course not! He’s a nice dog. Plus, he likes you.”
She looked up at me and smiled. “What’s your name?”
“Joshua.”
“I’m CeeCee.”
Ray stood. “I’m Ray. Your dog’s cool.”
“Thanks.” I tried to look friendly, but I had a hard time concentrating on it. “Who’s that kid?”
“Do you know Prater Lumber?” Ray asked. When I shook my head, he said, “Well, he’s Alan Prater.” Ray made it sound important; I added a mental note to my file.
I watched as Ray pulled a yo-yo from his pocket, throwing it down hard, then flicking it up to wind the string around his fingers in a web. It should have knotted, but then he slapped his hand and the yo-yo spun down and back up into his hand.
“Nice.” I’d only seen that kind of stuff on TV.
Ray grinned and spun the yo-yo absentmindedly while he talked. “I’m working on a combo for the July Fourth festival. Hopefully, I’ll have enough saved up for the Groove-it by then.”
“What’s that?”
He caught the yo-yo around his back. “It’s a better yo-yo for string tricks.”
Closer to the garage, Alan bounced the basketball from side to side. “Ray! Put the stupid yo-yo down and let’s play already.”
An expression passed over Ray’s face so quickly, I almost missed it—he pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes. I glanced toward the hoop, where Alan Prater made easy baskets from the side. Probably thought he was a big shot. If I called him Alan, he’d think we were friends or something. I’d call him Prater.
Ray slipped the yo-yo into his pocket.
“So he doesn’t live here?” I asked.
“He’s my brother,” CeeCee said. “He’s twelve and I’m five. I’ll be in kindergarten next year. Alan’s scared of dogs.” She fished in the pocket of her shorts. “Do you like candy?”
Whoa, scared of dogs. I fixed my eyes on Prater. “Yeah …”
“Want one?” She held out a butterscotch to me. It looked kind of grubby, and lint stuck to the parts that weren’t wrapped, but I took it anyway. Every new kid knows that rule: never say no to friendliness.
She popped one into her mouth and started talking about Missy, her best friend who she saw every day, and they liked to play dolls, except Missy has the most important one, which is the Ken doll, and everyone knows the girl doll needs a boyfriend, but CeeCee doesn’t have one and—
Prater’s afraid of dogs. I wanted to get back to that but didn’t know how.
“Come on!” Prater shouted from the hoop.
We watched as Prater threw the ball but missed. Guess he wasn’t as good as he thought he was. He looked up and caught me staring. “Take a picture, why don’t you?”
I would, but it would probably break the camera. That’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I stood there like an idiot.
Ray asked, “You want to play?”
Yeah, but not with Prater around. Sometimes you have to break your own rules. I shook my head. I wasn’t saying no to friendliness—I was saying no to Prater. “I have to take Jack for a walk.”
I couldn’t wait to get away from there. Jack and I rode back the same way we came. Prater the pear. Prater the crater. Prater the hater. Ray was okay, but Prater was a jerk.
I pedaled furiously. Jack galloped at my side. My heart pounded and I gulped huge lungfuls of air, but the pace was nothing to Jack. His powerful strides easily matched my pedaling. His ears and nose looked red, like someone blushing, and his skinny tail curved stiffly over his back.
When we got to our road, I struggled to pedal straight up, but the hill was too much. I got off the bike and pushed it.
Wonder why the pound didn’t kill him.
I decided I hated Prater. Worse, I hated that I froze and didn’t stick up better for Jack.
That night, I lay on the bed with Jack curled next to me. I was supposed to be asleep, but we were both restless. A cool breeze drifted in from my windows, and Jack kept lifting his snout to it, sniffing and nodding. That’s how dogs collect information.
If humans could get information that way, being a new kid would be so much easier. You’d smell people before you even saw them, and the smell would tell you everything you needed to know. Some people’s smell would say, I am an idiot. You’d tell yourself, I don’t want to meet that kid, and then you could just avoid him. You wouldn’t have to worry about what you should have said or what you should have done.
Jack shuffled around on the bed, moving closer to the edge. Then he jumped off and rested his muzzle on the window. Kneeling beside him, I gazed beyond our driveway to the woods. A wall of darkness. Dark, but not quiet. A breeze rustled the treetops and it sounded like the ocean. Crickets chirped. I even heard a bird.
I don’t know what Jack could see, but his nose twitched like crazy. He was a good boy. I’d be prepared for Prater next time. No one was going to cut my dog down.
chapter 4
I figured God would forgive us one Sunday, but Dad didn’t see it that way. I put on a scratchy church shirt and some pants, and we were off. The pastor stood at the door of the church, greeting everyone who strolled in. I saw Ray, almost shouted, but then I saw Prater walking ahead of him. I pretended to be looking at something in the opposite direction.
“Newcomers!” the pastor said as we reached the vestibule. He shook our hands and asked Dad where we were from. Dad said New Jersey. When people ask me where I’m from, I say the air force, because we never stay in one place long enough to be from it. Turns out the pastor had once served as a navy chaplain.
“At least you’re working for the same boss,” Dad joked.
The pastor chuckled, then looked serious. “How’s it going? Seems like a hard time to be a recruiter.”
That was an odd statement. The government was drafting guys right out of high school to fight in Vietnam. It sounded like a great time to be a recruiter—you didn’t even have to find guys to join the air force; the government found them for you.
“It doesn’t make me popular,” Dad said. “But I’ve got only two years till retirement.”
“Got any plans?” the pastor asked
“I’m thinking about college,” Dad said. “I’ll be thirty-eight when I retire, probably the oldest freshman on campus, but I’m thinking about it.”
I fidgeted through most of the service, picturing Jack at home waiting for me. The only time my ears pricked was when the pastor mentioned a
local boy in Vietnam. “We have good news from the Zimmermans.” He gestured toward them. Heads turned and, looking in that direction, I saw a man put his arm around his wife. She smiled, lips quivering, and wiped her eyes with a tissue at the same time. “Their son Mark is scheduled to come home in July.”
Clapping and people yelling “Thank God!” filled the sanctuary. Mrs. Zimmerman nodded tearfully to the people around her.
After it died down, the pastor spoke again. “We have much to be thankful for. But I also have some bad news.” He paused. “Even though they don’t go to church here, most of us know the Kowalski family.” Murmurs buzzed around the pews. The pastor looked over us, took a breath, and laid his hands on the podium. “Their son David has been reported missing in action.”
A gasp went up. Dad straightened in his seat. I snapped to attention. Missing in action—MIA. That could mean he’d been taken prisoner or had been injured or killed but not found.
“This is a boy we all know. He went to high school with our kids. This family—this mother and father—they are our neighbors.” The pastor gripped the sides of the podium. “This isn’t about politics. This isn’t about your views on the war. This is about a family we know and love.” He let out a deep sigh. “Let’s pray.”
I bowed my head. I’d seen pictures of the war in magazines. Vietnam didn’t look like anywhere I’d been before. It had strange trees and rice paddies and huts. In some photographs, soldiers crouched in grass so tall, all you could see were the tops of their helmets. I saw one photograph of a soldier carrying another guy in his arms. The photo wasn’t in color, so all the blood was black. There was a lot of black in that picture. I didn’t like to think about it.
When we finally got home, I raced Jack upstairs and changed into shorts and a T-shirt. “Dad!” I yelled, bounding downstairs. “We’re going for a ride!”
I almost knocked Dad down in the kitchen.
“What about lunch?” he asked.
Jack danced around by the back door. “He needs to go outside,” I said.
Dad leaned down to pet Jack, but Jack jumped around so much he nearly bashed Dad in the face. “He’s wild!”
I felt pretty wild myself. After almost two hours in church, I needed to move around some. We’d go past Ray’s, see if he was outside. I started out the door, but Dad stopped me.
“Don’t forget this.” He lifted the leash off the hook and tossed it to me.
Frowning, I caught the leash, then Jack and I burst outside.
Dad didn’t know Jack like I did. He didn’t know how fast Jack could run or how Jack stuck to me like glue. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Dad wasn’t looking through the window; I jammed the leash into my back pocket.
If Ray wasn’t out, we’d keep going and see what else there was that way. There might be other kids farther down or on a side road. It was worth checking out; you don’t know which friends are going to work out or not, so it’s good to not count on any one person.
I backed my bike out of the garage. Jack trotted ahead, danced in front of our house, and stopped. His ears turned toward the woods, antennae picking something up. Then he bolted across the side yard.
“Jack!” I threw my bike to the ground. “Jack!”
He slipped into the trees. I tore after him. He leaped over a branch and disappeared. I ran through the woods, following the sound of leaves and twigs snapping ahead of me.
The trees grew denser and the angle sharper. Prickers caught my legs, and I tripped over a log, but I kept climbing up. All I could hear was my own breathing and footsteps. Trees towered over me. My lungs burned and my heart felt like it would burst. I stopped. It looked the same everywhere. Nothing but trees and silence.
He was lost.
I lost him.
The leash was still in my back pocket. “Jack!” I shouted. “Jack!”
A single bark cut through the air. I tramped on the undergrowth, climbing over a steep bank. There stood Jack in a small clearing, his head held high, his chest out, and his legs planted in a stance that looked like he was ready for anything.
I collapsed to my knees, bracing my arms against my thighs. Sweat trickled down my back. My hands and legs were dirty, and blood was smeared on my legs.
Jack trotted over. He licked my face and sniffed around me, tail wagging the whole time. His ears blushed. I pulled him close and hugged him. “Jack, don’t ever run away like that again.” I looked into his eyes. “What were you chasing?” He licked me again. I could hear his heart beat clean and hard as I pressed into him.
I pulled the leash from my pocket. I hesitated for a moment, then snapped it on.
A birch tree stood beside us, its bark hanging off in ripples. I carefully peeled a thin layer; it was crisp and held the curve of the trunk. I wanted to write on it like they did in the old days.
Suddenly Jack lunged at the end of the leash, his nose twitching, his ears erect. Then I heard it—a chuffing sound. Fear prickled my scalp. Jack strained against the leash.
“No, Jack.” My voice came out as a whisper.
I heard it again, then silence. My heart hammered against my chest. I scanned the clearing. Nothing. Tugging on Jack’s leash, I said, “C’mon, Jack, let’s go.”
We sprinted down the mountain, cutting past blueberry bushes, dogwoods, and maples. I remembered the general direction, but Jack seemed to remember every inch we had covered. We came out of the woods at the same spot we entered. My bike lay on the driveway.
A door slammed and Dad stepped out onto the porch. A deep line formed between his eyebrows.
Jack and I raced across the side yard to the porch. “Dad, Dad, there’s a bear up there!”
His eyebrows drew closer together as he jogged down the porch steps. “What?”
“Up in the mountain. Jack chased it!”
“You saw a bear up there?”
“Yeah! We heard it!”
“Wait a second.” Dad shook his head as if to clear it. “You saw a bear, or you heard one?”
“We heard it, and Jack chased it all the way to the top of the mountain.”
He cocked one eyebrow. “You went up the mountain? Alone?”
“I wasn’t alone—Jack was with me.” I stopped. I could see he was deciding if I was in trouble or not.
He looked at my legs and frowned. “You’ve been bleeding.”
“Prickers.”
He crouched and brushed his fingers against my legs. “The bear didn’t do this?”
“No, I told you …”
A little smile played around his mouth. He stood up, leaned against the porch, and crossed his arms. Case closed.
“Dad!”
“What?” Dad shrugged and put on an innocent face.
I crossed my own arms. “You don’t believe me.”
Dad laid his arm across my shoulders and led me onto the porch with Jack. “Listen, kiddo, I believe you heard something, but it could have been anything.” He held open the front door, and Jack and I walked through. “You’re letting your imagination get the best of you. Now get washed up for lunch.”
I frowned and looked away. He was wrong. Something was up there, I was sure of it. Something silent with watchful eyes.
chapter 5
Apparently, I wasn’t safe enough with Jack. Dad hired a lady to come in. “Just a couple of times a week,” he said. “Besides, aren’t you tired of pizza?”
Millie slipped Jack a treat the first time she came over. That alone made me like her, but when she said his eyes were wise and knowing, that clinched it for me.
Today we were taking Jack to the vet’s. I couldn’t wait to find out what kind of dog he was. Going through our encyclopedias, I found all kinds of special breeds, but I didn’t see one dog that looked like Jack. He had to be something extra special.
“Something rare,” I said to Jack, roughing him up a little before I put the books away.
While we waited for Millie, I remembered the birch bark and went upstairs. The bark still held
the curve of the tree trunk when I lifted it from my Pennsylvania shoe box. I grabbed a pencil and, using a book as a table, began to write on the inside of it. The pencil lead poked through the bark, so I ended up writing on real paper and sticking the bark in the envelope.
Dear Scott,
Pennsylvania is boring. I met one kid and one jerk. But the good news is I have a dog now. His name is Jack and he’s a fast runner. Maybe you can visit and meet him.
I got this birch bark off a tree on the mountain I live on. I will try to get some more later.
Your friend,
Joshua
We walked out to the mailbox just as Millie pulled into the driveway.
“You ready?” she called out.
“Yep.” I swung open the door and Jack leaped in, scrabbling his front paws along the dash. He pranced on Millie’s lap, turned his backside to her, and nearly whopped her with his tail.
“Hi, Jack!” Millie said, leaning to avoid getting hit. “One happy dog.”
I laughed. “Sure is.” I realized how lucky we were to get a lady who was not only nice, but who was a dog person as well.
Sitting on top of an exam table wasn’t one of Jack’s favorite things to do. He pedaled his legs and barked, trying to escape. The assistant told Millie and me to hold Jack down while she got the doctor.
“What do we have here?” Dr. Hart asked when he came in. That didn’t sound like the kind of question you actually answer, so I didn’t say anything. He walked around the table without taking his eyes off Jack. “Very unusual dog. Is he … what is he?”
“They didn’t know at the pound,” I said, straining to keep Jack still. “I was hoping you’d know.”
Dr. Hart looked thoughtful. He leaned in and cupped Jack’s head. “Hmm.” He spread Jack’s eyes open, then looked at his teeth. “Hmm.”
“What do you think?” Millie asked.
Dr. Hart crinkled his eyebrows. “I don’t know.” He scratched the back of Jack’s ear. “Good musculature.” He turned to me and smiled. “Bet he’s fast.”
“He’s really fast.”
He looked at Jack. “He resembles a greyhound, but his ears aren’t right, neither is his coloring. See the way his ears and the rims of his eyes are turning red? I’ve never seen that trait before.”
Me & Jack Page 2
