Dog Show Disaster

by Missy Robertson

  There was a silence. Parker had said it all in such a simple way. I knew I should add something, but my brain was fuzzy and my hands were starting to shake. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and then heard Mom finish up the prayer for us.

  “Thank you, Lord, that you know exactly what is going on right now with Mrs. Mellon. Give her peace and comfort. We trust you and love you. Amen.”

  Mom squeezed my shoulder, and I opened my eyes. I immediately dropped Parker’s hand, and then gave Kendall a hug.

  “I hope she’s gonna be okay,” Kendall said.

  “I’m sure she will be.”

  I heard squeaking wheels behind me, so I turned to watch as the EMTs rolled Mrs. Mellon out. She was laying down, had a blanket pulled up to her chest, her right arm extended outside the blanket with an IV stuck in it. EMT number one held a bag, while number two wheeled the gurney. Mr. Langley walked awkwardly next to them, trying to bend down to talk to Mrs. Mellon. I moved as close as I could to hear what he was saying.

  “I called your husband, and he’s going to meet us at the hospital. You’re going to be okay, Christie.”

  Mrs. Mellon didn’t say anything, but she did turn her head to look at us kids.

  “We’re praying for you!” I yelled, and I saw her nod and grin just a little before EMT number two wheeled the gurney into the parking lot. We all just stood there and stared as they opened the back of the ambulance, loaded Mrs. Mellon in, and took off, siren blaring.

  Our school secretary, Mrs. West, came out to the quad to meet Mr. Langley.

  “Daniel, I found a sub, but he can’t get here until after lunch.”

  Mr. Langley nodded. “That’s fine, Sabrina. Let’s just have them go to Megan’s class for right now, and after I get back from the hospital I’ll go get them.”

  This morning was just getting worse. “Megan” was none other than Miss Lewis!

  I turned to my mom.

  “Can you take me out of school so we can go check on Mrs. Mellon in the hospital?”

  Mom frowned.

  “No! You need to be in school.”

  I gave her my very best boo-boo face.

  “Pleeeeease?”

  “NO.”

  Mom never falls for the boo-boo face.

  “Okay, kids.” Mr. Langley gestured toward a classroom door in the far corner of the quad. “Go on over to room 220. I’m going to the hospital, but then I’ll be over to get you.”

  Everyone knew the meaning of this, so everyone trudged to the classroom in the corner. We had been the lucky ones at the beginning of the year—being assigned to Mrs. Mellon’s class instead of Miss Lewis’s.

  But now our luck had run out.

  “I think we need to pray again,” Kendall said.

  I chuckled.

  “And make sure we don’t say, ‘um’.”

  When our group entered the classroom, the murmuring began.

  “What happened?” “Why are they here?” “Is Mrs. Mellon okay?” were some of the statements swirling around the room. One of our custodians, Mr. Jarvis, brought a rolling cart with some folding chairs for us to sit in at the back and sides of the room.

  “What about the year-end project?” Samara—who was a student in Miss Lewis’s class—asked. “We need Mrs. Mellon for that.”

  My stomach jumped up into my throat.

  Surely she’ll be back in a couple of days, right? Maybe she’s dehydrated or having morning sickness, like she did after Christmas break. Right?

  Miss Lewis frowned and snapped her fingers.

  “Okay, now, let’s regain our concentration. It doesn’t matter how many students they shove in here, you still have a math test this afternoon.”

  Miss Lewis’s class directed their attention back to their math books, and the rest of us just stared into space. Hunter turned his head for a moment to look at me with his questioning eyes. He raised a palm up in the air.

  I shrugged, and mouthed, “I don’t know.”

  And then someone nudged me from behind and handed me a note.

  A note? Seriously, people? Do you know whose classroom you’re in?

  My hands shook as I pulled the note over on my lap. I clamped it between my knees while I scanned the room for Miss Lewis’s location.

  She was helping a student at her desk. Wow, that kid was brave to approach.

  I slowly released the note from my legs and tried not to make any noise as I unfolded it.

  The words were scrawled in green ink:

  Madi D is upset that she didn’t get a chance to run for SPM.

  “Madi D” had just been admitted to our school a couple of hours ago. How could she be mad already and have everyone know about it?

  I glanced over to where Madison was sitting—in the front row just diagonal from Miss Lewis’s desk.

  Because she’s a Mad-girl, that’s why.

  I looked back to see who had handed me the note, but no eyes met mine. Instead, everyone’s eyes were glued on something straight ahead.

  I turned. Miss Lewis had left her seat at her desk and was now standing in front of me.

  “Something you’d like to share with the class, Carroway?”

  Gulp.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Miss Lewis reached out with her open hand, and I had no choice but to give up the note. She opened it and read it to herself. Then she turned her head to look over to where Madison was sitting, reading a book.

  Miss Lewis looked back at me, her lips pressed together.

  I tried to keep eye contact, but finally had to drop my head. Miss Lewis stares are intense.

  “Thank you, Miss Carroway. I will take this under advisement.”

  And then she walked away.

  My deodorant failed me at that moment. Too much excitement, drama, chills, and thrills for one morning. Thirty minutes later, Mr. Langley arrived to save the day.

  He walked up to the front of the class, and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead.

  “I have an update on Mrs. Mellon. As you know, she’s pregnant, and well, she’s gone into labor. Please keep her and the baby in your thoughts and prayers.”

  Labor? But she’s not even five months pregnant!

  Mr. Langley continued.

  “Mrs. Mellon’s class, can you please line up at the door? We’ll be returning to room 217 now.”

  The buzz began again, with comments like “Is she having the baby today?” “Can they stop the labor?” and “Who’s gonna be our sub?”

  My headache began at that moment. It was a dull ache, at the base of my skull.

  It would last for the next two months.

  CHAPTER 9

  Landslide

  Mr. Langley did his best to entertain us for the next two hours. He finished reading the short story Mrs. Mellon had been reading when she fell off her stool, then he performed some of his famous magic tricks, and showed a National Geographic movie about alligators.

  The narrator’s monotone voice droned on . . .

  Alligators are the bullies of the bayou. Their approach, slow and crafty, their attack swift and deadly. Many naïve victims have been trapped in the mighty jaws and have been dragged to the depths, never to be seen again. Wise visitors to the bayou who wish to survive will keep their eyes wide open whenever they are in gator territory.

  Goosebumps rose on my arms and spread to my torso as I remembered Mamaw’s warning about Madison: Pray, but keep your eyes wide open. That girl’s got a chip on her shoulder the size of Louisiana.

  I shifted in my chair and glanced up at the wall clock. Three minutes until lunch, and the election for Student Project Manager.

  And for some reason, I was nervous.

  But not that I would lose. That I might win.

  The bell rang for lunch. I reached for my backpack and shot out the door, eager to join Kendall, Ruby, Lola, and Hunter at our usual round table in the middle of the covered quad, located right outside our classroom doors.

  Jared Strickland and our Stud
ent Body Vice-President, Paige Wright, sat at a rectangular table near the front of the quad, ready to check off names and hand out ballots. My cousins and I stared at their backs as we dug into our lunch sacks.

  “I think everyone in the school is going to vote for you,” Hunter said. “Did you see how they clapped for T-Rex?”

  “Your speech was awesome, Allie.” Lola opened her pink paisley backpack—that happened to match her scarf—and pulled out a fruit cup. “I’m sure we’ll raise a record amount of money for the animal shelter.”

  I unwrapped my sandwich, but couldn’t take even one bite.

  “Allie, is something wrong?” Ruby, who was sitting next to me, reached over and put her hand on my wrist. “You look a little pale.”

  My cousins are always checking my face shade. When my allergies attack, I tend to lose color from my cheeks, and sometimes my freckles turn from light brown to pale peach in a matter of seconds.

  I tried to take a deep breath, but it was difficult. I ran through the possible reasons why in my head:

  Did you just eat a peanut? No.

  Are you sitting in a moldy swamp? No.

  I checked my surroundings, but nothing appeared to be a threat. There were just a bunch of middle-school kids eating, goofing around, laughing, and talking. But . . . wait a minute. There was one cause for alarm.

  Madison Doonsberry sat next to her brother and some of the kids in Miss Lewis’s class, just two tables away. And she was glaring at me.

  With the heavy feeling still in my chest, I stood and walked over to the Mad-girl. Might as well meet the problem head on.

  “Hey, Madison,” I sort of wheezed that out. “Welcome to OMS.”

  Madison didn’t look up, but instead focused on her school lunch and stirred her fish stick around in tartar sauce.

  “Thanks.” She grinned at the people at her table. “Are you here to ask for my vote?”

  She finally looked up at me, and flipped her hair behind her shoulder.

  “No. I came over to . . .”

  “Because I already decided that I’m voting for you.”

  “Huh?”

  I’m sure my freckles turned peach at that moment.

  “I said, I’m voting for you. I mean, I know you can’t control your own dog, but it’s a great idea to have a dog show. I’m sure if I ask my daddy he’ll be willing to contribute lots of time and money to help make it a success.”

  “Did you know Madison’s dad is the guy on Lunker Law?” Joey Sanger, another kid I’ve known since kindergarten, sat next to Parker, looking star-struck.

  Madison cocked her head. “Well, he’s Parker’s daddy too.”

  “I love that show!” Kyra Barker, one of my favorite friends from the cheer squad, sat next to Madison with stars in her eyes too. Great.

  Kyra shrugged. “I just love fishing.” She must have seen my shocked expression, because she followed her comment up with, “But don’t worry, Allie, my family records your show and we still watch it together if we have time.”

  If we have time.

  “Madison,” Joey said, “do you think you could get your dad to bring his cool fishing boat with all the gadgets to the carnival and take pictures with us kids?”

  Madison was all charm now. “Oh, yes, I know he’ll come. Plus, I have some other ideas to bring in some money . . .”

  It sounded to me like Madison was the one campaigning.

  “Well, let’s go vote, shall we?” Madison rose, and stepped backwards over the bench to stand next to me. Then she called out to the crowd.

  “Allie Carroway for Student Project Manager! A vote for Allie is a vote for all the adorable dogs of West Monroe.”

  At her request, several kids moved from their lunch tables toward the ballot box. Samara James walked past me and patted me on the shoulder. A bunch of my friends gathered around Madison, who was in the middle of the line that was now forming by the voting table. Soon, the only kids still eating were my cousins at the middle table, and Parker Doonsberry, who I now felt I should talk to.

  I sat down across the round table from where he was munching on a pickle.

  “So, Parker, how’s your day going? In case you’re wondering, we don’t usually have an assembly, a visit from emergency services, spontaneous prayer on the quad, and an election all in one day.”

  Parker grinned, took a napkin, and wiped pickle juice from his chin. “It’s been good so far, but I hope Mrs. Mellon’s okay.”

  That reminded me that Parker had been the one to pray earlier.

  “Hey, Parker.” I cleared my throat. “Are you a Christian?”

  Parker nodded. “Not for very long though. My dad started taking us to church a couple of years ago. A few months later I accepted Jesus as my savior.”

  There was an awkward silence. I really, really, really wanted to ask if Madison had done the same thing.

  I glanced over to the voting line. Madison was up to bat, and she took a pen, marked a paper, folded it, and looked up to meet my glance. She nodded, smiled (or maybe it was a smirk), and she dropped it in the box.

  “Hmmmm, that’s weird.” I meant to just think that, but instead it came out so Parker could hear.

  “I agree,” he said. And then he packed up his things and went to go join the line.

  The afternoon dragged on for me, even though I had choir after lunch, and then when I returned to homeroom for math, one of my favorite subs, Mr. Vicker, was there. He’s a black belt in Tae Kwan Do, but you would never know by his calm demeanor. Last time he came, he brought some boards, and when we became frustrated with a math problem, he showed us how to yell and kick and break the boards in half. Students refer to him as Vicker the Kicker.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your teacher,” Mr. Vicker said. “Since it’s been a rough day for everyone, I’m going to let you have free time today—just read or work on homework quietly at your desks.”

  Most of the class seemed relieved by that, but I needed something to occupy my mind so I could stop trying to figure out Madison Doonsberry and her sneaky ways. I pulled out my Bible and tried to read a whole chapter of Psalms, but I just kept reading the same line over and over:

  Don’t worry about the wicked, or envy those who do wrong. For like grass, they will soon fade away. Like spring flowers they soon wither.

  PSALM 37:1 (NLT)

  Reading that made me worry more! Was Madison trying to do me wrong? And if so, why? What did I ever do to her (besides lose track of Hazel Mae a couple of times)?

  Finally, the clock reached 3:15, and a crackly Jared voice came over the loudspeaker. “Fellow OMS students, we have the results of today’s election . . .”

  The headache at the base of my neck pounded, my chest felt like a brick lay on it, and my fingers became all tingly.

  Really? I’m going to have an asthma attack right now?

  I opened my backpack and pulled out my little pink wrist pack that holds my Epi-pen and inhaler. I pulled off the cap, blew out, and then put the inhaler to my mouth.

  Jared continued, “We’d like to thank all our candidates for putting themselves out there and sharing some great ideas. Those who were not elected are automatically appointed to the steering committee, and we are confident that all who serve will do a great job.”

  I pushed the button on the inhaler and I breathed in, the propellant carrying the much-needed medicine to my airways.

  “And now for our winner . . .”

  I took another puff.

  “By the way, this year’s Student Project Manager won by a landslide, capturing the heart of this school with her idea. If you see her, please congratulate our new Student Project Manager—Allie Carroway!”

  My class applauded as I took another puff.

  The last time I took three puffs on my inhaler was . . . never.

  CHAPTER 10

  And Now . . . the Bad News

  I could hear clapping and whistling coming from other classrooms through our thin walls.

  “C
ongratulations, Allie,” Mr. Vicker said. “I would be happy to contribute monetarily to the event, and I would love to bring my Tae Kwan Do students to do a demonstration if you would like.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I sat up straight and tried to force air down my throat by yawning. Three minutes till the bell rang. Hopefully a change of atmosphere would wake my lungs up.

  But Jared wasn’t done with his announcements.

  “Allie Carroway, Ronnie Alexander, and Samara James, please meet in the library tomorrow at lunch for your first Canine Carnival Steering Committee meeting.”

  Then Jared cleared his throat. “And now, please listen carefully for an important message from Mr. Langley.”

  I held my breath.

  “Good afternoon, students. Many of you know that Mrs. Mellon was taken by ambulance to the hospital this morning. I want to thank all the students and staff for their cooperation during that emergency. I am always proud of the way OMS Eagles handle challenges we face every day. I have an update for you . . .”

  I blew out, and my neck began to sweat.

  “Mrs. Mellon gave birth to a baby girl today at 2:41. As you know, she was not due to deliver until August, so this baby is a tiny preemie. Bethany Elaine Mellon weighed in at one pound, four ounces. She is in the Neonatal ICU ward at West Monroe Regional Hospital. Please keep little Bethany in your thoughts and prayers.”

  The room was dead still. Mr. Vicker rubbed the back of his neck, and it looked like he was trying to form words. The bell rang, but nobody moved.

  “Is the baby gonna survive?” Kendall finally asked what we all wanted to know.

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Vicker said. “But we have an outstanding medical staff at our hospital, and we have a great God, so there’s all kinds of hope.”

  I flew to the door and was the first one out. Though my breathing was still labored, I ran as fast as I could to the large grassy area behind the school—the place where we usually hold the year-end carnival. I threw my backpack down and lay on my back. As soon as I did, dark clouds appeared out of nowhere, blocking the bright Louisiana sun.