Eleven

by Tom Rogers

  He grinned, hoping he could get a smile out of her.

  She shook her head. “We talked about this. A dog is a big responsibility. And you have to show us you can handle that kind of responsibility.”

  “Responsibility? Are you kidding me? I can land an F/A-18 Hornet on an aircraft carrier in a rolling sea! If you can trust me with a 30 million dollar airplane, I think you can trust me with a dog.”

  His Mom didn’t laugh.

  “Mom! You promised. What do I have to do?”

  “Your homework.”

  Then she turned and headed into the kitchen.

  Alex stared after her, a sick feeling growing in his stomach.

  Maybe he wasn’t getting a dog after all.

  When his mom called him to dinner, Alex headed downstairs. He’d finished his homework, which was pretty easy (some long division and fractions and a chapter on the American Revolution with only four study questions). But even though nothing put him in a good mood faster than easy homework, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his plans for the Greatest Birthday Ever were falling apart like a bad game of Jenga.

  He drifted into the living room, scuffing his feet along the carpet, headed for the worn Barcalounger next to the old gray sofa in front of the TV. As usual, he took the shortcut, stepping from arm to arm of the lounge chair and then vaulting over the back of the sofa. As he landed, he froze. He turned back, staring at the worn lounge chair. His dad’s chair. Then it came to him, the way to get around his mom:

  Talk to Dad.

  Nunu and their mother were already sitting when Alex came in. He grabbed the back of his chair and dragged it out from under the table, like he’d been told a thousand times not to, but never remembered. The legs made a loud, honking noise as they scraped across the linoleum. His mother shot him a look. Uh-oh, he thought. Don’t jinx it. He stopped with the chair halfway out, then tried to squeeze noiselessly into his seat. The table shook; milk splashed out of Nunu’s glass. Rats.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  His mom dabbed up the spill. “Drink your milk, honey,” she said to Nunu.

  Dinner was hot dogs, macaroni and cheese, and carrots. His mom had made his favorite meal (except for the carrots). This was a good sign.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Nunu asked.

  “They gave him an extra run, so he’ll be home a little late.”

  Another good sign. It gave him more time to plan his charm offensive.

  Alex could feel his mom watching him. He was still sort of mad at her and didn’t want to look her in the eye, but he knew he’d better straighten up and fly right if he had any chance of saving the Greatest Birthday Ever. He took a huge bite of hot dog and turned to his mom with a big smile.

  “Grrrt httt dgggg, Mmm.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she said. But then she smiled.

  Alex could feel the tide turning in his favor.

  An hour later, Alex was sitting up in bed, English book propped in his lap and a brand new plan taking shape in his brain. Plan A was to talk to his dad. But Alex figured you can never be too safe, so when he came back up to his room, he made a back-up deal with the universe: if I stop thinking about dogs and do my homework, then I’ll be rewarded with a dog.

  Alex was always making deals with the universe. In the morning: “If I actually brush my teeth instead of just waving the brush around like a light saber, then Mom will have pancakes on the table.” In fifth period: “If I don’t look at the clock for five minutes, class will end early.” Once in a while, it worked (“If I sit perfectly still, Jordan won’t see me”), and that was all Alex needed to make him believe.

  But even with Plan A in place and Plan B as backup, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t going to end well.

  Deep down, he knew what was really bugging him and why he was in such an up-and-down mood. His mother was right: it was his own fault he wasn’t getting a dog. They’d made a straightforward deal, just like the ones he made with the universe: improve your grades, and you can have a dog. But he’d dropped the ball, and now he had nobody to blame but himself, which made it even worse, like when you stub your toe and you want to scream and yell at someone but you can’t, because that someone is you.

  So here he was, on the eve of his birthday, trying not to think about dogs.

  He’d been staring at the same page for five minutes before he realized that the words were just a blur and that his mind had wandered back to dogs. He shook his head and tried to focus. But the harder he tried, the more he thought about dogs. It was impossible not to think of dogs, and it was driving him crazy.

  “Daddy!” Nunu’s happy voice penetrated the thin walls.

  “C’mere, monkey!” boomed his father.

  Alex sat up straight with his English book and forced a studious look onto his face. They’d see he’d changed. They’d see he deserved a dog after all.

  They’d see right through him in a second.

  Who was he kidding? It was too little, too late. His mood came crashing down again as he shoved the book aside, turned off the light, and rolled over to face the wall, feeling sorry for himself. Maybe they’d feel sorry for him, too.

  Lying in darkness, his back to the room, he pricked up his ears as the door opened with a click. A sliver of light spilled in from the hallway.

  “Shhh. Looks like he’s asleep.” His father’s voice.

  “No, he’s not. He’s faking it,” said Nunu, riding on their father’s shoulders.

  Alex clamped his eyes shut. He didn’t need to see to know what was going on. It was the same routine every night. The pink sheets rustled as his father lowered Nunu into her bed.

  “Sing ‘No Deer’ Daddy.”

  Alex groaned and rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head. “I hate that stupid song,” came his muffled voice.

  “He sure is a Grumpy Gus,” said their father.

  “Grumpy Alex,” Nunu replied.

  Their father stroked Nunu’s hair and began to sing.

  Alex tried to drown them out, but either the pillow wasn’t thick enough, or he knew the routine too well.

  “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

  “You make me happy, when skies are gray.

  “You’ll never—”

  “No Deer!” He knew it was coming, but Alex still winced as Nunu sang out her favorite line, just like she did every single solitary stupid night. As usual, she messed up the words. Most of the time, he didn’t notice it anymore. But now it bugged him. Why does she get to mess up every night, and I don’t? Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t the same thing, but it was the best he could do on short notice.

  “How much I love you.

  “Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

  Nunu snuggled down into her comforter. Alex heard her breathing slow as their dad stroked her hair and she gradually drifted off to sleep.

  The bed creaked as his dad sat down beside him. For a long time, his father said nothing. Peering through the crack under his pillow, Alex could see bits and pieces of his father: the heel of his left shoe, worn down so far it curved underneath; the light from the hallway reflecting off a shiny spot on his pants knee, where the crease in the fabric just seemed to disappear; two loose threads standing straight up off the cuff of his stark white shirt.

  Alex felt his father’s hand land gently on his shoulder.

  “Tower to A-Dawg. Come in, A-Dawg.”

  A-Dawg maintained radio silence.

  “Mom told me you two went ’round and ’round. Everything okay at school?”

  Under the pillow, Alex rolled his eyes. “Who cares about school?”

  “School’s important—”

  “It’s not school. School’s fine.”

  “Is this about the dog?”

  Alex felt a flicker of hope. His dad knew how much this meant to him. He held his breath and waited, afraid to say anything that might wreck his chances.

  His dad gently tugged the pillow down.<
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  “Why do you want a dog so badly?”

  A thousand answers popped into Alex’s head. He shrugged.

  “You had a dog when you were growing up.”

  His dad smiled. Good, thought Alex.

  “Yeah. Rufus.”

  “What kind was he?”

  “More like, what kind wasn’t he. Not much to look at, but he was a great dog.”

  “I bet.”

  “He used to sit in the front window every day with a stick in his mouth and wait for me to come home from school to play fetch.”

  “Wow.”

  They smiled together.

  “How old were you when you got him?” Alex asked.

  His dad looked him in the eye. “Old enough to take care of him.”

  Alex collapsed inside.

  “I can take care of a dog.”

  “Your dog has to be able to count on you.”

  “I know.”

  “Taking care of a dog is a big responsibility.”

  Alex felt a surge of panic. It was all slipping away.

  “I AM responsible. I’m gonna be eleven. Way into double digits.”

  “It’s not just about age, Alex. It’s about acting more grown up.”

  Alex shot straight up. “I AM ACTING LIKE A GROWN UP!”

  Then he flopped down and yanked the pillow back over his head.

  His dad tried to pat him on the shoulder, but Alex jerked away and rolled over to face the wall. His dad exhaled heavily, then rubbed his eyes and stood.

  “If you loved me, you’d get me a dog,” said Alex.

  His father paused at the door, his hand resting on the handle.

  “I do love you, Alex.”

  His dad waited. The silence seemed to stretch on endlessly.

  “I hate you,” came the quiet reply from the bed.

  Then Alex heard the door click shut.

  CHAPTER 3

  Man in the Mirror

  Tuesday. 7:02 a.m.

  When Alex woke up the next morning, he was eleven.

  Simple as that.

  He rolled out of bed and hustled down the hall to the bathroom. He was in a hurry not only because he had to pee like a race horse, but also because he was dying to get to the mirror and see if he looked any older.

  Alex gazed at his reflection for a very long time.

  Yup. Definitely older. Probably start shaving soon, he thought.

  Like Dad.

  Alex remembered what he’d said to his father last night. He replayed it in his head, trying to convince himself that he’d said it so quietly, under his breath, that maybe his dad hadn’t heard.

  He shook it off, trying to get the good feeling back. In the bright light of a new day, his mom and dad’s resistance to getting a dog made perfect sense: it had to be a trick to throw him off the scent. Of COURSE they would pretend he wasn’t getting a dog; otherwise, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

  Back in his room, Alex quickly tugged on pants and a shirt, suddenly anxious to get out there. He moved so fast that he yanked the shirt on backwards, the tag in front, and had to pull his arms in and twist it around to get it on straight. He jammed on his Heelys and sped down the hall, pulling up cautiously outside the kitchen. After last night’s blow up, he had his radar on, checking for signs. Then he noticed the smell of pancakes. His favorite. Mom cooked his favorite dinner last night and his favorite breakfast today. Would she really do that if she were trying to punish him–or deny him his one birthday wish?

  Alex breezed into the kitchen on his Heelys, arms out wide like airplane wings. He spun to a stop, flopped into his chair, and guzzled his o.j., draining the glass in three gulps. His mom stood at the sink washing dishes, half-watching the morning show on a tiny TV propped on the counter. His father’s chair was pushed in, his plate gone.

  “Where’s Dad?” he asked, banging the empty juice glass down.

  “Good morning to you, too,” she answered. There was a smile in her voice. A good sign.

  He grinned. “Morning, Mom. Where’s Dad?”

  “He had the early run today.”

  Alex sank a little. He’d been hoping to get a read on his dad this morning.

  “Hey. How’d I do?”

  His mom stood beside him holding a huge chocolate cake on a tray. Chocolate fudge icing covered the entire cake, with a ribbon of chocolate icing around the edge. “Tower to A-Dawg: Happy Birthday!!!” was written in green on top. There was even an icing airplane flying across the cake.

  “Whoa,” said Alex.

  She smiled and kissed him on the head. “Happy birthday, Sweetie.”

  “Mom, don’t call me Sweetie!” he laughed. But he didn’t really mind.

  “I’m your mother, so I get to call you whatever I want. Sweetie.”

  He reached out with his finger to swipe at the icing. But she was too quick.

  “Ah-ah! This is for tonight.” She pointed to a bakery box full of cupcakes, one for everybody in his homeroom. “Those are for school.”

  “Awesome.”

  Nunu stumbled into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed, and flopped into her chair. As she drank her orange juice, she noticed the cake.

  “Happy birthday, Alex,” she mumbled, her voice echoing inside her juice glass.

  Alex’s mom slid a plate of steaming hot pancakes in front of him. As he drowned them in butter and syrup, he decided that last night had just been a hitch. His parents were trying to surprise him, he’d pushed too hard, and he’d somehow gotten into a stupid fight with his dad. But now everything seemed to be okay.

  The Greatest Birthday Ever was back on track.

  “Alex, you’re going to miss the bus!”

  His mom gave the school bus driver an apologetic wave. The driver, a sour-faced woman named Mary Jo, responded by honking again. Alex finally appeared at the door, hoisting his enormous backpack on with a grunt. His mom handed him the bakery box full of cupcakes.

  “Now look. No eating these on the bus. These are for your party in homeroom at lunch. Got it?”

  “Of course, Mom,” he answered with excessive politeness. “I would never do something so immature.”

  “Okay.”

  “I will take responsibility for these cupcakes. Now that I’m eleven, I can handle that kind of responsibility. If there’s one thing I am, it’s responsible.”

  “Don’t go there, Alex.”

  “I’m even responsible enough to take care of a dog.”

  “You’re definitely persistent.”

  “That’s like responsible, right?”

  “You’ll miss your bus.”

  She’s taking this game pretty far, he thought to himself.

  Then he noticed she wasn’t looking at him. She was avoiding eye contact. And nothing about her expression looked like she was playing a game.

  All of his confidence evaporated. They weren’t playing games. They weren’t stringing him along, holding off a big surprise.

  They really weren’t going to get him a dog.

  CHAPTER 4

  You Smell Like a Monkey

  8:05 a.m.

  “So what do you want for your birthday?” asked Kwan.

  “Fly jets. Get a dog,” answered two voices in unison.

  Alex looked over as Doug said the words along with him.

  “Same as always.” Doug busted him.

  “You’re totally bogus, same as always,” Alex laughed.

  Alex was twisted around in his school bus seat, talking to his two best friends in the row behind him. Kwan was tall and skinny, with big ears that stuck out like handles from his smallish head, which sat atop a neck like a giraffe’s; his straight black hair was cut short, so it stood up on top in a tuft of bristles, adding to the impression he ate his meals out of a basket on a pole.

  Doug got the triple whammy: glasses, braces, pimples.

  “Anyway, kids can’t fly jets,” said Kwan.

  “Says who?” Alex shot back.

  “Says the whole world.”

  “
I can land an FA-18 Hornet—”

  “—on the back of an aircraft carrier in thirty-foot seas,” Kwan and Doug said in unison. They’d heard it a thousand times.

  “News flash: it’s a video game,” said Doug.

  “News flash: you’re still bogus,” Alex replied.

  “DOUGLAS! TURN AROUND!”

  Doug and Alex both snapped their heads up—Doug because his full name was Douglas (which nobody called him except when he was in trouble), and Alex because that was his last name. Mary Jo, the world’s angriest bus driver, glared at Alex in the rearview mirror. Doug let out a sigh of relief when he realized she wasn’t talking to him.

  “Alex Douglas, turn around and SIT DOWN,” she repeated.

  Alex felt his ears go red as he sat down and faced forward. All the other kids on the bus were facing backwards, staring at him. Why didn’t she tell them to turn around?

  Some birthday, he thought.

  The yellow bus rumbled through a tumbledown section of town, an industrial no-man’s-land of railroad tracks, warehouses, and empty factories with broken windows and rusted steel roofs. The bus didn’t stop here, because no kids lived here.

  The sound of the tires changed to a high-pitched hum as the bus crossed a tall bridge that soared over a rail yard and a narrow river. Alex turned to look out the window. From the highest point of the bridge, he could see over the rooftops of Jersey City, all the way to the tall towers of the Manhattan skyline, poking up like the teeth of a comb in the distance.

  Alex loved that view. And he loved thinking about his dad, somewhere out there under the Hudson River, driving his PATH train to the World Trade Center.

  The bus descended the other side of the bridge. Manhattan disappeared for good.

  “Yo, A-Dawg. Check it out.” It was Kwan, behind him.

  Alex glanced up to see if Mary Jo was looking, but her eyes were on the traffic. The brakes squealed as she pulled over to pick up more kids. Alex turned sideways in his seat. Kwan held up his Gameboy.

  “I broke 8 million.”

  “Dude.” Alex and Kwan slid palms in an elaborate high-five: up, down, side-to-side, then a bump-bump to finish.