by Gary Paulsen
Atticus stops dead, blinks, and—I swear—chuckles, heh heh heh. His tail slowly wags and his ears go back as he sniffs the puppy from head to tail. Once he’s found Puck acceptable from a smell point of view, he puts his nose in the puppy’s ear and snuffles. Atticus-speak for “You’ll do.”
Conor has been watching intently. Now he launches himself at Atticus and Puck. He trips, of course, and knocks Puck over. Atticus forgets his dignity, sticks his butt in the air, tail wagging crazily, and barks as the two pups roll around, whining and yipping.
“This really and truly is the best day ever,” Jacob says. We all grin and nod; he’s right.
Dad starts to fill out the adoption paperwork while Jacob picks out a red leash and the lady helps Brig make a name tag. Charlotte and I read the ingredients on bags of puppy food and Puck gives some chew toys a test run. Brig hands me an ID tag: BEN’S BORDER COLLIE.
The lady takes our picture for her Web page. I keep an eye on Atticus while we’re posing. He remembers Jacob’s advice about his good side and leans forward with his right cheek.
Puck follows Atticus with his eyes; he knows Atticus is top dog. He yips at Conor and snaps at his back legs to keep him in line. Conor doesn’t trip as much.
Dad and I take Atticus and Conor and Puck to the field behind the rescue building to play Frisbee before heading home.
Brig and Jacob are in a pen, covered in puppies. Charlotte, of course, has her tablet out. “I’m pairing the rescue people with local schoolkids who need volunteer hours.” She gets cuter every time she has another great idea.
—
All three guys run off, about twenty-five yards, then turn and face us, dropping their chests to the ground, butts in the air, waiting. Dad flicks the disk in the air; Conor springs up and runs in the wrong direction, happy to bound in circles, barking. Puck sticks close to Atticus, who never takes his eyes off the Frisbee, waiting until the last possible moment to spring into action. He hurtles skyward, snatches the disk out of the air with his teeth, and runs back toward us as soon as his paws hit the ground, the puppy in his wake.
Atticus has never once handed me a ball or a Frisbee. He drops it three or four feet in front of me and then turns and runs as fast as he can to his waiting spot before I can pick it up and throw. No matter how many times you tell him “Bring it here” and hold out your hand, he won’t do it. Dad says that we don’t make the rules. It’s Atticus’s world; we just live here.
But Puck barks at Atticus when he does this and Atticus slinks over, picks up the Frisbee, and, for the first time in my life, hands it to me. Then, sulking, he lies down and pretends to nap while Puck and Conor race each other for the Frisbee and keep bringing it back to us. Dad and I flop on either side of Atticus and wait for the puppies to retrieve the Frisbee.
“So,” Dad finally says.
“So.” Here we go. The Talk.
“Your mother found us a house.”
“She did? That’s great.” We won’t have to kick Brig out of the van so we can sleep there. Whew.
“From the pictures she sent, I can see that it needs to be completely gutted.”
“A lot of work?”
“Yup, it’ll be a horrible living situation for a while.”
“Good thing we’re already used to that.”
“You know it.” He smiles.
“Why’d she buy a house in that condition, though? We need a break.”
“To show me what it’s like when someone makes life-altering family decisions without consulting the family. Kind of like what you did trying out for the hockey academy.”
“Oh.” I glance at him, afraid he’ll look mad, but he smiles again.
“I get it now. How the two of you must have felt every time I made another big decision without talking to you first.”
“It’s a crummy feeling. On both sides. I know that now.” I’m not going to have any jeans left by the end of this trip if I don’t stop picking holes in them when I’m uncomfortable.
“We probably need to instigate a family policy so that doesn’t happen again.” Dad pats my shoulder. “You know, let’s talk things over. I hear that works for some people.”
“That’d be good.”
Dad looks off. “Ben, I was wrong to decide not to let you go to the hockey academy the way I did, but I still don’t think the decision itself was wrong.”
“So the academy is really off the table? There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”
“The thing is—you’ll be leaving home in four years anyway. And the academy is just getting started. And I know that any start-up has a lot of bugs to work out. I don’t want them working them out on you. Meanwhile, you’ll still play hockey. And high school in town could be great.” He nods toward Charlotte on her tablet.
I’m surprised I’m not more bummed. I didn’t think anything could mean more to me than hockey. Turns out there’s more to life than what happens on the rink.
“Hey, Ben?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“The other reason Mom bought the house is that it’s a block away from the rink.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Mom says you can see the Zamboni snow pile from your bedroom window.”
“That’s epic.” The worst hassle about two-a-day practices and all those games has been trying to get rides; this is going to make my life amazing. I’ll be able to walk over whenever I want, put in as much extra practice time as the rink has to give me. I’m still on the best travel team. I can go to school with Charlotte and I don’t have to leave Puck. Or Atticus and Conor. And Dad and I are talking again.
Dad’s not done. “…and I can’t say anything until Mom calls back, but trust me; she’s working on another plan you’re going to like, one we’ve been talking about for nearly a year now.”
“Mom has a plan?”
“Yeah. How Duffy of her, right?”
“I hope she’s better at executing plans than you and I are.”
“So do I, Son; so do I.”
Atticus: Another…puppy.
Conor: I GOT A PUPPY!!!!!
Puck: I got my boy. And a pack.
The Other Rescue
Atticus and Conor are trying to nudge Puck away from me in the backseat as we head home, Brig at the wheel. They think he belongs to them. But he barks, they back off, and he settles on my lap. I’d expect him to fall asleep—that’s what puppies usually do—but he’s keeping an eye on everyone in the van. He. Is. Awesome.
I suddenly realize I’m not obsessing about hockey. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t stressing about injuries or running plays in my head or hoping my stick holds together for another game or plotting my next career move. It’s kind of…relaxing. I’m enjoying the peace of mind, and I’m kind of dizzy because the sun lights up the little baby hairs near Charlotte’s temple. “Things don’t get better than this.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but a warm puppy on your lap is like truth serum.
“Brace yourself, Ben.” Dad looks up from his phone.
“Huh?”
“Things are about to get better. Way better.”
Brig high-fives him in the passenger seat. Jacob and Charlotte look back and grin. Everyone’s in on something. Of course, I’ve been zoning out with the puppy, lost in my new Zen state, so it’s possible they’ve been talking since we got in the van and I didn’t hear a word.
“Ever since last summer, when I had to let you down about going to hockey camp, Mom and I have been working with your coach to pull together a summer training camp at our rink. Here.” He hands me his phone so I can read what’s on his screen.
My head almost explodes as I take it in.
“Twelve weeks of intensive training.” I look up. “Real live NHL training staff and even a few retired pros!”
“You sound happy.” Dad smiles.
“It’s only twenty times better than the hockey camp I missed.”
“I told you I’d make it up to you. I just needed
a little time.”
“I didn’t think you and Mom cared about hockey or realized how good I am.”
“We always knew. And I could see that you were one of the standouts in the scrimmage yesterday.”
“You saw? I thought you stayed in the van. Actually…I freaked out that you might have left me there because of what a creep I’d been.”
“I saw every second. A blur most of the time, but I knew: you were the one with the puck.”
“We were way up high in the bleachers,” Charlotte says. Charlotte saw me on the ice, too. If she didn’t know about hockey before, I’m sure she’s studied up on it since then and gets how killer I am on the ice. I hope.
“Way up high where the heat vents are.” Jacob shivers.
“We sent Mom a video, so she saw, too.” Brig waves his phone at me.
Mom, he called her. I take a moment to think about that. I don’t feel jealous, so I tell him, “When I turn pro, I’ll make sure you can get house tickets to every game. At cost.”
“Frozen butts forever!” Brig yells.
Conor has to pee, so we stop at a rest area. Charlotte, Jacob, and I buy bottles of water; Brig chooses flaming hot corn chips, sour gummies, and malted milk balls.
The three of us exchange a look. Charlotte speaks for us: “I haven’t wanted to be rude, but I have to ask—how can you stomach that crap you eat?”
“ ’Cause I’d be hurling,” Jacob tells him. “You’ve downed some pretty gross combos.”
“I was always hungry growing up,” Brig says. “Never enough food. Soda crackers and oatmeal, mostly, maybe some stuff in dented cans, whatever Mom could afford, whatever my dad didn’t eat first.”
Wow. Charlotte, Jacob, and I look at each other sadly.
Brig’s eyes go dark and I get why he’s so nuts about Dad, why he’s always munching.
“Well, our dad doesn’t roll like that,” I tell him. “He always has our best interests at heart.” Was it just two days ago he told me that and I rolled my eyes?
“He got some bad news before we left,” Brig says. “He has to have the Calhoun place drywalled by Tuesday or the electricians won’t be available. He’s been trying to scramble a crew the past two days, but no one’s available on such short notice.”
Dad taught me how to put up drywall last summer. It’s not hard once you know what you’re doing.
“Even if we had five guys, we might not make it in time,” Brig says.
“How about if you had twenty guys?”
“We could knock up those walls in a day or two if they were hard workers.”
“They are.” I rub my hands together like a cartoon character hatching an evil plot. “I need you to drive us somewhere without telling Dad, okay?”
Brig looks startled, but when I give him the address, he smiles and relaxes. “I’m in.”
I hold my phone out so Charlotte and Jacob can see the text I’m starting to write, and they grin. “We’re in, too,” Charlotte says.
We climb back into the van. Brig drives and eats, and Dad dozes off with the guys. Charlotte, Jacob, and I send texts all the way home.
Except we head for the Calhoun place.
My hockey team and Mom are standing on the sidewalk.
Dad looks up with a start. “What?”
“Let’s get to work,” I tell him. “The guys are here to get the drywalling done pronto.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“It’s the least we can do; you set up hockey camp.”
“And student government volunteers will be here soon to help paint and haul trash,” Charlotte says.
“And when you’re ready, the drama club and my track team are going to help you pack and move from the old house to the new one.” Jacob high-fives Mom.
“Even though we’re done with the field trip, the field trip’s not done with us,” Charlotte says. “We are on fire!”
“It’s like I wrote in my field trip proposal”—Jacob grins—“ ‘Planning for appropriate follow-up activities is essential and will facilitate student learning and multiply the value of hands-on experiences outside the classroom.’ ”
“You nailed it,” I tell him.
After Mom hugs us all and shows Dad and me pictures of the new place—and Dad groans at all the work—she straps on her safety goggles and heads to the basement to start pounding drywall into place next to us.
“This might be the best trip we’ve ever taken, Ben.” Dad and I watch my defensive line turn bare studs into walls. They work so fast it feels like we’re in the middle of a time-lapse video.
“Like you say, everything always works out in the end. You always forget to mention the messy middle part, though.”
“I don’t forget. I’m smart enough not to talk about it because I’m waiting for the good part.”
He can stop waiting; it’s here.
Atticus: No one but me knows. Perfect.
That was probably my last road trip.
It’s getting hard to keep up with the puppy and the new guy. My people haven’t noticed that I move slower and my eyes are cloudy and, even though I pretend I’m just not listening, I can’t hear as well. Pretty soon they’ll start to compare me to the puppy and the new guy and it’ll be obvious.
Even so, I like the new guy. He’s more my style.
He’s doing a good job with the old puppy. I knew it was a two-man job to train that one, but now I have help and everything’s going to be fine. My boy says everyone needs a little assist once in a while. Even me.
It’ll all work out.
Conor: I’m glad no one but me knows. Perfect.
Atticus is getting old.
He thinks I don’t know that or how to do my job. I act goofy and clueless so I won’t hurt his feelings and make him feel useless. I pretended I didn’t see how hard it was for Atticus to jump up and down out of the van and to keep up with us.
Atticus would hate it if he knew I noticed anything. I can play along. I don’t mind if he thinks I’m a goof.
I love the new guy.
He’ll be a big help. Atticus is a two-man job, and we need to make sure he always feels like he’s in charge.
I know it’ll all work out.
Puck: I’m glad they don’t know I know.
The old guy needs to see that I’ve got things under control. The other guy needs to think he’s running the show. I know where I fit in and what my job is.
And I know that it’ll all work out.
The Time After
We’re having a last-day-of-summer barbecue this afternoon. At the new house. Or the uninhabitable money-sucking drain, as Dad calls it.
Dad complains, but he’s having a blast. With help from the hockey team, and Charlotte and Jacob’s teammates and drama buddies, we’re making great progress on our house. And we brought the Calhoun place in ahead of schedule and under budget; now Dad can pay everyone to work for him. He says they’re the best crew he’s ever worked with and he’ll be sad when school starts.
Mom quit her old job and works full time for Duffy and Family. We changed the name of the company, since Mom’s better at negotiating contracts and managing the crew. She’s also pretty good at swinging a hammer; she’s pitched in a few times when she thought people were slacking off.
Brig’s not living in the van under the Death Cone anymore. Dad’s first priority when we moved into the new house was to fix up an apartment above our garage for him—we would have given him a room in the house, but no matter how much we love Brig, we’re afraid of what he might eat. Better he has his own kitchen. I got him a slow cooker and shared some of my recipes with him. Fingers crossed he starts eating better.
I don’t know why I was ever jealous of Brig; he wasn’t trying to take my place, just to find one of his own. One thing I know about this family—we always make room for someone who needs a forever home. And it’s kind of cool to have a two-legged brother for a change.
Charlotte and Jacob are coming to the party, of course.
Charlotte’s been over a lot since we got home from the field trip. Which is totally awesome for reasons a gentleman keeps to himself. She’s amazing and beautiful and she likes me back, so you do the math.
Charlotte worked it out so that we’re going to surprise Jacob today with a DVD of our scene in the zombie movie where we’re all a pile of the undead and he says his big line.
Jacob tried to get me to try out for the fall musical. I went to auditions with him, but I choked. Worked out okay in the end; I’m on the backstage and set crew for Bye Bye Birdie, starring Jacob Norton as Conrad Birdie.
The hockey team will come to the barbecue, too, along with the rest of the guys I met at hockey camp. I’m going to take lots of pictures tonight so when we all make it to the pros, I can show that we’ve known each other since we were kids.
Dad was right, and I don’t even hate to admit it: Playing on the best hockey team in town, being a part of the world’s most awesome hockey camp, working for the coolest family business in history, and having the greatest girlfriend ever is way better than obsessing about hockey 24/7/365. My feet smell better, too.
I still worry about my future, but now that just means I already locked down a date to homecoming this fall. Charlotte’s teaching me to slow dance. Win/win for Ben.
The guys are really happy in the new house, especially since they spend most of their time in Brig’s apartment to avoid the construction.
Atticus has really mellowed in his old age; or maybe it’s having Puck around so he doesn’t have to manage Conor on his own. I don’t say anything to Dad or Mom about Atticus getting older; it would just upset them. Conor and Puck know what to do without me telling them. When Atticus naps, which is a lot these days, they curl up next to him, but they don’t sleep, they keep guard. And they slow their steps so he can keep up.
I use some of the money I make at Duffy and Family to buy filet mignon and chicken breasts and those huge knuckle bones Atticus likes to chew. I act like I only buy the treats for Atticus, but I slip Conor and Puck their portions when Atticus isn’t looking, and they’re cool enough to eat them out of sight so Atticus feels special.
