For Pato
In memory of Jackie
Dogs make the world a nicer place
—G.S.
For Angela with love
—J.R.
Everyone in class held their breath as Mr. Purdy dangled a squirming cock-a-roach over the brand-new resort he’d made for Manly Stanley.
Manly Stanley was our class pet, a centipede.
A large centipede.
Rubin could hardly stand it. “Drop it, Mr. Purdy, drop it.”
Manly Stanley’s new home sat on Mr. Purdy’s desk. It was an old, cleaned-up fish aquarium. Inside, a big craggy rock and a branch of twisty driftwood sat on a beach of white sand. There was even a marooned pirate ship for Manly to explore.
I could see him looking at me through a cannon port. “Calvin, my man,” he seemed to say. “S’up?”
I’d captured Manly Stanley in my bedroom and brought him to school, and now look at him. What a setup.
“Centipedes are predators,” Mr. Purdy said, looking down at Manly Stanley. “They use their claws to capture and paralyze their prey.”
Yow! I hoped that cock-a-roach could run fast.
But it was hard to imagine Manly Stanley as a predator. I mean, all he did was hang out. He slept. He looked at you. He scurried into the pirate ship when he wanted some privacy.
The crowd squeezed in around Mr. Purdy.
“Move,” someone said. “Let me see!”
“Look how Manly’s checking out that bug.”
“How come you’re putting that poor little cock-a-roach in there, Mr. Purdy?” Shayla asked.
“Breakfast.”
Shayla’s mouth fell open. “Eew, sick!”
“It’s what centipedes eat, Shayla. Spiders, too, and earthworms.”
“Yuck.”
Julio scoffed. “Not yuck, Snoop. Yum. You don’t remember when you ate that worm?”
I spurted out a laugh. Julio called her Snoop right to her face. But Snoop fit, because she was nosy. And the story about her eating the worm was true, but she only ate the head. Back in kindergarten, some kid brought a soup can full of compost worms for show-and-tell. At lunch, he stuck one into her tuna sandwich when she wasn’t looking. Shayla chomped it down. All us guys thought we were going to die from laughing so hard.
Shayla squinted razor-slits at Julio.
Mr. Purdy dropped the roach.
It must have sensed danger, because it sprang toward the rock. “Dang,” Rubin whispered. “Look at him run.”
“Okay,” Mr. Purdy said. “Back to your seats. Time to get to work. Nothing’s going to happen to that roach anytime soon.”
“Aw, man,” Julio said. “I want to see Manly eat it.”
Mr. Purdy clapped his hands. “Let’s go! Chop-chop!”
I plopped down at my seat in the first row by the window. Manly Stanley’s resort was right in front of me.
I looked out the window, remembering a pet I once had, sort of. A dog named Chewy, a beagle who liked to shred rubber slippers. But Chewy was really my dad’s dog, and when my dad moved to Las Vegas to be a famous singer, Chewy went with him.
At least now I sort of had Manly Stanley as a pet. But he couldn’t shake hands like Chewy, or run down a tennis ball, or snore in my room at night.
Sometimes I really missed Chewy.
And my dad.
Once we were back in our seats, Mr. Purdy rubbed his hands together. “Okay, boot campers, listen up.”
Mr. Purdy had been in the army, which is how we came to be called boot campers. We liked it.
“This will be fun,” he went on. “Because today we’re going to do some writing!” He raised his fist. “Woo-oo!”
Everyone groaned.
Rubin wailed from the back row. “No, Mr. Purdy, noooo!”
Mr. Purdy smiled. “Oh yes, Mr. Tomioka. And more importantly, we’ll be rewriting to make what you write better.”
I covered my ears. Writing was a brain twister. Rewriting was a brain exploder. First you had to make something out of nothing. Then you had to make that something better. “It’s too hard, Mr. Purdy!”
“Exactly, Calvin! That’s why we do it. No pain, no gain.”
We all groaned and made like we were dying until Mr. Purdy hissed like a snake. “Ssssssss.”
“Ssssssss,” everyone hissed back.
That’s how he got us to be quiet.
I grinned at Willy, down at the other end of the front row. Willy grinned back.
Mr. Purdy raised a finger. “One page. That’s all I ask. You can do that in your sleep. First draft is due on Friday. But here’s the best part: We’re going to get started right now!”
Shayla, who sat next to me, waved her hand. “What are we going to write about?”
“Excellent question, Shayla. Thank you.”
Shayla glanced around like, Look, everyone, I’m smart.
Mr. Purdy grabbed a felt marker. “Here’s your topic.”
On the whiteboard he scribbled: What I Want So Badly I Can Taste It.
“I want a bike!”
“I want a guitar!”
“I want recess!”
“I want—”
Mr. Purdy raised his hands. “Hang on, boot campers, there’s more. In one page I want you to tell me what you want and why you want it. But here’s the deal: I want you to persuade me—your reader—that you should have it. I want you to sell me your idea.”
I perked up. Sell? That part was good.
Kai raised his hand. “My dad sells kayaks.”
Then Jolena. “My dad sells houses.”
Rubin jumped in with “My dad sells insurance.”
“Moms sell stuff, too,” Doreen said. “Not just dads.”
Rubin snorted. “They boss you around and make you do stuff.”
I looked back at him. “Hey, Rubin. You forgot my mom sells jewelry at Macy’s?”
“Oh … yeah. Calvin’s mom sells stuff. But not yours,” he said to Doreen. “She just picks you up from school.”
“During her break, you crippled ant. She’s a dental assistant.”
Mr. Purdy paced in front of the class. “So listen up. Here’s how it works. Persuasive writing is like writing an advertisement, or an article in a newspaper that tries to get you to do something, like recycle or volunteer.”
I looked at Manly Stanley. He was creeping toward the rock. I leaned closer.
“Someone here wanted a guitar,” Mr. Purdy said. “Was that you, Calvin?”
“Uh … what?”
“I thought so, and you know what, Calvin? I love guitars, too. But that you should have one might be hard to sell to me, your teacher, because if you had a guitar you might spend all your time playing it and never do your homework. See the problem?”
“Uh …”
“Good. So, how are you going to convince me that you should have a guitar? That’s your challenge. See? And remember, I’m a tough customer.”
The classroom fell silent.
“Wow,” Mr. Purdy said. “I can hear all of you thinking about what you want so badly you can taste it.”
I looked out the window at the blue sky.
What do I want?
I turned and saw Manly Stanley, now almost to the rock. I knew what he wanted, and I bet he could almost taste it, too.
What do I want that bad?
Boing! An idea! “Yes!” I whispered.
After school, I headed over to the first-grade rooms to get my sister, Darci. I spotted Tito Andrade, the sixth-grade pocket-change thief, making some poor third grader empty his pockets. His friend Frankie Diamond was watching. I slipped around the corner. I’d been robbed before.
I poked my head into Darci’s classroom.
“Well, hello, Calvin Coconut.”
“Ms. Wing … is Darci here?”
“She’s just cleaning up.”
Darci was at the sink with a handful of wet paper towels.
“Hi, Calvin.”
“We gotta go home.”
Darci jammed the wad of paper towels down into the wastebasket. “Bye, Ms. Wing.”
“Thanks for helping me, Darci.”
Willy, Julio, Rubin, and Maya were waiting for us out on the grassy field behind the school. In the distance I was relieved to see Tito Andrade and Frankie Diamond walking home ahead of us … not that I had anything in my pockets worth taking. Tito was such a bully.
We headed home.
Maya shook her head. “I still don’t know what I’m going to write for Mr. Purdy.”
“Me either,” Julio added. “How about you, Calvin?”
“Still thinking.” I had an idea, but it had a big problem.
“Do you have to write something, Calvin?” Darci asked.
“Yeah, we all do.”
“About what?”
“Something we want so bad we can taste it.”
“Like food, you mean?”
“Could be anything. Like a skateboard, or a bike, like that.”
Darci frowned. “But if you taste it, it has to be food, right?”
“No. You can taste other things.”
“That’s just weird, Calvin.”
I shrugged.
“I know what I’m writing about,” Willy said. “Cuttlefish.”
Julio and I stopped. “Cuttlefish?”
“No, really,” Willy said. “I just want to like it, that’s all … like you guys do. Like everybody around here does. I feel weird being the only one who doesn’t. The problem is, cuttlefish is disgusting. It stinks. It looks like long stringy boogers. What is it, anyway?”
“It’s sort of half octopus, half squid.”
Willy shook his head. “Totally gross.”
I put my arm around his shoulder. “I got some bad news for you. You ready?”
“Shoot.”
“You. Are. Strange.”
“Forget cuttlefish,” Rubin said. “I want a snake.”
Julio scoffed. “Good luck with that. Snakes are illegal here, and anyway there aren’t any snakes in Hawaii.”
“Oh yes there are,” Maya said.
Rubin’s face lit up. “Really?”
“Yup. Blind snakes. They eat ants and termites.”
“How you know that?”
“National Geographic.”
Rubin rubbed his chin. “Do they bite?”
Maya grinned. “Yeah, but only Japanese boys, like you.”
“Really?”
I laughed. “That was a joke, Rubin. Jeese.”
We walked on.
I thought: So what if my idea has a problem? It’s what I want, isn’t it? “A dog,” I said. “That’s what I want. A dog.”
“But you can’t have a dog,” Darci said. “Stella’s allergic.”
And that was the problem. “To cats, Darce, not dogs.”
Stella lived with us and helped Mom. She was sixteen. Because she was allergic to cats, Mom thought she should stay away from dogs, too, just in case.
“But you’re only writing about it,” Willy said. “You’re not actually getting it.”
“Yeah, just writing.”
When Darci and I got home we found Mom’s boyfriend, Ledward, in our driveway. He was hunched over our half-dead lawn mower. It was idling, and gray smoke billowed around him. The noise was as loud as a truck dumping gravel.
The lawn mower gagged, spat, and died as we walked up.
Ledward stood and shook his head. “Grass too long.” He glanced toward our front yard, which sloped down to the river.
I shrugged. It was too long weeks ago.
Ledward was always telling me I should help Mom out more and mow the lawn, too. But pushing a lawn mower through grass that thick was like trying to ride your bike in soft sand. I hated that job.
Darci went into the house.
Ledward and I stood looking at the grass. The river was rusty brown. My red skiff lay in the swamp grass above the waterline.
“You want me to help you cut it, boy?”
Time to change the subject. “Did you ever have a dog when you were a kid, Ledward?”
“Well, now,” Ledward said.
He squatted on his heels and crossed his arms over his knees. I squatted, too, both of us facing the river.
“I had about seven dogs, at various times. No, eight. Counting one that ran away.”
He chuckled. “That one wanted to be his own boss. These days I have four. But hunting dogs, ah? Not pets.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Sure. Hunting dogs you train to track pigs. They’re scrappy.” He winked at me. “Not good house dogs. Too nervous.”
“I want a dog.”
Ledward nodded. “Every boy should have a dog.”
“Mom won’t let me. Stella’s allergic to cats, and maybe dogs. Her eyes get all puffy.”
Ledward rubbed his chin. “Well … maybe you could keep it in the backyard. Or in your room, keep it out of the house.”
That could work. My room was made of half the garage. It wasn’t really part of the house. Hey, I should put all this in my essay.
“I’m supposed to write about it for school. I mean, how I want a dog. Mr. Purdy says I have to sell it to him … the idea, not a dog.”
Ledward shook his head and smiled. “Daniel … to you, he’s Mr. Purdy … anyways, he had dogs as a kid, too. He had this one white one that loved mud. Hoo, that was one dirty mutt. All the time, he had to hose him off, all the time.”
Ledward and Mr. Purdy had grown up together. They were friends then and were still friends now.
I lifted my chin toward the river. “If I had a dirty dog, he could just jump in the water and wash off.”
“Sure.”
Ledward went back to the lawn mower and pulled the cord. Coughs and spits. He tried again. Still nothing.
“Shoot,” he mumbled. He adjusted the choke and tried again. The lawn mower shook, rattled, and went back to sleep. “You don’t use this enough.”
“Yeah, but can you think of a way I can persuade Mr. Purdy that I should have a dog?”
Ledward pushed the lawn mower into the garage. “Just bring up dogs, and boom! You got him. But if you want a for-real dog, it’s not Daniel you need to sell. It’s your mama. That might be tougher than Daniel.”
“Impossible, you mean.”
“If you can’t get a dog, how’s about a parakeet? Or maybe some fish?”
“I like birds and fish, but they don’t care about you. Know what I mean? Dogs do.”
Ledward put his hand on my shoulder, bent down, and whispered, “I got something to show you.” He looked toward the house. “She home, the girl?”
He meant Stella. Ledward always called her the girl. Stella’s job was to go to school, and to help Mom, who worked on the other side of the island. Stella’s favorite thing to do was make my life miserable.
“I hope not.”
“Go check. Leave her a note if she’s not. So she won’t worry. Tell her I taking you for a ride. I bring you back before supper. Get Darci. We take her, too.”
“Where?”
“Surprise.”
Stella wasn’t home yet. Darci was lying on the floor watching cartoons. “Ledward wants to take us somewhere.”
“Where?” she said, not looking away from the TV.
“He said it’s a secret.” I started to write the note.
Darci hit the remote. “Let’s go!”
Ledward started the jeep. I sat in front, and Darci had the whole backseat to herself.
Ledward waited. “Click it or ticket.” We buckled up.
Since the jeep was built before seat belts, Ledward had made some out of army surplus straps. They weren’t pretty, but they did the job.
He drove slowly, taking his time. Hawaiian style.
/> The old army-green jeep had a friendly growl to it. The breeze swirled in and the heat of the engine warmed my feet. “I like your jeep.”
Ledward looked over at me. “Not many of these still around anymore. Just a few heaps covered by weeds, too far gone to fix. Rust eats the steel.”
“You fixed this one, right?”
Ledward nodded. “Me and my pops. We cleaned it up, kept it in a garage out of the rain.”
“You have a dad?”
Ledward laughed, loud and long. “And a mama, too, by golly. What? You thought I came from a store?”
“What I meant was, I never knew you had a dad. That’s all. I mean, you never said … you …”
That was dumb, I thought, sliding down in my seat.
“S’all right, boy, s’all right.” Ledward tapped my knee. “I only joking with you.”
We drove out of Kailua town and headed inland toward the mountains. I’d known Ledward for almost a year, but really, what did I know about him? Not much.
“Where we going?”
He looked over and winked.
We turned onto a smaller road and headed into a jungle, green and thick.
Darci’s eyes were big as mangoes. “Where are we, Ledward?”
“Maunawili.”
On and on we drove, snaking up the twisty old road. Dirt driveways crept off into the jungle like overgrown paths. If they led to houses, I sure couldn’t tell. But I did see the flash of a silver roof.
Trees branched over the road, blocking the sun. It felt like we were driving into the throat of a whale.
“Almost there,” Ledward said.
He waved to an old man hacking weeds with a machete. It was the first person we’d seen since we left the highway. The man lifted his chin as we drove by.
“Where is it, exactly, that we’re going?”
“My place … I going show you my pet.”
“A dog?”
Ledward shook his head. “Better.”
Ledward turned into a banana grove, a thick leafy forest of green. The air grew sweeter.
“Wow,” Darci whispered, gawking up at the fat banana tree leaves.
Dog Heaven Page 1
