Still, he caught up before she’d reached the top of the staircase. They ran down the hall together, investigating each room they came to.
“Dad and I divided up the rooms,” Mom said, coming up behind them. She was carrying a garment bag that Tom knew held her army uniform, freshly pressed and ready for action. “Since this house just has three bedrooms, Tom gets the small one and, Charlotte, you and Rosie will have the big one.”
Tom sighed. The small room was barely big enough for his bed and desk, plus it was right next to the bathroom. Meanwhile, the big room was huge, with built-in bookshelves and three windows.
But Mom was looking at Charlotte sympathetically. “I know we hoped this would be the place you could have your own room, sweetie, but I’m confident you’ll make the best of sharing like you always do.”
“Rosie’s just so messy,” Charlotte said, tugging on a braid.
Tom now felt slightly guilty that he was the lucky one with his own room, even if it was small—Rosie really could be a slob.
“If she’s messy, she’ll fail inspection,” Dad said, coming up the stairs and huffing a little from the load of boxes in his arms.
“Rosie’s going to have inspection too?” Charlotte asked, surprised. The two older Baileys had been suffering room inspection for years. If Dad, who would have run the cleanest barracks in the entire army, found one thing out of place, allowance was docked. Which was why Charlotte and Tom had the neatest rooms of anyone they knew.
“Dad and I agreed Rosie’s old enough,” Mom affirmed, leading them into the big bedroom. “And since you two girls are sharing space again, it needs to be livable for both of you.”
Dad set a box labeled Dolls on the floor. Charlotte loved playing with dolls and had a big dollhouse to go with her collection. Recently she’d starting letting Rosie play with her.
“Okay, I bet it will be fine,” Charlotte said with a nod. “As long as she keeps things clean, it will be fun to share the dollhouse in here.”
Mom smiled. “That’s my girl,” she said. Then she headed off to change while Dad walked toward the bathroom with his last two boxes.
Tom was about to ask Charlotte if she wanted to check out the rest of the house, when he heard a sharp sound just outside the window. He jumped straight up, shrieking.
“No need for the screech of doom,” Charlotte said calmly. She walked over to the window and looked outside. “It’s just acorns falling on the porch roof.”
Perhaps it was best Tom didn’t have this room after all, if it came with surprise noises. Tom had always had a strong startle reflex, complete with what the family had dubbed the screech of doom. It was kind of on the loud side. And very squeaky. Tom kept hoping he’d outgrow it, because screeching was totally mortifying, but it seemed to be hardwired into him, just like his love of comics, his dyslexia, and his aversion to pickles.
Dad poked his head back in the room. “Let’s finish unloading the car and do some unpacking while Mom goes in for her meetings.”
Tom and Charlotte trooped down the stairs after him, ready to help. But when they got to the front yard, Tom noticed a girl about their age standing in the yard of the house next door, looking over at them.
“Can we go say hi to our neighbor?” Tom asked, hoping to get some tips on post living.
“Sure,” Dad said. “Just don’t stay out too long. We want to get the house ready so we can enjoy the last few days of summer before school starts.”
Tom and Charlotte headed next door.
“Hey,” the girl called when they came to the white wooden fence that separated their yards. She had dark brown skin and wore a red headband in her short black curls. “Come on in.” She opened the gate for them. “I’m Natasha Wilson, but everyone calls me Tash.”
“I’m Tom and this is Charlotte,” Tom said.
“Are you guys twins?” Tash asked, looking at them quizzically.
“No, I’m older,” Tom said. “But we’re both going into sixth grade.” It was always good to get the same-grade thing out of the way early on because everyone had questions about it. But to Tom’s surprise, Tash just nodded. Tom realized that, as an army kid, she understood about how moving all over the place could end up changing your grade, and he grinned. Living with kids who got army life was going to be awesome.
“I’m going into sixth too,” Tash said, frowning slightly. “I hope we don’t get too much homework. I play the tuba and I need a lot of time to practice for competitions and stuff.”
“Cool,” Charlotte said.
Tash smiled. “Yeah, I want to play in a military band when I grow up. And this year at the middle school there’s a special band practice that meets before school and sometimes during lunch.”
Tom already knew that a number of activities took place during lunch at the Fort Patrick Middle School—that was when he’d be getting his tutoring for dyslexia. He’d been diagnosed in kindergarten, so it wasn’t anything new, and at this point all he needed was a good tutor and extra homework time to stay caught up in all his classes. But he didn’t feel like thinking about school just yet—not when there were still a few days left of summer.
“So, we were wondering about cool places to—” Tom began, but just then there came a shout from the sidewalk. Tom, Charlotte, and Tash turned to see what was going on.
Two boys were standing in front of Tash’s house. One of them, a tall boy with a dark tan and a blond crew cut, was holding a football while the shorter one with sunburned cheeks tried to grab it. Each time his fingers seemed to close around the ball, the taller boy jerked it from his grasp.
“Chase, come on, give it to me,” the shorter boy begged. “I need to get home and my dad will kill me if I don’t bring that back.”
Chase laughed and held the football high above his head. “If you want it, go get it,” he said in a taunting tone, and then sent the ball in a whizzing spiral down the street.
The first boy flew after it as Chase followed more slowly, chuckling as he went.
Tom was surprised that the boy, Chase, would just throw a ball like that. What if it had hit an oncoming car and caused an accident?
“That was mean,” Charlotte said as she looked after the boys.
Tom definitely agreed with that—the other boy had seemed genuinely upset.
“Yeah, meet Chase Hammond,” Tash said with a sigh. “He’s in sixth with us, and I’d stay clear of him if I were you guys.”
That seemed like excellent advice to Tom.
“Anyway,” Tash said, turning back to look at Tom. “What were you about to ask me?”
“Just about what’s fun here,” Tom said.
“It’s our first time living on post,” Charlotte added.
Tash grinned. “You guys are going to love it. Have you seen the pool yet?”
Charlotte was grinning too. “Yeah, we drove by. It looks awesome.”
“It is,” Tash said. “And did you know movies at the post theater are free?”
“No way,” Tom said. He loved movies but always had trouble saving up his allowance.
“Yeah,” Tash confirmed. “And they get good stuff. It’s not like they’re just showing old ones from, like, the 1990s.”
This was just getting better and better. Tom was about to ask more when Rosie flew into the yard, Cupcake in hot pursuit. “Dad says come home,” Rosie said.
Tom saw Tash have the usual moment of confusion about why a small Asian girl was talking to two white kids about their dad.
“This is our sister, Rosie,” Charlotte said.
“I’m adopted from China,” Rosie announced grandly. She never noticed the confusion, as far as Tom could tell. She was just proud to be adopted.
“Neat,” Tash said.
“I know,” Rosie said. Then she turned to her siblings. “We need to get home ASAP or you’ll get KT duty.”
“It’s KP,” Tom corrected. “Kitchen Police.” In the Bailey home that army term meant cleaning chores, and so while Tom was disappointe
d not to hear more, he knew it was time to get home.
As they headed back to their yard, Tom was feeling good about things. He had his own room, they were surrounded by army kids just like them, and the base was full of awesome things like the greatest pool ever, free movies—and who knew what else?
So far, life on Fort Patrick seemed pretty perfect to Tom.
“I can do that!” Rosie exclaimed before Dad could take all the silverware out of the box. He handed it over to her.
Rosie and Dad were in the kitchen unpacking while Mom, Tom, and Charlotte were out doing boring grocery shopping. Rosie liked helping unpack, she liked having time alone with Dad, and she really liked being in charge of things. Especially things that were fun like stacking up the knives and forks in the red plastic holder. Rosie had the holder in one hand, and now that she had the silverware, she was ready. She put the holder into a drawer, but it wouldn’t go in right. She pushed a little harder.
“Hang on, sweetie,” Dad said. He was standing on the other side of the wooden island putting away plates.
Rosie knew she could do it herself if he’d just give her a chance. She just needed to get the corner in … She began using both hands to wedge the holder inside the drawer.
“Rosie, it doesn’t fit in that drawer,” Dad said. He sounded tired even though it wasn’t even dinnertime yet. “Let’s try a different one.”
He was right. Rosie pulled at the holder, but it was now jammed. She tugged harder and suddenly the whole drawer came flying out with a loud, splintering crack. Rosie nearly toppled over backward, but Cupcake, who had been lying on the floor, jumped behind her, keeping Rosie upright.
“Thanks, Cupcake,” Rosie told the dog, who wagged her short tail at the praise. “Dad, this drawer isn’t high quality.” That was what Mom had said in their last house when a shelf of books caved in. But Dad just frowned.
“Rosie, I’m not sure the quality of the drawer is the problem,” he said quietly.
Uh oh. That meant the problem was Rosie.
“Next time maybe you can be more patient,” he added.
Rosie had a lot of trouble with patience—what was the point of doing things slowly?—but she hated that she’d disappointed Dad. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll try patience next time.”
She didn’t promise because she never made a promise she couldn’t keep. But Mom and Dad said trying was important and, sure enough, Dad smiled at her.
“Why don’t you let me put the silverware holder in the drawer and then hand you the things to put away?” he asked.
That sounded a lot like Dad being in charge and not Rosie.
“But I want to do it,” Rosie pleaded.
“Actually,” Dad said, taking the drawer and holder from Rosie. “I have an idea—why don’t you and Cupcake go explore the neighborhood a bit, maybe see if you can make some friends?”
Rosie forgot all about the drawer. “We can go, just us?” she asked, not believing something so exciting could be true.
“We get to have some new rules here on post,” Dad said. “Because things are very safe here.”
“Because the army is watching us?” Rosie asked.
“Kind of,” Dad said. “They’re careful about who gets on post. Plus people here watch out for each other.”
“Right,” Rosie said, remembering that Mom had talked about this when they arrived. “I know all about that. Okay, see you later.”
She was ready to go, but Dad held up a hand.
“Wait, I need to tell you the boundaries,” he said.
Rosie sagged, sure the boundaries would ruin everything.
“You can go all the way around our block,” Dad said. “No crossing streets, but you’ll still see a lot of the residential neighborhood.”
“Roger that,” Rosie said, and marched to the front door. Cupcake followed.
“I bet you’ll run into some kids your age,” Dad said, coming up and leaning against the doorjamb as Rosie snapped on Cupcake’s leash. “Which would be a good opportunity to make friends. Remember what the counselor said about trying to listen to others and to use kindness, not yelling.”
Rosie’s mouth pinched up at that. Everyone was worried about her making friends, everyone but Rosie. She had her siblings, she had Cupcake, and she had Mom and Dad—that was more than enough. Maybe kids in her class never wanted to sit with her at lunch or play with her at recess, but Rosie didn’t need them anyway. She liked racing around the school yard and climbing up the jungle gym by herself. It was more fun without other kids messing everything up with their bad ideas and complaining when she was in charge.
“I’ll look for friends,” Rosie told Dad, who began to grin. “Friends for Cupcake. I think she’s lonely.”
Dad’s smile slipped away like soapsuds going down the drain. “I don’t think she’s the only one who’s lonely,” he said.
“Right,” Rosie agreed. “There’s probably another lonely dog out there right now, waiting for a friend just like Cupcake.”
Dad sighed. “Okay, well, have fun,” he said, then headed back toward the kitchen.
“We get to explore,” Rosie told Cupcake, patting the dog on the back of her neck where her fur was thick and satiny. “But you have to listen very carefully to my rules when we go out. I’ll be in charge.”
Cupcake looked up agreeably as Rosie double-checked that the leash was secure. One of the many wonderful things about Cupcake was that she never minded when Rosie was in charge. In fact, unless she saw a squirrel to chase, she seemed to like it best when Rosie made all the decisions.
Rosie led Cupcake around the boxes stacked up on the porch, then down the steps to the wide sidewalk. The sun was bright, and Rosie saw that some of their new neighbors were doing things like mowing their lawns and weeding flower beds. As she considered which way to go, she took a moment to inspect the sidewalk conditions. Their block in Pennsylvania had a big crack right in front of their house, and if you biked over it too fast, your wheel could swerve and you could crash. Rosie had always hated that crack and was pleased to see that the sidewalk pavement here was smooth.
“We’ll go this way,” Rosie announced to Cupcake. “And find you a friend.” Cupcake pranced happily at her side, clearly excited to make friends.
The scent of fresh-cut grass perfumed the air as Rosie and Cupcake made their way around the block.
“Hi there,” a woman said. She was pulling up weeds next to her mailbox and wore a floppy straw hat that reminded Rosie of going to the beach. “Welcome to Fort Patrick.” She had a Southern accent that made her words sound like music.
“Thanks, ma’am,” Rosie said. “I’m Rosie and this is Cupcake.”
“I’m Ms. Dunbar,” the woman said with a smile. Rosie liked how she didn’t seem worried about the dirt all over her hands and clothes. “Are you checking out the neighborhood?”
Rosie nodded. “Yes, and we’re looking for friends too.”
“There’s a lovely boy named Victor who’s about your age,” Ms. Dunbar said. “He lives in the house across from yours.”
“No, not a friend for me,” Rosie said. “For Cupcake.”
“I see,” she said. “Well, good luck.”
“Thanks,” Rosie said. Ms. Dunbar was way friendlier than grumpy old Mr. Juvais, who had lived next door in their old neighborhood. He was always calling Dad to say that Rosie and her siblings were yelling too loud or riding their bikes too fast. But so far everyone here at Fort Patrick was nice.
Just then Cupcake began to tug on the leash. They had reached the corner, and in the distance Rosie could see the central plaza with the flagpole and the soldier training area beyond. “Cupcake, no, we can’t go any farther,” Rosie said. “That’s the rule. We need to stop here.”
Sometimes dogs didn’t understand about rules so you had to say it twice. But then Rosie realized Cupcake was trying to sniff the big leafy bush that was below the signpost for Washington Street.
“What’s in there, Cupcake?” Rosie as
ked, worried it might be an escaped prisoner or maybe a wolf that snuck on post, waiting to find someone just the right size to gobble up.
But after a moment a black snout popped out, followed by the rest of a big German shepherd, who walked right up to Cupcake to say hello. Dogs didn’t talk in people words, of course, everyone knew that, but Mom had explained that they said hello by sniffing. And it seemed to be a very nice hello from the way both dogs were wagging their tails.
“Cupcake, you found a friend,” Rosie said happily, as the two dogs began to romp.
But then Rosie heard someone running toward them and shouting, “Hey! Get away from that dog!”
Rosie turned to see a woman in a blue shirt holding a leash in one hand. She was glowering as she raced up and clipped the German shepherd to the leash, pulling him away from Cupcake.
“No,” the woman snapped at Cupcake’s new friend. When she turned to Rosie, her expression was angry. Really angry.
“I told you to stay away from this dog,” she scolded Rosie, her voice so harsh Cupcake pressed against Rosie’s leg.
Rosie was bewildered. “I know about dogs, ma’am,” she said. “This dog wagged his tail so I could tell he was friendly. And he wants to be friends with my dog, Cupcake. They should have playdates.”
“This dog is off-limits,” the woman said sharply. Then she jerked at the German shepherd’s leash, nearly dragging the dog down the sidewalk.
So it turned out that not everyone at Fort Patrick was nice after all. “That lady was awful,” Rosie told Cupcake as she stared after them. “And I don’t understand why she wouldn’t let that dog play with you.”
The worst part of the whole thing was that it had upset Cupcake. Her tail had drooped and her little folded ears were wilted, not perked up and happy like they usually were. Clearly she was miserable at the loss of her friend.
Army Brats Page 2
