How to Outfox Your Friends When You Don't Have a Clue

by Jess Keating

  She grinned. “Frozen mousicles for our great horned owl,” she explained, dumping the lot of them into a Tupperware on the counter. They clattered like ice cubes. Wiping her palm on her coveralls, she stuck out her hand. “I am indeed Kate, and you must be Ana.”

  Gulping, I shook her hand, trying to remember Dad’s instructions to keep my handshake firm, but not so tight that people would think I was a crazy person. But what do you do when the person whose hand you’re shaking was just holding a bunch of dead, frozen mice?

  “I am,” I said. “Thank you very much for letting me help out today.” I smiled, my eyes drifting over to the mice again.

  “Say hello, Andrew,” Kate instructed, giving me the teensiest wink.

  Beside us, Andrew scuffed his boots. “Hello,” he said dully.

  “At eight years old,” Kate said, “Andrew is our youngest volunteer.” Her eyebrow quirked. “He’s excellent at helping with the birds, and I must say he gets rather protective over them.” Immediately, with the frozen mice and quirky attitude, I knew I liked her.

  “It so happens you came at the perfect time,” she said, clapping her hands together. “One of our volunteers couldn’t show up today, so I can use the extra hand. Did your bring your immunization record so I can make a copy?” She dug into her pocket as she spoke and pulled out a few almonds, flicking bits of pocket lint from them with her finger. “Care for one?” she asked.

  “No thanks,” I said. “And yeah, it’s right here. Mom made a copy for you to save time.”

  “What’s that for?” Andrew boosted himself up on his tiptoes to see.

  “This is to show that Ana here has received all the necessary vaccinations to work with the animals we have here,” she explained slowly and carefully for him. At that moment, I was super jealous of her cool Aussie accent. I was pretty sure if I had an accent, people would take me a lot more seriously.

  “Is it so she doesn’t get rabies?” Andrew asked, eyes wide.

  “Precisely.” She nodded. She reached up to tap my head with one solid knock. “Can’t have your brain swelling up like a unpopped kernel of corn, can we?! Not on your first day! And now we need to make sure someone else doesn’t get it.”

  I watched as she rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a small syringe, along with a tiny, wrapped blue needle. “Syringe.” She held it up to me. Then she cracked open the package, exposing the blue cap where it would connect with the plastic syringe. “Needle,” she said.

  I nodded.

  “Would you mind going into the fridge and getting me the bottle marked RaVac3, please?”

  I blinked, then realized she was talking to me. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, scrambling over to the fridge. Thankfully, the key to the lock was still stuck inside. Searching along the door, I found the bottle and handed it to her. Even though I technically had no idea what I was doing, I couldn’t help but feel a thrill at helping her. That needle was no joke!

  “Observe,” she instructed. “You want the same amount of air in the syringe that you need for the vaccine before you stick it in the bottle.” She pulled the syringe back a teensy bit, then carefully jabbed it into the plastic top of the bottle, tipping the whole thing upside down.

  “Then you push the plunger down once inside and pull up however much dose you need.”

  I swallowed hard. “Will…will I be expected to do this?” My cheeks burned. “I mean, should I take notes or something?”

  She eyed me and pulled the needle from the bottle. “Not today you won’t have to,” she said, smiling. The wrinkles around her eye crinkled even more. “But someday! And you might find that eventually you don’t need notes at all! Trust your brain. It’s big enough!”

  “Right,” I said, breathing a little easier. “Gotcha.”

  “Next, you cap the needle immediately,” she said, clicking the blue cap into place again. “No excuses. No distractions. No maybes. Immediately!”

  “Immediately!” Andrew echoed, giving me a super-serious old-man glare. I was beginning to think this kid was a human version of Darwin, my parrot.

  “Got it,” I said, taking the bottle from her and putting it back into the fridge. “Now what?”

  She grinned widely and turned, starting to march out of the room. Her hand lifted in a victory charge. “Now we go find the wee beastie! Andrew, you’re on bird duty while we’re busy. Make sure Rupert gets extra mealworms today and do not open the Cooper’s hawk cage because he will bite you! I don’t have time to bandage your hand again, you hear me? Ana, grab one of those big garbage bags on the way out and the goggles hanging by the door, please!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” He saluted her as I charged out the door, following Kate. For a woman who was clearly in her sixties or seventies, she seemed as spry as Grandpa. I panted after her outside, stuffing the garbage bag into my coveralls as I walked. In the cold air, I was thankful Mom had forced me to wear a pair of long johns, even though they were completely embarrassing and gave me a wedgie. From the look of Kate, she wasn’t about to bad-mouth my fashion choices. It was actually sort of nice not to think about how I looked, unlike in school where I felt like we were all walking some pretend runway with judges scoring us behind our backs.

  “So what kind of animal are we vaccinating?” I asked, falling into step with her. Our rubber boots clomped along in unison on the dirt road away from the clinic.

  Her lips formed a thin line. “Some of the volunteers have been calling him Calvin,” she said, digging into her pockets and handed me a thick, rubbery pair of gloves. “As in Calvin Klein. But you will know him as the western spotted skunk.”

  Gulp.

  I hunched as low as I could in the cage, trying to keep my head from knocking into the chicken wire that lined the top. The cold air was making my nose run, and the outdoor cages surrounding us looked particularly creepy against the gray sky.

  But it was still so cool.

  So far, Kate and I had not only stepped willingly inside a skunk’s cage, but now we were supposed to actually catch him, so she could stick him with a needle to make sure he didn’t get rabies.

  Oh, and to top it off, I was wearing a garbage bag. Apparently the latest technology we have against getting sprayed by skunks was Glad bags and goggles.

  Seriously.

  I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay relaxed. This definitely wasn’t the same as the zoo, but there was something thrilling about the sheer wildness of it all. The animals here weren’t used to people, and that made them seem even more mysterious. It was a whole different kind of fun.

  “The trick to skunks,” she said in a whisper. “Is that they give you plenty of warning before they spray. They stomp. They lift their wee rumps in the air. If we are quick enough, you can grab him, tuck his tail, and Bob’s your uncle, we’ll have it done.” She dug into her pocket and popped another almond into her mouth. Her eyes lifted to the darkening sky.

  “Tuck his tail?” I asked, my voice squeaking. This plan didn’t seem—what was the word again?—sane. And who the heck was Bob?

  I tried to keep my panic from showing. So far we hadn’t spotted the skunk (no pun intended), but from what Kate had told me, he was only a few feet away beneath a pile of logs and dirt.

  “Calvin is still very young, one of this year’s late fall litters. If you tuck his tail under him in your hands, he won’t spray you.”

  I blinked. It sounded too good to be true. “For real? That’s pretty amazing,” I said. “Sort of like an off button!”

  She nodded. “Kind of. But don’t worry, if you don’t manage it, it won’t be so bad because he’s only a wee thing. Go ahead and start slowly digging through those logs. Gloves on, he won’t be able to hurt you.”

  “He won’t bite me?” I asked, feeling the dread grow in my stomach. From what I knew about animals, anything with sharp teeth could and would bite you.

&nbs
p; “Oh, he’ll bite you.” She grinned. “But the gloves will keep you safe. Just remember: once you find him, cup your hands around him and get that tail tucked. He’s only about the size of your two palms together.”

  “Okay,” I said, psyching myself up. “I’ll get him.”

  I’ll get the skunk. I’ll get him. I’ll go headfirst into a skunk den and stick my hands in there. Sure. No problem.

  Gritting my teeth, I gingerly shimmied forward a few feet and began lifting the logs. Despite the whole “he won’t be too stinky” thing, I was already having doubts, because the whole area reeked of skunk. I tucked my goggles up closer on my nose and started breathing through my mouth.

  “Heeeere, Calvin,” I whispered under my breath. My eyes were glued to the dirt as I shifted the logs, waiting for the telltale black-and-white fur.

  And then, I saw it.

  “Yesssss!” I hissed, reaching forward as fast as I could. There he was!

  Kate was right. He was a teensy little thing, with a fluffy black-and-white-spotted body, tiny little paws, and the cutest face ever. “I got you!”

  Wrapping my fingers around him, he immediately started to struggle, but I was too quick. Practically bursting with excitement, I secured his tail with my pinkie finger snugly up against his rump, curling his tail up over his tummy. He hadn’t sprayed! I did it! He jerked his head around to bite me, but all he got was a mouthful of rubber glove. His tiny teeth were sharp, but they didn’t feel any worse than a bite from Darwin through gloves.

  I could do this!

  “Fast hands, Ana!” Kate said, clearly impressed. She waved me over closer with the syringe. “Hold him steady now.”

  I held my breath as Kate injected him with the vaccine and capped the needle again. Pride swam through me like a giddy, leaping dolphin. Because of me, this little guy wouldn’t get rabies. He had a real chance of surviving out in the wild!

  “Excellent work,” Kate said, crawling backward out of the cage.

  “Thanks!” I said. I took a minute to peer closer at Calvin, at his beady black eyes and the tiny, white claws that gripped the glove so tightly. Now that he was done struggling, he almost seemed to be enjoying himself. “He’s so cute, huh?”

  She nodded. “They are. All you need to do now is set him down gently and hightail it out of there.”

  I shuffled back, so I would be closer to the door of the cage when I set him down. Even though it was only my first day, I was already picturing all the things I would get to do here—vaccinating animals like Calvin, helping birds learn to fly, maybe even getting to hang out with bigger stuff like my fox who was somewhere around here—

  “Ana, look out!”

  I blinked, but it was too late.

  In my little daydream, my pinkie finger had slipped. Calvin’s tail, which should have been neatly tucked against him, was stuck straight out from his body like a flag.

  A warning flag.

  “No!” I struggled to regain where my hands had been, to somehow wrangle him a little tighter to slip my hand under that tail again, but it was useless. He was squirming and scratching again, obviously well aware that I’d messed up and now he was the one running the show.

  Then it happened.

  Skunk spray shot all over me.

  My goggles.

  My garbage bag.

  My hands.

  My face.

  My coveralls.

  “Gah!” I spat, letting him go to scurry away back to his burrow. The smell—no, the taste, like burned onions and pepper—was too much to bear. “He got me! He got me!” I bolted from the cage, getting out of the way while Kate locked it quickly. My coughing echoed through the woods around us.

  “So…” she said calmly when I was done hacking. Her own eyes were watering, but she didn’t seem to notice that we’d gone from crisp air to biohazard in less than a second.

  I stared at her with watery, gloopy eyes. The spit in my mouth still tasted like skunk, and I was pretty sure I would never smell normal again. I would smell like skunk on my wedding day if Calvin had any say on the matter.

  Kate grinned, her eyes twinkling. “Still think he’s cute?”

  Chapter 12

  Only female mosquitoes can bite humans and other animals. Males eat flower nectar.

  —Animal Wisdom

  You know, I get that I’m only twelve and three hundred and sixty-three days old (booya, birthday tomorrow!) but I don’t get this! Boy mosquitoes get to go around LITERALLY smelling the flowers, while girls have to go out and do all the hard work? And drink blood?! Whatever happened to equality?

  How to Survive a Skunk Attack: Ana’s Official DeSkunk Plan

  (Which, by the way, is probably going to be the name of my autobiography when I’m an old geezer, because oh my God, this smell is never going to go away, is it?)

  1. Forget the tomato sauce. According to Kate, my new friend and skunky-smelling pal, tomatoes do nothing but add an “Italian twist” to your already smelly problem. This is good because it means no disgusting tomato baths. This is bad because, duh, you still reek and you have to walk around with the nickname “Stinkpot.”

  2. Invest in some of that orange-smelling floor cleaner. Apparently this is the only thing that will give you any hope of a normal life ever again. It won’t take the skunk smell away, but it will mask it enough that you can (hopefully) be in the same room as people without making anyone barf. (Always a plus, right?)

  3. Wash your hair. Then wash it again. Then wash it again. Then when you’re tired of washing it again, WASH. IT. AGAIN.

  It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a girl who’s been sprayed by a skunk named Calvin will also get a horrible grade on her Shakespeare test.

  Okay. So I don’t actually know that’s true, but it’s exactly what happened to me the next day at school. I knew something was up because Mr. Nicholson gave me a weird half smile before the bell rang to dismiss us. Then I really knew when he handed out the tests and mine was facedown, with a big fat F on it, along with a red “See me please.”

  Ugh.

  Was anything worse than the “See me please”? You know they’re trying to be nice and understanding, but deep down you already feel like you want to climb in a hole because you botched up a test and disappointed them. Teachers should write “Need ice cream?” instead.

  When class finished, I tried to make myself look busy, stuffing my notebook into my backpack. I didn’t exactly want Ashley or Bella to know why I had to linger behind. I’d seen their tests from my desk, and they’d booth gotten smiley face stickers, so I knew they’d done well.

  Staring at my feet with my test rolled up in my hands, I shuffled to the front of the room after everyone had left. Mr. Nicholson was organizing papers on his desk.

  “Ana!” he said, looking up. “Thanks for staying for a few minutes.” He gestured for me to take a seat.

  “You said you wanted to see me,” I mumbled. My test felt like it weighed as much as an elephant in my hands. This was torture. “I mean, on my test. I know I didn’t do so well.”

  He pursed his lips. “No, I’m afraid you didn’t. I know you had some issues with our Shakespeare reading. You know I’m here if you need some extra help.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I know,” I said. “Honestly, I didn’t remember we were having a test. I know I should have studied…” My voice sounded as pathetic as I felt. “I’m so sorry. I never got such a bad grade before. I promise I’ll do better next time.” I forced myself to look him in the eye so he knew I meant it. It was taking every ounce of willpower not to break down and tear the paper into little bits for being so embarrassing.

  “You don’t need to be sorry, but I will need you to get your parents to sign the test, okay? And don’t forget, you’ll have an opportunity to drop this mark with your media project!”

  “Oh!” I said. Relief
bubbled through me. “I totally forgot about that. That’s great. I’m doing a documentary,” I said. “It’s going to be amazing, I promise. Do I still need to get the test signed? I mean, if I can win the free grade, then…”

  “That sounds wonderful! With your grandfather, I’m not surprised you picked film,” he replied. “But I’m afraid your parents will still need to see and sign your test. Don’t worry. We all have bad days.”

  I tried to shrug, but it came out all twitchy. Would my F make me look like an idiot to all my new teachers when I went to high school next year? Grown-ups were always talking about our grades in junior high and how a bad grade can follow us all through high school. I didn’t want to look like a giant dumbo when I finally left eighth grade! And what about Kevin? I couldn’t exactly have a super-genius boyfriend if I’m getting Fs!

  Suddenly, my F felt like more than a test result.

  F is for failure.

  F is for fell flat on her face.

  F is for fat chance on keeping your smart boyfriend, Ana.

  I shook my head, trying to shake off the thought. “I’ll get it signed,” I said, sitting taller. “But I’m also going to win, so I can ditch this grade.” I stuffed my test back into my pocket, eager to get it out of sight.

  As I walked down the hallway, a twinge of doubt rang through me. One time when we were younger, I built a house of cards with Daz. We worked so hard to be super careful and had to get every card right so when we finally put that last card on the top it was perfect. That’s how I felt working on my documentary now—like if I slipped up even once or made a wrong move, my life would plummet to the ground in a spectacular mess.

  With Sugar’s help, I would have to make a documentary that blew them all away. And with my friendship with Liv and my epic fail on the line, I couldn’t mess up the tiniest thing.

  After two days of getting off my skunk smell and convincing my parents that I wasn’t on a downward spiral at school because of one Shakespeare test, it was finally time to hang out with Liv again. She’d spent a few days with her grandmother, and I was pretty excited to put boring school aside and tell her my story about the wildlife center. Something about facing off against wild skunks made me feel like even our busted-up friendship could be fixed.