I flip over the piece of paper I’ve been scribbling numbers on.
“Are you doing homework?” he asks.
“Sort of.” I shove the paper in my pocket and then coat my hands in sanitizer. I’ve only made it through 57 adoption applications, but the patterns are already clear. I need to come back.
We leave the office, walking past the dog kennels. Even with all the barking, I can hear people arguing in the lobby.
Levi holds the door open for me.
“It’s because of your germ issues, not because I’m a gentleman,” he says.
“I know. Still, thanks.”
In the lobby, a woman in dirty jeans and a faded green T-shirt (like the number 14) is standing at the counter yelling at Noah. In 1 hand she has an e-cigarette, and in the other a leash. The dog at the end of it trembles and tries to hide between her thick legs.
“You gotta take him!” the woman yells.
I tap my toe 3 times and look into the parking lot. I don’t see Cherish’s car.
“Lady, that’s not how this works.” Noah stares at her hard.
“You’re a shelter, ain’t ya?” She points her cigarette at his nose.
Noah cocks his head. “I ain’t a shelter. I’m a volunteer and a freakin’ premed student. You need to fill out your forms, and we’ll add you to the waiting list.”
“I don’t have time for that.”
“What’s going on?” Claire walks into the lobby with Windy right behind her.
“This woman is trying to surrender an unverified dog,” Noah explains. “She thinks she can drop the animal off without following procedure.”
Claire smiles. “I’m sorry. We can’t just take any dog, ma’am. We are not the county animal control. This is a private, nonprofit shelter.”
“Well, where do you get your dogs from?”
“I’ve explained this.” Noah shakes his head. “I’m going on break.” He hops over the counter and heads out the front door.
“You fill out a surrender form,” Claire says. “Then 1 of our volunteers will visit y’all. We need to ensure that the dog is healthy and friendly.”
Healthy? There’s that word again. What does that mean for a dog?
“He’s right here.” The woman tugs hard on the leash and pulls the dog forward. The mutt tucks his tail and keeps his head low. He’s short and looks like a fluffy beagle.
“If our staff thinks the animal can be adopted, we will put him on the waiting list.”
“Waiting list? How long does that take?”
“Depends,” Claire says.
Of course she doesn’t have exact numbers. How could she, with her current filing system?
“We only have 18 kennels,” Claire continues. “And they’re all filled. We probably have 10 dogs ahead of him.”
The woman groans. “I’m moving. My husband’s lost his job. I can’t pay to get my car fixed.”
“I’m sorry,” Claire says. “We want to help.” She holds out a hand for the dog to sniff. He moves slowly closer until Windy sneezes. Then he jumps back behind the woman.
“Poor boy.” Levi sits on the filthy floor right in front of him. “You’re a good-looking dog.”
“What kind of dog is he?” Windy asks.
Levi lifts his camera to take pictures. The dog puts his nose all over the lens.
“Heck if I know,” the woman says. “He’s just cute. And that’s what we call him.”
“I bet you’ll find a home really quick,” Levi says to the dog.
“I bet he will,” Claire agrees.
“Fine. Give me them papers,” the woman growls.
“Certainly.” Claire hands her a clipboard.
“Can you hold this?” The woman offers the leash to Levi.
“Sure.”
She uncaps a pen with her teeth and starts writing. The phone rings, and as Claire walks behind the counter to answer it, suddenly—like it was all planned—the woman drops the clipboard and runs out the front door. She isn’t very fast, but it’s not like Windy or I can tackle her.
“Wait!” Claire yells.
The woman doesn’t. The dog tries to run, too, but Levi holds on to the leash.
Noah comes back in. “Did that woman just ditch her dog?”
“Yes.”
“Should we call the police?” Windy asks, pulling out her cell phone. I don’t think an actual crime has been committed.
“No,” Claire says. “This happens a lot. I’ll drive the dog over to animal control.”
“Really?” Levi asks.
“But they might kill him,” Windy says.
“Euthanize. And that’s a last resort,” Claire corrects. “Lucy, can you hand me the clipboard?”
I bend to pick it up. I avoid looking at the dog that might be sentenced to death. With only 2 fingers, I turn the clipboard over. The woman didn’t get very far. She only wrote the animal’s name.
Cutie Pi.
I stop and stare at the paper, like I might be reading it wrong.
Pi is spelled like the mathematical expression, not the pastry. I don’t know if the woman is a bad speller or was just in a hurry. Still, I feel this is a sign. Nana sees signs in everything. Sometimes the cosmos or God is trying to tell us something. Like if she finds a dollar, which means God wants her to buy a lotto ticket. Other than being struck by lightning, I’ve never gotten a sign from God. But that was a pretty big 1.
“Pi?” I whisper the dog’s name, and he turns to look at me. That’s when I notice that 1 of the black spots on his back is the shape of a lightning bolt.
Another sign!
“You have to keep this dog.” I can’t help it—the words pop out.
“We really can’t,” Claire says. “There’s no room.”
“We can put him in a travel kennel until something opens up,” Noah suggests. He kicks a large crate near the door.
“We’re not supposed to—”
“Please,” I say. “Do this and we’ll enter all your adoption papers into the computer.”
Claire’s face softens. “You will?”
“We will?” Windy asks.
I nod. “Every last 1.”
“I don’t know….”
“Please.” I’m about to get on my knees and really beg. But Claire saves me the trouble.
“Okay.” She hands us each a volunteer permission slip. It’s shorter than the dog adoption form. “Welcome to the Pet Hut team.”
On Friday, we turn in the 2nd part of our project to Mr. Stoker before school.
“So, you’re going to volunteer at the Pet Hut?” he asks.
“Lucy volunteered us to work in data entry,” Windy whines. She told me last night and again this morning on the bus that she thought our project was boring.
“They don’t have a good system,” I say. “Most of their information is still on paper.”
“So the problem is that the shelter has an antiquated filing system, and the solution is that you are going to update it?” Mr. Stoker asks.
“I guess,” Windy says. “It was Lucy’s idea.”
“She had a good reason,” Levi adds. It’s true that I did it to save a dog. But I’m really excited to get all the numbers and data. By looking through only 57 applications, I’ve already seen trends. Small dogs are adopted almost 2 times as fast as big dogs, at least in my sample.
“You don’t like this project, Windy?” Mr. Stoker asks.
She shrugs. “I want to do something bigger.”
“Like?”
“We could run an adoption fair at Liberty Park,” Windy says. “We could bring the dogs out to meet people.”
“Okay.” Mr. Stoker nods.
“Or the shelter always needs people to take the dogs for walks so that they get exercise.
” The place has a designated walking trail in the back. You have to pick up dog poop in a plastic bag. Something I’m probably not physically capable of doing.
Mr. Stoker doesn’t say anything, so Windy keeps talking.
“Maybe we could set up a program for retired people or homeschooled kids to go in and exercise and play with the animals. Or we could organize a pet-food drive at school. Students could donate bags of food, and teachers could give them homework passes as a reward.”
“All your ideas are great,” Mr. Stoker says. “But you need buy-in from everyone in the group. Give it some more thought. How can you help the shelter? How can each of you get something out of the experience?”
“That’s what I keep telling them.” It doesn’t take much to get Windy excited. “We can change lives. We can make a huge difference for the animals and their future owners and the whole town.”
Levi groans.
“Do you have any thoughts?” Mr. Stoker asks Levi.
“I like hanging out with the dogs.” He shrugs. “And I want to see them find homes.”
“Can you bring me some more ideas by next Friday?” He looks at Levi and then at me.
“Definitely,” Windy answers.
“Great.” Mr. Stoker stands up. The homeroom bell rings on cue.
“We’ll talk about this at lunch,” Windy says. She takes our papers and goes to her desk.
“Can’t wait.” Levi glares at the back of Windy’s head. Our team may not survive this project.
“Be nice,” I whisper. I need them to not kill each other long enough that I can finish playing with numbers from the Pet Hut.
I move to my assigned seat. I sit, stand, sit, stand, sit and wipe down my desk. No one really notices anymore. It’s only weird now if we have a substitute.
After the morning announcements, Mr. Stoker returns our math tests from Tuesday. He lays them facedown on our desks.
“The average grade was 82. The highest grade was 95, and the lowest was 60.” He gives us this data after every test. The class is averaging an 83.75 so far, not including homework. I wish my classmates would get it together and pull up their grades. I want to be average, but I also want an A. I have to think about colleges for next year, and they will want to see more than my SAT scores.
When Mr. Stoker gets to my desk, he leans over and says, “Nice job. A 92. Again.”
I look up. He raises his eyebrows and shrugs like he can’t explain the coincidence that is my math grade. Maybe next time I’ll ace it. And then I’ll blow 1. Then I’ll ace 2 more. I just have to be careful not to set up a pattern.
Levi groans when he sees his grade. He got the 60. He flips his test over and starts to doodle on the back.
Mr. Stoker moves to the front of the room. “Let’s go over the test.”
He uses the overhead projector to put up the 1st 3 questions. Immediately, I see he’s made a mistake in the 2nd question. I got number 2 wrong on my test. But I did it on purpose. Did Mr. Stoker?
He runs through the 1st problem. I play nervously with my lightning-bolt necklace.
“Any questions?”
The class is quiet except for an exaggerated yawn from the back row. Then Mr. Stoker walks through the 2nd problem, outlining the steps with his red marker.
Stop! That’s wrong.
I don’t say anything. I can’t.
I stare at Maddie, willing her to speak up. She’s the smartest kid in the class after me, but she doesn’t seem to be paying attention.
“Any question on number 2? Most of you got this problem wrong.”
You did, too!
He looks around the room. His eyes stop on me, and I look out the window.
Please, Maddie, say something. Speak!
“Mr. Stoker?” Maddie calls out.
I’ve never been so happy to hear her voice. Did my brain send a telepathic message? This is a new skill.
“Yes?”
“May I go to the bathroom?”
“Yes, Maddie.” Mr. Stoker adjusts the overhead. “Moving on….”
Saturday morning I pull out the numbers I’ve collected for the Pet Hut. I don’t have enough data to do any real calculations. I need to go back.
I call Windy 1st to ask her to go with me.
“I can’t. It’s my dad’s weekend. I have to hang out with him and his new girlfriend.” She makes a gagging noise into the phone.
Next, I call Levi. I try not to think too much about it. I’ve never called a boy before and asked him to hang out or work on a project or anything. He might take it the wrong way, since Windy won’t be there. And that’s the last thing I want.
“Really? Windy’s not going?” he asks, even though I’ve already told him that.
“Really. She’s at her dad’s this weekend.”
“Then I’m in. But I need a ride.”
“I’ll take care of it. But no camera, okay?” I don’t know the exact number (and that drives me crazy), but I know Levi has taken at least 17 pictures of me. He’s also snapped 11 of Windy.
“That’s like asking me not to bring my right arm.”
Nana’s way too happy when I ask her for a ride. She suggests I change my shirt and offers to curl my hair. I probably should have warned Levi. I probably should have canceled.
“I can’t believe I’m driving my only granddaughter and a boy.” She slaps the steering wheel as we head to his house. “Wait until I tell your uncle Paul.”
“Please don’t.” I can already imagine the lecture he’d give me about boys and dating. And this is not a date!
“I knew middle school would be good for you.”
“Nana, stop,” I warn her.
“I know, I know, you’re just friends.”
“We’re not even friends,” I say. “We’re partners on a project.”
She turns to me and smiles wide. “And that’s why you’re wearing your hair down.” She takes a strand in her fingers. “So pretty.”
“It’s because it’s wet.” I take the rubber band off my wrist and yank my hair into a ponytail.
Nana pulls into the driveway. Levi lives in a small, neat white house that’s decorated with purple flowers and large pumpkins. It belongs on the cover of a real estate magazine.
“You want me to beep the horn, or are you going to ring the doorbell?” she asks.
“Don’t beep.” I get out of the car, hoping Levi will appear before I get to the door. He doesn’t. Dogs bark from inside. I tap my toe 3 times and use my elbow to ring the doorbell.
Levi looks through the blinds before opening the door. I step back in case his killer guard dogs charge. But there’s only a woman standing behind him.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
“Hi, Lucy. I’m Gina. Nice to meet you.” She tilts her head and smiles when she talks. Gina has brown skin and black hair, like Levi. But his hair is curly on top, and her hair is supershort—almost like Uncle Paul’s military haircut. She’s wearing shorts, a tank top, and sneakers and is kind of sweaty. She’s tall and skinny and probably could be a model. Levi is tall and skinny, too, but he has at least 6 inches to go to catch up with her.
“Nice to meet you.” I wonder if Gina is his biological mom and what his other mom looks like. And who is his biological dad? Seems rude to ask—or even think about. Something Windy would have no problem bringing up.
I hear the car door close and turn to see Nana coming up the sidewalk.
“Hello,” she says as she steps onto the porch. “I’m Lucy’s nana, Barb.” She offers her hand to Gina.
“Hi. I’m Gina. Levi’s mother.”
Nana holds her hand out to Levi next. “Hi, Levi.”
“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”
She turns to me and says, “What a polite young man.” I
give her a warning look, begging her not to say anything else.
“Thank you for driving them,” Gina says. “I’m teaching a cardio class at 11 and another at 1. I could pick them up later.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Nana says. “I’m happy to do it.” I cringe, waiting for her to say something about my lack of a social life, but thankfully she’s quiet.
Levi’s mom kisses his cheek and says good-bye. I can’t tell if he’s embarrassed, because I look away.
We follow Nana back to the car. Levi gets in the back seat. I get in the front, taking my standard 3 tries to sit.
I usually don’t like Nana’s fast driving, but today I want her to push the car to its limits. Luckily, she keeps the conversation polite, and Levi doesn’t look too uncomfortable.
“I remember when this used to be a Pizza Hut,” Nana says as she stops in front of the shelter. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”
“They close at 5,” I say.
“We’re staying all day?” Levi asks.
“I am.”
He groans.
Noah’s behind the counter again. He’s talking to a family and waves to Levi and me as we drop off our volunteer permission forms.
“We will be in the office,” I say, like we’re old coworkers.
Levi holds the door for me. The dogs bark and jump inside their kennels. As we walk past, I look around for Cutie Pi but don’t see him.
We knock on the office door that’s marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. No one answers, so Levi opens it. All the papers are still on the desk. No one’s touched anything since we were here last time. I sit, stand, sit, stand, sit in the chair.
“What am I supposed to do?” Levi asks.
“You can help me enter these into the computer,” I say, patting the pile.
“No thanks.”
“You could—”
Something under the desk brushes against my leg. I shove back in the chair and knock into the metal cabinets.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“There is something under there!” I point. Whatever tried to snap off my leg is hidden in the shadows. My heart is thumping like when we ran the mile in gym class.
Levi rushes around the desk and drops to his knees. “It’s Cutie Pi!”
The Miscalculations of Lightning Girl Page 9
