The Miscalculations of Lightning Girl

by Stacy McAnulty

“No. Not Windy.”

  “Lucy.” Levi starts to say something, but I’m not listening. A navy-blue car has stopped next to me. My stomach tightens. I don’t recognize the car and can’t see the driver.

  “Someone’s pulled over,” I mumble into the phone.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t get in the car with anyone,” Levi warns.

  “I know that!” I move away from the road, toward the chain link fence that surrounds a vacant lot.

  “Are you okay?” a woman calls out her window. “Do you need a lift?”

  I look back. “No.”

  The woman wears sunglasses and a smile. She isn’t creepy in any way, but I still want her to leave. Just go.

  “Lucy, what’s going on?” Levi calls out.

  The woman puts her window up and pulls away. I squat in the tall grass, hoping no other drivers notice me.

  “Lucy!”

  “I’m fine.” My body feels full of energy that makes me want to fly. “Stay on the phone.”

  “Okay.”

  I make a wide circle around the dead cat. It’s easier to breathe the farther I get away from it.

  “Where are you exactly?” Levi asks.

  “In front of a place called True Natural Turf.” The brick building looks like a prison, with its chain link fence and barred windows.

  “Okay. I’m pulling up a map online.”

  I walk quickly through the parking lot. My heartbeat echoes in my ears.

  “You’re over 2 miles from the Pet Hut, Lucy. The map says it’ll take you 42 minutes to walk there.”

  “I can do it.” In the distance, I see a sidewalk. Maybe the worst is over. “Stay on the phone.” I say it again.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I believe him.

  “Hey, I know what will make you feel better.”

  “What?”

  “Math problems. Hang on a sec.” I hear clicking in the background. “I got 1. Ready? Jane is counting her change. She has 2 more quarters than nickels, 5 fewer dimes than quarters, and 2 more pennies than nickels. The total amount is $1.86. How many coins does she have?”

  “17.”

  “Geez, you answered it before I could even scroll down.” He laughs. “Of course, you’re right.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you want another problem?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  Levi asks me question after question as I walk. They’re mostly simple algebra or geometry, but they still distract me from the traffic and from thinking about Windy. I answer 27 problems before I make it to the door of the Pet Hut.

  “Don’t walk home alone,” he says.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Text me later.”

  “Okay. Thanks for…”

  “Yeah. No problem.” He hangs up.

  Math has saved me again. Or maybe it was Levi.

  Noah waves to me from the front desk. A phone is tucked between his ear and shoulder.

  This visit isn’t planned, but I know exactly why I’m here. I need to see Pi.

  All the kennels are full of barking, snarling dogs. Pi isn’t in 1. He’s the broken merchandise that’s kept hidden in the back until it’s time to throw it away.

  I open the door to the office. I don’t even get a chance to worry that Pi might not be there. My dog runs right to me. His body wiggles with excitement.

  “Hi, Pi.” When I kneel down in front of him, he jumps up and puts his paws on my shoulders. His tongue swipes my cheek, which is disgusting.

  “Why are you so happy?” I ask him. “Don’t you know I’ve had a rotten day?” It’s like he does know. He nudges his nose under my chin over and over, trying to lift my head.

  “Let’s go for a walk.” I grab his leash and harness. Pi jumps and runs in circles, making it hard for me to get him clipped in. I finally get it. He takes the other end of the leash in his mouth. I laugh.

  “You’re going to walk yourself? I don’t think so.” I wrestle my end free. We step out of the office and nearly knock into Noah.

  “Sorry.”

  “No worries.” He kneels in front of Pi and rubs his head. “I’m glad you came to say good-bye. Claire’s been freaking out all day whether she should call you guys or just let it be.”

  “What do you mean?” I step back and pull the leash to my chest. “Is someone taking him? Has he found a home?”

  Noah’s face changes. I know Pi isn’t being adopted—or given free to a good home. His time must be up.

  “He’s being picked up in the morning by animal control.”

  “No,” I whisper. My throat tightens.

  “Sorry.” Noah reaches to touch my arm, but I pull away. “He’s a good dog. You tried.” He walks back toward the front desk.

  Pi tugs on the leash. It’s clear he really doesn’t understand English. We were talking about his death sentence, and his tail is still wagging.

  In the distance, I hear Claire talking to Noah. This is my chance. I should run away with Pi. I walked here. I can walk home. I can save him. But even taking 1 step feels like too many. I turn and go back into the office. Pi isn’t happy to be shut inside. He scratches at the door.

  “Stop it,” I snap at him. “There’s nothing for you out there. Nothing for either of us.”

  But Pi keeps pacing and digging to get out.

  “Please. Stop.”

  He whines.

  “Stop!” And he does for a second. I notice the black spot on his back. When I met him, I thought it looked like a lightning bolt. I thought it was a sign. But it really looks more like a Z.

  My phone vibrates, but I ignore it, slamming it down on the desk. Pi stares at me with his head tilted. It’s not cute and curious; it’s the cancer.

  I’m suddenly very tired. I can’t even find the energy to cry or to care about bacteria and germs. I kneel down and crawl under the desk. My green-and-yellow sweatshirt is balled in the corner. I curl my knees to my chest and lay my head down on top. Pi wiggles his way in. He rests his chin on my shoulder. He’s quiet and still, maybe for the 1st time ever. But somehow I know he’s doing it for me. He wants me to feel better and not be sad. He should be selfish and trying to escape, not cuddling up to me.

  I wrap an arm around him. We both close our eyes. The digits of pi swim through my brain. At 1st, they’re bright. Then they dim. My world is quiet except for the deep breathing of a dog.

  * * *

  A tap on the shoulder wakes me. I jump and hit my head on the bottom of the desk. Pi’s rapid-fire tail bangs against my feet.

  “Did you have a good nap?” Nana asks.

  “No.”

  She offers me her hand and helps me out from under the desk. My knees and elbows and back ache. I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s only 5:10. I slept less than 30 minutes.

  Claire stands behind Nana. She forces a smile. I tap my toe 3 times and use globs of hand sanitizer.

  “This must be Pi,” Nana says. He sniffs and licks her sneakers. They probably smell like Cracker Barrel. She doesn’t reach out to touch him. Nana doesn’t like animals. She’s 66 and has never had a pet in her life.

  “Yeah, this is Pi. Can we keep him, please?” I ask, knowing I sound like a whiny little kid.

  “Lucy,” Nana says, which means no.

  “They’re going to kill him.”

  Claire sighs and closes her eyes. I wait for her to correct me. She doesn’t. She’s probably thinking, I’ll never let kids volunteer here again. Too much trouble.

  “Let’s go home, Lucy. It’s been a long day.” Nana gently takes my elbow. I pull my arm away like she’s hurting me.

  “I can’t leave him!” I shout.

  “Do you want me to take the dog o
utside?” Claire asks Nana.

  “His name is Pi!” I snap.

  “I know, Lucy.” Claire keeps her voice calm and soft. “I love him, too. I know you don’t believe that. But I do.”

  I want to be mad at Claire. I want to hate her. I can’t.

  “He’s all I have.” The words come out with the tears, and I’m ashamed right away.

  “Am I chopped liver?” Nana tries to joke.

  That makes me cry harder. Nana and Uncle Paul and math were once enough. I want to go back 79 days, before I cared about Pi and Levi. And definitely before Windy.

  Nana turns to face Claire. “Pi is going to animal control tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry,” Claire says.

  “Can we keep him overnight?” Nana asks. “And I’ll bring him to animal control 1st thing in the morning. I’d like to give Lucy time to say good-bye.”

  “If you think that’s a good idea,” Claire says.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. It’s probably not. Maybe I should just rip off the Band-Aid now.”

  “No,” I say. “Let’s take him home. It is a good idea.” It gives me 1 more night to find him a real home. And maybe Nana will change her mind. She might fall in love and want to keep him. We’d have to move apartments to some place that allows pets. It’s all unlikely, but not impossible.

  “It’s only 1 night,” Nana says, as if reading my mind.

  “I know.” Sometimes 1 is the perfect number.

  I leave the Pet Hut with Pi in my arms, knowing he’ll never see this place again. I shuffle my feet so that my journey from the door to the car is exactly 29 steps. I need the luck of a prime number. I slip into the back seat.

  Pi runs from window to window, almost happy. He doesn’t get it. He lives in the moment. Like all dogs do.

  Nana gets in the car. She turns the key, and the engine purrs. It’s the only sound. She doesn’t speak until we get on the road.

  “How did you get to the shelter?”

  “I walked.”

  Nana takes a deep breath. “For a smart girl, sometimes you make dumb choices.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I think it’s time you tell me what’s going on,” Nana says. “I might not have a solution for you—especially if it has to do with math. But you’ll feel better if you share your problems. I promise.”

  “This miscalculation has nothing to do with math.”

  We stop on a dead-end road for Pi to do his business, and I tell Nana about the birthday party and about math class. She listens quietly. She doesn’t even joke.

  I watch Pi gnaw on a stick. “I don’t want to go back to East Hamlin. Ever.”

  “I get that,” she says.

  “I could go to the academy.” I squeeze the leash tighter in my hand.

  “Maybe. But that’s not until January.” It seems forever away. Anything beyond tomorrow feels like the next decade. I’m being selfish. I should be thinking about Pi. Only Pi. Not stupid Windy.

  “I don’t get why Windy would tell everyone.”

  “She screwed up.”

  “Don’t defend her.” I pick up Pi and carry him back to the car. I don’t want to hear Nana take Windy’s side.

  Nana gets in and starts the car. She doesn’t say anything else about Windy, but I’m ready with comebacks if she does.

  Windy knew what she was doing.

  Windy can’t be trusted.

  Windy never really was my friend.

  Windy’s a jerk.

  When we pull into the parking lot, Nana throws me an old blanket she keeps in the car for emergencies.

  “We will have to sneak him in,” she says. “Wrap him up. And he’d better not bark.”

  “He won’t. I promise.” I stare at Pi, begging him to agree with Nana’s rules. I carry the wriggling blanket to the front door of our building. I’m trying so hard to act normal that I don’t notice Windy until she’s a few feet away.

  “Hi,” she says, sitting on the steps. Her eyes are puffy, and she’s pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head like she’s hiding.

  I walk past her and don’t say anything.

  Nana unlocks the door, and I go inside 1st.

  “Come on in, Windy,” Nana says, not considering what I want.

  I tap my toe 3 times before letting Pi jump free from the blanket and onto our living room floor. His nose goes to the ground as he sniffs his new (temporary) home.

  “Are you adopting him?” Windy asks, sounding hopeful. She helps herself to hand sanitizer.

  “No. He’s here only for the night,” Nana says.

  “Where’s he going tomorrow?”

  “That’s my problem!” I snap. “Why are you here?” She was definitely not invited.

  Nana gives me a hard look but then leaves the room. She makes an excuse about needing a shower and warns me again to keep the dog quiet.

  “I don’t want you to be mad at me,” Windy says. She plays with the charm bracelet on her left wrist.

  “Fine, I’m not mad at you,” I lie. Windy looks up at me. She knows I’m lying, too.

  “Yeah, you are. And I’m sorry.” She says the last part really fast.

  “Okay.”

  “You know what you said in math class?” Windy asks. “How I used to matter.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I mattered to you, and I messed that up. And I don’t know why I did what I did.” She squeezes her eyes closed and takes a breath. “You have to believe me that I didn’t mean to hurt you and tell your secret. I wasn’t thinking. Maybe it was all the candy. A sugar overload.”

  Her stupid excuse makes my neck burn.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” Windy continues. “I’ll make it up to you some way.”

  “You can’t.” I should say it’ll be okay. But nothing feels okay. I never want to go back to middle school. And that’s her fault.

  “There must be something.”

  “There’s not. You can’t make this better.” I walk out of the living room and into the kitchen. I fill a bowl with water for Pi, then wash my hands, scrubbing from my elbows to my fingertips in the hottest water.

  Pi spills more than he drinks.

  Windy leans against the doorway. Her arms are folded across her chest. “Can you please yell at me? Yell and scream and maybe throw something. But something soft. And then we can make up. Okay?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Yes, you do.” She steps in front of me and grabs my shoulders. “Just do it.”

  “No.” I knock her hands away.

  “Then, do you forgive me?” she asks.

  “Fine. I forgive you.”

  “So, we’re friends again?”

  “No.”

  She takes a step closer. “But if you—”

  “You promised! You were my best friend, and you promised not to tell anyone. You just couldn’t shut up for once.”

  Windy jerks back, and her mouth falls open. Pi scrambles between us.

  “You tried to get the other girls to like you by making fun of me. Like I’m a joke. Look at the freak.”

  “I wasn’t making fun of you. Is that what you think?”

  “I was there! I know what you said.” I clench my fists, and my nails bite into my skin. “It doesn’t matter why. You broke a promise. Don’t you get that?”

  I stomp across the kitchen. I open a cabinet and slam it closed. Then I open another.

  “Lucy, it does matter why.” Her voice is soft.

  “Whatever.” I pull out a bag of Twizzlers. I don’t give any to Pi or Windy. Even though both of them look at me with sad puppy eyes.

  “You’re my best friend. I wanted them to like you, but all they ever get to see is your weird habits. The sitting over and over. The cleaning. I think your m
ath tricks are totally cool. If I was a genius, I’d want everyone to know.”

  “So, you broke a promise because—”

  “Geez! I know I broke a promise. And I said I’m sorry. So sorry.” Her shoulders fall like she’s exhausted, and she takes a seat on a kitchen chair. “I wanted them to be my friends and your friends.”

  For a second, I almost believe her. But then I remember lying on that cot and hearing all the girls laugh. “Why are we friends?”

  She looks up. “What?”

  “I don’t understand. You’ve been nice to me since day 1 on the bus. Which makes no sense at all. Especially when I kept a secret from you for weeks.” It was 65 days, to be exact. “Why would you want to be friends with me?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Because you’re a good person?” She says it like a question, and I groan.

  “What’s wrong with being a good person?” she asks. “You never complain about my love of musicals or my causes. You don’t try to change people. It’s like you’re only trying to understand people.”

  I roll my eyes. I will never understand people. In algebra, you can solve an equation when you have 1 unknown variable. People are equations with dozens of variables. Basically unsolvable.

  “You’re different, Lucy,” Windy continues.

  “Yeah, I’m a freak genius,” I mumble.

  “That’s not what I mean. Other kids care about clothes or what YouTube channels I watch. You only care that I use hand sanitizer. A lot of hand sanitizer. I think I may be developing a rash from overuse.”

  I almost laugh but stop myself by biting into a Twizzler.

  “I guess you accept me for being me.” She throws her head back. “Ugh, I sound like a guidance counselor.”

  “You really do.”

  “So as a guidance counselor, I have to ask, is there really no way for us to be friends again?” She bites her bottom lip.

  I take a seat at the kitchen table (3 times, of course), and I hand her a Twizzler.

  A smile spreads across her face. I wait for her to say something, but for the 1st time Windy Sitton is quiet.

  I give her another Twizzler even though she hasn’t eaten the 1st, and Pi puts a paw on my thigh. He wants 1, too. I know dogs shouldn’t have candy, but this is like his last meal.