“Tomorrow, he’s going to animal control,” I explain. “Tomorrow, he’s going to be…”
“No. We can’t let that happen. We’re going to fix this.”
“How?”
She pulls out her phone. “I might not have a lot of good friends, but I have a lot of contacts.” She starts dialing. Levi’s is the 1st number she calls. He’s knocking on the front door 30 minutes later.
“Looks like we’re having a party,” Nana says when she lets him in. “I’ll make popcorn.”
Levi greets Pi with a tummy rub and some embarrassing kissy noises.
“Um.” I clear my throat, and Levi looks up. “Thanks for helping me out earlier.” I want to say more, like, no one else would have done that for me.
“Whatever. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“And maybe you’re right.”
He wrinkles his forehead. “About what?”
“Yesterday. You said I wasn’t the 1st freak to feel out of place at school.”
“Oh yeah.” He stands up.
I play with my lightning-bolt necklace. “Do you really think this will blow over in 5 minutes?”
“Maybe. But now people will probably call you Lightning Girl instead of the cleaning lady. Which is actually cooler. Isn’t it?”
“Definitely.”
Pi, not happy about the lack of attention, jumps up on me. Pi’s right. Now is not the time to worry about my own drama.
“Can you update the blog post?” I ask Levi.
“I hate writing.” He pauses. “But sure.”
Windy keeps calling every number stored in her iPhone. Nana joins in, too, contacting her bowling-league pals and her coworkers. I try Uncle Paul.
“I’ve got the perfect dog for you,” I say when he answers the phone.
“What?”
“I have a dog for you to adopt. He’s cute and smart and—”
“Luce, I can’t have a dog.”
I knew it was a long shot. “Do you know anyone who does want a dog?”
“All my friends live in barracks. Not ideal for a pet.”
Levi reposts to the website with a new heading. THIS DOG IS ON DEATH ROW. I stare at the computer, waiting for a miracle.
Every minute that ticks off the clock feels like a belt tightening around my gut. No one wants to adopt Pi. A friend of Nana’s offers to call her daughter in Virginia to see if she’s ready for a pet. She’d just moved into a big house over the summer. But that lead goes nowhere. It’s after 10 when Nana drives Levi and Windy home. They each say a final good-bye to Pi before leaving, but I can’t watch. I pretend to be busy in the kitchen.
“I’ll ask my mom to repost Pi’s picture and information,” Levi says as he stands in the front doorway. “We’ll find him a home.”
“Thanks.” I don’t get my hopes up. Levi’s mom has posted about Pi before.
I stay home with Pi while Nana drops them off. We go to my bedroom. Pi waits for me to sit, stand, sit, stand, sit before jumping into my lap. I click through websites, hoping to find a last-minute solution.
“Maybe I should let you go,” I tell Pi. “You could survive in the wild. Eating out of trash cans and wandering the streets.” Then I think of the cat on the side of the highway.
Like always, I end up on MathWhiz. I send a quick apology to Numberlicious, but he/she still has me blocked. So I go into a forum for math homework help. I answer question after question, from elementary school math to calculus. Pi rests his head on my right forearm, making it hard to move the mouse.
I keep working, even after Nana’s home. Usually, solving the problems listed as difficult makes me feel better. Tonight, it’s no help.
Suddenly, a chat pops up on my screen.
SquareHead314: you’re working late
LightningGirl: bad day
SquareHead314: sorry
LightningGirl: not all problems are solvable
SquareHead314: True.
SquareHead314: Sometimes solutions take time
LightningGirl: I’m out of time
SquareHead314: Sometimes solutions take a team
I have a team. I have a great team.
SquareHead314: Let me know if I can help. You never ask for help.
LightningGirl: thx
SquareHead314: good night
I’ve been coming to the website for over 4 years, almost daily. And I’ve never once asked for help. There are some smart people here, but I’m a genius. Geniuses don’t ask normal people for help.
I rub Pi’s back. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. He tilts his head.
“There’s nothing I can do.” This site isn’t for selling old furniture or finding a plumber. I’d probably be banned for life if I wrote about Pi. I remember 1 guy last year asked people to sign a petition about coal ash being dumped in rivers. The guy was booted within an hour. My math friends can’t help me.
Pi stretches and then puts his head down. He doesn’t look comfortable, awkwardly sprawled across my lap and chair. But he does look happy.
“Fine! I’ll ask for help.”
I click on the logic-problem forum and start typing in all caps.
HELP! I HAVE AN UNSOLVABLE PROBLEM.
57 DAYS AGO I MET A DOG NAMED PI. (YES, PI AS IN 3.14159) I DON’T LIKE DOGS OR PUPPIES, BUT THIS FLUFFY BEAGLE MIX IS DIFFERENT. SPECIAL! AND NOT JUST BECAUSE OF HIS COOL NAME. HE KNOWS HOW TO MAKE A PERSON FEEL NEEDED. HE DOESN’T CARE IF YOU’RE SMART OR POPULAR. HE HAS NO CONCERN FOR PERSONAL SPACE. MAYBE MOST DOGS ARE THIS WAY.
TOMORROW HE WILL BE TURNED OVER TO THE HAMLIN COUNTY ANIMAL CONTROL. HE HAS CANCER AND IS CONSIDERED UNADOPTABLE. YOU CAN GUESS HIS FATE.
MATHEMATICALLY SPEAKING, IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE TO ADOPT THIS DOG. HIS LIFE EXPECTANCY IS LESS THAN A YEAR (EXACT NUMBER OF DAYS UNKNOWN). HIS MEDICAL BILLS WILL BE HIGH (CURRENTLY INCALCULABLE, BUT PROBABLY HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS). BUT IF YOU CARE FOR HIM, PET HIM, HUG HIM, AND LET HIM LIE IN YOUR LAP, PI WILL LOVE YOU BACK (AND THAT CAN’T BE MEASURED, EITHER).
SOMETIMES NUMBERS AREN’T ALL THAT MATTERS.
PLEASE HELP SOLVE THIS UNSOLVABLE PROBLEM. IF YOU CAN ADOPT PI, PLEASE CALL ANIMAL CONTROL AT 8:00 A.M.
IF NOT, LET OTHERS KNOW. PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE HELP.
HELP FIND PI A HOME, AND I’LL DO YOUR MATH HOMEWORK FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.
I give the number for animal control, and I change my profile picture from a Fibonacci spiral to a selfie of me and Pi. A reply dings a second later.
JJillM: You can’t post that here.
LightningGirl: Sorry it’s an emergency
JJillM: There are rules. We can’t put our personal problems up.
Numberlicious: Leave her alone.
2plus2: Where’s Hamlin?
LightningGirl: North Carolina
2plus2: Crap. I’m in Canada.
MathMaster: :(
The next few hours go like this. Some people complain I’m abusing the system. Some say they live too far away. Some offer to send me money. None of these are solutions. At 2:30 a.m., I’m too tired to type anymore. I crawl into my bed in my clothes. Pi follows me.
“Do not lie on my pillow,” I warn. We curl up together and don’t move until Nana nudges me awake in the morning.
Nana sits on the edge of my bed, rubbing my back. For a split second, I forget that I’m sharing my sleeping space with a dog. I’m reminded by a wet nose on my cheek.
“Time to get up,” she says.
“Have you changed your mind about keeping Pi?” I ask.
“I’m sorry.” She stands and walks to the doorway. “Get ready. We need to leave in 15 minutes.”
As soon as Nana closes the door, I check the math website and the Pet Hut blog. With each click, my hope slips away. It hurts to hold my head u
p, and my stomach is tight. So, this is what it feels like to fail.
I use the bathroom. Pi follows me. I get dressed. Pi stands at my feet. I have a frozen waffle. Pi gets 1, too.
“Hurry up. He probably needs to do his business,” Nana says. She hands me my lunch. With all my school stuff packed up, I grab Pi and try to hide him under my coat. We rush to the car. No one notices.
Nana drives to the same dead end Pi used as a bathroom yesterday.
“Take your time,” I tell Pi. “Take all the time in the world.”
I wait for Pi to do number 1 and number 2.
“You gotta pick that up,” Nana yells from the car. She holds out a plastic Walmart bag.
“I can’t.”
“You have to. It’s the law.” She rolls the window up.
I’m tempted to yell back, “He’s not my dog!” But that seems cruel—especially in front of Pi.
While holding my breath, I pick up the warm pile. I tie the bag and hold it away from me.
I lean in the car. “What do I do with it?”
Nana’s face wrinkles with disgust, but she also looks ready to laugh. “Throw it in the trunk for now. But we’d better not forget about it, or we’ll be sorry next time we load up the groceries.”
“Trust me. I’m never going to forget this.” The trunk pops open, and I drop the bomb inside. When I get in the car, I use globs of hand sanitizer.
Nana is laughing now. “I can’t believe what I just witnessed. Never in a million years.”
“Must be a sign,” I say, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. “A sign we should keep him.”
She’s not laughing anymore. “I’m sorry. We can’t.”
Pi lies down on the seat next to me and puts his head on my leg. There’s no other dog I would do this for. He seems to know what I’m thinking. Without permission, my eyes fill with tears. And I have nothing sanitary to wipe them with.
I wish for a major traffic jam to stop our trip. We’re not that lucky.
The animal control building comes into view on the right. I look down like I can prevent this from happening if I keep it out of sight. The car turns 2 times and then stops. Nana cuts the engine.
Pi squirms into my lap. He’s shaking, and not in a tail-wagging happy way.
“I’m not ready. They’re not open. Can we wait a few minutes?” My mouth shouts every thought that’s flooding my brain. “I can’t do this. Please. Maybe there’s somewhere else. Please, don’t. They’re going to kill him.”
“Lucy, honey, there’s nothing we can do,” Nana whispers. “I’m sorry.”
My head is buried in Pi’s fur. Nana lets me cry. I hear her get out of the car, and then I hear my door open. Her hand is on my shoulder. I wish for the digits of pi to sweep in, but all I feel is a trembling dog who will soon be gone.
“Lucy.” The voice calling me is not Nana’s. I look up at Windy. She’s the 1 touching my shoulder. Her eyes are red and her cheeks spotty.
Levi stands behind her.
“What’s going on?”
“We didn’t think you should do this alone.” Windy takes Pi from my lap.
“Thanks.”
Levi pets Pi under his chin. Pi closes his eyes and stretches his neck. I know that he feels safe with us, and we are about to betray him.
“Take 5 minutes to say good-bye,” Ms. Sitton says. “We need to get you to school.”
“Okay,” Windy says without argument.
There’s a peeling bench in front of the building. Feeling weak, I take a seat doing my usual routine. Pi squirms free from Windy. He runs and dives into my lap.
All the air rushes from my lungs. “Whoa.”
“Normally, I’d be jealous that he likes you more than me,” Windy says. “But it’s kind of a compliment because I picked you as a best friend, and Pi picked you as a best friend. He has good taste.”
Levi groans and focuses his camera on Pi and me. But I won’t need pictures to remember Pi.
Windy steps closer. Her voice is soft. “I’m going to miss you, Cutie Pi.” She blows him a kiss.
Levi scratches Pi’s chin 1 more time. “Bye, bud. You don’t deserve…” His voice quits on him.
Pi’s tail beats against my leg. 1-2, 3-4, 5-6. His big, stupid eyes watch me. I look away to Levi and then to Windy.
“I don’t know how to say good-bye.” My throat has never been so dry and tight.
Pi whines softly as I cry.
Another car pulls into the lot. The tires crunch the gravel. Every second seems to be shooting by at top speed. Time won’t stop. It’s only getting faster.
“Is that Mr. Stoker?” Levi asks.
I look up and see our math teacher getting out of an SUV.
“Mr. Stoker? What are you doing here?” Windy asks. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“I came to see about a dog.”
A second ago, my chest hurt like I was being crushed by a boulder. Now it’s flooding with hope, but I’m not ready to believe it.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
He smiles and puts his hands in his pockets. He rocks back and forth. “Last night, I read on 1 of my favorite websites a moving post about a dog that needs a home.”
“Pi’s post has been up for 13 days,” I remind him.
“Yeah, the pictures have been up forever,” Levi adds.
“It wasn’t on the Pet Hut page.” Mr. Stoker looks at me.
“MathWhiz?” I ask.
“Yes,” Mr. Stoker says. “My user name is—”
“SquareHead314?” Could I have been friends with a teacher?
“No. Don’t laugh. It’s MathMaster. I’m not really on that much.”
I recognize the name. I always thought I deserved it. I even considered asking him/her to give it up. I was willing to math-duel for it.
“What’s going on?” Windy’s head turns from me to our teacher to me again.
I ignore her question. It can wait. Mine can’t. “Are you really going to adopt Pi?”
“I’d like to. Is that okay?”
“Yes!” I yell, and Pi flinches. “Sorry.” I give him a squeeze.
My head feels lighter, and I look up to the brilliant blue sky (the color of the number 4). I’ve never been so happy to solve a problem.
I’m sitting on the low brick wall outside East Hamlin Middle School, waiting for Nana. It’s the last day of school before winter break, and we’re heading to the airport to pick up Uncle Paul. Nana’s thrilled. She was worried that he’d have to work over Christmas—or worse, that he’d be spending it with his girlfriend instead of with us.
“Guys, you don’t have to wait with me,” I say to Windy and Levi.
“We want to,” Windy says. She really wants to share my bag of gumdrops.
“Whatever.” Levi, who’s shivering in his hooded sweatshirt, takes pictures of the bare tree branches. He’s adding more nature shots to his photo collection on ArtBoom. But he prefers to focus on hidden beauty, like rotting pumpkins and stormy skies.
“Are you sure you can’t go tonight?” Windy asks. She wants to go to the Pet Hut after school. Again. We’ve been there every day this week. The holidays are a busy time for pet adoption. I’ve plugged this new data into my formula. Dogs are being adopted 11 percent faster in December than in any other month.
“Not tonight. I haven’t seen my uncle since October.”
“Leave her alone,” Levi says. “We’ll all be there tomorrow.”
My butt is numb from sitting on the freezing bricks. But the air gets even colder when Maddie walks by with her mom. I guess everyone is leaving early before the break.
“Hey,” Windy says. But Maddie doesn’t hear—or pretends not to hear.
Weeks ago, I’d apologized to Maddie for blowing up at h
er in math class. Judging by her silent response—and the fact that she got herself transferred to another math class—I think my apology was unaccepted. We’re still together for 5 other classes, but we manage to never speak. Ever.
When her Cougars Care Project was featured on the local news 2 weeks ago, I almost told her congratulations. But I chickened out. Maddie, Jasmine, and Daniela deserved the spotlight. Their backpacks-for-refugees project was a huge success. (The reporter said they collected over 100 bags. I wish they knew the exact number.)
Telling Maddie that she means nothing to me, that she’s a 0, was a crappy thing to do. I like to think that she forgot about it or doesn’t care. But anytime I see her with glassy eyes, I wonder whether I had something to do with it. She has enough pressure without thinking about me and my stupid comments. We all have our problems.
At least Maddie’s friends aren’t so awful anymore. Jennifer and I were paired up in Spanish class for a project on a Latin American city. We had fun learning about Quito.
And even though I’m still in 7th-grade math and everyone—from the principal to all my classmates—knows I’m a savant, it’s more or less okay. Mr. Stoker gives me extra work and projects. Math is still my favorite class, and language arts is still my least favorite. But I did like the unit on poetry. We had to count syllables! I volunteered to read a poem in front of the class. Ms. Fleming was very impressed.
Nana pulls up and waves. I give Windy a hug good-bye, along with the rest of the gumdrops.
“See ya tomorrow,” I say to Levi.
“Yep.”
As soon as I open the car door, I see the letter on the front seat. It’s from NCASME. I grab it and then sit, stand, sit, stand, sit. I haven’t even thought about my application for weeks. Just going back to school after my math-class incident was more than enough to worry about. For what seemed like forever, every murmur in class and in the hallways was about me. I wanted to leave. Finally, after Thanksgiving, the talk slowed and then stopped. It helped that some students hacked into the school’s computer system. They weren’t trying to change grades or cheat. They sent prank emails from Dr. Cobb that said things like East Hamlin was closed due to a smallpox outbreak. It was a big whodunit mystery for a whole week. An acquired savant can’t compete with hackers.
The Miscalculations of Lightning Girl Page 18
