Buckskin Bandit (3 page)

Pat took the bunny lady, and Barker met the mother-and-daughter team by the fish tanks. If I were a customer, I'd buy anything Barker suggested. He's got that kind of face. He also has a lot of other things going for him. Two great parents who teach African-American literature and art and stuff at Ashland University. And five little brothers who considered Barker their hero.

Note to self: Did I say life is so unfair?

Although I'd been fighting it for days, my photographic memory kicked in. Most people think it sounds great to have a photographic memory, but they're wrong. My mind takes picture of things, even when I don't want it to. And I have no control over when the pictures will flash back.

That's what started happening as I watched Barker showing the mother and daughter golden retriever puppies. I shut my eyes, but I still saw my mom, the way she'd been when the car stopped rolling and I looked over at her. Her head lay against the steering wheel, and she wasn't moving, as snow pounded the windshield and the car shook in the high winds.

Outside the window of Pat's Pets, mothers and daughters, and mothers, fathers, and daughters were everywhere.

It felt like a conspiracy.

Waiting for Pat to finish with her customer, I fiddled with paper clips on her desk. I moved her magnets on the chipped gray filing cabinet. Some of the magnets were animal-shaped. Some of them had Bible verses.

One magnet was shaped like a teardrop. I read the verse on it:

When others are happy, be happy with them.

If they are sad, share their sorrow.

—Romans 12:15

Something twinged inside me, which is how God gets my attention and makes me think about stuff.
Okay, God,
I said in my head, which, I guess, is praying.
I don't have any trouble being sad when people are sad. But it's harder to be happy for kids who get to spend every day with their moms. Or kids like Horse Show–bound who have two parents who care enough to be embarrassing.

It was almost closing time, but more customers trickled in. I probably should have gone home. Lizzy would have dinner ready. She's a year younger than me, but a great cook, which is a good thing because Dad and I don't cook.

But I didn't feel like going home. Madeline might still be there, for one thing. And Lizzy was having her friend Geri spend the night, so all conversation would be about reptiles and amphibians. My sister loves lizards, and her friend is nuts about frogs. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a real best friend like that.

Catman Coolidge strolled out from the back of the store, waved me the peace sign, and plopped down at the computer. I ambled over and took a seat on the crate. He logged on to the Web site, keying in letters and numbers so fast, it looked like he was using all of his fingers to type instead of just his thumbs and pinkies.

Dear Catman,

I want a Siamese cat. My aunt says I can have one of the kittens from her cat's litter. But if you ask me, something's fishy. None of the kittens have black or brown markings, like the mother cat. They're all plain. You think my aunt is trying to put one over on me?

—Siamese Fan

Catman started typing his answer before I'd finished reading the question.

Dear Siamese Fan,

Chill, Daddy-O! Don't be bummed by plain Janes. All Siamese kittens are born without markings. You dig? Little cats get markings later. And the more you handle your kitten, the sooner it will get markings. I kid you not!

—The Catman

I kept watching, and Catman kept answering:

Dear Catman,

My parents FINALLY said I could have my own cat, even though I'm kinda allergic to them. We're buying a shorthaired cat. Any other advice?

—Sneezing in Strongsville

Dear Sneezing,

Get a white cat, man! Cats with light hair are six times less likely to trigger allergies than cats with black hair. Easy, dude.

—The Catman

Dear Catman,

Tomorrow, for my birthday, I get to pick out any kitten I want from the animal shelter. Any tips for me?

—Birthday Boy

I couldn't believe it. Was everybody having a birthday? Catman was already answering.

Happy birthday, Man!

Gnarly gift! A cat is a cat, from day one. That kitty's personality won't change once you get him home. The first kitten who runs to you will end up bossing your pad. He might fight other pets, scratch sofas, and scratch you if you don't give the dude enough attention. The shy kitty may never like being cuddled.

Watch the cats. Do they make nice together? When a kitten hears a loud noise, does he get scared and run to Mommy, or just look around then play it cool? What you see is what you get. Have a blast!

—The Catman

Pat bustled over to us. “I'll be a monkey's uncle—no offense—if this isn't the busiest day we've had in a spell!” She put her hand on my shoulder. “So, Winnie, how's your science-fair project coming?” Pat had been our “temporary” life science teacher since the first day of school. She was also the chairperson of our school's science fair.

I shrugged. I hadn't felt like doing a project. We didn't have to do one, although just about everybody was. And I could have used the extra credit.

“Monday's the last day to get your outline in,” Pat warned. “Love your invention, Catman!”

“What are you inventing?” I asked, surprised. Catman's really smart, but not much of a joiner. “Aren't you protesting science on behalf of Felines Against Fems?” It had something to do with cosmetic experiments on cats.

“The protest is solid,” Catman explained. “Nothing to do with the science fair, though. I'm down with cool-cat bunks—bunk beds for cats.”

Barker whizzed by, carrying a big box. “Catman was going to make a portable eight-track player. I talked him out of it. Time to let it go, man.”

“Your project is a hoot, Barker!” Pat exclaimed. “Tell Winnie about it.”

“Dog greeting cards,” Barker explained, juggling his box. “People can send the cards to their pets, and the dogs can eat the whole thing. It's good for them.”

“I'm thinking I might carry some of Barker's dog cards right here in the store,” Pat said. “So Winnie, what kind of scientific wonder are you creating?”

I sighed. “I don't think I'm entering the science fair, Pat. I can't think of anything good.”

“Winnie Willis!” Pat is almost as short as I am, which is too short. But she's a force—small as a Welsh Cob and just as powerful. Her big, brown eyes screamed disapproval. “You could get your grade back up to an A with the extra points.”

I would have liked that. Pat's class was my favorite. It would have been my only A.

I shook my head. “It's too late. I couldn't put an invention together in a week.”

“Are you kidding?” Pat asked. “Why, sure you could, what with that inventor father of yours! He can help, you know. Long as you do the lion's share of the inventing. No offense.” Pat nodded to the cats.

“Dad's too busy to help,” I mumbled.

“To help with an invention?” Pat asked. “I'll bet he'd drop everything to work on an invention with you!”

I stared at Pat. I'd never even once thought about that. This wasn't like asking him to help me with math or English. This was an invention. And my dad loves inventions.

“You think so, Pat? He's awful tied up with this temperature suit he's working on.”

“Of course he'll want to help you invent something!” Pat exclaimed. “I guarantee it, Winnie. You scoot on home and ask him right now. I need that outline Monday!”

I glanced over at Catman. He nodded.

Maybe they were right. Dad lived for inventions. Why wouldn't he want to invent something with me? Pat thought so. Even Catman thought so.

I raced out of the shop and hopped onto my back bike. A man getting into his car stopped to stare as I pedaled backwards and moved onto the street. But I didn't feel embarrassed. The back bike seemed different. There was something about it. It was a pretty good invention, now that I thought about it.

My dad was an inventor. Why couldn't I come up with something great for the science fair? Especially with a real inventor father to help. I already had some horse-related ideas. Dad and I could work on them together.

I pictured my dad at the science fair, looking on proudly. He'd probably even cheer loud enough to embarrass me.

I could hardly wait to get home and get started.

Madeline's car was gone when I got home. Good. Less competition for Dad. I dropped my bike on the lawn and trotted into the house, practicing in my head how I'd ask for his help. I tried to think like Lizzy, who could talk anybody into anything.

“Hi, Winnie!” Lizzy called.

I kicked off my muddy tennis shoes, then found my sister in the kitchen, stirring something in a big bowl. A lot of people think Lizzy and I look alike, which is a huge compliment to me because Lizzy is beautiful. She has zero freckles to my 23. And her hair never looks like it's exploded from her head.

“Hey, Lizzy. Where's Dad?”

“Workshop, of course.” Lizzy wrinkled her nose in the direction of the garage, which Dad had transformed into a workshop. “Wouldn't go there if I were you.”

Just as she said it, a crash came from the workshop, then a growl that had to have come from Dad, since we don't own bears.

“The temperature suit?” I asked.

Lizzy nodded. “Space heater's on full force. Dad could invent the sauna in there.”

The “temp suit” was a one-piece suit that changed colors with the changing weather. I wasn't anxious for Dad to finish, since he was making it size small. And that meant I'd have to try it out, maybe even wear it to school. Lizzy's a medium. Dad is size long and tall.

I sank to the kitchen table and forced myself to wait until Dad stopped banging things.

“I'll cut you a slice of popcorn bread,” Lizzy offered.

The whole kitchen smelled like popcorn. It's my third favorite smell, right behind horse and horse manure.