Immortal Max (20 page)

“Why would I care? I'm an outsider.”

She looks hurt again.

I mumble, “Sorry.”

“Sammy's going to lose his job.” Rosie sits down next to Yee.

“What?” Anise stops shoveling worms. Bailey, too. Everyone stares at Rosie.

“That's what Patty told me today. Her mom bought some plants from Mom.”

“Why?” Bailey says, looking at me.

“Oh.”
Yee's eyes switch to high beams. “It's because we're building a dog park. . . .”

No one says a word with their mouths, but four pairs of eyes give me pitying looks. I can't stand it.

“I, uh, I need to get the trash can out on the street.”

“Why?” Bailey frowns. “The trash gets picked up on Fridays. That's tomorrow.”

“I know, but I have to work in the morning and won't have time.”

A lie and they all know it. There'll be plenty of time in the morning to put out the trash can.

“Empty my trash can, too!” Rosie yells to me.

“Do your own chores!”

The cheerleaders return to Bailey's for practice, and I drag the trash can out to the street. Planning to spend the rest of the day in my room, I hurry back inside. The plan falls apart. I'm drawn to the telephone like a magnet to metal. I dial the number by heart, listen to Mrs. Kendall answer the phone, and ask my usual question.

“As a matter of fact, we sold another one just last night. That leaves just one puppy. A male.”

My lungs refuse to inflate. “You . . . you only have
one
puppy left?”

She confirms the answer and hangs up.
Click
.

I stare at the phone, numb. Can this really be happening?

No, my head insists. There's still time. There aren't enough volunteers to build the dog park. No one will want the last puppy. . . .

On Friday, I can hardly concentrate when I take the dogs out. Probabilities cloud my thinking.

What are the chances that Mrs. Kendall will sell the last puppy . . .

That the dog park will be finished before I have enough money saved . . .

That Justin will turn Bruno loose again . . .

The last thing on the list is my biggest worry. Citations haven't stopped Justin before.

Dogs have a special insight. They can sense your moods. Like when you're worried. Or nervous. Or scared. Bruno made himself alpha dog because he sensed that Justin was afraid of him. The four little dogs sense my mood today. They're so nervous, they hardly take their eyes off me. Except Siegfried. He looks behind us a lot.

“Let me know if you see anything, Siegfried.”

He looks up at me, panting. I don't think it's from the heat.

The traffic is heavier today, with people getting ready for the weekend. BMWs and Volvo station wagons challenge the speed limit. Some going at least forty. Construction people are busy loading equipment on flatbed trailers, massive machines that weigh tons. I hurry the dogs to the corner lot, hoping they'll take care of business quickly.

Relieved when the last doggie bag is tied to a belt loop, I hurry the dogs toward home. When we're a block from Mr. P's house, I let myself relax. Breathe.

All at once, Siegfried pulls to a stop, looking over his shoulder. Turning, I see Justin a half block behind us, holding Bruno's leash. The monster dog is hauling him all over the place, wanting to be free.

Not again—

Old feelings break the surface. Anger. Frustration. I want so bad to make Justin pay.

And then it happens.

Justin lands in the dirt, face-first. An anchor too weak to hold Bruno back. He's a pull toy again.

A disconnected feeling comes over me. Unprompted, words explode out of my mouth.

“Looks like
Brownie
is taking you for another dirt walk, Justin.”

Justin sits up and wraps the leash around his waist. A human buoy in a sea of dirt. “His name's
Bruno
, not Brownie.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, Professor Muller told me that Bruno means brown in German. That's some fancy name your dog has.” My lips make smooching sounds. My mouth says things like “Heel,
Brownie
. Sit,
Brownie
. Good,
Brownie
.”

Justin struggles to his feet, glaring. Then I see a slow grin spread across his face . . . hear the sound of Bruno's leash . . . unsnapping.

Rats—

“Run, Siegfried!” I pick up Apollo, Buddy, and Baby and take off running, too. A quick look over my shoulder puts wings on my feet. Bruno is bearing down on us like we're petrified rocks. Fossilized stones. Calcified cartilage.

Fenrir, the monster dog of myth, wants to bite the hand off a warrior. That warrior's name? Sammy Smith.

Siegfried's leash rips from my hand, and he races ahead. “Wait for me, Siegfried!” Before I can catch up, Siegfried runs between two cars.

A silver streak passes me, and I make a discovery. I'm not Bruno's target. Siegfried is.

The thudding sound of the construction truck hitting an
object freezes me in my tracks. My heart pounds in my ears. My lungs burn. My legs refuse to move.

The driver jumps out to investigate. Others stop, too. And then Chief Beaumont roars up the street, lights flashing. He hurries over to me.

“I'm sorry. Siegfried pulled the leash out of my hand. I tried to stop him but Bruno was chasing him and—” Tears wash my cheeks.

“Put the dogs in the backseat, Sam.”

He opens the door so I can deposit Apollo, Buddy, and Baby inside. I stumble toward the street to pick up what's left of little Siegfried. Suddenly, something pushes against my leg.

“Siegfried?” I pick up the little Min Pin and examine him. “Look, Chief, he's okay. Siegfried's not hurt. But who—”

“Bruno—
Bruno!
”

I race back to Chief Beaumont's car, put Siegfried in the backseat, and run after the chief. At the front of the crowd, I see Justin holding Bruno's head in his lap. Bruno's tongue is hanging loose. His legs are limp. Eyes dulled.

“Let him go, son,” Chief Beaumont says to Justin. But Justin won't move.

“Come on, Justin.” I kneel next to him and try to pull him away, but he won't let go. “It's no good. Bruno is . . .” The word sticks in my throat. “He's dead, Justin. Bruno is dead.”

“Dead.” Justin's voice is thick. Oily. “No, he can't be. Bruno, get up—get up, boy—”

He really loved Bruno. . . .

Suddenly, a man jerks Justin to his feet. “What happened?”

“It was an accident, Dad. He—he got away from me.”

“Accident?” Chief Beaumont points to the leash in Justin's hand. “Then why are you carrying
that
, Justin?”

Justin stares at the empty leash, then spins around and points at me. “It was Sammy's fault. He—he was teasing Bruno.”

Everyone looks at me, including Chief Beaumont.

“You turned him loose again, didn't you?” Mr. Wysocki
grabs Justin by the shoulder and shoves him toward the street. “Get home, I'll deal with you later.”

“Ease up, Wysocki. Your son just lost his dog—”

“Which he parked in the basement along with his other toys.” Mr. Wysocki turns to look at Justin. “That's the last dog you'll ever have—so don't come asking me for another one.”

Justin stumbles past me, crying.

“Go home, Sam,” Chief Beaumont says. “That's it. No more dog-walking. I'll take the dogs home and see that you get the rest of your pay.”

“But my customers need me.”

“They'll have to work out something else.” The look on his face says it all. He knows Justin wasn't lying about the teasing.

I stumble away, too. With every step, the voice in my head repeats over and over,

It wasn't all Justin's fault. . . . It wasn't all Justin's fault. . . . It wasn't all Justin's fault. . . .

One mission occupies my mind as I bike the three miles home from CountryWood. Dropping my bike in the driveway, I race upstairs to my closet. My dog book feels like it weighs fifty pounds as I haul it to the trash can on the street. It's what started the whole thing. The trash haulers will be by soon. At the end of the day, the scrapbook will be rotting in a landfill.

Right where it belongs.

Life doesn't make sense. No matter what happens, people crawl out of bed and go on living. Our place is a madhouse on Saturday. Grandma has gotten worse and Mom has to go talk to the doctor. Beth is getting ready for work. And Rosie is underfoot, as usual.

“Why don't you go see Bailey? She needs to finish your costumes.”

“All done, and they're
bee-yoo-ti-ful
.”

“Yeah,
right
.”

Though Bailey has lost weight, she still isn't what I would call skinny. And something tells me getting thinner hasn't made her a better clothes designer.

It's after lunch before the house clears out. All last night and this morning, I haven't been able to stop thinking,
If only
 . . .

If only Justin hadn't called me a loser.

If only he'd left me alone.

If only he'd become Bruno's alpha person.

I close the door to Mom's office and dial the number I've memorized. Numbly, I give Ms. Kendall the news about the puppy.

“I'm so sorry, Sam. As luck would have it, someone came in last night who's interested in the puppy. But . . .”

I'm not sure I want to hear what she has to say. Is she going to tell me she's reconsidered? That she's decided to do layaway? That she'll accept a nonrefundable deposit? Now that it's too late?

“Well, I think it was wonderful that you tried earning the money yourself. And we'll have a new puppy for you when you
do
get the money. But . . .”

That
but
again.

“Well, next time I expect you to come out and see the puppies. You know, a dog chooses the person as much as the person chooses the dog. We want our puppies to go to the right person.” A pause. “I'll call the people and tell them the puppy is theirs.”
Click
.

It's real. My puppy belongs to someone else.

I can't eat at supper.

“You coming down with something, Sam?” Mom feels my forehead. “Maybe you caught a chill in that thunderstorm. Your mattress is probably dry enough to bring back inside now. You sleep in the house tonight.”

“Can't.”

Mom, Beth, and Rosie look at me. “What do you mean?” Mom says.

“I mean, I want to sleep outside.” I get up from the table. “I'm going to go feed Max and Birdie now.”

But when I reach the backyard, I don't head for the old barn. Instead, I straddle my bike and head down the county road. I ride toward CountryWood but don't stop there. I push my legs round and round. As my legs spin, the anger builds up inside me. Not at Justin this time. At myself.

Why did I tease him that way? Why didn't I just ignore him? It's all my fault.

Words pound in my head like a drum.

Failure.

Washout.

Bust.

Dud.

Loser.

The last word gets stuck.

Loser. Loser. Loser . . .

I screech to a stop. Legs putty. Shirt soaked. Skin wind-burned. Putting my rage dictionary back on its shelf, I turn my bike for home. My legs are burning by the time I reach Country-Wood, but there's still three miles to go. No choice but to keep pedaling.

It's almost dark when I put my bike in the garage. At the spigot back of the house, I wash my face with cold water. Drink a gallon as it streams onto the ground. Go to the barn to feed and water Birdie and Max. Birdie's chicks are growing fast, a couple even putting on pinfeathers. Before long, they'll be leaving the nest. Max empties his food dish and drains his water bowl. I refill it, watch him empty it again, and listen to him belch.