The New Kid (18 page)

“Yes, they are.”

“Think we could find another plastic great horned owl decoy with yellow glass eyeballs to sit beside him? He loves sitting by Ms. Pierson’s owl decoy in the oak tree at school. She’s his girlfriend! He’s gaga over her.”

“He is?”

“Yes! And that is how Patrick’s mom is going to catch him—lure him down with the decoy and then cover him with a net. Isn’t that a mean trick?”

“Kind of.”

“An old crow with a bent beak and broken feathers and a plastic owl. An odd couple. But he loves her, Dad. He never leaves her side.”

“You never mentioned he had a chipped beak.” He paused. “How badly chipped?”

Carson shrugged. “The kindergarten garden needs the owl back. It was a short-term loan.”

“Well, okay then. One beady-eyed owl decoy coming right up for the guy with the chipped beak. Where do we get such a thing?”

“Maybe at Shop Rite in the garden department.”

“Fine.”

“Dad?”

“What, son?”

“Wes was absent again today. I keep thinking that if he doesn’t get better, Dollie might have to find another home for Dandy.”

“It doesn’t work that way. If Dollie and Wes are unable to provide an adoptive home for Dandy, then they have to return him to the shelter, and the shelter places Dandy in another adoptive home according to their own strict guidelines for dog adoption.”

“Oh.”

Carson was quiet.

“Well, if they do have to give Dandy up, that would be sad, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would. Very sad and very hard.”

But Wes was tough—cut from the right stuff.

Whatever happened, Wes could suck it up. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have a broken heart underneath it all.

Good thing Carson and his dad were number one on the shelter’s backup list. Actually, they were probably number one and only on the shelter’s backup list. Not that Dandy wasn’t adorable in his own way.

Carson hoped more than anything that Wes could overcome the allergy problem and keep Dandy. But if worst came to worst, Carson and his dad would step in.

Wes could visit with Dandy at Carson’s house, out on the porch with Genevieve, out in the fresh air.

Dandy would be a good play pal for Genevieve. Dandy might not like her at first, because she wasn’t a Chihuahua, but any dog who really got to know Genevieve would end up loving her.

And maybe when Wes came to visit Dandy,
Carson could help him get over the rodent issue. He could introduce Wes to Bo.

Then maybe Wes would want to adopt one of Bo’s brothers or sisters.

If he did, he could bring his rat pup, and the rat pup and Bo could have a rat-pup playdate while Dandy and Genevieve romped on the lawn.

They sat down on the porch. “Thanks again for helping sponsor the Free-Range Roaming Rat Arena, Dad. And thanks for everything else. Thanks for your help during the morp, for volunteering to come to Career Day, and for volunteering to make pinch pots. Is that how you made my lopsided pencil jar? By pinching it?”

“Yes, it is.… I prefer to characterize it as asymmetrical and artful rather than lopsided, but yes.”

“Okay, good. Can we pinch other things besides artfully asymmetrical pencil holders?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Thanks, Dad. Don’t be surprised if Wes yells ‘Ouch!’ at the top of his lungs every time he pinches the clay.”

“I won’t.”

“Wes is a good guy. He’s just a loudmouth, that’s all.”

“I had an uncle Jim who was as big a loudmouth and as big a ham as Wes is. Uncle Jim was a great guy, too. I wish you could have met him.”

Carson’s dad grew quiet.

“Me too, Dad.”

Carson really did wish he had met Uncle Jim.

He didn’t have very many relatives.

Not that he knew of, anyway.

Carson’s family tree had only one branch.

He had another whole entire family tree he hadn’t seen yet, but that could wait.

Being adopted wasn’t that big of a deal for Carson. He already knew that if he wanted to, he and his dad could find out more about his birth parents, and they might look into that sometime down the road. But at least for now, the family he had was perfect.

He had two very grand grandparents.

And he had one wonderful dad.

And even if he met his birth parents, Carson would always have only one dad, one actual dad: the dad sitting beside him in a T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes, with his hair poking up on top of his head and
a Labrador retriever sitting on his lap, panting in his face.

The best dad in the world.

“Dad?”

“What, son?”

“Let’s invite Wes on the birthday ride.”

“
Wes?
Are you serious?”

“I am. Wes and Dollie.”

“Will he behave himself?”

“No. But Dollie can give him the Stink Eye.”

“As he gallops away into a gulch? Why not Patrick and his mother?”

“Blackberry brambles and bees. Remember?”

“Right. Well, what about Nancy and her mom?”

“Would Nancy’s mom be willing to accompany Nancy on a sweaty horse that had clumps of muddy sod in its hooves, ate dusty hay, and had slime between its nostrils? A big, smelly beast that whisked flies away with its tail?”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“She’s a surgeon!”

“So what. The trail doesn’t go through an operating room.”

“I know. But still. Wes already knows how to ride.”

“He does?”

“I think he’ll be a responsible horseback rider on the trail. He’s planning to be a rodeo clown. Plus, he rides horseback in the summertime at his aunt Boo and uncle Hunk’s quarter-horse farm in Cleveland.”

“A quarter-horse farm in
Cleveland
?”

“Yup.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup.”

Wes wouldn’t lie about that.

In fact, as far as Carson could tell, Wes hadn’t lied to him about one single thing, not as far as Carson knew, anyway.

He had no way to verify the Bad-Breath Pellets, Bullets, or Bombs.

Everything else seemed to be on the up-and-up.

Wes was a loudmouth, like Uncle Jim.

Wes had welcomed Carson. Even if he fell on top of him. He had invited him to his birthday party; he’d just forgotten to mention which month. He had made sure Carson had a number on a tongue stick. He had offered to sign his bingo card.

Wes had shared his lunch with Carson. And Carson had returned the favor.

So what if half of the half a
carne asada
burrito and six
buñuelos
went down the hatch.

Wes didn’t share Carson’s enthusiasm for rats. However, he had seen lots to love in Dandy, a crotchety old growly critter not considered very adoptable.

He had defended Moose when Cody made the wisecrack.

Wes slept next to a pillow with a rubber fish sitting on it, and so he and Carson had common ground.

As for the raucous romping, Wes was just being Wes. He was good at making long shots into the trash and could sound like a truck downshifting and honking its horn. That had to count for something.

One day he’d be out there with his nose painted red, keeping some young bull rider from getting trampled by a fifteen-hundred-pound bull.

“Let’s you, me, Wes, Dollie, and the horse-face expert go on the trail ride. Deal?”

“Son?”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Loudmouth behavior like hollering, yelling, and shouting on a trail ride scares the horses.”

“Oh.”

“In other words, it’s dangerous.”

Carson was quiet.

“Okay, Dad. Then why don’t we just go fishing? Patrick and his mom, Wes and his grandma, Nancy and her mom, you and me. Then we can go on a trail ride this summer, when Case and Gavin come up for a visit.”

“Perfect.”

“Except for …” Carson didn’t need to finish the thought.

“Right. Well, Grandma and Grandpa will be coming up soon.”

Carson’s dad’s cell phone rang in his pocket, and he checked to see who was calling. He went inside to answer it.

Through the screen door, Carson could hear him talking. “It’s okay, Mom. Don’t get upset. We understand, yes, completely.”

He listened.

“And you know what? We feel the same way. Okay. Okay. Of course!”

He called, “Carson? Great news!”

He walked out and handed Carson the phone.

“Hello, sweetie! Grandma here.”

“Oh, hi, Grandma!”

“Grandpa and I can’t wait all the way till his vacation to see you, so we’re just plain flying up for your birthday weekend. He’s decided to take a couple of days off, the Friday before and the Monday after.”

“He is? Great!”

“Here. Grandpa wants to say hi.”

“Carson?”

“Hi, Grandpa.”

“I’d like to meet that Mr. Nibblenose fellow. That was quite a good trick he pulled.”

“Yup. A rat of many surprises. Can you bring up the croquet set?”

“On the plane?”

“I’m thinking maybe we can fish at the pond in the park and have a barbecue afterward and play croquet. Can you bring up your rod and tackle box?”

“Maybe so.”

“Don’t forget your fishing licenses.”

“Roger. See you soon. Over and out.”

“Over and out—no wait, Let me talk to Grandma again.”

Carson whistled quietly until his grandma came back to the phone.

“Grandma? Do you think you could make a lasagna to bring to my class? And garlic bread?”

“Of course. But what about the You Gotta Be Kidding Me! Chocolate Calamity Cake?”

“Not allowed in school.”

“You gotta be kidding me! No chocolate? What a calamity!”

“We can have it at the house, Grandma.”

“Okay. I’ll write
Happy Birthday, Carson
on top of the lasagna with melted mozzarella cheese for the school event.”

Carson loved teasing his grandma. “Do you mind sharing the guest room with a few cute rats?”

“Of course not! Do I have to have them in bed with me?”

“Yup.”

“All of them?”

“Yup.”

“How many is a few?”

“Fifteen small and one medium.”

“Fine.”

•   •   •

Carson and his dad strolled onto the grass, with Genevieve romping behind them.

“So, after we go fishing with Wes and Dollie and Patrick and his mom and Nancy and her mom and Grandma and Grandpa at the pond,” said Carson, “we’ll have Shelly, Oswaldo, and Luciana over for tri-tip and calamity cake and a baby-rat shower. Okay? Also Eva, Matthew, and Zach. And Sydney and the Sporks Fairies. Can we set up a volleyball net?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Good. We’ll play croquet, play volleyball, and play with the pups. Shall we make a Birthday Prize in Disguise Surprise for Mama Nibblenose?”

“Of course. Is it her birthday?”

“It could be.”

“Shall we make a birthday piñata out of a sock for her and fill it full of healthy treats?”

“Yes, most definitely.”

“If it’s warm, want to make her a wading pond with a paint-roller tray and put in frozen corn and peas so she can fish for ’em?”

“Yip.”

“Can we make her a Templeton Trash Tub?”

“Tell me more.”

“Put clean trash, like rags and wadded-up bags and newspaper, into a nice new plastic wastepaper basket, along with nuts, Cheerios, and yogurt drops.”

“Sure.”

“Shall we invite some more of the grown-ups to the barbecue? You could stand to meet some more people, Dad. There’s got to be other fun things for you to do up here besides blogging about baked beans.”

“I’ve been blogging about ranch beans, but yup. Let’s invite the grown-ups.”

It hadn’t been easy moving before the end of the school year, from a very small private school where Carson knew everybody to a very huge public school where he knew nobody. It hadn’t been easy, being the New Kid.

Carson had never been the New Kid before.

And it still wasn’t easy. But it was getting easier.

Especially now that he had a few friends and a birthday plan.

“You’re an awesome possum, Dad.”

“You are, too. Happy Almost Birthday, son.”

“Thanks, Dad. Can you speak Pig Latin?”

“A little. Not fluently.”

“I think Dollie might be pretty good at it. Do you want me to see if she’ll bring the LeSabre to the park and let us take it once around the block while everybody’s fishing?”

“Aybemay. But rather than leave my post as host, I’d prefer to take it once around the racetrack. She has a pit pass, right?”

“Right.”

It was fun being friends with Wes.

Carson’s dad was right about horsing around on the trail ride, though.

Fishing in the pond with Weston Walker would be challenging enough, but at least a boat wasn’t going to be involved. Dollie’s Stink Eye had a better chance of working at the edge of a pond than behind a horse heading off into a ravine.

And they could sign each other’s Hello Bingo cards in the “Went fishing” box.

•   •   •

Carson looked out across the neighborhood, above the treetops. Birds darted in the air, and landed in the treetops, and took off again. Above them, a hawk was catching an updraft.

Maybe it was Coop.

It was awesome having a pond only about a quarter of a mile away, as the crow flies.

Carson was definitely warming up to crows. If Bob crashed the birthday barbecue, so be it. If he got pushy about the tri-tip, Genevieve could bark at him and chase him away to roost beside his great horned owl gal pal with the pretty golden eyes. Sure, Genevieve was low-key, but when necessary she could get the job done.

Moose would hide under the covers.

As for putting him up on a shelf when Carson turned nine, forget it.

If there were life skills or guidelines related to the point at which a little old antlerless, wattleless, and cropped-tailed stuffed moose should be put up on a shelf, Carson didn’t know what they were, and he didn’t care what they were.

The day Moose would be put up on a shelf would
be the day Carson opened the door of his veterinary office. He would put him up on a shelf behind the counter beside a
WELCOME
sign and an artfully asymmetrical ceramic business-card holder that held a neat stack of cards that said
Carson Blum
, DVM in the middle and had a small picture of a moose jumping over the letters with his dewlap flying and his antlers grown back.