Immortal Max (2 page)

I don't know what color mace is, either. Or saffron, for that matter. But I know what color anise is now. Creamy brown, like peanut butter.

“And—”
Anise looks at Yee, clapping her hands. Something she does when she's about to make an exciting announcement. “I'm going to cheerleading camp, too, so we can practice together! I took modern dance when we lived in the burbs and am really good at whirls and spins.”

A lot of the kids in my class moved from the suburbs—what they call the burbs—to CountryWood Estates, the new gated community outside town. Their parents work from home on computers or do videoconferencing. Anise's dad even teaches school on the computer. My grandpa laughed when the houses started going up. He said people used to move to the city to find work, but now things were ass backward. He was right. These days, BMWs and minivans play bumper cars with John Deere tractors and International Harvesters.

Bailey Powell is up next. She lives across the road from me. She's wearing her favorite shoes, Dr. Seuss Converse high-tops with the Cat in the Hat on the toes. She makes most of her clothes because she wants to be a clothes designer. Today she's wearing grape-colored crop pants that bunch up between her thighs and a pink tee with green sequins on the front that spell
HUG ME
. I asked her once why she dressed so weird, and she said she didn't want to be a Cliché. That's what she calls the CountryWood kids, who mostly wear skinny jeans and T-shirts with words like
AEROPOSTALE
and
WET SEAL
on the front. But I know she was lying. She melts like an ice cube when a Burbie speaks to her.

Aww, man. I can't believe it when Bailey carries two boxes to the front. I'm betting she brought her whole Barbie doll collection—
and
the outfits she designed herself.

“Snickerdoodles.”
Bailey opens the first box. “I made cookies for everyone!”

“Wait.” Mrs. Kellogg holds up her hand like a crossing guard. “You're not supposed to have fattening treats.”

“No, it's okay. Mama helped me bake them last night. It's my last big splurge 'cause I'm gonna lose a ton of weight this summer.”

Bailey's been trying to lose weight since I've known her, which is forever. She's one of the kids who was actually born here, like me. Her mother's been on a rip since the talk about obesity in kids has been in the news. But I think Bailey has a different reason for losing weight.

“Your mother usually sends me a note. . . .” Mrs. Kellogg hesitates, her neck sagging. She has this flap of skin under her chin like a chicken's wattle that jiggles when her head moves. “Oh, what the heck,” she mumbles, neck waggling. “It's the last day of school. Pass them around and take your seat.”

“But I'm not done yet.” Bailey opens the second box and takes out two pom-poms. Purple and orange, the colors of the middle school athletic teams. “I'm going to cheerleading camp, too, so we can all practice together!” She flashes Yee and Anise her smiley-face grin. “I've already learned one cheer.”

Before Mrs. Kellogg can stop her, Bailey starts shaking the pom-poms over her head and down at the floor, yelling:

“We're number one,

Can't be number two,

And we're going to beat

The
whoops
out of you!”

Bailey jumps up and down when she's done, making her stomach shake like blubber.

“Cheerleading camp?” Justin makes snorting sounds like a pig. “You need to go to a fat farm!”

Bailey's skin is snow white and covered in big brown freckles, and when she blushes, she turns bright red. Right now, she's a strawberry sundae sprinkled with chocolate chips. She keeps on smiling her smiley face, though. Like always.

“That's enough!” Mrs. Kellogg rubs her face hard, like she's erasing the whiteboard. “Pass out the cookies, Bailey.”

I watch Bailey carry the box of cookies up and down rows, laying two on her own desk, and shake my head.

We work through the rest of the
P
and
R
names, then it's my turn. There aren't any kids whose names begin with
Q
.

“Please hurry, Samuel. We're almost out of time.”

She's telling
me
to hurry?

Rushing up front, I hold up a three-ring binder. “This is a scrapbook I've been working on since I was seven. My older sister got me started on it.” I point out
SAM'S DOG BOOK
printed on the front with a felt-tip marker and pictures of dogs under the plastic cover. “I've been learning about dogs for years—purebred dogs—and saving so I can buy a puppy.” I flip open the cover and turn pages so the class can see the pictures and descriptions of dogs. “And I'm going to train it, too. I already know how 'cause I practiced on Max. That's why he minds me better than anyone else. And . . .”

I look around the class, about to explode.

“I've finally saved enough money! I had a hard time deciding what kind to get, but I narrowed it down to a German shepherd. I can't get the puppy just yet, but soon as I can, I'm going to buy one—”

“Wait, Samuel.” Mrs. Kellogg does the crossing guard thing with her hand again. “If you've saved enough money, why can't you buy a puppy now?”

“What? Oh, because of Max.”

“Who's Max?”

“The old dog that lives with us.”

“That big shaggy dog that walks you to the bus stop?” Anise blinks slow, like she's looking at a picture in her head. “The one that waits for you when school is over?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Shouldn't name a dog after a person,” Yee mumbles. “It's disrespectful.”

“We know, we know.” Mrs. Kellogg's eyes are glazing over.

“Is Max sick?” Bailey looks worried. “He's not about to die, is he?”

“Yes—No—what I mean is, not exactly. He was sick when Beth brought him home.
Real
sick. Everyone at the shelter figured his days were numbered. He'd stopped eating, was skinny as a beanpole.”

“Why did Beth bring him home?” Mrs. Kellogg knows who Beth is because she taught her years ago.

“ 'Cause that's the kind of dumb thing she does. Which is why we have six cats—no, seven. She brought another one home last night.”

Mrs. Kellogg raises an eyebrow, a signal I need to explain.

“See, Beth works part-time at a vet hospital and volunteers at an animal shelter, and when animals don't get adopted, they get euthanized. So Beth brings them home. The cats, anyway. They mostly live in the shed where Mom stores flower seed and straw for mulching. They eat the mice, which keeps the place clean and saves on cat food.”

“Eeeww.”
Anise's face screws up like she just tasted something bad. “Your cats eat mice?”

“What's
euthanized
mean?” Bailey's eyebrows pinch together.

“Killed, stupid! Iced. Terminated.” Pretending he's slicing his throat, Justin chokes out
“Kaput.”
For some reason, he finds that funny.

Justin is a soft kid with a round face and hair gelled up like a push broom. Even though he's shorter than me, he makes me feel small. Hobbit small. And he laughs like a hyena, a cackling howl.

“Well, yes,” Mrs. Kellogg tells Bailey. “It means the animal is put to sleep.” She looks at me. “Are you saying that Max was scheduled to be euthanized, Samuel?”

“Yeah. So Beth brought him home to spend his final days with us. He was supposed to be on his last legs.”

“How long has he been on his last legs?” Yee asks. She's wearing her summer uniform. Polo shirt and roll-top Bermudas. Crew socks and white Adidas, polished. Miss Neatnik.

“Well, uh, four years. He got better.”

“Four years?” Sid's eyes open wide “A
miracle
dog.”

“Immortal Max,”
Justin howls. “The dog that refused to die.”

Mrs. Kellogg fires Justin a look, then turns to me. “That doesn't explain why you can't buy your puppy now, Samuel.”

“Yeah,” Yee says. “I have two Pekingese. My vet says pets do better in pairs.”

“ 'Cause Mom says so. Max is old, and she's afraid a puppy would be too hard on him.”

“Poor Max.” Anise's eyes melt like warm chocolate. “No one wanted him.”

Everyone looks sad. Instead of being excited for me, they're feeling sorry for Max.

“Thank you, Samuel. I believe we have just enough time to see what Justin has brought.”

“But I didn't get to tell you how much money I've saved.”

“All right then, but be quick.”

“One . . . hundred . . . dollars—”

“A hundred dollars!” A hyena laugh echoes from the back of the classroom. “My dog cost
four
hundred dollars.”

“Four hundred dollars!”
I feel like someone just punched me in the gut. “You're lying, Justin. Puppies don't cost that much—”

“Check the want ads, Spammy. You won't find a dog—a purebred dog—for a hundred bucks.”

Silence. Except for the clock.

“Well, my poodle
did
cost more than a hundred dollars,” Anise says. “We call him Midnight because he's black.”

“And my Pekingese cost more than that, too. Their names are Rooster and Rabbit, to describe their personalities.” Yee, the Chinese zodiac expert, gives Sid a look. “
That's
the way it's done in China.”

“My gerbil cost nine dollars and ninety-eight cents. He was on sale at PetSmart. His name is George. George the Gerbil—”

“No more about
names
.” Mrs. Kellogg sighs, pushes her glasses up her nose, and looks at Justin. “The price would
depend on the breed, Justin. What kind of dog do you have? Maybe Samuel is getting a different kind.”

“German shepherd, a sable-colored German shepherd named Bruno. He has a pedigree this long.” Justin stretches his arm out as long as he can make it.

Sable German shepherd! No way—that's the kind of puppy I've decided on.

Twenty-eight sets of eyes staring at me. The clock ticking. My mouth refusing to make words.

“Samuel, do you have anything else to say? You must hurry. It's almost time for last bell, and Justin needs his turn.”

“Uh, no. I'm done.” I close my dog book with a
smack
and walk toward my desk. I feel like crying or hitting something.

As we pass, Justin bumps me, making me drop the binder.

“Hey, swerve man.” I shove him back. “Don't come at me all reckless.”

“Then steer clear,
Spammy
.” He shoulders past me.

Justin is the biggest show-off in class. Just once, I wish someone would cut him down to size. Besides, everyone already knows what he plans to talk about.
Black Ops II
for his Xbox. He's been talking about it for weeks.

But it's not
Black Ops II
. Justin shows off keys to a new golf cart his dad just bought
and
which he gets to drive all summer.

“It's gasoline powered so it can really fly. It's a lot faster than our old one. Those golf carts that run on batteries are gutless.”

“But where are you going to drive it, Justin?” Mrs. Kellogg's distorted eyes look confused. “Golf carts aren't allowed on the roads, and I don't believe there's a golf course at CountryWood.”

“Yeah, there's not. But I can take it to the beach at the lake and the tennis courts and the swimming pool and—”

“I'm sure you'll enjoy it.” Mrs. Kellogg looks at the clock again. “Take your seat now.”

“But I haven't told you how much it cost,” Justin says, pretending to whine. “You let Spammy tell how much he's going to pay for a purebred puppy.”

“Oh, all right. And refer to him as Samuel, his proper name.”

Justin grins. “I like Spammy better.”

Bailey groans. Yee and Anise roll their eyes. My face turns into a fireball.

“Sit.”
Mrs. Kellogg jabs a finger at Justin's desk. His walking orders.

“Twenty-five big ones.”
As Justin passes my desk, he dangles the keys to the golf cart in front of my nose. “That's twenty . . . five . . . hundred dollars,
Spammy
.” A cackling howl ricochets off the walls.

“Know what your nickname is, Justin?” Yee's eyes are sparking. “It's
Jerk
with a capital
J
. Justin the Jerk!”

“Yeah. Justin the
Humongous
Jerk,” Anise echoes.

“Hey, wait!” Justin stops in the middle of the aisle, grinning like a monkey. “I just thought of a new nickname for
Samuel
.” He makes an
L
with his thumb and index finger and holds it to his face like it's a brand burned on his forehead. “Spammy the
Loser
, who will never get a purebred puppy.”

“Will, too!” I'm on my feet in a flash. Face hot. Fists clenched. “And I'm going to buy it this summer. A German shepherd puppy.”

“Oh, yeah? And just how are you gonna do that, Spammy? Helping your mama sell petunias?”

Burbies laugh. Even some of the Townies.

I sink into my chair, a deflated balloon.

“Enough!”
Mrs. Kellogg shouts. “Everyone, pack up your things
now
.”

Sid jumps to his feet as the last bell rings. “May I hand these out, Mrs. Kellogg? It is a very big deal for my family.”

“What?” She glances at the slip he hands her. “Oh, I suppose, but make it quick.”

Sid passes out yellow slips that no one reads because they're ready to escape. I stuff mine into my backpack as Mrs. Kellogg says, “Class dismissed. Good luck in middle school!”

Kids rush for the door, laughing and yelling. Except me. The
last thing I do as an elementary student is throw my scrapbook in the trash. Justin was right. It took me years to save a hundred dollars. There's no way I can earn another three hundred before summer is over.