Dog Beach Unleashed (14 page)

“She likes you,” I hear Micayla say.

“She does?” Calvin asks.

Uh-oh. I know what they're talking about. I know
who
they're talking about.

“I wanted you to know. Remy's pretty shy about saying
what's on her mind,” Micayla says. “And she's kind of dragging her feet.”

Micayla's shy about saying stuff, too. I can't believe she's doing this!

“Well, uh, thanks for letting me know.” Calvin's voice gets quieter.

I know what that means. Bennett must be nearby.

I hear a loud belch and then, “Yo, my people!” It's Bennett, of course. “Are you guys coming to help?” he asks. “The dogs are bored. And frankly, so am I!”

“We're coming. We're coming,” Micayla groans.

“I feel bad for Bennett,” she says quietly to Calvin.

I can't see her face. Or Calvin's. But I can't believe she'd talk to Calvin about this. I feel as if I can never trust her again.

For a few days, I ignore the conversation I
overheard, because I don't know what to do about it. Why would Micayla talk to Calvin behind my back?

The Centennial Summer celebration is in a few days, and it's way more fun to focus on that.

So many people signed up to perform that Mrs. Pursuit wants to have a run-through at the stadium to make sure everything goes smoothly. And she asked if I could be around to help out. We got special permission to bring the dogs there, as long as we promise to clean up any messes. But I know that our dogs won't cause any problems.

The days in our rainy-day headquarters were getting pretty boring for them, and since watching people perform is fun for people, I figure it's gotta be fun for dogs, too. But at this point, what they really need is a change of pace.

“Guys, you need to behave,” I tell the dogs. They're all sitting in a row like perfect little angels. I know it won't last, though. They're behaving now because I gave them treats as soon as we arrived. “We won't be here all day. Just the morning. Okay?”

I wait for responses.

Marilyn Monroe and Tabby bark as if they've understood, but the rest of them just stare at me with their big eyes, their tongues hanging out. It's hot today, for a change, and I don't think they're quite used to it.

The performers arrive, and I think they're a little shocked to see so many dogs and kids but so few adults.

“We're, um, here for the run-through,” an older guy tells me, confused, probably thinking he's in the wrong place. His son is with him. I think they're new to Seagate this summer. “We're a father-son juggling duo.”

“Great.” I smile. “Just take a seat on the benches over there.”

He gives me a quizzical look.

“Mrs. Pursuit is running late, so I offered to help get things started.” She's pretty much always running late.

“Got it,” he says.

When all the performers are there, and the dogs are quiet (for the moment), I stand up and make an announcement. “Thank you all for coming. Mrs. Pursuit just wanted to do a quick run-through so everyone knows the order and how much time they have onstage.”

Lester tries to run away, but Bennett grabs him and ties his leash to one of the stadium columns.

“Okay, Mari, keep an eye on everyone,” I whisper into her ear, and she pops up to lick my cheek. I've designated her to be the babysitter of the bunch. I'm not sure how she feels about it and not sure it will work, but these things are always worth a try.

“First up, we have Larry Park,” I say. “It says here you're a classical pianist.”

Uh-oh. I should have looked more closely at this list. There's only one piano on Seagate, and it's in the senior center on the other end of the island. Maybe someone can go and get it before the carnival, but it's too late now.

I'm about to apologize for this when I see Larry Park carrying a portable keyboard to the front.

“I came prepared,” he says, and I relax. “It's unusual, but I consider myself a classical
keyboardist
. I rarely play on a regular piano anymore.”

“That's . . . great,” I say, perplexed but relieved.

He continues. “I live in a tiny studio apartment in Brooklyn most of the year, and I'm here in the summer. No room for a real piano. Life is all about making do with what you have.”

I think about how true this is, and it makes me smile. I need to remember that, when things seem impossible, there's always a way to make do with what you have.

Larry sets up his keyboard and then tells everyone that he'll be playing a Bach Invention in C-sharp major.

The music is upbeat and happy, and I wish he could play for the rest of the day. He's really talented.

Halfway through, though, things start to get crazy. Not with Larry Park or his music.

It's Lester.

The cocker spaniel starts singing along with the keyboard!

I try to quiet him down, but Lester won't stop singing. Not barking or howling, but singing. He sits up really tall and arches his neck and holds his muzzle up toward the sky. And then he sings. Really sings. As if he's part of Larry's performance. It almost seems as though Larry Park is
Lester's
accompanist.

“Ssshhh, Lester,” I hear Micayla whisper. The cocker spaniel looks at her for a second, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't even seem embarrassed. And, yes, dogs can get embarrassed. I've seen it before.

But Lester is a natural performer.

Larry keeps playing, and thankfully he's a good sport about it. He even seems to be enjoying Lester's performance.

When he's done, Larry says, “I'd like to add that dog to my routine.”

We all laugh.

“I'm not kidding.” He smiles. “I think we'd work well together.”

“Um, okay, well, thanks so much. We can certainly put you in touch with his owner.”

Larry nods. “Sounds great.”

It seems as if Lester has been waiting all summer for Larry Park, for this moment and this music.

A few singers follow Larry. A drummer. An acoustic guitarist who plays a Beatles medley. And our favorite Seagate band, Saturday We Tennis, complete with a bass and cello. But nothing gets Lester to sing like Larry Park's classical music.

Obviously Lester's very sophisticated.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that I can relate to Lester and his mad dashes for freedom. Maybe I've been running away, too. I've been running away from how I really feel about Calvin. And I've been running away from telling Bennett how I feel about staying just friends.

Maybe we're all running away from something. Maybe some things are just too complicated to focus on.

The rest of the group works overtime taking care of the dogs while I keep track of how much time everyone needs for his or her act.

Finally it's the Improvimaniacs' turn. And even though I've seen them practicing, I'm excited to see them on an actual stage.

Since the doggie day care staff are the only ones left (most of the performers had other places to be), we get to throw out words to help the guys get started with their improv act. Calvin says, “Dental floss,” and they end up doing a whole routine about a crazy dentist who uses chocolate instead of toothpaste.

We all crack up.

It's pretty amazing that Josh and the Improvimaniacs can do such funny stuff with so little planning. Actually, there's no planning at all. Their whole act is based on surprise, on
not
knowing what to expect. How do they do it?

We're walking the dogs home when I realize what I've needed to understand all along: this is a summer of surprises. We've all been facing the unexpected or trying to prepare for things you can't really prepare for. But sometimes you just have to go with the flow and work with what comes your way—just like Josh's improv group.

“You seem happy,” Calvin says, catching up to me. I was alone with Marilyn Monroe, Tabby, Potato Salad, and Lester and didn't even realize it. Bennett and Micayla left to take Rascal home, and we are all going to meet at Sundae Best afterward.

“I
am
happy,” I say. “I realized something that's really, really obvious, but for some reason, I never thought of it before.”

“What is it? That it's really delicious to dip your fries in mayonnaise?”

“Gross!” I laugh. “No, I realized that unexpected things can be good, even fun. I spend my whole life planning and wanting everything to stay the same, but sometimes it's good when things surprise you.”

He looks at me. “You sound like my grandfather. What do you mean, your ‘whole life'? You're twelve, Remy, not eighty-five.”

“Oh, never mind,” I say, a little embarrassed.

He elbows me. “Come on, Rem. I'm just teasing you.”

I look at him for a second. I can't run away from this anymore. I know he likes me. And he knows I like him.

“Listen, Calvin,” I begin.

“I'm listening.” He laughs.

“I . . .” What was I thinking? I can't tell him yet. I haven't told Bennett. I haven't told Claire.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Never mind,” I mumble again. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

“ Calvin keeps asking me what's going on,”
Micayla tells me. We're on my back porch, eating take-out sandwiches from Frederick's Fish. Our moms have book club tonight, and our dads are at a Seagate Community Council meeting. We decided to have an old-fashioned sleepover, just the two of us. Claire's mom is here this week anyway, so I don't feel too bad about leaving her out. But I'm still a little uncomfortable with Micayla after overhearing her talk to Calvin. I feel hurt that she went behind my back.

“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I know what she means.

She rolls her eyes. She knows me too well. “He wants to know if I've told you he likes you. And he wants to know if you think Bennett will be mad, and if Claire will think it's weird. And a million other things.”

I laugh. “Why is he asking you for all these answers?”

“Because I can predict the future. Micayla Walcott, fortune-teller. That's what everyone says.”

“That's true. You should run the fortune-teller booth at the Centennial carnival.”

“That sounds like a great idea!” she says.

I throw away the wrapper from my fish sandwich and come back to my Adirondack chair. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“What?”

“I overheard you talking to Calvin the other day,” I announce.

She's quiet.

“Why'd you do that?” I ask softly. “I thought I could trust you.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “I don't know why I did it, exactly.”

“Really?” Somehow I don't believe her.

She inches forward on her Adirondack chair. “I was helping you,” she explains. “I was moving things along.”

“I can handle things when I'm ready,” I say defensively.

“But you never are. You just wait and wait and think and think.” She looks away. “And Bennett's waiting around, all in love with you. And now Calvin likes you, too. And you're just ignoring the whole thing.” She pauses. “It's kind of rude to both of them.”

“Bennett's not in love with me,” I say under my breath.

“Yes he is, Remy,” she says.

“Well, I need to talk to him. And then I need to talk to Claire.” Saying all this out loud feels overwhelming. I swallow hard. “And then I'll talk to Calvin. Okay?”

“Fine. Can we go in the pool now?”

I nod. We grab towels out of the basket by the door and spread them out on lounges.

“So, what's the latest with you and Mason?” I ask after a few seconds of awkward silence in the pool.

“Oh, we're done,” she says. “I ended things last week.”

I flip over in the pool and pop back up, waiting for her to say more. “You didn't tell me.”

“I didn't tell you because I didn't think you'd care. You're so focused on your own stuff, you haven't asked anything about me and Mason for weeks.”