Fight for Life (11 page)

“Well, I got an A for content. The teacher really liked my idea of writing about the new puppy mill law, and she said I explained it well. But I got a C for mechanics—I lost points for spelling. The stupid spell checker on my computer missed all kinds of words.”

“I told you to use the dictionary.”

“Yeah, I know. You were right. It’s so unfair.”

Mrs. Shea smiles. “Let’s get to your homework.”

When I get home two hours later, Brenna, David, and Sunita are hanging out on the front lawn.

“Hi, guys. What are you all doing out here?” I try the doorknob, but it’s locked.

“Dr. Mac won’t let us in,” David explains.

“What?”

“We all got these this morning,” Sunita says, handing me an invitation. It isn’t very fancy, and the handwriting looks suspiciously like Gran’s.

“OK, you guys, what is this about?”

“We got here a little early, but your grandmother wouldn’t let us in,” says Brenna. “She said we have to wait until exactly—”

“Twelve noon,” announces Sunita, looking at her watch. “That would be now.”

The door swings open.

“Welcome!” says Gran with a funny smile on her face.

“Do you feel all right?” I ask her.

No answer. She turns and walks into the kitchen. We follow her.

The kitchen smells like cake. I don’t think our kitchen has ever smelled like cake before. Zoe stands by the sink, which is piled high with dirty mixing bowls and cake pans. She wiggles her eyebrows at me. Aha! Now this is beginning to make sense.

“Sit down, sit down,” Gran says.

We sit. Zoe sets down a giant cake. It is covered with white frosting and has the words “Thank You” written in the middle of what looks like chocolate icing. Tiny puppies made out of frosting tumble around the base of the cake.

“Anybody want a piece?” she asks.

David and Brenna both shout, while Sunita says, “Yes, please.” Zoe hands Gran a knife, and she cuts five fat pieces.

My grandmother is throwing a party? This is too weird.

“This was your cousin’s idea,” Gran mumbles as she hands me a plate. “She wanted to bring in a caterer, but I drew the line there.” Then she straightens up and says louder, “I have good news. Captain Thompson has found homes for nearly all the dogs he took back to the shelter. He came by this morning to take pictures of the puppies that we have left. He’s going to start a waiting list for when they are stronger and ready to go to a home.”

“A good home,” Zoe adds.

I hear a noise and look under the table. The little mutt that almost escaped from me a couple of weeks ago is playing with Sherlock’s tail. “He got out again,” I announce.

“He has a name,” Zoe announces as she picks him up. Her animal handling is improving a bit. “I named him Sneakers. Gran said we might get to keep him.”

“What? You never let us keep puppies.”

“I know, I know,” Gran says as she cuts herself a slice of cake. “But this little one got to me. He kept sneaking over to the house, like he belongs here. One day I found him sleeping in Zoe’s bed. That was the last straw.” She winks. “Besides, Zoe needs a pet. More cake?”

“What about the first puppies, the Labs?” asks Sunita. “What happened to them?” She hasn’t been here for the last few days because of ballet lessons.

“The lady who brought in Shelby, the first pup, decided to give him to the twins. Inky and Shelby were great buddies. It’s nice that they got to go to the same home,” I explain. I push my plate back. “I’m stuffed.”

Socrates stalks in, waving his tail. He jumps up into Sunita’s lap. Gran lifts an eyebrow. Socrates never sits in anyone’s lap. I hear a little growl under the table. Sneakers is climbing on top of Sherlock’s head. Sherlock gives me a look of dismay, and I sneak him some vanilla frosting. Gran would kill me if she saw that, but it looks like she’s getting ready to make a speech. She clears her throat and stands up.

“The purpose of this little party is to thank you all for your hard work,” she says. “I don’t know what the past few weeks would have been like without your help. So as a token of my appreciation, I have a present for each of you.”

She takes a cardboard box from the closet, sets it on the table, and pulls out an envelope.

“For Brenna, a donation to an animal rescue charity of your choice. Your passion and outrage remind me of somebody I knew a long time ago.”

“Wow! Thanks. I’ll give it to Captain Thompson,” Brenna declares. “For the shelter.”

“Sunita, your very own book on feline anatomy.” Sunita blushes as she takes the book in her hands. Socrates rubs his cheek on the corner of the book, then closes his eyes in contentment.

“David, a Three Stooges video. Every comedian needs good material. For Zoe, your very own lab coat so you don’t ruin any more shirts. And I didn’t forget you either, Maggie. A calculator, one that prints out your work on a strip of paper. That way you can check to make sure you entered in the right number.”

I can feel myself blushing. “Does it check spelling, too?”

“’Fraid not. Listen up, please.”

We all put down our forks. Gran pushes up her sleeves and sticks her hands in her pockets.

“I’m not very good at speeches,” she says, “but I do want to say thank you. You surprised me. You were a good team. But now that things are back to normal, I’m afraid that we won’t need—”

“Did the delivery truck get here yet?” asks Dr. Gabe, poking his head through the door from the clinic. “Hey, cake! Is there enough for me?”

“There’s enough for everybody,” I say.

While Gran cuts him a piece, I look around the table. There’s Brenna, who would lead a protest march in an instant. David, cracking knock-knock jokes trying to get Sunita to smile. Sunita, fingering the anatomy book and petting Socrates. Across the table, Zoe, my cousin, who could not be more different from me . . . and me. We do make a good team. Too good to split up.

I stand up before I realize what I’m doing. I have something to say.

“Ahem.” Nobody notices. “A-hem!”

Everybody stops talking.

“Thank you. I want to say something. Gran, I want to remind you of all the times you’ve scolded me for not asking for help, for not staying after school, or for not telling you I was stuck.”

“You don’t have to remind me of that,” she says with a smile. “I know all about it.”

I take a deep breath.

“I’m learning, slowly, that asking for help is a good thing.”

Everybody is quiet now. Even Dr. Gabe has stopped chewing. It’s time to jump in with both feet.

“I was a little hurt when you invited Brenna to work here. Then David and Sunita were in, and I was out. And to top it off, Zoe came to stay. I felt like I was losing my place here—like I wasn’t needed anymore.” I stop.

“Let me try to say this better. There is plenty of work at a veterinary clinic. Jobs that I can do. That we can do. That they”—I point to Brenna, David, Sunita, and Zoe—“can do. I think we should let them stay. If we had their help, you would have more time to write your column and do research. And I would spend more time studying or with my tutor, I promise.”

I pause. The only sound is Socrates purring.

“I want us to work together.”

Gran’s left eyebrow shoots up. I know what she’s thinking.

“Yes. I’m sure,” I tell her.

Gran takes her plate to the sink, rinses it, and puts it in the dishwasher. We watch her in silence, our heads turning as she walks to the door of the clinic.

Did I say the wrong thing?

Gran pauses at the door, then turns around.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” she asks. Her eyes light up her face. “Let’s get to work!”