Framed (3 page)

I
t wasn’t an actual Krazy Gluing, but in a lot of ways it was even worse. Mom didn’t holler; she played the “disappointed” card.

“We don’t ask much of you, Griffin. In fact, we’ve probably cut you more slack than any other parents in America. But we have the right to expect a little responsibility. Why is it so difficult to keep a retainer in your mouth?”

“I might still find it,” he offered. “Savannah says Luthor’s a good tracking dog. They’re going to help me look.” He tried to sound more hopeful than he felt. Luthor was bred for combat, not search and rescue, no matter how much Savannah loved him.

“How am I ever going to tell your father about this?”

Griffin winced. When it came to the guilt trip, Mom was a travel agent. She went on and on about
how expensive the retainer was, how vital it was to his health and the very shape of his face. The fact that he couldn’t hang on to this one thing proved that he was irresponsible and untrustworthy. Worse, it showed that he took everything for granted and had no respect for the advantages he had in this world.

It probably would have gone on for hours, but he was saved by the doorbell — Savannah with the trusty Luthor at her side, looking more the size of a small pony than a dog.

“Well, I guess I’d better start looking,” he said lamely.

“An excellent idea,” Mrs. Bing informed him severely. “You can’t be without it for very long. If it doesn’t turn up in a couple of days, you’ll have to be fitted for a new one. And rest assured that the cost will come out of your allowance.”

At my pay grade
, Griffin thought gloomily,
that’ll take about eighty years
.

Aloud, he said, “I’m on it.”

“We’re looking for Griffin’s retainer, sweetie.” From her pocket, Savannah produced her old retainer and held it in front of the huge black eyes. “Like this.”

She turned to Griffin. “Breathe on him.”

“Why?”

“He needs to know the scent of the inside of your mouth,” she explained reasonably. “That’ll guide him to the retainer when we’re close to it. Make sure you get right up to his nostrils.”

“He’ll bite my head off!” Griffin protested.

“Of course he won’t,” Savannah assured him. “He wants to help you.”

Griffin regarded the gigantic head. A trickle of slobber traced a path along the expansive jawline. He leaned in and blew a quick puff of breath at Luthor’s big snout.

“Closer,” Savannah ordered. “Open your mouth so he gets a really good whiff.”

Savannah considered Luthor the mildest, sweetest creature on earth. Griffin did not agree. One retainer and eighty years of allowance seemed a small price to pay to avoid being torn limb from limb.

But Mom’s “disappointed” card wielded great power over him. He got in the Doberman’s face, opened his mouth, and let out a long breath.

Luthor’s loud bark traveled straight down Griffin’s windpipe and vibrated his heart.

“Good boy, Luthor!” Savannah cheered. “Now let’s find it!”

They retraced the route between the houses Griffin had visited, jogging to keep up with the Doberman’s huge strides. He’d always rolled his eyes at Savannah’s speeches about Luthor’s intelligence and sensitivity, but the dog truly seemed to understand what they were doing. Luthor kept his snout low to the ground, sniffing the pavement, while Savannah whispered encouragement.

“Don’t let him put it in his mouth when he finds it,” Griffin said nervously. “Dog drool can contaminate a retainer forever.”

Savannah shot him a disapproving look. “Don’t be a baby. An animal’s mouth is far more sanitary than a human’s.”

“Yeah, but grosser!”

As they passed the Kellerman house and headed toward the Bensons’, Luthor’s ears went up at the distant cheering noise.

Savannah pointed down the street to Cedarville Middle School. “It’s the football team — their first game. Sounds like they got a big crowd.”

“I wonder why,” Griffin said sarcastically. “Dr. Evil has only been announcing it ten times a day.”

As they approached the field, a familiar figure came into view. Pitch was perched thirty feet up a tree, watching the game over the crowded bleachers. Even from their worm’s-eye view, Griffin and Savannah could see she was brooding.

“Who’s winning?” Griffin called up to her.

“Who cares?” came the reply. But the young climber scrambled down the trunk to join them on the sidewalk. “Let’s just hope Vader doesn’t get a touchdown. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

Savannah was mystified. “Why can’t you just watch from a normal seat?”

“I’m not giving Egan the satisfaction,” Pitch growled. “If this game gets a good turnout, it’s not going to be because of me.” She peered at Griffin’s mouth. “Any luck finding the retainer?”

“We still have a few more places to look,” Savannah told her. “Come on, Luthor.”

Pitch accompanied them. As they passed by the school, they got a view of the action on the field. The Cedarville Seahawks trailed 14–10, but the home team was driving. The huddle broke, and Darren noticed them as he took his place behind the quarterback.

He called, “Hey, losers!” and popped in his mouth guard.

That was all Luthor had to see. He took off, jarring the leash from Savannah’s grasp.

Savannah read the dog’s mind. “Come back, sweetie!” she called. “That’s not the retainer!”

Luthor couldn’t hear her over the roar of the crowd. Darren had put something in his mouth, and that needed to be investigated. He galloped onto the field like a racehorse.

“Darren — look out!” Savannah cried.

But Darren was completely focused on the play that was unfolding. He took the handoff, stutter-stepped behind a block, and broke through the line at full speed. The cheers of the crowd were an infusion of rocket fuel, energizing his legs. He was in the clear, sprinting for a go-ahead touchdown, with no defender in his path.

The tackle came from the place he least expected. A giant dog pounced on him from above, a monstrous black and brown body that momentarily blocked out the sun before flattening him to the turf. A huge paw reached under his visor and yanked his guard out by its tether. Powerful jaws snapped the plastic strap clean in two, and then the beast was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, taking the mouthpiece with it.

Pitch was wide eyed. “Too bad there’s no highlight film for
that
!”

Luthor trotted back to Savannah and deposited the mangled mouth guard into her hand.

She patted his head ruefully. “It was a good try, sweetie.”

Dr. Egan did not agree. He charged over, the entire Seahawks team at his heels. “Who let that dog on the —” He pulled up short when he recognized the three students with Luthor.

“It’s all a big misunderstanding,” Savannah explained reasonably. “Luthor saw Darren’s mouth guard and thought it was —”

“I don’t want to hear it!” the new principal yelled. “That was a deliberate attack!”

Griffin spoke up. “You can’t blame Luthor, Dr. Egan —”

“I’m not blaming the dog — I’m blaming you three!” The principal turned his flaming features on Pitch. “
You
have a grudge against this team!” And on Savannah. “
You
have to control your pet!”

“He’s not a pet, he’s a family member —”

“And
you
—” The principal’s rage was directed at Griffin now. “You’re the ringleader of these juvenile delinquents, and this is where it ends! To train
an animal to attack someone is the same as using a weapon.”

“What’s going on here?”

A tall, birdlike woman pushed her way into the huddle and peered over her beak of a nose, panning from face to face. A notebook was shoved forward, pencil poised threateningly. “Who is responsible for setting that dog on this defenseless boy?” She placed a long, bony arm around Darren.

Griffin’s heart sank. Of all the people who had to be at the football game to witness this — Celia White. He recognized her from the picture atop her weekly column in the
Herald
.

And she recognized him. “Griffin Bing — is this your dog?”

Savannah spoke up. “He’s mine. And he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

The reporter produced a cell phone. “Why don’t I call animal control and get their opinion? If I’m not mistaken, the law says a dog that attacks people has to be put down.”

Savannah turned deathly white and swayed dizzily for a moment.

“Okay, okay,” the principal announced. “Let’s dial this back a notch. Nobody’s getting put down.” He looked daggers at Griffin. “Yet.”

“What about my run?” demanded Darren, who was none the worse for wear except for a muddy jersey. “I was home free when the mutt pounced!”

The referee supplied the answer. “The play never happened. It was whistled dead for an unauthorized person on the field.”

“It wasn’t a person, it was a dog! And he owes me a touchdown!” Darren complained.

“Don’t worry, young man,” Celia White promised. “Everyone will know what was done to you — on Monday, when my column comes out, and I describe this incident in detail!” She glared at Griffin and bird-walked back to her seat in the bleachers, writing furiously as she went.

Dr. Egan reserved his anger for his students. “I want that dog and the three of you off my field now. And at school, if I see so much as a late slip from any of you, things are going to get ugly.”

Griffin caught twin looks of dismay from his two friends. Things were already ugly.

And getting worse.

B
y Monday morning, the doomsday clock had ticked down to six hours. If the missing retainer did not magically reappear by the time school ended, an expensive replacement would have to be ordered.

“Otherwise, my teeth might start to get crooked again,” Griffin called up the stairs of the Drysdale home. “To be honest, I’d rather have crooked teeth than deal with my mother anymore.”

Mom was out of the vocally disappointed phase. Now she just sighed. It was amazing how much that woman could say without using words.

Griffin had stopped by Savannah’s on the way to school, hoping that Luthor had come through over the weekend. If the Doberman could target Darren’s mouth guard from twenty yards away,
surely it was possible that he might stumble upon the real retainer.

“Sorry, Griffin, we haven’t even had a chance to look.” Savannah descended the steps, Luthor at her side. Cleopatra, her monkey, slid down the banister and jumped onto the dog’s muscular neck. “The rat’s still here, and it’s a total nightmare. Lorenzo’s turned pink — that’s as red as you can get when you’re albino.” She swung her backpack over one shoulder.

Suddenly, Luthor let out a
woof
that made the rafters ring. He approached her and began pulling at the canvas bag.

“See how upset things are?” she pointed out to Griffin. “He’s used to me going to school, but ever since the rat, they’re all on edge. That’s enough, Luthor. I’ll be home soon.”

The big Doberman began to whine. Cleopatra bounced and chattered in agitation. Their eyes never left Savannah’s backpack.

Something about the bag was setting them off.

All through the school day, Dr. Egan’s disapproving gaze seemed to follow Griffin wherever he went. He was relieved to get out of there — until
he spied his mother in the car pool line. The doomsday clock had officially run out. It was time to order the new retainer.

Ben found him later that afternoon. Griffin was in his yard, struggling to pick up a giant armload of leaves. He staggered over to the lawn bag and jammed them inside, sending a good 50 percent fluttering back to the grass.

“You’re alive.” Ben stepped through the gate, Ferret Face poking out of his collar like a hood ornament.

“That’s your opinion,” Griffin said with a grimace. “Grab the spare rake and give me a hand.”

“Won’t your folks get mad if
I
do your punishment?”

“It’s not punishment. It’s the first installment of paying them back. I should be in the clear by Christmas, two thousand twenty-nine. Easter, the latest.”

Ben picked up the second rake and began to work on a new leaf pile. “How mad was your mom?”

“Not bad. She’s been so ticked off the whole time that she didn’t have much anger left for today. She peaked early.”

Ben deposited a rakeful in the open bag. “What about your dad?”

Griffin shrugged. “He’s pretty distracted these days with the Vole-B-Gone.”

Mr. Bing was the inventor of ultramodern fruit-harvesting equipment, like the SmartPick
^TM
and the Rollo-Bushel
^TM
. His latest creation, the Vole-B-Gone
^TM
, was an electronic trap designed to protect trees from orchard pests.

“Your dad’s a genius and all,” Ben put in, “but after two great inventions, he was bound to come up with something that doesn’t work.”

“It works perfectly,” Griffin countered. “Once the vole is in the cage, it triggers the sensor, and the door shuts in less than a tenth of a second.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“They won’t go in,” Griffin explained. “It’s almost like they know what it’s for. Dad’s tried everything to attract them, but it’s a no go. Who knew voles were so picky about where they hang out?”

Ben set down his rake. “I don’t want to put you in an even worse mood, but the new
Herald
came today.” He pulled the tabloid-sized paper from his backpack and handed it to Griffin. The headline blazoned:

“Savannah isn’t going to like this,” Ben predicted mournfully.

Griffin scanned the article. Most of it decried Luthor as a danger to public safety, but the journalist had saved a special zinger for Griffin and his friends:

“My mother thinks everything Celia White writes comes straight from the great truth oracle of the universe,” Ben said glumly.

The Man With The Plan believed that kids could
and should stand up to the adult world. Yet a principal wielded absolute power in his school, and a reporter always had the last word.

Something had to be done.

But what?