Immortal Max (14 page)

“You mean, dip French fries in mayo?” Bailey's grin is plastic now.

Yee nudges Anise in the ribs.

“No.” Anise glares at Yee. “
Smile
all the time.”

“Yeah,” Yee says, her voice sounding stronger. “You know, you don't have to be so . . . 
perky
all the time.”

“Perky?” The plastic smile slides off Bailey's face. She's figured out that she's on trial. “Because that's what fat kids do,” she says. “I mean, we're not pretty, so we have to be . . . 
perky
.”

“Huh.”
Anise looks at Yee and me. “Did you know that? I didn't know that.”

I hunch my shoulders and look at Yee.

“But doesn't your mouth get tired?” Yee stares at Bailey. “My mouth would ache if I grinned like that all the time.”

Things are so quiet, you can hear the wind blowing through the trees. All at once, Bailey falls back on the grass, arms flopped out to her side.

“Ohmigosh,
yes!
” she cries. “Sometimes my cheeks hurt so bad, I think they're gonna fall off my face. I
hate
smiling all the time.” She sits up quickly, looking between Yee and Anise. “But just 'cause I'm fat doesn't mean I'm not strong. I mean, I could be part of a pyramid easy 'cause my folks make me do chores—
outside
chores. Under all this fat is
muscle
.” She flexes her arm, showing off her bicep. “You wanna feel?”

“No,” Anise says, pushing Bailey's arm away. “It's just that . . . well, it's okay not to smile so much, especially when we're practicing.”

“And at cheer practice,” Yee says. “And in school . . . and after school . . . and during gym . . . and—”

“All the time, Bailey,” I say. “They're saying just be yourself all the time. You know, like you are when you're with me?”

“Oh, is that all?” Bailey raises her shoulders, lets them drop. “Sure.”

And before I know it, they're all smiling at each other. Real smiles, not plastic.

“What's so funny?” Rosie sets a sloshing pitcher of lemonade on the picnic table.

“You wouldn't understand,” I say, and run to the house to get glasses.

After they've finished their drinks, Yee and Anise get up to leave.

“See you at camp tomorrow,” Yee says to Bailey.

“Yeah, and on Thursday to practice,” Anise says. “At
your
house.”

“Cool,”
Bailey says.

I walk Yee and Anise to the road. “That
was
cool, guys.” I grin. “Real cool.”

I watch until they reach the corner that leads to Country-Wood, and then I head back to the house, where Rosie and Bailey are cleaning up the lemonade stuff.

“What are you doing?” When I get there, I find the lemonade and glasses still on the picnic table and Max standing in the middle of Rosie's wading pool. Lapping soapsuds.

“Giving Max a bath.” Bailey holds a bottle of oatmeal soap. “And then we're going to brush him.”

“Yeah. And now that he's a real dog, he needs to smell better,” Rosie says. “Just like Sid said.”

Real dog? Max looks like a wet, overgrown rat and smells as bad. No matter what Bailey and Rosie do to him, he'll never be a
real
dog.

Like a pedigreed German shepherd . . .

Decision time. I've been checking the want ads regularly. The puppies are still being advertised. Now that I have a job, I need to act. Fast.

“But Max needs some chlorophyll dog biscuits.” Bailey wrinkles her nose. “His breath definitely is
not
splendid.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Hurrying to the house, I find the phone number in the want ads and dial.

The phone rings. And rings.

My stomach ties up in knots.

What if no one's there? What if the puppies are gone?

“Kendall's Kennels. This is Alice Kendall. Can I help you?”

“Yeah, hi. This is Sammy Smith.
Sam
Smith. Do you still have the German shepherd puppies for sale?”

Mrs. Kendall tells me they have three males and a female puppy available.

“That's great! I'll take one of the males. I can pay you ninety dollars now and the rest when I get it.”

“You want to give me part payment and take a puppy home. . . .” A long pause on the line. “Sorry, we don't do business that way.”

What? But I bragged to Justin that I'm getting a puppy—in front of Yee and Anise.

“Well . . .” My mind races. “How 'bout this? I'll give you a ninety-dollar
nonrefundable deposit
and pay you some each week. I'll take the puppy when we're all paid up.”

Mrs. Kendall laughs. “We don't do layaway, either. When you get the money, give me a call back.”

My tongue feels like Jell-O that's set in the refrigerator a week. Rubber jerky. This isn't going the way it was supposed to.

“How old are you, Sam? I've never sold a dog . . . sight unseen.”

I tell her I just turned twelve. She suggests I bring my parents out to her kennel. That there are things a dog buyer needs to do to protect himself.

“Like what?”

“Like making sure a dog is what the breeder says it is. Don't
get me wrong, our dogs have great pedigrees. We keep a clean kennel, keep our dogs healthy. Make sure they're bred right. But not all breeders do that. Have you heard of puppy mills?”

When I don't answer right away, she goes on talking.

“You understand, of course, that I will have other potential buyers calling me.”

My heart pounds. “Are . . . are you saying you'll sell the puppies to them if they have
all
the money?”

“That's what we're in the business to do, Sam. Sorry.”

The
click
almost punctures my eardrum. I return to the kitchen, feeling like I've been run through the garbage disposal.

“What's to eat?” Rosie slams through the screen door, oozing puddles.

“Take off your shoes. You smell like a wet rat. And change clothes before Mom comes in.”

“You're being bossy, Sammy. I'm gonna tell.”

“Go ahead, I don't care.”

Rosie turns her back, ignoring me.

“And you need to be taking care of
cats
.” I start talking more loudly as Rosie heads for the stairs. “Not some dumb old dog.”

“Already fed them. Max is hungry and Birdie needs water. Her birdbath is dry.”

Great
. Now a six-year-old is telling me what to do.

“Where's Bailey? She had time to haul water for Max's bath. She can water him and Birdie.”

“Gone home to work on my costumes. I'm going over for a fitting soon as I change.” Rosie stomps upstairs, her footsteps echoing through the house.

The kitchen grows quiet, so quiet I can't stand it. I slam through the screen door to do chores.

Beth's Subaru clatters into the driveway as I'm filling a water bucket. I wave her over.

“S'up, Sammy? I'm beat.” Beth smells of disinfectant. A smear of something dark stains her jeans. Medicine. Puke. Maybe manure. Strands of wavy blond hair string down her neck like wet noodles. “Max all right? He still taking care of Birdie?”

“
Max
is fine. Walk with me around back. I need to ask you a couple things.”

I pick up the pail of water. Beth picks up Max's food dish and falls into step beside me.

“What's so important it can't wait till supper?”

“First, tell me about puppy mills.”

“Puppy mills?” She frowns, looking bewildered. “Why do you need to know about puppy mills?”

I hunch my shoulders. “Someone was talking about them today.”

“Oh. Well, here's the CliffsNotes version. They're also called puppy farms and puppy factories. They're dog breeding facilities operated under inhumane conditions. The female dogs are caged all the time, not allowed to exercise or play. Sometimes they even have to go to the bathroom in their cages.”

“Even purebred dogs?”

“That's what puppy mills specialize in, although they're not careful about the breeding process. They don't vet their animals properly, either. As a result, the puppies that are born may have health or behavior problems. When a dog is caged up all the time, it doesn't learn to socialize with other dogs. Or people.”

I think about this as we walk. “Is that what was wrong with Max? 'Cause he was caged?”

“Possibly.” She thinks a bit, too. “Other dogs just don't do well in cages and go bonkers when they get out. Max being a herding breed could account for it, too.”

Herding breed. Beth had already figured out what kind of dog Max was. “How can someone be sure they aren't buying a dog from a puppy mill?”

“Well, those kinds of breeders typically sell through newspaper ads or pet stores, even the Internet. That way buyers can't see how the dogs are treated. A buyer needs to buy a dog from a good place.”

“How do you know you're buying from a good place?”

“The best way is to visit the breeding facility, check out the conditions and the breeder.”

Just what Mrs. Kendall said. How am I going to check out their kennel? I don't even know where it is.

“Um, what do you know about Kendall's Kennels? I think it's somewhere around here.”

“Other side of the county. Solid reputation. Went out there once with one of the vets to check a dog.”

If Beth says Kendall's is okay, that's good enough for me. I've found a good kennel, now all I need is money.

Beth looks at me, eyes curious. “Everything all right, Sammy?”

“Splendid. Everything's just splendid.”

“Splendid?” She grins. “Rosie's been using that word a lot lately, too.”

“Yeah, well. We've been hanging with Sid Patel.”

“That's cool. Your vocabulary could use some sprucing up.”

“Whatever.” I take a breath, go for it. “Um, I know you bought your own car . . .”

“Yeah . . .”

“And you've been working to save money for college . . .”

“Yeah” again, but slower.

“Well, I've found a great deal on a puppy, but I'm a little short. So I was wondering if you could loan me a few dollars.”

“What's a few dollars?”

“Two hundred fifty.”

“Geez, Sammy. That's more than a
few
. Why can't you wait until the end of summer when you've earned enough?”

“ 'Cause Kendall's doesn't do layaway.”

Beth stands still. “Mom was worried you wouldn't make enough working at CountryWood to buy a puppy. What if you couldn't pay me back?”

“I will—I promise. I've got customers already. I mean, what could go wrong?”

Beth starts walking again, blinking.

She's gonna do it, she's gonna loan me the money. . . .

Beth's head starts to shake. The kind of headshake that spells trouble.

“Sorry, Sammy. I just put a deposit on a dorm room in
Colorado and need to budget for books and supplies. Could go ten or twenty bucks, but not that much. I'm maxed out, little bro.” She looks at me again. “Have you asked Mom?”

“She's paying for Rosie's pageant, remember?”

“Oh, yeah—” Beth pulls up short as we round the barn. “Is that Max? Wow, he looks
great
. About time he had a bath—
past
time. He hasn't been groomed since I took him in for his shots and a bath at the vet's months ago.”

The dirty pile of sticks and brush has morphed into a silky-coated dog.

“Bailey and Rosie did it. It was Sid's idea.”

“Well, keep it up. It's good for his coat.” She walks over, rubs Max's head. “He feels good, too. You can tell by the way he's acting.”

Max's eyes and ears are alert. His mouth is wide in a doggy grin. And he twists and turns like a puppy.

“Yeah, but his breath would stop a freight train. I think his teeth are rotted 'cause he's old.
Real
old.”

Beth squeezes Max's jaws open, examines his teeth. “Teeth still look pretty good, not too worn down. Some plaque buildup, but dog biscuits would help that. I'll bring some home.”

“With
chlorophyll
?”

“No, charcoal. That's what we use for treats at the clinic. Works better than chlorophyll.” She looks at Max again. “I swear, this dog's a miracle. First he doesn't die like he's supposed to, and now he's acting like a puppy.”

Miracle
. That's what Sid said the last day of school.

“Good job, Sam.” Beth smiles at me.

“Me? I didn't do anything.”

“Get serious. You're the one who turned him around, and he knows it. That's why you're his alpha person.”

“Alpha
person?”

“Alpha is the first letter of the Greek alphabet. Alpha
person
means you're number one with him, the person he respects the most.”