Immortal Max (3 page)

I
am
a loser.

Kids jam onto the school bus. Yelling. Laughing. Throwing wadded candy wrappers and punching each other on the arm. I stuff my backpack under the seat and stare out the window, watching grasshoppers perform belly flops and trying to shut out end-of-year conversations.

“Did Spammy tell you 'bout my new kitten?” My little sister, Rosie, sits down next to Bailey. They're across the aisle from me, like always.

There's a pecking order on the bus. Those of us who get off first sit up front. Sid has the shortest ride because the hotel is nearest the school. Bailey lives across the road from us, so she gets off with Rosie and me. The Burbies sit at the back, except for Anise and Yee. They're different from the other Burbies, not so full of themselves. They live next door to each other at Country-Wood, too, so they chummed up right away.

“Don't call me
Spammy
,” I growl across the aisle.

Rosie's grin slides off her face.

“Let's call him Sammy, okay?” Catching my eye, Bailey gives me her smiley face. “He told the whole class about your new kitten,” she tells Rosie. “He said you have
seven
cats now. What are you gonna name this one?”

“Selena.”

Yee makes a choking sound. She and Anise are sitting in the seat behind me.

“That sounds like a Cliché's name,” Bailey says. “I bet we can come up with something better than that.”

“Like what?”

All at once, Bailey gets all bouncy. “I know! Robinson Crusoe named a man Friday 'cause that was the day he found him. You have seven cats now, so you could name them after the days of the week. What day did you get your new kitten?”

“You mean, name it Thursday?” Rosie's mouth opens in a snaggle-toothed grin. “Yeah, I can change
all
of their names to days of the week 'cause we have seven cats and there are seven days in a week.”

“Awesome.”
Bailey pulls a snickerdoodle out of her backpack and hands it to Rosie. “Here, I saved this for you.”

Aww, man. Major slip-up. Bailey wasn't going to eat that extra cookie. She saved it for Rosie. I mouth “Thanks” across the aisle and get another smiley-face grin.

Sid climbs on the bus and sits down next to me. Setting George's cage between his feet, he pulls my scrapbook out of his backpack. “I think you will regret throwing this away,” he says. “It was a really big deal for you.”

“You can kiss that good-bye,” I say, groaning. “I'll never have enough money to buy a pedigreed puppy.”

“A pity.” He pauses, looking thoughtful. “Then keep it as a dream book.”

“A what?”

“A book for holding your dreams.” He pushes the scrapbook into my hands. “I have always wanted a little Chihuahua, but it would look too much like a rat. I'm also afraid it would bark a lot. I'm told that Chihuahuas have nervous dispositions.”

“Yeah, that's what I heard, too.”

“So you see, I can't have one. But I would love a book like this, just to dream about the day I could get one.”

That's what I was trying to tell the class. . . .

“Thanks.” I stuff the dog book into my backpack and shove it back under the seat. “It
is
kind of special.”

Outside the bus, Townies pair up or form small clusters to walk home. Crunching across worn-out grass. Talking about stopping somewhere to celebrate summer vacation, like McDonald's
or DQ. Big deal. My stop will be the refrigerator for a soda pop. An
ice
-cold soda pop. The bus is an oven. Suddenly, someone nudges me on the shoulder.

“Why can't you earn the extra money you need to buy a dog?” Bailey says. Eavesdropping, of course.

“You're sitting next to it.” I nod at Rosie. “Have to watch
her
when Mom's working.”

Summer is Mom's busiest time. After my dad was killed in a car accident, she opened up a plant nursery in an old shed next to the house. We live halfway between town and CountryWood, a good location for her business. She has a big garden plot out back for growing perennials, plants that come back every year like daylilies and daisies. And she plants seeds in flowerpots early in the spring for annuals, which can't survive cold winters. Geraniums and petunias mostly. A lot of customers come back to buy from her, and sometimes she plants the flowers for them. From time to time, she even does workshops, teaching people how to care for their gardens.

“I babysit for people on weekends,” Bailey says. “That's how I bought my pom-poms. Mom's paying for cheerleading camp 'cause she wants me to lose twenty pounds. She figures I'll sweat it off if I do cheers.” She glances out the window as the bus starts up. “She's probably right. It's dumb hot out there and summer just started.”

“Yeah, well. Mom can't afford to pay me, and there's no way I'm going to babysit other people's brats. One is enough.”

“You called me a brat.” Rosie's bottom lip starts to quiver. Jell-O in a fleshy mold.

“He didn't call
you
a brat.” Bailey looks at me. “Did you, Sammy?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“See . . .” Bailey smiles at Rosie. “He wasn't talking about you.”

A sigh slips out of my mouth. Bailey's the eternal optimist. Sappy. Why doesn't she get it? Things aren't always good. Sometimes you just have to wake up. I go back to looking out the smeary window.

“What's a petty-greed dog?” Rosie asks, spewing cookie crumbs.

“Ped-i-greed.” Bailey spells the word for her. “It's a dog with papers.”

“What kind of papers?”

“A pedigree is like a birth certificate. Only for dogs.”

“Why can't cats have birth certificates?”

“Oh, I guess cats can, too.” Bailey looks at me again. “So do something other than babysit.”

“Like what?” I snort. “It took me years to save a hundred dollars from the allowance Mom gives me and the odd jobs Grandpa paid me to do. Now that he's gone, I don't have a way to earn extra money.” I cross my arms and go back to staring out the window. “There just aren't any jobs for a twelve-year-old kid around here.”

“Then make one,” Yee says.

Yee's the smartest kid in class, next to Sid. I've never seen anyone who works so hard at being smart as she does. But this is the dumbest thing that's ever come out of her mouth.

“Make a job?” I twist in my seat so I can see behind me. “You can't just
make
a job.”

“Sure you can. What do you know a lot about?”

“Dogs!” Justin yells from the back of the bus. “
Dog Boy
knows all about dogs.”

He must have amplifiers in his ears to hear us over the noise. The other Burbies are yak-yakking like crazy, taking pictures of each other with iPhones, laughing and yelling. A three-ring circus.

“Mind your own business!” Bailey yells at him.

“No,” Yee says. “Justin's right. You
do
know a lot about dogs, Sammy. You could watch dogs instead of kids.”

“Babysit dogs?”

“Sure. When people go away on vacation, they have someone come in to take care of their dogs. Cats, too. You know, feed and water them.”

“Or you could
walk
dogs,” Anise says. “Some of our neighbors
are so old, I bet they'd pay someone to exercise their dogs for them.”

“That's even better.” Yee's eyes start to blink slow, like they're mechanized. “That way, you could set up a schedule.”

“You know what
exercising
means, Dog Boy?” Justin has moved closer to the front. He's three rows back now. “Being a
pooper scooper
. Picking up woof-woof waste.”

Yee and Anise roll their eyes at each other.

“Picking up poop?” Bailey raises her eyebrows. “Why don't they just put their dogs in the backyard? That's what we do. That way, the dog would get exercise and they'd only have to pick up poop every three or four days.” She screws up her face. “That's one of my jobs.”

“ 'Cause we're not allowed to have fences around our yards,” Anise says, “and it's against the law to let dogs run loose. Some people put their dogs on tie-outs instead of walking them. . . .” She gives Justin a look. “But no matter where they poop, you're still
supposed
to pick up after them.”

That look says a lot. Justin doesn't play by the rules. Big surprise.

“I don't understand,” Bailey says. “The whole place is fenced. I know 'cause Mom drives by there when we go see my grandparents.”

Bailey's right, I've seen it, too. A six-foot PVC fence surrounds CountryWood. A wall of big white plastic panels. All you can see are rooftops over the top.

“Oh,” Anise says. “The fence is for privacy—and security.”

“Security?” I look at Anise like her brain sprang a leak. “Like that fence is supposed to keep someone out? Geez, I could get over it like
that
.” I pop a finger snap.

“Sammy . . .” Leaning close, Yee whispers, “There's been a problem with vandalism. Everyone thinks it's Townies.”

“Hey.”
Justin stands up, yelling to the Burbies at the back of the bus. “Did you hear that? Spammy said he's been climbing over the fence at CountryWood.”

“Did
not
. I was just . . . just . . .”

“I believe Sammy was making a point,” Sid says.

“Yeah, making a point.”

“The
point
is, we can't let our dogs run free.” Anise gives Justin another look. “We're supposed to keep them on a leash when we take them outside. But
some
people keep their dogs in a crate all day long. No wonder they go crazy when they're finally let out.”

Go crazy? Is she talking about Justin's dog?

“A crate?” Rosie says. “You mean, like a wooden box?”

“No, a
wire
crate. We put Midnight in one when we go shopping 'cause Mom doesn't want the house messed up.”

“We have one for Rooster and Rabbit, too. Because they're small, they share one.”

“But that's so
mean
.” Bailey's eyebrows bunch up. “We have a fenced backyard for our dog. She's a blond cocker spaniel . . . well, mostly cocker.” She flashes her toothy grin at Yee. “Her name's Blondie.”

Another sigh slips out. I hate it when Bailey tries to make a Burbie like her. Like, not naming her dog after a person will make Yee her best friend?

“It is
not
mean.” Yee's tone is indignant, like she's been insulted. “Animal psychologists say dogs like to be kept in crates. It's their den. You know, like when they used to be wild.”

I let out a louder sigh. “Oh, so now you're a
dog
psychologist, too?”

Yee's dad is a psychologist, the kind that does research. She's always analyzing everything and everyone.

“No.” Yee looks at me. “My vet told me.”

“Well, all I know is Max wasn't happy in a cage. That's why Beth brought him home to live with us.”

“Oh, I don't know.” Sid glances at George. “Living in a cage isn't so bad.”

“There's no way Spammy could exercise dogs.” Justin has commandeered the seat behind Bailey and Rosie now. “We have
rules
.”

“What kind of rules?” Bailey twists in her seat so she can see Justin, Yee, and Anise.

“All kinds,” Anise says. “That's why my parents moved here. The gangs had gotten really bad in the city, and after Saffron . . .”

As Anise's voice trails off, Yee pats her on the arm.

“The fence is to keep scum out,” Justin says, taking over again. “That's why Townies have to get a pass to get in the security gate. Besides, we're talking
expensive
dogs. People aren't going to trust just anyone with them. People steal expensive dogs, you know.”

“Spammy's not a stealer,” Rosie says.

“Sammy,” Bailey whispers.

“Sammy's not a stealer,” Rosie says again.

“No, he's right.” Just once, I wish Justin would be wrong about something. “Who's going to trust a twelve-year-old kid with an expensive dog?”

Which I will never have.

“One with credentials.” Sid indicates my backpack.

“Yeah, you know more about dogs than anyone I know, but . . .” Bailey's forehead wrinkles up like she's thinking real deep. “How would people know you're in the dog exercising business?”

“Don't you mean woof-woof waste collector?” Hyena giggles ricochet off the bus windows.
A-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh
.

Yee and Anise put their heads together, whispering, and follow with a look at me.

What's going on?

The bus slows. The sign on the side pops out, warning motorists to stop. Sid stands up, holding George's cage, ready to exit the bus. Summer vacation has officially started.