Notes From a Liar and Her Dog (8 page)

“Not anymore,” I say as I pick up another chunk of meat.

“Yes, he said he talked to you about it and got you to stop.”

I bite the pouch of skin under my lip. I want to tell her this isn’t true. That he only thinks we’ve stopped. That we’ve outsmarted him. That we switch report cards now. But I know I shouldn’t. She has two strikes against her. One, she’s a teacher. And two, she told on me once already. I say nothing, the urge to brag practically choking me.

“We don’t know why you did it, though.”

I shrug. My mind clamps on the “we.” Cave Man and Carol have talked about me? I like this idea.

“No really, Ant, why?”

“Harrison’s father likes it when Harrison gets good grades,” I say.

“Harrison’s not stupid—why doesn’t he do his own work?” she asks as she finishes her last cube.

I shrug again. “He’d rather draw.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “Well, what about you? Aren’t your parents, or whatever you call them, upset when you bring home bad grades?”

“They’re used to it.”

“Well, what do they think now that you got all those A’s?” she asks, studying me as if the answer is somewhere on my face.

“They think I’m smart,” I say, and I try to smile modestly while looking directly at her. Another good lying technique. Always hold a person’s look. Never be the first to turn away.

“That’s nice,” she says as I feel something move in my pocket. Pistachio. I’d forgotten about him, but now he’s getting restless.

We are done with our pill duty. This is my chance. “Look,” I say, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay.” She picks up the plate of pill-stuffed beef chunks. “It’s down by the front of the lion exhibit. It’s all painted with zebra stripes. You can’t miss it.”

I go out the gate, step in the tub of bleach, then walk past the lion-viewing station to the zebra-painted bathroom. I’m smiling to myself. This Zoo Teen thing
is really fun! But then the bottom drops out of my stomach when I remember the conversation I overheard last Sunday. As soon as I get happy, then my dad quits his job and we move again.

I cut around behind the bathroom. Then, I look to see if it is safe to put Tashi down here. Nope. Too many kids by the lions’ viewing area, so I cut through by the side of the exhibit. Two years is a long time, my brain tries to calm my stomach. And when we moved to Sarah’s Road, he said it would be the last move. He said it would be forever. Besides, I asked him if we were moving and he said no.

I am near the lions now, but a safe distance from Just Carol and the public part of the zoo. This seems perfect, so I put Pistachio down on the dirt and right away he arches his back and sticks his nose and his tail in the air. He looks like a parade horse. I’m so happy to see him behaving like himself again, strutting around as if it’s top secret business for him to smell everything. I take off my jacket and toss it on a straw bale. I feel much cooler now. It really is too hot for a jacket, especially standing in the sun.

I sit down on the straw bale and wait for Pistachio to do his business. He is so busy smelling, he forgets to pee. “Go on, pee,” I whisper. “We don’t have all day, you know!” Once before, I left him too long in my pocket and he peed right there, a hot liquid running down my leg. I definitely don’t want this to happen again. I look at the sun, wondering what time it is. Eleven? Eleven-thirty? This is close enough to the
middle of the day, I think, so I take out Pistachio’s tiny white heart pill and poke it down his throat, hold his mouth closed, and massage his neck the way the vet showed me how. Then I let him down. “Now, pee,” I hiss at him, but he is so busy smelling the bale of straw that he pays no attention to me. He is very thorough about his smelling. One whiff won’t do. He must smell every square inch. “Come on!” I say.

“Hey, Ant,” Just Carol calls. Her voice seems close. Pistachio is down by the rocks now, sniffing his way to the chain-link fence. I wonder if I can get to him in time, when I hear Just Carol, even closer this time. “Ant?”

There’s nothing I can do except hope she doesn’t see Pistachio. “Yes,” I say.

“Whatcha doin’?” she asks in an easy, friendly tone of voice.

“Oh, I was just looking at the lions,” I say, nodding toward them and away from Pistachio. “They sure are lazy.”

“A little nap, a sunbath, a sip of water…tough life, isn’t it?” she says as Junior, the male lion, nuzzles one of the lionesses. Just Carol is absorbed in watching them, so I glance to see where Pistachio is again.

“You ready?” Just Carol asks. “Because it’s lunchtime. Mary-Judy doesn’t like it if we’re late. She’ll get worried the lions had an early dinner and come hauling up here in the zoo truck to find us.” Just Carol smiles.

“Okay,” I say. I will walk down a bit with her, then
tell her I forgot my jacket, which luckily I did take off. Then I’ll run back and scoop up Pistachio. I glance at him. He is all the way over by the fence now.

“I know you brought your lunch…did you bring something to drink, too? I don’t know about you, but I’m really thirsty,” Just Carol says. She is walking fast. I am walking slow, hoping she will slow down, too. But she doesn’t. She walks on ahead of me.

We are getting farther and farther away from Pistachio. My heart is jammed up in my throat and beating loud in my head. I’m sweating big drips. I steal a glance back and I see Pistachio’s brown body near the lion chain link. The lions will eat him if he goes in there. This idea hits me hard, like I jammed my finger in the door. “Wait here!” I whisper. “I—I forgot my jacket.” I am so scared, my throat has closed up. I can barely speak.

I run back, hoping she won’t follow me, but I can’t help it if she does, now. Pistachio is too near the fence. He is so small, he could go under. I head back to where I last saw him, but now I can’t find him. I stop. I look around. Where is he? “Pistachio!” I call through my closed-up throat. Then I hear his high-pitched yip and I see the sudden excited motion of his small body out of the corner of my eye. I turn around. There he is. In with the lions. He’s barking at them, his stubby tail straight in the air.

A
t first, the lions ignore him. They are too busy sunning themselves to notice. Maybe they think Pistachio is a fake dog, or too little to care about one way or the other. I am almost to the fence now. “PISTACHIO! COME! COME!” I pound my leg with my hand.

Pistachio ignores me. He is jumping around, barking his head off, daring them to get him. Daring them to fight. Then, suddenly, one of the lionesses snaps to attention. Her whole body tenses. A streak of energy arches through her. She crouches and leaps, all in one smooth motion.

“PISTACHIO!” I scream, shoving my arm under the fence, trying to grab him. My fingers graze his fur, but I get hold of nothing.

“What? What? Are you nuts?” Just Carol screams. I hear her rubber boots pounding toward me.

I am flat on the dirt with my arm as far under the fence as it will go. “PISTACHIO! PISTACHIO!” I call. The chain link is tearing my arm. I try to push closer to Pistachio. I touch his fur again, trying to grab ahold, but he jumps out of my reach. Just Carol tugs
at my other arm. “GET YOUR ARM OUT OF THERE!” she cries.

“LET GO!” I scream. The lion is there now. She has covered the ground in a flash. She lets out a terrifying roar and sails through the air. Pistachio is bark, bark, barking. I snap my eyes shut and yank my arm back without even thinking. I can’t help myself. It’s pure fear. Then I force myself to open my eyes. Oh, my God. She’s eaten him. I hear a terrible noise as if someone is sobbing or moaning. It’s coming from me. I want him back. I have to hold him again. I will do anything for this, and then I feel a scratching at my boot. I look down and there he is. Panting hard, wagging his tail a million miles an hour, looking eagerly at me as if he has just had a lot of fun.

“Holy Jesus!” Just Carol says.

I pick up Pistachio and hold him tight against me. I am never going to let him go again. I smell his dog smell, like leaves burning. He licks my finger with his small, wet, raspy tongue. The lioness is still watching him. She is pacing on the other side of the fence. Back and forth. Back and forth. I shudder. My whole body feels stiff, as if I’ve taken a hard fall. And my arm is bleeding a little where I scratched it on the chain link.

“What the hell were you doing?” Just Carol asks.

I don’t say anything. I don’t feel able to explain right now. I don’t think my mouth will work. All I know is that Pistachio is here with me. I stroke his fur. He curls his body against mine and licks my hand all over as if it’s dirty and he needs to make it clean. He seems proud of himself. I would hate him for this
if I weren’t so glad to have him safe. I’m shaking, I’m so grateful he is all right.

Just Carol is watching me. She is very quiet.

I get my coat, put it on, and pour Pistachio back in the pocket.

“So,” she says. She’s not moving. Not blinking. She is so still, I wonder if she is even breathing, but then I see her eyes are jumping mad. “He’s been there all morning,” she declares in a hard little voice.

She’s walking now, and my legs are moving, too. We go around to the front and step in the bleach tub and walk down to the main zoo, through the gate that says Danger: Do Not Enter.

Just Carol doesn’t say anything else. I steal a glance at her, wondering what will happen now. Her face is blank, it’s only her teeth that give her away. They grind as we walk.

We are approaching the big feed room and the locker room. Harrison is sitting with Mary-Judy and three keepers at a picnic table just outside the door of the kitchen.

A khaki man is walking behind us. “Hey, what was all that commotion over by the lions?” he asks.

“What commotion?” Mary-Judy’s hand freezes, holding the waxed paper from her sandwich.

“I don’t know…sounded like maybe a keeper was in there.” The man laughed.

“Yeah,” said Just Carol. “It was Peggy. She climbed a tree after a squirrel. It was something.” Just Carol smiles.

“Oh, is that all.” Mary-Judy relaxes. “Did she get it?”

“Nope. Got to a high skinny branch where Peggy couldn’t get her.”

“Treed her, huh? Well, it’s only a matter of time, then. That Peggy, she’s good. I’ve seen her climb halfway up the chain link to get a squirrel. Scared me to death. I had maintenance double string the top of the whole exhibit after that.”

“Well, so long as it’s not you up there in that tree, Mary-Judy.” The man laughs.

“If it is, you’ll be the first to hear about it, Joe.” Mary-Judy takes a banana out of her lunch bag.

“If we lose you, I have dibs on your radio,” a tall, skinny khaki lady says. She takes a long drag from her cigarette.

“Honey, if I’m gone, you can have everything. Even my underwear,” Mary-Judy says.

“Harrison.” Just Carol beckons with her finger. Harrison jumps up and comes over to us.

“Wash your hands. Change out of your boots. We’re going home,” she whispers in a mean voice, like how she talks to kids she doesn’t like.

“Why?” Harrison asks.

“Talk to your buddy here. She’ll tell you.” Just Carol nods at me.

Harrison’s face scrunches all up.

“Hey, Carol, what’s going on?” Mary-Judy asks.

“I’m sorry, Mary-Judy, but I think Ant’s ready to go. A whole day is a little much first time out. I’m going to run the two of them home, then I’ll be back,” Just Carol says, as smooth as can be.

“So, you’re stealing my helpers, are you. Just when I get them all trained.”

“I’m sorry, Mary-Judy,” Just Carol says.

“Tired you out, huh?” Mary-Judy says to me.

I nod. I am tired, I realize through the dull thudding of my head. But I’m also feeling guilty. Why does Harrison have to go home, too? This isn’t fair.

We walk up out of the Do Not Enter area. I hear the sound of Harrison’s sneakers and Just Carol’s rubber boots slapping the ground when she walks. I smell the big eucalyptus trees and step on the acorns. The gibbons are quiet now, but the macaws are making a terrible fuss. It sounds as if they are arguing over something. A woman is pushing her child in one of the zoo’s rental strollers. It rattles like an old grocery cart.

Just Carol doesn’t say a word. Harrison is looking over at me through his straggly hair. He wants to know what happened, but I feel too lousy to explain.

It’s a long way to the car with Just Carol and her silence and Harrison and his disappointed face, but we finally make it. Just Carol fishes the keys out of her pocket and unlocks the shiny doors. I am buckling the seat belt around Harrison and me when she lets me have it. “So why in God’s name did you hide that dog in your pocket all morning? What is the purpose of a stunt like that? Did you plan to feed your dog to the lions or was that his idea?”

I take Pistachio out of my pocket and put him on my lap. Harrison sucks air in. “Is he okay?” he asks, running his hand along Tashi’s head and down his
back. He touches Tashi carefully, as if he is formed out of sand.

“Are you crazy? I’d never hurt Pistachio. Never. He just thinks he’s a lot bigger than he is, is all. He’s just really brave.”

“Am
I
crazy?” Just Carol asks. “I’m not the one that stuck my arm in the lions’ exhibit.”

Harrison is scratching behind Pistachio’s small triangle ears.

“Not only that,” she begins, counting my sins with her fingers. “You put your own dog’s life in danger. Not to mention sacrificing me. I actually care about being able to volunteer here, and I stuck my neck out so you could come. And …” Now she’s on finger number four. “You could have gotten Mary-Judy in a whole bunch of trouble, because she’s the one responsible for us, but that doesn’t matter to you, either. Not to mention spoiling the chance for Harrison here. Did you think of that?” This is finger number five: Just Carol’s thumb.

I look over at Harrison. His shoulders are hunched. He looks as if he wishes he could disappear. I don’t think he’s mad at me. He just hates fighting, especially between me and Just Carol. He likes us both too much.

“I had to bring Pistachio. I had to,” I say.