Treading Water (5 page)

“Well, they should. They should let all the Vet Volunteers join. We have the same interests, and we're mature. Most of us, anyway,” I say. I'm on my knees, partially inside our biggest floor cage. “Middle school is so babyish compared to high school. You know, nobody fooled around while I was talking. It's like being with adults. They took me seriously. And then there's all the stuff we'll be able to do in high school. Do you know that some students study in another country for a semester or a
whole
year? And it seems like they all have jobs. How cool is that?”

Sunita answers, “We have jobs. Look at us here on a Sunday morning, cleaning and organizing.”

“I mean
paying
jobs.” I use my second sponge to wipe away the soapy water that has gathered in the corner.

“What? You think Gran should be paying us? We're Vet
Volunteers.
” Zoe scowls.

“That's not what I mean. You know that's not what I mean. I love this. I love us. It's just that . . . it's that . . . I don't know.” I stop scrubbing and sit back on my heels. “The high school students' lives just seem a whole lot more interesting than ours do.”

“Well, the boys are cuter,” Zoe says. She has her hand on her hip, as if she's ready for a photo shoot.

I'm not sure why, but Sunita looks a little mad at me. Maggie looks confused.

“Come on,” I say. “Don't you wish you were in high school doing all sorts of interesting stuff? Don't you think we should join that club?”

Sunita walks over to Maggie and me. “Some day. But Brenna, why rush things? I love being a Vet Volunteer. And middle school is going well for all of us.”

Maggie snorts. “Most of us, anyway.”

Sunita continues, “We don't need to join a club for high schoolers. Why are you so dissatisfied with now?”

Dissatisfied? Is that what I am? No. I'm just ready for something new. They just don't see how great the older kids have it compared to us. I try to explain.

“Don't you ever feel like we're in this holding place? I mean what is
middle school
anyway? It's all about what it's not. It isn't high school. It isn't elementary school. It's what? That school in the middle of the other two. A waiting place.” I feel myself getting angry, and my voice getting too loud, and I don't exactly know why.

“Waiting place?” Maggie asks. “It doesn't seem like we do all that much waiting around. School seems like a lot of work. It's hard. All the time.” She has finished her cage, so she closes its door.
Slam
. The clang causes the ducklings to loudly peep.

“Brenna, what do you wish was different at school?” Sunita peers at me—like if she looks hard enough, she'll understand how my brain works.

I take a breath and tell myself to calm down, speak slower, softer.

“It's not just school, I begin. “But, well, think about school for a second . . . we've basically been taking the same subjects since first grade. At the high school they have journalism, graphic design, photography! And the math and science classes. They'll be harder, sure.” I glance at Maggie. She narrows her eyes.

“But much more interesting,” I continue. “And you wouldn't believe all the clubs! I bet if we talked to the Outdoor Club's faculty adviser about the Vet Volunteers, they would make an exception for us. And you would like the kids themselves. The ones in the Outdoor Club, they don't fool around like David and Josh do. They don't throw things. They're too mature for that.”

Sunita hands me a couple sanitizing wipes. “We will all get there. Soon enough.”

“Not soon enough for me!” I'm too loud again.

“Whoa, what's going on?” Jules asks as she wheels in the mop bucket.

“Brenna wants us to get into some club that doesn't even want us. And nothing's good enough for her. School isn't even hard enough,” Maggie says. “And I guess none of us is mature enough for her, either.” Maggie pushes past me out into the hall. I hear the door between the clinic and her house slam.

“Ooh, she's mad,” Zoe says, following her cousin.

“I just . . . I just . . . ,” I try to explain.

“I didn't mean the Vet Volunteers weren't mature,” I say to Jules and Sunita.

“Don't worry. They'll be back,” Sunita says. Jules nods.

But that's the last we see of Maggie and Zoe for the day. Everything feels awkward, and none of us says much. Sunita, Jules, and I make up the short presentation. Sunita types it and prints out copies for each Vet Volunteer. We check on the ducklings once more and gather our things. Sunita leaves two copies on the desk for Zoe and Maggie. Jules takes one for Josh and one for dropping at David's on her way home.

As we step out the door, we almost trip on a package.

“Who delivers on Sunday?” Sunita asks.

People who abandon baby bunnies.

T
he next day at school, I see all the Vet Volunteers at some point in the halls. Maggie sits in front of me in the same science class. She practically ignores me when I try to discuss us both going up after class and showing Mr. Shuler our possible presentation. So I go talk to him myself.

“Could I show you something I'd like to share with the class?” I ask Mr. Shuler. He's a good teacher and a friendly guy.

“What do you have there, Brenna?”

“I think this would take five minutes to present. And maybe a couple more for questions, if anybody had them.” I show him the sheet with my outline. “I was going to make a poster to go with it. Maggie said she might help me with both.”

Mr. Shuler looks up and back at Maggie still sitting at her desk.

“Something wrong between you two?” he asks.

“I'm sure she'll get over it,” I say. But then I look back at Maggie. She glares at me. What is her problem?

“Well, you two have my permission. How about Wednesday? We should have some time right at the beginning of class.”

“Great! Thanks,” I say. I take my paper back from Mr. Shuler and turn to go back to my desk.

“If she doesn't ‘get over it,' will you still do it?” he asks quietly. I look back.

“I'll do it. I don't have any problem doing it alone,” I say. I pass Maggie's desk and see her frown as I go back to my own desk. Why is she so mad at me?

We don't all have the same lunch period, but David, Sunita, and Zoe are at our usual table. Sunita has her head buried in a book. She eats between page flips.

“I need to concentrate,” she says to David when he tries to talk to her. So it's going to be one of those “tune-out” lunches with Sunita. Oh well. No hard feelings.

David talks to me between bites of his sandwich.

“Sunita told me about the bunny in a box,” he says.

“Yep, another one abandoned. What is wrong with people?” I answer.

“We should do something about all these dumped animals,” David says.

“This is exactly why we need to start by talking to the classes,” I say.

David chews, Sunita reads, and Zoe stares off into space. I turn to look for Maggie, but she isn't in the food line, and I don't see her at any other table, either.

David stops chewing and says, “Ms. Ryan said it was okay to talk to the class. I'm gonna do it tomorrow. Can you make a poster for me?”

“David, can't you take care of it? I have to do my own,” I say. I look over at Zoe. She avoids my eyes.

David takes another bite. “I guess. But it won't be as good as yours would be. Can I just draw a duck and color it in with a yellow marker?”

“Yes, but you could add more to it. Draw a chick and a bunny, maybe,” I suggest.

“I don't think I can draw a chick,” he says. “Maybe I can draw a rabbit. I'll try. You know, I could just borrow your poster. We're in different classes.”

“Just make your own poster. Then we don't have to worry about handing it back and forth,” I say, annoyed.

David looks over at Zoe. He looks back at me and nods his head toward her with a puzzled look on his face. I shrug my shoulders.

“Zoe,” I begin, “where's Maggie?”

“No idea,” she says, and sighs heavily. “She might be avoiding you.”

“Ah, come on,” I say. “I know she's mad, but why exactly? And why aren't you as mad at me now as you were yesterday? I still don't know what that was about, either.”

David looks at me as if I'm crazy. So I explain to him. “We had some trouble yesterday at the clinic.”

David nods and chews. Sunita looks up from her book and frowns.

Zoe says, “I thought you were mad because Gran doesn't pay the Vet Volunteers. Maggie told me I misunderstood. So I'm not so mad anymore.”

“Then what is Maggie so mad about?” I ask.

“I'm not getting in the middle of this,” Zoe says. She takes a sip from her water bottle. “You'll have to talk to her.” Zoe fixes me with a stern look.

“I was just talking about the club and high school kids. Maggie blew things out of proportion—”

“This is between you two,” Zoe interrupts. “Take it up with Maggie.” Zoe gets up to leave.

Under his breath, David says, “Seems like a mad amount of mad going on.”

I ignore him. And try talking to Zoe again.

“Are you going with me to the feed and tractor-supply stores this afternoon?” I ask her.

“I think I'll hang out with my cousin. She says she's not going anywhere with you today.” Zoe stops a moment. “Listen, I don't want to be in a fight. Make up with her. This is too hard.” She smiles a small smile, turns, and leaves.

Sunita looks up then back down at her book without saying a word.

David stops chewing. “I still don't know what that was all about. But I'll go with you. Want your oatmeal bar?”

I hand him my bar and an orange, too. Lunch period usually rushes by before you've had a chance to actually eat much. But today it drags. When the bell finally rings, I say good-bye to David and Sunita, and plow through the rest of the day.

After school, David and I walk to the feed store. My parents sometimes shop here, but a lot of their feed comes by mail order. When you're feeding foxes and baby porcupines, it can be hard to buy local, so it's been a few months since I've been in here. But I love it when I do come in. For one thing, it smells great. A little like oatmeal. A little like baby food—rice cereal with apple juice—and a lot like molasses.

“My dad is thinking of buying this place,” David says. He sets a spinner of weird animal postcards spinning. It squeaks as it turns. I make it stop.

“Really? When?” I ask.

“Dunno. He's been talking to the owner about it. I might have forgot that I'm not supposed to say anything about it.” David looks at me with a funny smile.

“I won't say anything to anyone,” I reassure him.

We look around a bit. I don't see any animals at all. Maybe they don't sell them.

The store does sell things other than feed. I see stacks of salt licks for horses, cattle, sheep, and goats. And there's other stuff farmers use, like seeds and fertilizer. And one whole corner of the store is for poultry supplies. Waterers, egg baskets and cartons, heat lamps like we use in the clinic, and they sell chicken treats, too. That seems kind of funny to me for some reason. They also sell funky shade hats and weird lip balms and hand creams.

David shows me a tub of powder with a chimpanzee sporting a sore rear end called No-Monkey-Butt. He pulls out a couple dollars from his pocket.

“You're not thinking of buying that, are you?” I ask.

“Are you kidding?” he replies. I'm about to say “good” when he says, “How could I not buy something called No-Monkey-Butt? I can't wait to show Josh.”

“And what will you use it for?” I ask.

“Laughs,” David says.

The manager walks by, pretending he's not watching us. But he is, I can tell. David reads his package and chuckles to himself until I elbow him in the ribs. He looks up.

I flag down the manager and explain why we're there.

“Well, now,” the manager begins. “We do sell plenty of baby chicks and ducks. And yes, bunnies. We sell them for a few weeks before Easter. But we sell them to adults, not to children such as yourselves. We are a responsible retailer.”

I know that compared to this store manager, we are children, but it seems as if he's talking down to us. Why did he have to call us children instead of calling us kids? The manager starts to walk away.

“Excuse me,” I say.

He turns around.

I continue, “We think it's the adults who are buying them irresponsibly,” I say, trying not to sound annoyed. “They aren't thinking about caring for the animal for its whole life. They're just thinking about a holiday surprise.”

“And that's not right,” David adds.

“Now, now, I see what you're saying,” the manager says, scratching the back of his neck. “But we sell to farmers as well as to folks looking for a pet. I can't be asking every customer what their intentions are.”

“Their intentions?” David asks.

“What they plan to do with the animals. How they plan to care for them,” the manager explains.

“Or how long they intend to keep them,” I add.

“Exactly,” the manager says. “I've heard of this being a problem in other areas of the country, but never here.”

“But it
is
a problem here,” I say. “We've had trouble for years at the wildlife rehab, and so has Dr. Mac. Finding homes for these animals is a springtime nightmare!”

“Well, I guess I'll have to stop by the clinic soon and talk to Dr. Mac and Gabe. We'll just have to set to thinking this through. Thanks, kids,” he says, turns and walks away.

“That went great,” David says, smiling.

“Really? Did you get the idea he only wants to work with adults? I feel a little brushed off,” I say.

“Adults are always that way,” David says. “Well, almost always. We're just used to being treated kinda like grown-ups at the clinic. And what difference does it make as long as he changes the way he sells them. Right?”

David is right. We made some progress.

“Off to the tractor-supply store,” I say. But as we head down the far aisle to leave, we see a cage with two bunnies inside. One is dyed pink, the other, purple! There is a sign beneath the cage that shows the price marked down by five dollars.

“Wow,” David says. “Those are so cool!”

“Are you kidding me? They must have dyed them. Real bunnies aren't colored pink and purple.”

“They look real to me,” David says. He peers into the cage.

“I know they're
alive,
” I say. “What I mean is, that's not natural. It can't be good for them. We have to talk to that manager about this.”

We walk to the nearby checkout counter and ask the lady at the register to page the manager for us.

“He just left,” she says. “Won't be back from his break for an hour.”

“I guess we can come back later,” I say. “Let's go, David.”

“Gotta buy this first,” David says. He shakes that crazy powder and grins like a lunatic.

We walk to the tractor-supply store. It's less than a mile away and a couple streets off Old Mill Road. David reads his package aloud as we walk.

“Our fabulous product prevents terrible itching and soreness caused by friction.

“Used by motorcycle riders, farmers, truck drivers, horseback riders, and anyone else who suffers the indignity of rash.”

David stops walking. “What is indignity, again? I used to know what it meant. I think.”

“It means something that makes you feel embarrassed,” I explain. “I can't imagine the way that you behave that you ever suffer the indignity of anything.”

“Too cool, huh?” he says, walking again. “You know that I am.”

“
Cool
isn't the word I would use,” I say.

On the way, I think about those colored bunnies. Who will buy them? How long will they keep them? I think about what I should do about it.

We arrive at the tractor-supply store and walk around just like we did at the feed store. We don't see any sign of animals here, either. But there is an empty brooder in the middle of the floor. It still has wood shavings in it, but no chicks or ducklings.

A lady sorting huge eyebolts in bins calls out to us from across the aisle, “They're all gone, kids. Sorry.” She goes back to sorting.

We walk over to her.

“But you did have chicks, recently?” I ask.

“Yeah, well, the last of 'em went a couple weeks ago. We're not getting any more. Not till next year.” She shakes the box in her hands into the larger bin and then plucks out a couple smaller eyebolts and puts them in another bin.

“Did you sell rabbits, too?” David asks her.

“Rabbits? Why would we sell rabbits?” she asks. She starts on a new box.

Neither of us knows what to say to that.

“Are you the manager?” I ask.

“Do I look like the manager?” she asks.

Again, we don't know what to say.

“Dieter Morris. Mr. Morris to you. He's the manager. Why?”

“Well,” I begin, “we'd like to talk with him about abandoned chicks and ducks.”

“And rabbits.” David adds.

“I told you, we don't sell rabbits.”

I shoot David a look. He's not listening, and he's not helping, either. Instead, he's flipping his No-Monkey-Butt powder through his hands.

“Right, so about the abandoned animals, we'd like to talk to Mr. Morris about them.”

The lady stops her sorting. “You kids oughta talk to the animal shelter if you're looking for abandoned animals. They got a lot of 'em. Dogs and cats, too. They once had a hedgehog. You ever seen a hedgehog?” she asks.

“We don't want to get any animals,” David says and points to me. “She wants to talk to the manager so people will stop abandoning them.”

“The manager ain't here now. But I think you kids should go over to the animal shelter. They'll help you out.”

“Okay,” I say. We aren't getting very far here anyway. I'll have to stop back another time when Mr. Morris is here.

“Be sure you pay for that on your way out if you're keeping it,” she says to David.

“Oh, this is mine,” he says. “I bought it at the feed store just a little while ago.”

The lady looks suspicious.

“Really,” David says. He fishes the receipt out of his pocket, but she doesn't even look at it.

“I didn't sell this to you. I would remember you.” She points a finger at David.

“It's because I didn't buy it here. I told you, I bought it at the feed store.” David tries to show her the receipt again.