Treading Water (8 page)

I think about the dyed bunnies at the feed store. I think I know what I will do about them.

I finish my report. When I am done writing it, I print out some photos of dyed bunnies and chicks and attach them to my poster board. I think about bringing in my computer to show a few photos that I took of our ducklings but then decide I have enough without it. I stack my report and poster beside my bed and look at the clock. It's after three in the morning! If my parents knew I was still up, I'd be in so much trouble. More trouble than I'm already in, anyway.

The next morning, Maggie is still ignoring me when I get to science class. I walk past her and bring my report and poster up to show Mr. Shuler.

“Oh Brenna, we agreed on a short report. By the look of that stack of paper, you would need the whole period. I'm afraid I can't give you that much time.” He shakes his head slowly.

“I'm sorry. I guess I got carried away,” I say holding my stack.

“What can we do here?” Mr. Shuler asks. He picks up my poster and reads it. “This is good work, Brenna. As usual. But you're going to have to present the class with an edited version. Ten minutes. Tops,” he says.

I leaf through my papers and think about what to say and what to leave out. Mr. Shuler passes me a highlighter, and I try to work quickly while he tells the class about the upcoming robotics competition.

I decide to talk about how fragile ducklings are and their need for water. About how they would most likely drown if abandoned. How many bunnies are bought as pets and then let go in the wild where they are not capable of surviving. And finally, about the crazy practice of dyeing and buying colored chicks and bunnies.

The whole class is interested in my report. Even Maggie, as much as she tries to hide it, is paying attention. And when I am done, my class claps. This is a surprise because it isn't the polite kind of clapping that kids do when a teacher claps. It's spontaneous. I bet they care as much as the Vet Volunteers do about the terrible things happening to all these baby animals.

“Well done, Brenna,” Mr. Shuler says. He stands and leans on his desk.

“Thank you. Is there a way to share these reports at the high school? David Hutchinson, Sunita Patel, and Zoe Hopkins have posters, too. And maybe Maggie.” I look back at her desk. I can tell she heard me say her name, but she isn't looking my way. “Maybe we could present in some biology classes?”

“Interesting thought,” Mr. Shuler begins. “Let me see what I can do. I'll get in touch with the department head over there.”

And then I have another idea.

I will explain my idea to everyone at lunch.

But when I get there, Maggie—again—is a no-show. She's avoiding me, I'm sure. She's putting so much effort into it. And as ticked off as I am about it, I'm also worried that she might not be eating lunch just to be sure she doesn't have to talk to me.

Sunita has her book with her again. She nods as I sit down and immediately goes back to reading. She fishes celery sticks out of a plastic baggie without looking and nibbles away.

David eats and talks to his buddy, Bruce, who sits directly behind him. Bruce's table is always a little bit wild and a lot too loud for the size of the cafeteria. And the fact that David sits right behind him doesn't stop Bruce from yelling over to our table. Bruce is also in Maggie's and my science class.

“Did you see Brenna's report?” Bruce shouts to David.

David tips back on his chair's back legs so he is face-to-face with Bruce.

“Nope. Bet it was good, though,” he says. That's one of the great things about David. He isn't embarrassed to sit with girls in the cafeteria. He doesn't pretend not to like any of us Vet Volunteers whenever he's with his school friends. He treats us the same slightly crazy way, no matter where he is or who he is with. David is true David.

Bruce says, “It was.” And then yells, “Hey, Brenna, the part about the chick dyeing was awesome!”

I am sitting in front of David, so there is no reason for Bruce to yell at me. But Bruce is Bruce.

“Glad you liked it,” I say in a regular voice. I always hope Bruce notices that he can hear us just fine, but he never takes the hint.

Then David tips forward so all four legs are on the floor. His brow is furrowed, and he actually stops eating. “Did we have some chicks die, too? I thought it was just the duckling.”

“Bruce is talking about dyeing. With a
y
,” I say. “Not dying with an
i
. Wait a second. I guess that's dyeing with an
e
not dying with an
i
. You know, like the bunnies at the feed store?”

Zoe and Maggie have joined us. Maggie doesn't look at me, but just coming to the table is a great start.

Zoe sits and asks, “What's this about dying?”

She shakes her head and opens her lunch sack. David looks even more confused.

I try again. “You know how people tie-dye shirts and pillowcase? And some people dye their hair?”

Zoe nods.

“Well, there are people who actually dye—as in color—animals. Specifically, baby chicks, ducklings, and bunnies. I talked about it in my science class report,” I tell them.

Zoe snaps the salad bowl closed. “You have got to be kidding!” she says. “Is that legal?”

“Some places it's not. But too many places it is. In fact, David and I saw two dyed bunnies at the Ambler feed store.”

“It's true,” David says. “Pink and purple.”

I take a spoonful of yogurt. I won't tell the Vet Volunteers what I intend to do about those bunnies. They just wouldn't understand. But I need their help with the second part of the plan.

“There is something we can do about it.”

“What's that?” David asks. He swipes my banana. “May I?” he asks, holding it up.

“Go ahead,” I say. “Anyway, I talked to Mr. Shuler about us bringing our reports to some of the high school science classes. Not all of them, maybe just the biology classes.”

David looks at Zoe.

Maggie says, “Would you stop trying to make us go to the high school?” She wipes her mouth with her napkin. “None of us want to go with you.”

Maggie looks over at David, as if daring him to contradict her.

David looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. He tips back on his chair and asks Bruce if he has any food to spare.

Zoe says, “I wouldn't mind going over to the high school.” She grins. “If it will help animals.”

Maggie stares at her cousin and says, “Sunita isn't going to want to do this, either.”

Um, Sunita is sitting right there.

“Sunita can decide for herself,” I retort.

This gets Sunita out of her book. She looks up and glances around at us without understanding.

I take a deep breath. It makes no sense to get worked up about any of this. If my friends knew some high school kids, they would not be fighting me on this. So I try to explain.

“Listen, there is nothing to worry about. Nothing for any of us to be nervous about. Why is everyone so anxious about the high school? They're just students. Like us.”

No one says anything. Maybe they don't understand.

So I explain, “The high school kids can get more done. People listen to them more than they listen to us.” I turn to David, “Remember when we were at the feed store and the tractor-supply store?”

He nods.

“Well, they would have taken us more seriously if we were older. If we had some teenagers helping us with our Vet Volunteer projects—like this problem of abandoned animals—we could get so much more done. For instance, Nick, one of my friends in the Outdoor Club, I bet he would want to help us. And I'm thinking of moving our Environmental Club meetings to the high school. They have bigger rooms, and I know we'd get more high school kids participating if we held the meetings there.”

I look over at David. He isn't saying anything for or against. Sunita looks stunned. Maggie looks down at her sandwich. Zoe is quiet, too.

That's when Mr. Shuler stops by our table. “Hi, kids. Brenna, I got the okay for those reports. We'll talk later about sending you kids over.”

Mr. Shuler leaves, and Sunita says, “I don't understand all of this high school interest.”

Maggie says, “Brenna prefers the company of older kids. She's choosing them over us.”

“Yeah,” Zoe adds, “she's abandoning all of us.”

I don't feel like seeing my friends after school, so I decide to go to the Outdoor Club's meeting. I probably shouldn't be going there uninvited, but I'm sure if I can just talk to the faculty adviser, they'll let me stay. Nick probably doesn't know that it's okay because no one from the middle school ever wanted to join before. But it's a club, not a class, so how could they have rules against middle school students?

I scoot up to the room where they hold their meetings. But there's a sign on the door reminding the club members that the bus for the Envirothon will be out front at 2:30. Rats, they're on a field trip. I'll go sit in on the Photography Club meeting, as long as I'm here. Maybe that adviser can tell me how to go about joining a high school club.

I slip into the classroom and take a seat by the door. Everyone stares. The whole room goes quiet. The adviser crosses the floor and says, “Brenna, right? What are you doing here today?”

Before I can answer, I hear a student in the back say, “Are we babysitting today?”

Another girl says, “Hope we're not expected to change diapers.”

My face goes red. I can feel it burning. The adviser walks me out and says, “Did you leave something behind?”

“I just thought that maybe it would be okay—”

“We can't have students who aren't enrolled here just roaming around the school. You were invited yesterday. But you may not just barge in anytime you want. I'm so sorry, but it's against the rules. We'll see you again when you're in high school, dear.”

She says all this with a smile on her face. But her eyes are not smiling. What's worse, she left the door open so all the kids heard her chew me out. I don't think I've ever been so embarrassed in my life. As I leave, I hear a boy shout out, “Busted.”

On the school steps, I turn the opposite way from home and start jogging. I am going to do something grown-up right now. I am going to do something that I can tell the Outdoor Club about. They're nicer than the Photography Club kids, anyway. They'll be impressed. I bet I'll be invited to join when they hear what I've done.

I rush into the feed store and quickly walk down the aisle toward the cage with the dyed bunnies. As I'm looking at the latch, I hear a familiar voice, “Hey, Brenna, can't stay away, huh?”

It's David. And I see David's father behind him talking to the manager. Rats. David looks at my face and says, “What's up? What are you doing?'

“I'm going to free these bunnies,” I whisper. Somehow saying it out loud—even whispering—makes this now seem like a bad plan.

“Free them to where?” David whispers back.

“The rehab center,” I reply.

“And then what?” he asks.

“I don't know. Find them homes when we find homes for the others? I haven't really figured that part out.” I feel ridiculous all of a sudden.

“But that's stealing, isn't it?” David stares at me. He looks disappointed with me.

“I don't really think it's stealing if we give them a better life,” I reply.

“I think it's still stealing, and how do you know they'll have a better life than with whoever it is already bought them?” He points to a
SOLD
sticker attached to the sign. When David makes more sense than I do, it's time to go home.

I let out a big sigh, and as the air rushes out of me, so does all thought of this ever having been a good idea.

“Please don't tell anybody what I was about to do,” I say to David.

“Our secret,” he replies. “Come on, my dad will drive you home. We're leaving in just a sec.”

I try not to look at the store manager's face as I wait for them to finish their conversation. Even though he doesn't know what I was going to do, I wonder if he can feel my shame, anyway.

A
t home that afternoon, I spend time with the ducklings, the bunnies, and Poe. My crow usually makes me feel better when things feel wrong. He is such a good listener.

“Maggie and Zoe think I'm abandoning the Vet Volunteers for the high school kids. I almost stole some bunnies, and the high school kids don't even want me.” My chest feels heavy. If I think about this too much, I'll cry. I give Poe a sunflower seed from my pocket. He nibbles his special treat and pushes his head up under my hand to see if there might be more. I pull another seed out of my pocket for him. I munch a couple, too.

“I'm not a thief. And you don't think I've abandoned anyone, do you, my friend? No. No, you don't. Because how is including new friends abandoning old ones? I was just trying to bring everybody together. That's all. But it looks like I'm not exactly making new high school friends, after all, am I?”

Poe looks at me and cocks his head to the right. Is he disagreeing with me?

“Middle school can be so lame, can't it, Poe?”

Poe hops away. I'm not sure that I'm winning him over.

It's time to take care of the ducklings. I shovel out some of the messy wood shavings from the ducklings' stock tank. They run away from my shovel, peeping. As soon as I put new wood shavings down, all three waddle over to that side.

“Nice and clean, right?” I say to the fluffy yellow babies. Immediately, one poops. “Okay, we were clean for a couple seconds anyway.”

I place Poe back on his perch and feed him a few more seeds. I take a few quick pictures of him. Poe is so handsome. But he can't come with me now. I want to get some pictures of the fox family—if they're out—and he would not sit patiently and quietly while I wait for good shots.

When I turn the corner by the fox enclosure, the kits are out and chasing something small. A mouse, maybe? They are leaping and tumbling. I have to get these pictures. But I don't have any good patched holes on this side. I run to Dad's workshop for the pliers. I quickly cut a new hole and wriggle my camera lens in. I get shot after shot of the foxes leaping beside the mouse, which runs back and forth trying to escape the kits. They don't seem to want to kill it. But they sure do want to play with it.

Then I don't see the mouse any longer, and the kits lie down and rest for about twenty minutes. Nothing happens. That's okay. I'm getting used to waiting for shots to set themselves up. Finally, one of the kits bats its paw at the other, and they start to tumble. I adjust my shutter speed because I expect some more good action shots.

And I get them. The kits wrestle, playfully chew on each other's ears, and jump over each other like they have springs in their paws. I click as one on his back bats away another, who seems intent on playing leapfrog. The late-afternoon sun has again lit their fur in coppery splendor. I ought to write that down. Coppery splendor. Because that is really what it looks like.

A couple hours later, I am done. Time to repatch the hole, this time the way Dad showed me.

But when I open the workshop drawer, I don't see any more patches. Oh no. I can't believe it! I can't catch a break today. I tie twine back and forth through the chicken wire to make a temporary patch and go inside to ask Sage for help.

Sage agrees to take me to the hardware store for patches. He agrees only after telling me I should have planned ahead. He's right: I should have planned ahead. Sometimes, I have such trouble
thinking
before
doing
.

Sage was already planning on driving me over to tonight's Vet Volunteer meeting. We're all supposed to bring our ideas about the abandoned animals. I'm a little nervous because it doesn't seem like my ideas have made anyone happy lately.

In the car, I tell Sage a little about what's been going on with my friends. I don't tell him about going to the Photography Club meeting.

“And you don't understand why they might feel jealous?” Sage asks. He glances at me and back to the road.

“Jealous?” I answer. “I don't think anyone is jealous. They just don't understand.”

“Well,” he begins, “can you think of something you said or did to make them misunderstand?”

“I haven't done anything!” I say.

Sage doesn't say anything right away.

“Well,” I say. “They think that because I went to the high school clubs and because I want all of us to do our reports there and want to move the Environmental Club meeting there, that I'm trying to leave them behind.”

Sage slows at a
STOP
sign. He stops and looks in both directions then continues straight ahead.

“Are you trying to leave them behind?” he asks.

“Of course not.” I look over at him. “They would come with me to the high school.”

He nods slowly, and I can tell he is waiting for more of an answer than that. But I don't have any more of an answer.

“So, no idea?” he asks.

Now I am quiet. Maybe it would be good to figure this out with Sage before the meeting. It might help me to know what to say when I see Maggie and Zoe. Because they need to understand that this is not about them.

“You remember how lame middle school can be, right?” I ask. “You must remember how much better high school was when you finally got there, right? Well, that's what's going on, I guess. I'm just more ready for high school than my friends are.”

“But you aren't going into high school yet. What's the rush?” he asks.

“Oh, Sage, you sound like Mom and Dad!” And Maggie, I think.

“Seriously, Brenna? High school isn't some magical place where you'll suddenly feel like a grown-up. And it can be stressful. More stressful than middle school.

“Come on,” he continues, “that day you went to do the Photography Club thing? Remember, that was pretty stressful.”

“Well, that's because I didn't know where I was going. That wouldn't have happened if I was a student there.” I still don't tell him about my experience today. It's too embarrassing.

“But they weren't all nice and friendly to you, were they? Did any of them care that you were lost?” Sage stares straight ahead. “You know, the high school kids have some growing up to do, too. I don't think that exchanging your middle school friends for high school friends is the answer. I think you need to talk it out with your friends tonight. Sounds like this has been going on long enough to mess with a lot of people.”

I think about that. It certainly has been hard on me. Maggie and Zoe, too, if I'm being honest with myself. Sunita has been pretty quiet about everything until lunch today. And David isn't as jokey and clueless as he lets on. And Josh and Jules are probably wondering what is going on. I guess this is a big mess.

We pull up to the clinic. Sunita's mom is pulling out of the parking lot. I see some of her other kids in the backseat. They all wave at us as they drive away.

“Thanks Sage, that helped,” I say, getting out and standing beside Sage's car.

“No problem. Good luck. And hey, I'll find that hole and patch it for you.” And Sage backs out of the parking lot, too. Finally, I get a break, and it comes in the form of my brother.

Inside, a couple of little kids wait with a bouncy wheaten terrier pup. The kids' mom has the pup on a loose leash so the puppy is bouncing and running between its owners and a few Vet Volunteers seated on the floor.

Josh and Jules sit cross-legged, and the puppy scrambles into each of their laps and back out again. Maggie looks up from the floor but doesn't say anything to me. She snaps her fingers above the puppy's head. The puppy keeps trying to lick them. This makes the two little kids laugh. They try to snap their fingers but don't know how. So one of the little boys moves his fingers pretending to snap, but he clicks with his tongue instead. Good idea. But the puppy goes for the source of the sound and licks the boy's mouth instead of his fingers.

This makes his brother roll on the floor laughing, and the puppy immediately joins him. The pup's leash gets tangled beneath the little boy. As the little boy tries to stand, the puppy runs back to Jules and the leash rubs through the little boy's fingers and he cries out in pain.

And that's when Dr. Mac calls the family in for the pup's checkup.

His mom hops up to help her son. “It's okay, Malik, it's just a scratch,” she says. She holds his hurt hand and looks at it closely.

“But it's b-b-b-bleeding,” he cries.

“Just a tiny bit,” she says.

“We have bandages,” Dr. Mac says. “Why don't you let my girls clean him up while we start with Finnegan? Maggie, Brenna, fix the little guy up and then bring him in to us, okay?” Dr. Mac does not wait for an answer. She takes the puppy's leash and heads to the Herriot Room.

The little boy's mom looks us over and must decide we can handle it because she allows us to take Malik to the Dolittle Room.

He has stopped crying, but he does not look as confident about us as his mom did. Maggie washes her hands and says to Malik, “We take care of all kinds of hurt animals in here. Puppies, kitties, we've even had a hurt snake here. Can you believe it?”

His eyes get round, and you can tell he's interested. Maggie dries her hands and puts on gloves. She nods at me to do the same. Jeesh, I was going to anyway. I wash, dry, and glove my hands.

“Can you bark like a tiny puppy?” she asks Malik.

“Ruff, Ruff!” he yells.

“No, a teeny-tiny puppy, like an almost-invisible puppy,” she says. Maggie rinses his hand with sterile water over a basin.

“Ruff, ruff,” he says in a soft, low voice.

“You are very good at that,” she says to him.

From the human first-aid kit, I get a bandage and antibacterial ointment. We have to have a first-aid kit for us because we often get scratched up—or worse—by a frightened animal.

“Now a kitty,” Maggie whispers. “A teeny-tiny, almost-invisible, little kitty.” I hand her the bandage that I've already dabbed with ointment.

“Meow, meow, meow,” Malik whispers.

Maggie places the bandage on his fingers. “All done,” she says.

Malik smiles but then says, “Boring bandage.”

Maggie looks at me.

“That's all we've got,” I say apologetically. But then I remember something. “Just a sec.”

I run out to the waiting room. I know where Sunita keeps the special stuff. Josh, Jules, Zoe, and Sunita are all out there.

“Just taking one,” I say to Sunita when I close the desk drawer that we all call Sunita's. Even Dr. Mac.

Back in the Dolittle Room, I give the sheet of stickers to Maggie. She smiles—
smiles
—at me.

“Which one do you want on your bandage and which one do you want to keep?” Maggie shows him the stickers.

He chooses his stickers and asks, “Can I have one for my brudder, too?”

Maggie lets him choose another for his brother and walks him over to the Herriot Room. I throw out the bandage wrappings and use a sanitizing wipe on the exam table. All sterile for our next patient.

Maggie walks back into the Dolittle Room with Zoe right behind her. Maggie closes the door and says, “We need to talk.”

Those are never good words to hear. She looks so uncomfortable. She looks like she might cry. Where did her smile from a moment ago go? Zoe looks from me to Maggie and back again.

“Before you say anything,” Maggie begins, “I'm sorry I've been avoiding you. But I've been pretty mad. Well, hurt anyway.”

I'm about to respond, but Maggie holds up her hand. She has more to say before she lets me talk.

“Look what a great team we make,” she says. “Why would you want to break up a team?”

The exam room is clean, and there is nothing out of place, nothing to fix, nothing to do. We all seem uncomfortable, like we don't even know what to do with our hands, so we stand—Maggie and Zoe on one side, and me across from them—arms at our sides, the empty exam table between us.

“I don't want to break up the team. I don't know why you think that. Yes, I have wanted all of us to get to know some of the high school kids, but I didn't want that to mess things up between us.”

I try to stay calm, although just saying those things makes me a little angry again. But it felt like old times for a moment there, and I want to go back to that. So I choose my next words carefully.

“Look, I've never had better friends than the Vet Volunteers. And I
love
being a Vet Volunteer.”

I almost lean my hands on the sterile exam table, but then stop myself.

“But it sounded like you think you've outgrown us,” Maggie insists. “That hurts, Brenna.”

Zoe nods. She looks like she could cry.

“I don't feel like I've outgrown any of us,” I say.

“Really?” Maggie says.

“Yes. Someday, I'd like to have a paying job and study abroad and, yes, go to high school. You, too. And I think you'd like some of these high school kids if you gave them a chance. Not all of them, but some.”

“As long as they don't try to take away my best friend,” Maggie says.

“No chance of that,” I say.

“Hey, what about me?” Zoe asks.

“You're my best cousin,” Maggie says, putting her arm around Zoe's shoulder.

“I guess I've been a little too focused on the
next thing
and not focused enough on the
now thing
, huh?”

“A little,” Maggie says, and leans on the exam table.”Now look what you did,” I say. I hand Maggie and Zoe the wipes, and they laugh as we wipe away her handprints. Luckily, it's not so easy to wipe away our friendship.