Bulldog Won't Budge, Page 4

  Cadence Bly was leaning on Yumi Matsumoto’s locker, waiting for her. Cadence had her waist-length black hair clipped up in a big purple barrette that matched her dangly purple hoop earrings. She was wearing a long black skirt and her giant sunglasses with the sparkly rims that she is not supposed to wear in school. She tipped the sunglasses down and peered at me over the top, which is what she does when she’s pretending to read someone’s mind.

  “I sense that you’re agitated, Eric,” she said in her “spooky” voice, which is really just her regular voice made all quivery and breathy and loony-sounding.

  “Nope,” I said, taking out my math book. I glanced down the hall, but there was no sign of Avery yet. I checked in the other direction and saw Ella trying to help Heidi shovel stuff back into her locker. Ella threw in a sweater, and Heidi slammed her locker door shut and leaned against it. They were both laughing.

  “Your aura is very muddled,” Cadence said. She started plucking at the air around my shoulders like she was picking rabbits out of invisible hats. Then she stopped and pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head so she could squint at me. In her normal voice, she said, “Dude, your jacket is covered in fur. What have you been rolling in?”

  I closed my locker door and brushed at my jacket sleeve. “Nothing,” I said. I knew better than to tell Cadence I had a dog. She loves gossip the way Heidi loves dogs or Rosie loves pink. It would be all over the school in half a second, and then what would I do if we decided not to keep him? I’d have to explain it to everyone over and over again.

  Cadence squinted at me. “I sense —”

  “ ’Bye Cadence!” I said quickly, and darted into Mr. Peary’s classroom. She’s in Miss Woodhull’s class with Yumi and Troy, so I knew she wouldn’t follow me.

  Rebekah was already at her desk. Oh, I forgot to mention the worst part. Rebekah’s desk is right next to mine. So sometimes, if her friend Maggie isn’t there yet, she talks to me.

  Like this morning.

  “Hey Eric,” she said with a smile as I sat down. “How’s it going?”

  Rebekah has soft blond hair and big gray-green eyes. She’s left-handed, which I know because sometimes her elbow bumps mine when we’re both writing. There are cat stickers on her book covers and notebooks. She likes to wear tights in bright colors like green and purple and blue. Sometimes when she’s drawing, she hums TV theme songs, and I don’t think she knows she’s doing it.

  I am a total idiot for liking her. If she wanted to go out with any of the guys in our class, it would probably be Parker or Brett.

  “Fine,” I mumbled, fiddling with the flash drive in my pocket. See? Even if I did ask her out — which would require, like, hypnotism, by the way — we wouldn’t have anything to talk about because of my stupid mumbling problem.

  “Oh, shoot,” Rebekah said, digging through her desk. “Eric, can I borrow a pencil?”

  I lifted my desktop. My seven yellow No. 2 pencils were lined up neatly next to each other. I wondered if that looked super-dorky. I took one out and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling again. “I forgot about the math test today.”

  I nodded. She looked like she was about to say something else, but then Maggie Olmstead threw herself into the seat on the other side of Rebekah and started yammering on about her famous cat’s latest cat food commercial.

  I relaxed a little, knowing Rebekah wouldn’t talk to me again, but my stomach still felt all twisted up. I couldn’t wait to get home to Meatball. He wouldn’t care if I mumbled or couldn’t think of anything to say. I figured I could forgive the snoring in exchange for knowing that smushed-up face would never make fun of me for liking Rebekah.

  Little did I know there was something much worse coming my way … and it would be all Meatball’s fault.

  I’m usually the first one to get home from school, since Mom and Tony are at work and Mercy and Faith have basketball practice. Most days I find Ariadne on the sofa in front of the TV, her tail swishing back and forth like she’s daring me to even try sitting down. Odysseus, meanwhile, is posted outside my bedroom door, where he prowls back and forth waiting for it to open so he can go about his evil business.

  But that Tuesday, when I came in the kitchen door, I had this weird feeling that something was different. I don’t know why; I couldn’t see anything unusual in the kitchen. Maybe it was the faint rumbling noise in the background, although I didn’t realize what it was at first. There was a note on the table from Mom:

  Eric, I brought Meatball back here during lunch. His snoring was disturbing the patients! Please take him for a proper walk when you get home. At least fifteen minutes! He needs the exercise! And don’t forget to take water with you! Love, Mom

  Meatball was there? I put the note down, dropped my backpack, and went along the hall into the TV room.

  The bulldog was sprawled across the length of the brown leather couch with his whole face buried in the cushions on the back of the sofa. Even so, I could hear his snoring loud and clear. I glanced around the room and spotted Ariadne and Odysseus. The two cats were perched up on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Their tails were lashing back and forth at the same time and their eyes were narrow slits as they focused the full force of their cat fury on poor oblivious Meatball.

  A floorboard creaked under my foot, and Meatball lunged to his paws, scattering couch cushions onto the rug. He blinked, squinting like he was bewildered, lapped his nose with his tongue, and shook his head so his jowls went flap flap flap. Then he looked around, and his face lit up in this enormous grin when he saw me. He threw himself off the couch and skidded over to me, crumpling the rug into big wrinkles under his paws. His sturdy body wiggled and bounced with excitement. He bumped my knees with his massive head and tried to stand on his hind legs to knock me over, but I was prepared this time. I hooked my fingers in his collar and wrestled him back to all fours.

  “OK, OK, Meatball,” I said, secretly pleased. This was much better than the welcome I usually got! “Let’s go for a walk.”

  Oh man, was that ever the magic word. Meatball flailed right out of my hands with joy and went sprinting around the TV room making happy grunting noises. His smooshy white paws scrabbled and slipped on the rug, but that didn’t stop him from running, beaming, and flapping his tongue at me. He careened off the coffee table and playfully jumped at the cats’ tails hanging down from the mantelpiece, earning a pair of hisses. Every time he hit the floor there was a thud and the house trembled.

  Ariadne gave me a cold look, like she was thinking I know that you brought this menace into my house. Don’t think I’ll forget it.

  I tried to rearrange the room while Meatball cavorted around my feet. I put all the cushions back and refolded the orange-and-white throw blankets that Meatball had dug into a perfect nest for himself. I straightened the coffee table and the rug. I could feel the cats staring at me the whole time, and I felt like I could hear my sisters’ voices in my head, complaining about the mess that Meatball had made. There were a couple of damp drool spots on the pillows that I rubbed at, hoping they would fade before everyone got home.

  I also used a lint roller on the couch — we have one that Mercy and Faith are supposed to use for the cat hair, but they almost never do. It’s like a rolling pin of sticky tape that picks up fur from cushions. It worked pretty well, actually, but boy was there a lot of fur on the couch. (And not all of it was Meatball’s, in case you were wondering.)

  “Come on, Meatball,” I said finally, heading back to the kitchen. Mom had left me a special water bottle for dogs. You can hang it around your neck and it has a dish attached to it, so you don’t have to carry a bunch of things in your hands. I filled the bottle and put it on. Meatball’s leash was coiled on the counter by the back door. It took me a while to get him to calm down enough so I could lift up his wrinkles and clip the leash to his collar. While I was doing that, the phone rang, but my arms were full of bulldog, so I let the answering machine pick up.


  “Hey Mercy, hey Faith. It’s George,” a boy’s voice said. “Coach said I should talk to you about the rally next week, so, like, call me back, OK?” He left his number and hung up. I was surprised. I didn’t know Mercy and Faith talked to anyone, especially boys.

  Finally I got Meatball’s leash attached and we headed out the door into the sunshine.

  It was the last day of September, and a few of the leaves were starting to turn yellow. Meatball stopped at the bottom of the driveway and shook himself from tip to tail, then took a deep breath. I did the same thing (the deep breath, not the shaking — how weird would that look?!). It smelled like fall, all clean and windy and apple cider-y.

  Meatball decided to go left from our driveway, which was fine with me. Our neighborhood is pretty quiet, so we could walk anywhere. I wondered if we should go over to Parker’s house and see Merlin. Or to Danny’s to see Buttons.

  But I kind of liked being out with Meatball, walking my own dog by myself. It felt sort of grown-up and cool. I figured I would let Meatball decide where he wanted to go.

  Boy, was that a big mistake.

  He snortled cheerfully along the street, sniffing every fence post and tree and fire hydrant that we went by. A couple of my neighbors waved at us from their yards. At the end of the block, Meatball decided to go right, across the street, instead of left toward Parker’s. Soon he turned right again, and we started climbing uphill, past houses that were a little bigger than mine. There were a lot of big trees shading the street here, so we had to stop every thirty seconds for an extended sniffing session. I didn’t mind. I was relieved that I didn’t have to make conversation with anyone. I could just walk in peace and think about the websites I was building and computer problems I was trying to solve.

  After a few blocks, Meatball stopped in front of a light gray house with purple shutters. A front porch wrapped around the outside and there was a round tower with one of those big curved windows on the second floor. Meatball practically shoved his face through the slats of the white picket fence, inhaling vigorously.

  I stood there while he snuffled, looking at the big flower bushes around the porch. They had enormous purple-and-blue clusters of flowers on them and big dark green leaves. My eyes drifted to the driveway beside the fence, where a dark blue hybrid car sat next to a bicycle that was propped against the house. The car had a couple of political and environmental bumper stickers on it. I squinted at it. Had I seen that car before? At school, maybe?

  Then I noticed that the bike was a girl’s bike. It was light purple with a white basket on the front. And all over the basket were … cat stickers.

  This was Rebekah’s house!

  I panicked. What would she think if she looked outside and saw me standing there? Would she think I was some kind of weirdo stalker?

  I nearly dropped Meatball’s leash and ran away up the street, but of course I couldn’t do that. Instead I said, “Let’s go, Meatball!” and started walking as fast as I could.

  My arm was practically yanked out of its socket as I reached the end of the leash. I turned around.

  Meatball had planted himself on the sidewalk in front of Rebekah’s house. I mean, it was like he’d grown roots right there, like a big old oak tree that was never going to move. His paws were braced against the concrete. His shoulders were hunched. His face was stubborn. He was leaning his whole weight back against the end of the leash, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

  I was in big trouble.

  Meatball, come on,” I said desperately, yanking on the leash. Rebekah could come outside at any minute! She might even be inside watching me right that second. In which case, she was probably thinking What kind of idiot can’t even walk his own dog?

  I leaned all my weight into pulling him, but he just wrinkled his forehead in this worried way, like Are you feeling all right? Do you want to sit down and relax for a minute? I definitely did not want to relax. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.

  “Meatball! Come here! Come on!” I said, beckoning. He picked up one front paw, sniffed it all over with a studious expression, and then slowly lowered himself until he was lying down right there on the sidewalk.

  Another dog started barking somewhere nearby, a high yapping noise. Meatball’s ears twitched curiously, but his head stayed flopped on the ground. I glanced at Rebekah’s house. Did I see the white curtains moving in the downstairs window? Was someone looking out at us?

  I tried dragging Meatball again, but he sat up and braced his paws, scrabbling and shoving himself backward. Now I was sure I saw movement behind the windows. Someone was coming! Probably Rebekah! I was doomed!

  Frantically I searched through my pockets. Did I have anything that would get him to move?

  I felt my keys, the plastic bag, my flash drive, and my library card. Then a shock ran through me as my fingers felt something hard and crumbly. The dog biscuits from the waiting room! I’d only given Meatball one of them the day before.

  I pulled out the last biscuit and waved it in the air. “Hey Meatball,” I said. “What’s this? Huh? Something you want?”

  His little floppy ears flicked forward. His forehead wrinkles went up. He leaned toward me, sniffing the air. He leaned closer … and closer … I waved the biscuit just out of his reach, then took a step backward.

  Meatball surged to his feet and lunged at the biscuit. I pulled it back just in time. I’m sure if he’d snarfed it out of my hand, he’d have gone right back to sitting. But instead he trotted after me, his eyes fixed on the treat in my hand. I led him a few paces away from Rebekah’s gate, and then I turned to start running.

  Rebekah’s front door was swinging open!

  I bolted, and luckily Meatball sprinted along with me. I guess he was like OK, anything for a biscuit!

  I thought I heard Rebekah’s voice say: “Eric?” as I shot past the tall bushes at the end of her yard, but I didn’t stop running until we reached the next block and turned down a new street, well out of view of her house. Then I stopped with my hands on my knees, panting. Meatball was panting even harder than me, but he came up and shoved his big flat head against my hand, demanding his treat.

  “You so don’t deserve this,” I said to him, but I broke it into small pieces and let him gobble it up.

  I felt like the world’s biggest moron. If that really had been Rebekah coming outside, what was she thinking now? That I lurked around her house and then ran away when she saw me? She must have thought I was such a weirdo.

  “Thanks a lot, Meatball,” I said. He snorted and leaned against my leg, beaming in his cheerful goofy way.

  My whole face was hot with embarrassment. The scene kept playing again and again in my head as we walked home. It was too easy to imagine Rebekah glancing out her window and being like, “Is that Eric? Why is he just standing around in front of my house? Oh wow, I bet he likes me. He’s such a freak! And his dog is funny-looking, too.” She probably didn’t even like dogs, since she liked cats so much.

  At least no one was home yet when we got back. The cats were lounging on the couch again. They both raised their heads as we came up to the den. Their tails flicked silently as they stared at me. The message was pretty clear: Don’t you dare come in here.

  Unfortunately for them, Meatball isn’t much of a mind reader. He flew into the room and launched himself onto the couch with reckless glee. I guess he figured everyone should be as happy to see him as he was to see them.

  Ariadne and Odysseus fled with yowls of fury. They bolted past me — not even stopping to claw my legs or anything — and shot up the stairs. From the couch, Meatball cocked his head at me like Jeez, I know I smell, but is it that bad?

  “Wow,” I said. “You know what this means, Meatball? It means we can watch TV. You know when the last time I watched TV in the afternoon was? Pretty much never.”

  He stuck out his tongue and slurped at his nose. I wrestled him over onto the next cushion and sat down. Normally I hang out in my room when I’m home alone,
hiding from the cats. It was weird to have the living room to myself. Well, myself and Meatball. He turned in a circle, knocking cushions off the couch, and finally lay down with his big chin on my knee.

  I couldn’t have concentrated on my homework anyway. I’d already started the “interview an Egyptian pharaoh” essay that was due on Friday. I had written the first half at school and saved it on my flash drive. What I needed was to stop thinking about Rebekah’s house. I flipped channels until I found a Battlestar Galactica marathon. Meatball immediately fell asleep. It was lucky I’d already seen these episodes, because his snoring made it impossible to hear half of what was going on.

  Mercy and Faith got home an hour later. I heard them come in the kitchen door, already making the kissy noises they make for their cats. But Ariadne and Odysseus didn’t come downstairs, probably because they were sulking.

  My sisters stopped in the doorway of the living room and narrowed their eyes at me and Meatball. Today they were wearing sweater sets — turquoise for Mercy, forest green for Faith. Their hair was wet from showering after basketball practice. They looked at Meatball like he was a fungus growing on the couch.

  “Where’s Ariadne?” Mercy asked.

  “And Odysseus?” Faith demanded.

  I shrugged. “Upstairs, I think. It’s a big house.”

  Mercy’s icy gaze darted around the room and then returned to Meatball. “They’re usually in here,” she said.

  “I know,” I said, and added innocently, “I guess they didn’t want to watch TV with us.”

  Faith put her hands on her hips. “We have to watch a DVD for school.”

  “OK,” I said, although I was pretty sure she was lying. I started to get up, but Meatball’s head was like a bowling ball in my lap. He sleep-snorted and wriggled farther onto my lap, like he was pinning me down.