Bulldog Won't Budge, Page 6

  Meatball was straining at his leash to get to her, scrabbling at the wood of the fence. I saw with horror that he’d left a few claw marks in the white paint. His tongue was flopped out the side of his mouth and he was going gaaarrrrghhhaaaarrrraagggaarrrrh in a desperate, lovelorn way. I kind of wished I could say I had no idea where he’d come from, but of course I couldn’t.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Sort of. I mean … sort of. He, um … he was abandoned … like, at my mom’s office.” I looked at her sideways to see if she’d react. It couldn’t have been her family who abandoned him, right? Rebekah would never do that to a dog. And she didn’t act like she’d ever seen him before.

  “Aww, he’s so cute,” Rebekah said, rubbing the wrinkles on the top of his head. “What a big goofball.” Meatball wriggled delightedly and licked her hand. SLURP!

  Fantastic, I thought. Just what every girl wants. A big drooling dog slobbering all over her hands. Especially when she’s a cat person and doesn’t like dogs at all.

  But Rebekah just laughed and wiped her hand on her jeans. “I think he likes me.”

  “He loves your house,” I said, finally getting through a whole sentence without any “um”s. “I thought … I mean, I wondered if … maybe he lived here … um, before.”

  Rebekah shook her head. “Not while we’ve been here, which is years. Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “I bet I know why! Stay here. I mean — come in, come into the yard.” She beckoned with both hands, unlatching the front gate. I untied Meatball and he barreled right inside, snorting delightedly. His whole body vibrated as he snuffled across the grass.

  I couldn’t believe it. I was standing in Rebekah’s yard.

  “OK, wait here,” she said. She closed the gate, turned, and ran up the stairs of the porch. I practically had to tackle Meatball and sit on him to keep him from following her. By the time she came back, I had grass stains all over my jeans and leaves in my hair. But she didn’t seem to notice.

  She was carrying something small and furry over one shoulder, with her arms wrapped around it. Behind her I saw her dad come to the door and wave at me. I waved back and he disappeared inside again.

  Rebekah sat down on the grass beside me. “This is Noodles,” she said, and I realized what she was holding was a tiny dog. It was mostly white with some brown patches, like Meatball, but that was the only way they were alike. This dog was fluffy all over and almost as small as Buttons, Danny’s poodle puppy. She had furry, floppy ears and a tiny black nose and a little pink tongue that was maybe a tenth the size of Meatball’s slobbery tongue.

  “You have a dog!” I said, surprised.

  “We just got her. Isn’t she awesome?” Rebekah said, ruffling Noodles’s fur.

  “I thought — uh, I thought you liked cats,” I said. I felt like an idiot as soon as I said it. Not that I stare at your notebook all the time or anything. Not that I’ve noticed the cat stickers on your locker because I’m such a stalker.

  “I like cats and dogs,” Rebekah said. “Doesn’t everyone? It’s like liking ice cream and cookies. They’re both great. We have two cats — they’re around somewhere. But Noodles is our first dog.”

  Rebekah put her dog down on the grass and Noodles shook herself so all her fur went poof around her little face. Then she looked up at Meatball, blinked her round black eyes, and wagged her fluffy little tail.

  Meatball seriously just about had a heart attack. His butt started wagging and he bounced right up in the air on all fours and shoved his face into the grass and wriggled in a circle and fell over on his side and rolled and flailed his paws and wobbled back up again with this ecstatic expression. The whole time he was snort-breathing, which sounded kind of like growling and panting and snuffling at the same time, aahhhhrrrrff hrrfff haahaahaaah hrrrrff haahaah snnrrsnrrrsnrrrr … kind of like that. It sounded really weird and a little crazy. I kept thinking Man, Rebekah must think my dog is such a freak. My face felt like it was on fire.

  Finally he dropped into a play bow with his front paws splayed out to either side, his head resting on the ground, and his butt up in the air. A corner of his tongue peeked out of his mouth and all the wrinkles in his forehead were scrunched up like he was saying Please like me! Please please please like me!

  The littler dog jumped back when he first started thrashing around, but once he was still, she took a couple steps toward him, stretching out her nose. Meatball stayed in his play bow, but I could see he was vibrating with excitement. Noodles sniffed his face cautiously. Then she tried to go around him to sniff his butt, but that was too much excitement for Meatball, who started bouncing and rolling again. Noodles sat down and yipped sternly at him.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Meatball is kind of a spaz.”

  “Meatball and Noodles!” Rebekah said. “That’s so cute! It’s like they were destined for each other. Man, he loves her!” Meatball threw himself onto his back with all four paws in the air. His eyes rolled sideways as he tried to watch Noodles, who was tentatively sniffing around him again.

  “What, uh, what kind of dog is she?” I asked.

  “She’s a Maltese–shih tzu mix,” Rebekah said. “At least that’s what we think. We rescued her from a shelter a few months ago, so they were just guessing that she might be a Maltizu.”

  A light went on in my head. “Maltizu!” I said. “That’s your screen name.”

  “Yeah,” she said, ruffling the fur on Noodles’s head. “Hey, what happened while we were chatting last night?”

  “Uh,” I said. “Um — my computer — froze.”

  “Oh, ours does that all the time,” Rebekah said, like she totally believed me!

  “Rebekah!” her dad called from the door. “We have to go soon.”

  “OK!” she called back. “Sorry, Meatball,” she said, rubbing his belly. “Noodles has to go back inside.”

  “Ooooorrrrrrr,” Meatball protested mournfully as Rebekah scooped up Noodles in her arms. He poked her jeans with his flat nose, squishing up the wrinkles around his mouth. Rebekah patted him on the head, which was all the encouragement he needed.

  Meatball reared up on his back legs and planted his front legs on her waist like he was thinking about climbing her to get to Noodles. His big slobbery tongue went SLURP SLURP along her bare arm.

  “Oof!” Rebekah said with surprise, staggering back a pace at the weight of all that bulldog resting on her. I was mortified. She must think he’s an uncontrollable beast. I jumped up and grabbed Meatball’s collar, wrestling him off her.

  “Sorry!” I said. “Sorry, sorry.”

  “You did it again,” she said, smiling. “Magic power of three. Don’t worry, Meatball. You’ll see Noodles again soon.”

  “Rebekah!” her dad called again from the house.

  “Coming! See you tomorrow, Eric. Feel better!” Rebekah said with a little wave. She ran back up the porch steps. I saw her set Noodles down in the front hall before the door closed.

  Meatball was not going to let the small fluffy dog of his dreams go that easily. He lunged toward the porch and I had to get down on my knees and literally wrap my arms around his big shoulders to hold him back. He scrabbled and flailed and tried to distract me by licking off my face, but finally he sat down, tipped his head up to the sky, and went, “Aaaoooorrrooo!”

  And then, of course, snort snort snort.

  “We’re going home,” I said to him. “You’ve caused enough trouble for one day.”

  His tongue rolled out of his mouth as he grinned at me. It went flap flap flap up and down like a sail whapping around in a high breeze. He looked extremely pleased with himself. We only have one guy in our class who has had more than one girlfriend ever, and that’s Brett. He always has this look like he’s the coolest guy in town and of course everyone loves him. That was the kind of expression Meatball had on his face right about then.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re so happy,” I said. “You made me look like an idiot.”

  Meatball practically shrugged. His face was like Oh
, you don’t need any help from me in that department.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said, wrapping his leash around my hand and tugging him out the gate. He followed reluctantly, digging his paws into the grass and casting woebegone looks over his shoulder at Rebekah’s house.

  It took so long just to drag him onto the sidewalk that we were still there when Rebekah and her dad came out the side door and got into the car. I wanted to jump into one of the giant flower bushes and hide. Seriously, what kind of incompetent dork can’t even walk his own dog?

  Rebekah waved from the front seat as they drove by. I think she was laughing. I’m pretty sure she was laughing at me. It was the most embarrassing thing ever.

  But as I finally got Meatball walking down the street again, one thing Rebekah had said popped up in my head.

  Don’t worry, Meatball. You’ll see Noodles again soon.

  Did she mean that? Did that mean she wanted Meatball to visit again?

  And maybe … me?

  If I hadn’t been so focused on worrying about Rebekah, I probably would have suspected what was coming. I mean, my sisters and their cats were the bosses of the house, even if Mom and Tony didn’t realize how often they got everything they wanted. And they weren’t going to let anything change that. Especially not a big snorting pile of overenthusiastic fur and drool like poor Meatball.

  They launched their attack at dinner that night. For once, we were all at the table at the same time, without any guests (like Parker, who comes over a lot, especially when his sister is making strange tofu things). Meatball was shut up in my room, snoring with his head buried under my pillows. Ariadne and Odysseus were prowling back and forth under the dinner table, and I had my feet tucked up under my chair, hoping they wouldn’t suddenly attack from below. Tony had made fried chicken and baked potatoes and asparagus. He had lived on his own for a long time before he met Mom, so he’s actually a pretty good cook.

  “Mom,” Mercy said in her “sweet” voice. I looked up sharply. I know that voice. It’s the we need new basketball sneakers more than Eric needs a new computer mouse voice. Also the you should teach us how to drive this afternoon instead of taking Eric for his long-overdue haircut like you promised voice.

  Mercy is better at the voice than Faith is, so she’s always the one to start it off. Faith has trouble even pretending to be that nice, so mostly she says “Yeah, Mom” and “Exactly!” while Mercy talks. I think it’s crazy how Mom can’t spot their act coming from a mile away. But it always works on her, every single time.

  “Yes, dear?” Mom said, cutting her asparagus into neat bite-sized pieces.

  Mercy tossed her hair back and gave Mom a smile that said I know it’s silly of me to even ask this, but … “Faith and I were just wondering when that dog is going to the shelter.”

  “Yeah,” Faith chimed in.

  “Oh,” Mom said, glancing at me. “Well …”

  “I really think he’s upsetting Ariadne,” Mercy said, practically batting her eyelashes. “She’s been meowing a lot more for the last couple of days. Yesterday I found her hiding under my bed when I came home. I don’t know what that dog did to her while we were out, but she was, like, totally traumatized.”

  Yeah. I bet. Ariadne is about as easy to traumatize as Godzilla.

  “Exactly!” Faith said. “I think Odysseus is losing his fur, he’s so nervous.”

  I nearly spit baked potato all over the table. Odysseus was many things — sinister, conniving, vengeful, bullying, surprisingly full of pee — but he was never, ever nervous.

  “The sooner we get rid of that dog, the better,” Mercy said. “Right, Mom? I mean, he’s so not us. The couch was, like, covered in dog fur last night.”

  I wondered how she could tell through all the cat fur that’s usually all over it. Plus I’d used the lint roller on it again, so it wasn’t even that bad.

  “Yeah,” Faith said. “It was totally gross.”

  You know what’s gross? Cat pee. Nothing is grosser than cat pee.

  “Oh,” my mom said. “But — it’s so nice for Eric to have a pet of his own —”

  I gave her a grateful smile.

  “Of course, of course,” Mercy said, her voice getting even more sugary. “We all want Eric to have his own pet. That would be so sweet. It’s just … this pet? I mean, wouldn’t he be better off with, say … a hamster?”

  “Or a goldfish,” Faith suggested. “Those smell better than hamsters.” Apparently she had forgotten the incident of the little blue fish I’d gotten three years ago. I bet you can guess what happened to him. I’ll give you a hint: It was the one time the cats didn’t pee on the bed when they got into my room. They were too busy doing something much more evil. Poor Ka-Bluey.

  “Yes, something small.” Sugar was practically oozing out of Mercy’s pores at this point. “So he can learn to take care of it before he moves on to all the responsibility of a dog. Maybe something that would stay in his room all the time, so it won’t bother the cats. I mean, they were here first, right? We don’t want to upset them.”

  “And they’re so upset right now,” Faith agreed, widening her eyes like she was trying to look pitiful, except it ended up looking more like something was melting inside her head.

  “I’m sure some other family would love to have, er … Meatball,” Mercy said. “If we take him to the shelter tomorrow, he’ll probably have a terrific new home by Saturday. I bet you anything.”

  “Yeah, Mom,” Faith said. “Exactly.”

  I poked at my baked potato. I didn’t feel hungry anymore. I wasn’t sure what I thought. I really wanted a dog. And I really didn’t want Mercy and Faith to win, like they always did. I definitely did not want another small innocent pet to become an appetizer for Ariadne and Odysseus.

  But was Meatball the right dog for me? He was so heavy and … snorty. And embarrassing. I mean, when he decided not to walk, there was nothing I could do about it. As if I didn’t feel scrawny enough, Meatball would prove it every day. He wasn’t anything like perfect Merlin or even funny, smart Buttons. He was kind of a wrinkly, snoring mess. Did I want that kind of chaos in my life? Would it be better to wait and find a less goofy dog?

  “Well,” Mom said. I could see her starting to give in. She had that resigned look she always gets when Mercy and Faith gang up on her and demand things. “You do make some good points, girls …”

  “Ahem.” At the other end of the table, Tony cleared his throat meaningfully. Mercy and Faith’s heads swiveled toward him. They looked surprised, like they’d forgotten he was there. He usually doesn’t get involved when they’re giving Mom the full-court press.

  “Doesn’t anyone want to know what Eric thinks?” Tony asked.

  Mercy’s eyes narrowed. If she’d had claws, I would have warned Tony to protect his eyes.

  “Eric?” Faith said, like she had no idea who that was.

  “How about it?” Tony said to me. “How do you feel about the big guy so far?”

  Mercy laughed in a sort of high-pitched, super-fake way. “Ha-ha-ha! Oh, Eric just thinks a dog is fun. He has no idea how much work it’s going to be. Really, we just want what’s best for him.”

  “Well, Eric?” Tony said again, ignoring her.

  Now they were all staring at me. I had the spooky feeling Odysseus was sitting right below my chair with his claws poised over my defenseless feet, just waiting for me to give the wrong answer.

  “Um,” I said. “Well … I guess … I guess I kind of like him.”

  “Now there’s a ringing endorsement,” Mercy said, rolling her eyes. “See, Eric’s not even that excited. I’m sure he’d much prefer a guinea pig.”

  “No,” I said. “Definitely not. No, no, no.”

  For once, the magic power of three actually worked. “I think we should give it a few more days,” Tony said, forking more chicken onto his plate. “If you’re right, Mercy, we’ll know by next week if Meatball is too much work for Eric. Or maybe he’ll grow on all of us. Me, I think he
’s a great dog. I say let’s give him a chance.”

  “That makes a lot of sense,” my mom said, looking pleased. “Good idea, Tony.”

  Mercy looked about ready to poison all of us. She stabbed her baked potato violently, ignoring Faith’s bewildered looks. They’d never lost an argument with Mom before. Faith kept glancing at Mercy like she was waiting for her to jump back in and win it, but Mercy knew she was beaten … for now. Neither she nor Faith said another word for the rest of dinner.

  It was kind of awesome.

  But I knew it wasn’t over. Mercy and Faith were on the warpath now. I was definitely not under their radar anymore.

  Later that night, I was upstairs working on my pharaoh essay when suddenly there was a quick rapping knock and my bedroom door flew open.

  I whirled around and Meatball sat up with a grunt.

  “Hi Eric,” Mercy said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What’re you doing?”

  “Homework,” I said. “Why?”

  “Oh, I just wanted to see how that dog was fitting in, in here,” she said, sliding the door open another inch with her foot. “I mean, it must be such a pain to walk him all the time, when he’s so heavy and you’re such a shrimp….”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Careful, don’t leave the door —”

  But it was too late, and of course that was Mercy’s plan. She was holding the door just wide enough for Odysseus to come bolting through. I knew right away that she’d done it on purpose. Mercy had never come into my room before.

  The cat darted through the gap and nearly flew onto my bed. I leaped out of my chair and lunged for him, but I wasn’t quick enough. He landed on my pillow and stopped to give me an evil, self-satisfied look as he started to squat.

  “No!” I yelled.

  But someone else got there first. Meatball plowed into the cat’s side with his big head, wagging his stumpy tail frantically. He clearly thought Odysseus had jumped up there to play with him. And he was definitely ready to play. He bounced on the bedsprings and batted at Odysseus with his pudgy paws. His tongue flopped all over the place and he was snorting up a storm.