Dog Beach Unleashed (10 page)

His friend Juan and the other two Improvimaniacs run in, and Lester keeps singing along with the record.

“A whole world of possibilities just opened up,” Liat says. “We have a singing dog!”

I'm happy for them. They really want to win their national competition, and now it seems that they have something the other teams won't. Maybe they can convince the Decsinis to let them borrow Lester so they can incorporate him into the routine. Lester can be their secret weapon! And the cocker spaniel seems so happy when he's singing. He's a totally different dog—alert, focused, confident.

We might never have known about Lester's hidden talent if Josh didn't play that old record. I guess the rain brought about one good thing.

Maybe everything does happen for a reason. Maybe sometimes it just takes a long time to realize what the reason is.

We hear barking coming from the other end of the room.

“Oh no!” Josh jumps up. “I was packing some boxes of stuff to send to my mom. And I forgot to put away . . .”

We turn around. We were so busy listening to Lester sing that none of us realized what was happening right behind our backs.

Tabby and Potato Salad are completely twisted up in packing tape.

It sounds like a joke: a beagle and a collie walk into some packing tape. But it's actually not funny at all.

“Oh no!” I scream. Potato Salad literally has tape wrapped around his entire body. He's straining and struggling to get out of it. And Tabby's barking, even though she only has a small piece stuck on her right paw.

But Potato Salad! Of all the dogs to get wrapped up in packing tape. Collies have long fur, and Potato Salad's is so long and beautiful.

“This isn't going to end well,” Claire says, making me feel even worse about it. “I need a break.”

I love Claire, but she always seems to want to leave right when we need her most. I'm not sure why. Could it be because things are already so stressful for her that she can't handle any more tension? Maybe I should be more understanding, but right now I need help.

“Okay, Mic, here's what's going to happen,” I say, thinking on my feet and praying my solution will work. “You hold Potato Salad still while I very carefully try to remove the tape from his fur.”

She scrunches up her face. “Ouch. This reminds me of the time I went with my sister for an eyebrow wax. Only this isn't just Potato Salad's eyebrows. This is his whole body.”

“Yeah.” I scrunch my face to match hers. “Major ouch.”

Micayla holds Potato Salad still, even though he tries as hard as he can to break free. I take an edge of the tape that's just above his right paw and carefully pull it away. Potato
Salad emits a high-pitched yip that I've never heard before.

“It's okay, Potato Salad. We'll be done soon.” I remove what tape I can while trying not to hurt him. But I need to use scissors to get the tricky spots. I snip as slowly and carefully as possible.

Finally we're done.

“Wow. That was crazy.” I give Potato Salad a treat to cheer him up. I just hope his owner doesn't mind that he got a little trim! I make sure all the packing tape is out of reach and sit back down on the floor.

As stressful as that was, I'm proud of myself. We solved the problem all on our own. It makes me hopeful for many things: that we can all get through this stormy summer if we work together, that Claire and Calvin can get through the changes in their family, and that I can get through my changing feelings about Bennett and my unexpected feelings about Calvin.

It's all possible.

Claire comes back with a vanilla shake from Sundae Best. “I figured we could share this. You deserve it for handling that tape situation so calmly. It's a day for slurping,” she says, quoting Josie.

“Thanks.” I guess she wasn't trying to run away when the situation was difficult. She was trying to make a difficult situation better. That's important, too.

Bennett and Calvin come back from upstairs, covered in dust.

“Those windows sure needed cleaning.” Bennett wipes some dirt off his forehead. “We want the dogs to be able to see outside.”

I remind myself of what Claire just said. I am capable of remaining calm. If I can remain calm when a collie is wrapped up in packing tape, I can remain calm when these two boys are around.

Luckily, Potato Salad's owner isn't mad about
the packing-tape incident when he comes to pick up his beautiful collie. He even thanks me for giving the dog a free haircut!

Even though I'm completely wiped out, I decide to pop into the community-planning meeting for the Seagate Centennial Summer carnival on my way home.

“You guys wanna come?” I ask my friends as we're leaving our rainy-day headquarters.

“Nah,” Bennett says. “I'm exhausted.”

“Same,” Micayla says. “And I have plans with Gina and the crew.”

“Gina and the crew” are Micayla's year-rounder friends. She doesn't see them much during the summer, but when she does, I'm reminded that things aren't the way they used to be. It's not that big of a deal, but it's still different.

“I hate carnivals,” Claire adds. “I only like amusement-park rides. Rides that can be put up and taken down in an hour freak me out.”

Calvin's the only one in the group who wants to come with me. But then Claire gets annoyed, because she doesn't want to go home by herself.

“Calvin, it's okay. I can go alone,” I tell him as we're walking.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “But I want to help with the planning. It seems cool.”

Claire walks off in a bit of a huff.

“She'll be okay,” Calvin says. “I spend so much time worrying about her. I can't do it
all
the time.”

I pause to think about that for a second. Calvin always seems so carefree. It makes me happy that he trusts me enough to tell me that he worries about things, too.

When we get to the planning meeting, Calvin and I take seats toward the back. As we sit quietly waiting for the meeting to start, he fiddles with a snap on the leg of his cargo shorts. Open. Closed. Open. Closed.

“So,” I say. “How are things?”

He leans back in his chair so it's resting on two legs, wobbling a few times, almost falling backward.

“Come on, Calvin,” I say. “Like your grandpa says, a penny for your thoughts.”

“I hate when he says that,” Calvin grumbles. “But okay, sure.”

I nod, willing him to talk, to confide in me.

“Well, I'm thinking about how it's been over three weeks
since I spoke to my dad. And how I'm starting to lose count of how many days it's been, so I have to keep counting them again and again in my head. And then I wonder why I'm even counting at all. Does it matter how many days it's been?”

I say, “I think it matters how many days it's been because you're trying to figure out when things stopped being normal.” We don't make eye contact. We're both looking down at the floor. “And you want to know how many more days it will be until things are normal again.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And if they ever will be.”

I'm about to say that they will be normal again. In one way or another. Someday. Even if right now things seem like they'll never be. Somehow, some way, things always end up normal. Even if it's a new, lopsided kind of normal.

But that's when Mrs. Pursuit goes up to the podium. I'm almost glad for the interruption.

“Thanks so much for coming out, everyone,” she says to the audience. Then she clears her throat. “I know you all have very busy Seagate summers, and I'm grateful for your help. We want to make the Centennial celebration as wonderful as it can be.”

She goes down the list of all the vendors; pretty much every food establishment on Seagate is participating. There will be a stage set up for bands to perform—some from the mainland, and some Seagate bands, like our favorite, Saturday We Tennis.

“We're having the carnival rides brought in from the mainland,
but we're looking for volunteers to run the booths,” she says. “Also, some ideas for additional booths would be great!”

A man in the front suggests bobbing for apples. And a woman tells everyone how great she is at face-painting.

“Wonderful!” Mrs. Pursuit says. “I'm going to put a sign-up sheet over here, and you can all fill it out with the booth you'd like to run.”

The meeting comes to a close, and Calvin and I try to brainstorm booth ideas.

“You know when there's a little kiddie pool, and there's, like, toy fish in it?” I ask him. “There could be a fishing booth.”

We walk home and continue the discussion.

“I was at a carnival once where they had a wedding booth,” he tells me.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was pretty much just a person standing at a table, and kids walked up and had a five-second pretend wedding, and then they got a certificate,” he explains. “Makes it seem so simple, right?”

I think I get where he's going with this, and I'm tempted to change the subject.

“They didn't have a divorce booth,” he says with a jokey smile.

I nod. “I guess that would be depressing.”

I don't know if that was the best response to his comment. But maybe there isn't a right one.

I need to change the tone of this conversation. And fast. So I say, “I like the wedding-booth idea. Let's do it.”

“Really?” he asks.

“Yeah, let's run it together.”

“Okay,” he says. He sounds perkier, and I can't help but smile.

Calvin walks me home. “I'll keep thinking of other booth ideas, too,” he says. “In case the other volunteers run out of ideas.”

“Me too.”

I fall asleep easily that night, thinking of carnival rides and cotton candy and how easy it is to hang out with Calvin.

But then a text wakes me up at one in the morning.

My heart starts pounding. I always think the worst in the middle of the night, like that one of the dogs has gone missing.

But when I see that it's from Bennett and all it says is
R u up?
my heart continues to pound, but in a different way.

I text back a simple
Yes
and wait for a reply.

But nothing comes. I stare at my phone for a good ten minutes and start to get worried all over again. What if something has happened to Bennett? But that's crazy. Nothing bad ever happens on Seagate Island. Well, except maybe a hurricane or two.

But two minutes later I hear tapping at my window. I jump up, startled. I separate my eyelet curtains and look through the glass.

Bennett is standing there.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as soon as I'm
outside. I tried to be as quiet as possible, tiptoeing out of my bedroom, down the hallway, and out to the back porch.

“I had to talk to you,” he says.

“At one in the morning?” I shriek.

“Yes. You've been totally ignoring me lately. Maybe I came on too strong with the swimming lessons? I mean, look, I know you don't like to do much exercise.” He laughs.

I laugh, too, because he's right about the exercise part. It's just not my thing. “I haven't been ignoring you,” I say. “I've just been really preoccupied. And when I'm preoccupied, crazy things happen, like Potato Salad and the packing tape.”

He nods. “That
was
really crazy.”

“Yeah, I was so scared I was going to hurt him. I thought all his fur was going to come off.” I look into the distance,
because the ocean seems really choppy tonight, as if a storm is brewing.

“Anyway, I couldn't sleep. I was worried something else was wrong.” He looks at me, and I look away.

“Nothing else is wrong,” I say. “I mean, except for the million things like Claire and Calvin's parents, and the rainy weather, and—”

He stops me midsentence. “My mom once gave me some good advice. She says never to list your problems, but to take them one at a time.” He puts his feet up on the wicker ottoman. “So, where should we start?”