Natalie Wants a Puppy (4 page)

Kindergartners are more noisy than usual. In the afternoon, we sound like bumbly bees.

Bumbly bees make me think about airplanes. And that makes me wonder if my mom and dad are in one yet.

“Class!” Miss Hines shouts. “Please stop. I have an announcement.”

Even this doesn’t stop the bees.

“I’d hate to have us lose recess our last week of kindergarten,” Miss Hines says.

That pretty much does it for the bumbly bees.

“Thank you. Now, first of all, I’ve only heard back from about half of your parents on the number of seats they’ll need for graduation.”

This is all new news to me.

“I don’t get it,” Jason says. “Why do
they
need seats for
our
graduation?”

“I sent a sign-up sheet home with you last week, Jason,” Miss Hines says.

Jason is my bestest friend who is a boy. He’s like me. We aren’t very good with taking papers home. Jason loses his before it’s time to go home. I make it home with mine. But I forget those papers are living
in my pack. On account of there are so many papers in there.

“My parents are coming,” Sasha says. “And my grandparents and three aunts and two uncles.
I
turned in
my
paper already.”

“If you’ve turned in your paper, we don’t need to hear from you. Thank you,” Miss Hines says.

“My parents are coming!” Peter says. “Only not my two brothers because we can’t trust them not to make rude noises.”

Other kids try to tell Miss Hines who’s coming. Only they all say it at the same time.

Farah raises her hand and waits for Miss Hines to call on her. “Miss Hines, please, what is there to see at this graduation?”

“Good question, Farah,” Miss Hines says. “Our kindergarten graduation will be Saturday morning. One by one, you’ll walk across the gym stage. And you will get your graduation diploma. It’s a piece of paper that says you’ve finished kindergarten.”

“Is that all?” Chase asks.

“As a matter of fact, it’s not all.” Miss Hines grins like she knows a secret we don’t. “We’re going to put on a little program for your parents.”

“What kind of program?” Sasha demands.

“I’d like each of you to say a little piece,” our teacher says.

“A piece of what?” Jason asks.

Miss Hines gives us a huge smiley face. “That’s up to you. I want you each to say something your moms and dads will like. I need your ideas. Remember how to brainstorm?”

We did brainstorming when we fixed up our classroom. Plus, we did it when Bethany broke her arm and we had to do something nice for her. Pretty much, we all talked at the same time. And instead of getting aggravated at us, Miss Hines just called it “brainstorming.”

“I know what brainstorming is,” Sasha says. “That’s where we all shout out ideas. Only most of them are dumb.” She turns and makes a frowny face at me.

“No such thing as a dumb idea in brainstorming,” Miss Hines says. “Let’s get started. Maybe you could say something nice about your parents.”

“Like what?” Griff doesn’t raise his hand. And this is okay in a brainstorm.

“Think,” Miss Hines says. “Why do you need your mother?”

“She’s the only one who knows where the Scotch tape is,” Peter says.

“True. But let’s keep thinking,” Miss Hines says. “What do you suppose your mother was like when she was a little girl?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha says. “But my guess would be…pretty bossy.”

Miss Hines sighs and tries again. “What about your dads?” she asks the rest of us.

“My dad doesn’t have any hair,” Brooks says.

“My
dad is king of the remote control!” Seth shouts.

“Hmm.” Miss Hines looks like she might give up on our storming brains. “Let’s try something else. What have you learned this year?”

“Not to run in the halls!” Jason shouts.

“I learned to read,” Farah answers.

“Adding and subtracting,” Anna says. She’s a very good adder and subtracter.

I’m thinking this is a pretty good idea. I’ve learned a lot of stuff at kindergarten.

“Good!” Miss Hines exclaims. “Between now and Saturday, I’d like you to come up with the best thing you’ve learned all year. And Saturday morning, you can tell your family in our program.”

I love to be on a stage and say things, on account of I might be a movie-star girl when I grow up. I picture me on the gym stage, with my mom and dad watching, all smiley faced at me, clapping their hands off.

Then that picture turns to horrible. I am on the stage, looking out at their smiley faces, but they’re not there!

What if I say a piece and they don’t hear me?

What if they are still in China with their brand-new kid?

The second our class ends, I run out of my classroom. I have to catch Mom and Dad before they go to China and miss my whole entire kindergarten show.

“Nat! Wait up!” Laurie hollers.

I wave back to her. “I can’t! I’ll call you!” I walk superfast down the hallway.

I’m almost the first kid outside. I look for Charlotte the Chevrolet, Gran’s car. Only I don’t see that old car.
What if Charlotte broke again?

“Nat! Over here!”

I race to my granny. “Granny, we have to go! Right now!”

“What’s the rush?” Granny asks.

“Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!” In my head, I see Daddy walking out of our house and yelling for Mom to hurry. I see them getting
into their car and leaving. “Please, Granny!”

“All right. Keep your shirt on.” Granny gets in the car, and I climb in the other side.

“So where are we headed in such an all-fired hurry?” Granny asks.

“Home!” I cry. “Or the airport. I have to catch Mom and Dad.”

“Honey, they already left,” Granny says.

“No! I don’t want them to leave. Call them and tell them to come back!”

“They’ll come back, honey,” Granny says. “We’ll pick them up at the airport on Sunday, right after church.”

“That’s too late!” I’m stuck now between sad and mad at them. They should be home. With me. Watching me on the stage in kindergarten. That’s what.

“I know you miss them, Nat. But they’re bringing you a brother. That’s worth it, don’t you think?” Granny waits for me to say yes.

Only I don’t feel like saying yes.

I feel like saying no.

On account of I will be the only kid in the whole kindergarten not to have a mom or dad watching them graduate.

“Nat? Don’t you notice anything different?” Granny asks. We’re still sitting in the kindergarten
parking lot. There is nothing different here. “Come on. Fasten your seat belt.”

I reach for Charlotte’s seat belt. Only something is very wrong. This isn’t Charlotte’s seat belt. I look around. The seat isn’t torn. There’s no gray tape on the glove box.

“Granny!” I cry. I reach for the door handle. “This is the wrong car!”

“Keep your seat, Nat,” Granny says, grinning. “I traded up.” She pats the steering wheel. It’s black, instead of blue like Charlotte’s.

“You what?”

“I finally got rid of that old car. How do you like my new one? Okay. Not exactly new. But still—”

“You got rid of Charlotte?” I cannot believe this thing. “Granny, you loved Charlotte the Chevrolet!”

“That’s true,” Granny admits. “But do you have any idea how many times that hunk of junk broke down on me last month alone?”

I know this is a true thing. On account of I was with Granny one time when Charlotte quit on us. Still, I feel sorry for her old car.

“Don’t you like this newer car better?” Granny has proud all over her face. “I have air-conditioning again.” She turns it on.

I put my face to the little blower on my side. The cold air feels great. But as soon as I think this, I feel
like I’m a traitor to Charlotte. “I loved Charlotte,” I say.

“And you’ll love Charley too,” Granny promises.

“Charley?”

“Charley the Chevy,” Granny says. She pulls on her seat belt. “If I can just remember how this thing works…There!” The belt snaps.

I buckle my seat belt. Granny backs out of her parking place. Cold air is still blowing inside the car. But I roll down my window like I did in Charlotte. Only in Charlotte, I had to really roll it. Plus, the window only went down halfway. Charley’s window button works like in Laurie’s van. All you do is push.

Laurie’s mom is pulling out of a parking spot too. “Cool new car!” Laurie yells.

Laurie’s right. This new car is very cool. Only I can’t like it. I like Charlotte. And it feels like one more sad thing to have Charlotte be gone.

Granny backs Charley out of the parking spot. “This car drives like a dream, Nat. What a great trade-in I pulled off!”

I don’t think Granny misses Charlotte at all.

And as we drive off, I wonder if my mommy and daddy miss me at all.

“We’re going the wrong way, Granny!” I shout. Granny’s new car is going up the hill. Not down the hill. “Charlotte would never go the wrong way home.”

“That depends…,” Granny says. She takes another wrong turn. “On where you’re going.”

I don’t care where we’re going ‘cause my mom and dad aren’t anywhere anyway.

“Don’t you like my new car, Nat?” Granny asks.

This new car doesn’t bump hard across the railroad tracks. It doesn’t squeak when Granny stops it. Plus, it has cold air. But I loved Charlotte. So I can’t love Charley. “I miss Charlotte, Granny.”

Granny drives past the ice-cream store. And the post office. She turns again, and Charley doesn’t even screech.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” Granny answers. “It’s a little surprise your mom and dad and I cooked up this morning.”

“Really?” I’m surprised they cooked up this surprise. For me. Thinking about them making me a surprise takes a little of the sad away. “What’s the
surprise?”

“Want a clue?” Granny asks.

I remember those other clues. Like the string cage. And how I added up those clues and came out with a dog instead of a boy from China. “No thank you.”

Granny turns into a driveway and stops. “We’re here!”

I peek through Charley’s window. I’ve seen this place before. But I was never in there. It’s a big blue building with cats and dogs and animal footprints all over it. This is where Jason got his cat.

“How come we’re here?” I ask. “I don’t get it.”

“But you’re going to get it,” Granny says. “That’s a clue, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Granny, I’m no good at cl—” I stop. On account of my heart is getting thumpy about that clue. I’m going to get it?
It?
Here? At Adopt-A-Pet? I turn to ask Granny. Only I’m scared to think this thought again.

“Nat,” Granny says, “how’d you like a puppy?”

“For true?” I ask. “Granny, a puppy?” I reach to hug her, but I’m stuck in my seat belt. It takes me a gazillion minutes to get it off ‘cause it’s not Charlotte’s seat belt.

Granny has trouble with her seat belt too. “Your mom and dad thought a puppy might come in handy
while they’re in China.”

“They were right about that!” I agree.

Granny and I run up the steps to Adopt-A-Pet. Only Granny walks. “Hold your horses, Nat!” she calls.

I look down three steps at Granny. “I’m going to hold my puppy. That’s what!”

Inside, a lady is waiting for us. Her hair is almost as long as Farah’s. “Can I help you?” she asks.

“We want a puppy!” I shout.

She laughs. “Well, you came to the right place.”

Granny has to read papers and sign something. It takes a gazillion minutes. Finally, they get done.

“Follow me,” the lady says. “What kind of dog are you looking for?”

“A puppy!” I answer.

“Size small,” Granny adds.

The lady opens the door to another room, and barking comes out. Lots of barks. Inside, there are cages on top of cages. In each cage, there’s a dog in there. It feels like a dog zoo.

“Look them over,” the lady says.

I hold Granny’s hand, and we walk along the cages. One dog is so big, he almost doesn’t fit. Another fuzzy dog stays sleeping. More dogs bark when we walk by them. Black dogs. Brown dogs. White dogs. Long hair and no hair.

“Granny, how can I pick one?” I ask. “I want them all. Except maybe not that mean, growling one.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” says the lady. “Back in a few.”

Granny and I are alone with the gazillion dogs. “What if I pick the wrong dog?” I ask her.

Granny stares at the dogs too. “How about we pray that you’ll know which is the right dog? Good idea?”

I nod. I close my eyes, but the barking sounds louder that way. So I open my eyes. I can tell Granny is waiting on me to do the praying.

I never prayed a pick-the-right-dog prayer before. So I have to guess how it goes. “God, which one’s the right puppy for us? I’d really like to be sure about that one. Amen.” I look up at Granny.
“Was that okay?”

“That was just right, Nat,” Granny says. “You know, your mom and dad have been praying a prayer just like that one for a couple of years.”

“They wanted a puppy?” I ask, surprised.

Gran chuckles. “No. They wanted a child.”

Some of me wonders if they wanted a child as much as I want a puppy. The rest of me wonders why. “Why did they pray that, Granny? They already had me.”

“Before they had you, Nat, your mom and dad prayed God would give them a baby. You were the answer to that prayer. And they thank God every day for you.”

I know that’s a for-true thing. “So why do they want another baby?”

“I think God gave them that
want.
And this time God chose to answer their prayers by letting them adopt a boy from China, a boy who really needs a home.”

The door opens, and the lady comes back. “Made your pick yet?” she calls.

“Not quite yet!” Granny calls back.

I walk up to the cages again. A pointy-nose dog jumps up on the bars and scares me.

I peek in at a little brown dog with no hairs. “Here, boy!” I call. But he won’t turn around.

A big red dog is panting in the next cage.

“I still don’t know which dog to pick, Granny.” Maybe I didn’t pray hard enough.

A big puppy kind of dances in a bottom cage. It’s brown, with floppy ears and hair that’s not short and not long. I get down on my knees to see it better. The dog trots up and licks my hand through the cage bars.

“Granny, this one likes me!”

The Adopt-A-Pet lady walks closer to where we are.

The big brown puppy sticks out a paw. I think it wants to shake hands. Its foot is so big it makes me giggle. And just like that, I know this is the dog I’m supposed to pick. Like maybe that puppy prayer
worked already.

“What kind of a dog is this one?” Granny asks.

The lady bends down and stares into the cage. “Your guess is as good as mine. But you don’t want this one. Look at the size of those paws. That puppy’s going to grow to be one giant dog.”

“Ah. Better keep looking, Nat,” Granny says. “I promised your folks I’d get a dog that would fit in the house.”

“But—” Words won’t get past the chokey in my neck. I want
this
puppy. This puppy picked
me.
And I picked her. And we picked each other.

And if I can’t have this puppy, I don’t want a puppy. That’s what.