Runt (13 page)

They had set up a litter box, food, and water, and kept the cat in the bathroom.

Elizabeth's mom wasn't as worried. “Nothing is going to happen. Just don't mess with the animal kingdom and everything will work out.”

The cat was named Goat because of the little tuft of hair that grew from just under her chin. Her owners, the Wolfs, were in a fix.

“Please. We know you don't usually take cats, but she'll be fine in the bathroom for a week, just make sure
to change the litter and have her dry food always available,” Mr. Wolf begged. Their house had been badly damaged by a tree that had fallen during the hurricane and they needed to move out for a week while repairs to the roof were made.

She never saw herself as a cat person, but when Goat snuggled into Elizabeth's lap and buried her head, Elizabeth melted. The person2person page seemed further away. Goat purred loudly, like medicine.

Elizabeth sometimes wondered how her mother could ever be right about anything, when all she did was watch TV. Elizabeth had never seen her mother read a book, or read anything other than
People
magazine. But she did often seem to be right about animals and their natural order. She was like the dog whisperer, except without her own television show.

No toys, that was one of her animal rules. If there are no toys, no bones, no chewies, then there is nothing for the dogs to fight over. And no cats.

But now there was Goat.

“She keeps getting out,” Elizabeth said. She had grown attached to the little Bengal-striped cat.

“Leave her alone. She's a cat. She'll figure it out and so will the dogs. As long as you stay out of it.”

When her mother was out at the store, Elizabeth tried picking up the cat and carrying her into the living room. Maybe if the dogs saw Goat in her arms they would know she wasn't a mouse or a squirrel or something to chase and hunt and eat.

But there was something about holding the cat captive that drove the dogs crazy and they lunged at Elizabeth. The cat panicked, twisted and squirmed to be let go. She jumped out of Elizabeth's grasp and darted into hiding, leaving Elizabeth with deep, red, angry-looking scratches all over her arms.

“I told you to leave that cat alone,” her mother said at dinner.

Elizabeth pulled her sleeves down quickly.

Not only did Goat ignore Elizabeth's pleas to stay in the bathroom, but she learned to pull open the bathroom door with her paw and she wandered farther and farther out into the house. Then one day, Goat made her way into the living room, where the dogs were resting after dinner and after their evening exercise. Carefully Goat stepped around each one, sniffing their ears and their feet, and sniffing their tails.

It was too late by the time Elizabeth saw what was happening. Denali, the Chinook, was the first to notice
the cat tiptoeing around his head. He bolted up.

It didn't take long—one by one the dogs became alert. Willie, the beagle mix, planted his legs and started to bark. Kelly, another mixed breed, began making high-pitched whining sounds, like he could hardly contain himself. The hair on his back pointed straight up at the ceiling.

Goat froze. Her only escape was now blocked by Sadie, the Saint Bernard who had been allowed to return, but at double the going rate, because Elizabeth's mother really needed the money.

Elizabeth felt her heart pounding in her chest. Goat was surrounded. The dogs were in attack stance, growling, ears back, tongues hanging out of their mouths.
Never get in the middle of a dogfight,
her mother had warned her many times. No exceptions. Never.

But she could shout. She could yell and scream and whistle and try to break the dogs' hyper-concentration on Goat. Her wails just seemed to further rile up the dogs. Willie made a sudden move forward toward Goat, barking. Denali responded to the advance by making a second lunge. They had formed a mob in no time. Without a word, without any prior discussion, they ganged up on the cat, each dog taking energy and impetus from the
other, to form one single killing machine.

By this time Sadie had gotten her massive body up and was on her feet. She hobbled over and placed herself directly in the middle of all the dogs. Elizabeth held her breath and her tears. Time stood completely still. She watched as Goat hinged her body up onto her back legs, bared her claws, and hissed. She swiped her front paw in the air and caught Sadie right in the face.

That's all it took.

It was all over. Sadie didn't back down, but she didn't attack, either. She leaned her giant head forward and took a sniff of the new “cat” air, then she turned around and hobbled back to her bed, the biggest bed, the one with a lamb's wool comforter, before any of the other dogs could take it. Sadie turned around five or six times, in a counterclockwise circle, until she felt things were just right, then she plopped her whole body down and went to sleep.

With that, Kelly lost interest and went into the kitchen to sniff for bits of dog food that might have rolled under the counter. Willie got spooked and headed off with his tail tucked between his legs. Denali, too—a little sniff from a safe distance and then he went and laid down. It was over.

Then Goat sat down on her rear end. She lifted her back paw and began calmly grooming herself, licking her foot and rubbing it over her ears and head.

Elizabeth hadn't realized she had been holding her breath the whole time, until she let out all the air in her lungs.

Don't get mad, get even.

If Goat could stand up for herself, Elizabeth could too. And the school dance Friday night would be the perfect place.

Zoe knew Maggie had put
up that Smelly-Girl person2person page. Who else would do that? And who else would get scared and take it down as soon as the power was back on? But it was too late. By tagging so many kids from class, everyone had seen it just before the power went out, and people had added their own little jokes and comments.

There was no doubt Maggie was scared now. And that explained why Maggie wasn't talking about who was going to dress like a freak at the dance tomorrow. That's why she was trying to act all nicey-nice about everybody.

So why had Zoe spent so much of her lunch period holding the table, while Maggie got to go up and get her
lunch first? On Italian dunker days that meant only the broken, smooshed ones would be left.

And the school had found out about it. Or at least they heard rumors. Since the page was already down they couldn't really punish anyone, but that's why they were starting this ingenious new lunch table arrangement: Punish everyone.

Instead of letting kids sit wherever they wanted, tables were now organized by homeroom. The idea—presumably—was to break up cliques and prevent students from holding tables for the popular kids and ostracizing those less fortunate, who had to stand with their tray in their hands, pathetically searching for a place to sit. It would force everyone to make new friends.

But it was Zoe who had been pathetic, wasn't it?

The new seating also ensured that kids who had suffered all morning in a classroom filled with students they didn't like and who didn't like them, were offered no reprieve during lunch if their one friend in the whole wide world was in another homeroom.

“You know,” Zoe began as soon as Maggie sat down, “someone could have called the Feds and found out who made that Smelly-Girl person2person page. They can do
that, you know. They can trace the IP address if they want.”

“Well, lucky for whoever did that, it's down now,” Maggie answered. Maggie and Zoe shared homeroom. Larissa was three tables away.

Zoe lifted her head. “I guess. Just saying, though.” She waited a beat. “But I think they can trace it anyway. You know. I've seen that on
Law and Order
. Nothing is ever really gone from cyberspace. It's in there somewhere.”

When a dog on a leash encounters another dog that is unleashed, the unleashed dog will behave aggressively, even if it is a normally unaggressive dog. It's almost as if seeing another of its species, trapped, fallen, weak, brings out the worst.

“And you know the school doesn't have to give students civil legal rights? They can make their own rules and do whatever they want. Like that New Jersey vs. T.L.O. case. Remember when we learned about it in humanities?”

“No, what was that?” Maggie asked.

Zoe didn't even know the girl sitting next to her—which was the point of this new table arrangement—who suddenly joined in the conversation.

“Oh, yeah. I learned about that case. The Supreme Court decided students have no constitutional rights while in school. The state has the right to provide a safe school environment at all costs.”

“Yeah, that's it,” Zoe told Maggie. “What
she
said.”

In the wild, mountain lions have been known to attack their own leader when he appears weak and unable to protect the pride. And circus animals under pressure to perform and suffering from close confinement with other animals—especially ones not of their social status—have been known to attack for no apparent reason whatsoever.

Maggie didn't look so good.

“Are you going to eat those?” Zoe asked, pointing to Maggie's Italian dunkers. “Because if you're not, I'm really hungry.”

The first Preston Middle School
dance was a big deal. It was always held right before winter break and it was pretty much the first boy-girl event since fourth grade, when everybody still went to the same birthday parties. The parent-teacher organization raised the money and did all the decorations. This year's theme was “The Tropics.”

There was some controversy when a few of the parents thought “The Tropics” was in bad taste, considering all the damage done from tropical storm Helen, but in the end it remained. Two large blow-up palm trees flanked the entrance to the cafeteria and leis of brightly colored plastic flowers were wrapped around each banister
leading up the stairs. Inside, with the tables folded and pushed against the wall, four rounded stacks of yellow balloons stood in the center of the cafeteria. Tall shoots of green balloons poured from the top, creating the effect of giant pineapples, and the usually bare walls were hung with papier-mâché parrots. It was all very lovely and, well, tropical.

But Elizabeth Moon was a girl with a mission.

Revenge is a dessert best served cold, or something like that.

Speaking of dessert, Maggie was right there, standing at the refreshment table. The table itself was draped with dried grass and more leis. Maggie was dipping into a watermelon-shaped bowl of punch.

It was the perfect time.

“Can I have in on it?”

Elizabeth unlocked her eyes from her target and turned around. “Huh?”

It was Zoe. “I can tell you've got something in mind, something nasty. To be perfectly honest, I don't blame you. If I were you, I'd do worse.”

“Worse than what?” Elizabeth couldn't remember the last time Zoe Bellaro talked to her directly, or
even indirectly. Oh—yes, she did. At the lunch table just before the storm, Zoe was making fun of what Elizabeth had said in class about her poem. It felt like a year had passed since then.

“Whatever you're planning, I can see it in your eyes. So tell me, what is it?”

Maggie had moved away from the refreshments and they couldn't see where she went. A couple of kids were actually dancing in the center of the room. The DJ music was loud. Lights swirled on the ceiling.

“What are you talking about?” Elizabeth said slowly.

For all Elizabeth knew, Zoe had been part of the Smelly-Girl person2person page too, and just posted a comment to throw people off. And maybe Larissa and probably Justin Benton and who knows who else? And even if Zoe hadn't been part of it, she could have been, in a heartbeat.

It was like one of those scary movies where all of a sudden, all the faces in the room reveal themselves in their true form, scaly green skin and long reptilian tongues, or decomposing flesh and hanging eyeballs, or furry tall ears and fangs.

“Holy moly,” Zoe said out loud. “Look at that!”

Zoe's face looked pretty much the same as always. Her mouth was wide open, her eyes smiling. She was pointing to the center of the cafeteria-turned-dance-floor where Stewart Gunderson stood with his pants around his ankles and half his underwear pulled down in back.

“Now that's what I call payback,” Zoe said.

• • •

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Swing around and punch this asshole right in the face? Who did it, anyway? Whoever it was is gone. Who had the nerve to pants me? Me?

Zoe is just staring at me, waiting. So are Maggie and Matthew, Ethan. Everyone. Even Coach Fogden and Miss Robinson, standing there, and no one is doing anything.

• • •

What I feel like doing is running. Just running away.