Zoo Breath (2 page)

“Calvin,” Mom said.

Man, she had eyes in the back of her head.

I put the window down and let Streak hang her head out. She loved it. Spit flew off her tongue in the wind.

I was worried.

Really worried.

Because Mom and Stella had been complaining more than usual about Streak: how
she smelled, chewed up everything in sight, left dog doo all over the yard, and shed hair in the house—even though she was only allowed in the kitchen to eat. She slept in my room, which wasn’t even in the house, but in the garage.

My friend Willy’s dog got to be in
his
house.

I slumped in my seat.

Could Mom make me get rid of Streak? Would she?

One time Mom stepped in some of Streak’s dog doo in the yard and nearly bit my head off. “I wish you’d gotten a
fish
for a pet!” Then she bought me a shovel and wrote on the handle with a big fat black Sharpie:
CALVIN’S POOPER SCOOPER
. “Use this every day, rain or shine,” she’d said. “Toss the stuff into the bushes,
away
from the house.”

Fine. I did that. Rain or shine.

“I can take a lot, Calvin,” Mom said now. “But that dog’s breath is—”

“Disgusting!” Stella butted in.

I stuck my head out the window with Streak. She was the best dog that ever lived.

But I was going to lose her.

It was just a matter of time.

N
ext week in class, Mr. Purdy smiled and spread his hands. “Good morning, boot campers! It’s Friday!”

“Good morning, Mr. Purdy,” we droned.

I was only half listening because I was thinking about Streak, how she was always so happy to see me when I got home from school.

Mr. Purdy rubbed his hands together. He looked at us, flicked his eyebrows.

Aiy. First the arms, now the eyebrows. This could only mean trouble.

I looked out the window from my front-row seat. Another sunny morning at Kailua Elementary School. Nice day.

To lose a dog.

Stop!

I turned back to Mr. Purdy.

“Okaaay,” he said. “Let’s get started. Today I’m going to introduce you to something so fun you will think you’re on vacation. Ready?”

We all perked up. Vacation?

Shayla bounced in her seat. “What is it, Mr. Purdy?”

Shayla sat next to me. She was a know-it-all pest, and to make things worse, she was always smiling at me. “She thinks you’re cute,” my friend Maya once told me.

Cute?
Blaaach!

“Yeah, Mr. Purdy,” Rubin shouted from the back. “We going on a class trip or something?”

“That we are, guys, that we are, because today I am going to introduce you to … discovery!”

Huh?

“Primary research,” Mr. Purdy added.

It got so quiet I could almost hear the ants sneaking up on Shayla’s pink-and-purple lunch box.

Doreen raised her hand. “Is that like looking things up and stuff?”

“That would be called secondary research, Doreen, or research that’s already been done. This is called
primary
research, which means you’ll be the first to do it.”

Silence.

Mr. Purdy chuckled. “This will be fun, trust me. You’re all going to be detectives. You’re going to ask a discovery question, then answer it.

You can interview people, make observations, gather and analyze things that haven’t been analyzed before. Think of the possibilities!”

This was a vacation?

“Then,” Mr. Purdy continued, “you will present your findings to the class. Boy, are we in for a fun time!”

You could have heard a mosquito burp in that classroom.

“Come on, boot campers,” Mr. Purdy said. “You’ve got till next Tuesday. I’m going to show you how fascinating it can be to discover and study something new. And you can study whatever you want. No pressure, no rules, no limits … well, I take that back. I wouldn’t want you researching the value of picking your nose or why you should sleep in class, of course.”

That got a few snickers.

Still, this all sounded like work.

“I urge you to use props, too,” Mr. Purdy added.

Rubin raised his hand and spoke at the same time. “What’s props, Mr. Purdy?”

“Something to help you present your findings, Rubin. Let’s say you discovered something new about cockroaches. Then to help you explain it to the class, you might bring in a cockroach in a container. That would be a prop. You can also make posters, take photographs, or bring in various objects. Those would all be props.”

“Cock-a-roaches,” I said to myself.

Once, Mr. Purdy made us think of pretzels to start our essays. It was weird. But it worked.

“So,” Mr. Purdy said. “What do you want to discover, detectives? What do you want to research that hasn’t been researched before? Think about it.”

Hmmm.

Maybe I could research something about Las Vegas. Dad had moved there about four years ago with his new wife, Marissa. He was Little Johnny Coconut, the singer. He made up that last name, and then he made it legal. Now it was our for-real last name.

Dad took our dog, Chewy, to Las Vegas when he left.

I smiled, remembering that little rat-nosed mutt. Dad kept him a lot cleaner than I kept Streak. But I figured, why give a dog a bath when she’s just going to get dirty all over again?

Hey! An idea for my research project popped into my head.

It was a weird one.

I liked it.

“H
ow about movies, Mr. Purdy?” Ace asked. “Can we do that?”

“Sure you can. Just come up with a unique question to start things off. Something like ‘Why do kids reach under their movie seats to see if someone stuck gum there?’ Ask a question, then answer it.”

“Ick,” Shayla said. “I’m not doing that one.” I grinned, thinking of the question I’d come up with: Why do dogs have stink breath and how can you un-stink it?

Shayla said, “Can we work with a partner, Mr. Purdy?” She glanced at me.

I put my elbows on my desk and covered my face with my hands. Where was that dog breath when you needed it? If Streak had been on my lap I’d have aimed her nose at Shayla. But maybe even that wouldn’t make her go away.