“Our secret,” he replies. “Come on, my dad will drive you home. We’re leaving in just a sec.”
I try not to look at the store manager’s face as I wait for them to finish their conversation. Even though he doesn’t know what I was going to do, I wonder if he can feel my shame, anyway.
Chapter Ten
At home that afternoon, I spend time with the ducklings, the bunnies, and Poe. My crow usually makes me feel better when things feel wrong. He is such a good listener.
“Maggie and Zoe think I’m abandoning the Vet Volunteers for the high school kids. I almost stole some bunnies, and the high school kids don’t even want me.” My chest feels heavy. If I think about this too much, I’ll cry. I give Poe a sunflower seed from my pocket. He nibbles his special treat and pushes his head up under my hand to see if there might be more. I pull another seed out of my pocket for him. I munch a couple, too.
“I’m not a thief. And you don’t think I’ve abandoned anyone, do you, my friend? No. No, you don’t. Because how is including new friends abandoning old ones? I was just trying to bring everybody together. That’s all. But it looks like I’m not exactly making new high school friends, after all, am I?”
Poe looks at me and cocks his head to the right. Is he disagreeing with me?
“Middle school can be so lame, can’t it, Poe?”
Poe hops away. I’m not sure that I’m winning him over.
It’s time to take care of the ducklings. I shovel out some of the messy wood shavings from the ducklings’ stock tank. They run away from my shovel, peeping. As soon as I put new wood shavings down, all three waddle over to that side.
“Nice and clean, right?” I say to the fluffy yellow babies. Immediately, one poops. “Okay, we were clean for a couple seconds anyway.”
I place Poe back on his perch and feed him a few more seeds. I take a few quick pictures of him. Poe is so handsome. But he can’t come with me now. I want to get some pictures of the fox family—if they’re out—and he would not sit patiently and quietly while I wait for good shots.
When I turn the corner by the fox enclosure, the kits are out and chasing something small. A mouse, maybe? They are leaping and tumbling. I have to get these pictures. But I don’t have any good patched holes on this side. I run to Dad’s workshop for the pliers. I quickly cut a new hole and wriggle my camera lens in. I get shot after shot of the foxes leaping beside the mouse, which runs back and forth trying to escape the kits. They don’t seem to want to kill it. But they sure do want to play with it.
Then I don’t see the mouse any longer, and the kits lie down and rest for about twenty minutes. Nothing happens. That’s okay. I’m getting used to waiting for shots to set themselves up. Finally, one of the kits bats its paw at the other, and they start to tumble. I adjust my shutter speed because I expect some more good action shots.
And I get them. The kits wrestle, playfully chew on each other’s ears, and jump over each other like they have springs in their paws. I click as one on his back bats away another, who seems intent on playing leapfrog. The late-afternoon sun has again lit their fur in coppery splendor. I ought to write that down. Coppery splendor. Because that is really what it looks like.
A couple hours later, I am done. Time to repatch the hole, this time the way Dad showed me.
But when I open the workshop drawer, I don’t see any more patches. Oh no. I can’t believe it! I can’t catch a break today. I tie twine back and forth through the chicken wire to make a temporary patch and go inside to ask Sage for help.
Sage agrees to take me to the hardware store for patches. He agrees only after telling me I should have planned ahead. He’s right: I should have planned ahead. Sometimes, I have such trouble thinking before doing.
Sage was already planning on driving me over to tonight’s Vet Volunteer meeting. We’re all supposed to bring our ideas about the abandoned animals. I’m a little nervous because it doesn’t seem like my ideas have made anyone happy lately.
In the car, I tell Sage a little about what’s been going on with my friends. I don’t tell him about going to the Photography Club meeting.
“And you don’t understand why they might feel jealous?” Sage asks. He glances at me and back to the road.
“Jealous?” I answer. “I don’t think anyone is jealous. They just don’t understand.”
“Well,” he begins, “can you think of something you said or did to make them misunderstand?”
“I haven’t done anything!” I say.
Sage doesn’t say anything right away.
“Well,” I say. “They think that because I went to the high school clubs and because I want all of us to do our reports there and want to move the Environmental Club meeting there, that I’m trying to leave them behind.”
Sage slows at a STOP sign. He stops and looks in both directions then continues straight ahead.
“Are you trying to leave them behind?” he asks.
“Of course not.” I look over at him. “They would come with me to the high school.”
He nods slowly, and I can tell he is waiting for more of an answer than that. But I don’t have any more of an answer.
“So, no idea?” he asks.
Now I am quiet. Maybe it would be good to figure this out with Sage before the meeting. It might help me to know what to say when I see Maggie and Zoe. Because they need to understand that this is not about them.
“You remember how lame middle school can be, right?” I ask. “You must remember how much better high school was when you finally got there, right? Well, that’s what’s going on, I guess. I’m just more ready for high school than my friends are.”
“But you aren’t going into high school yet. What’s the rush?” he asks.
“Oh, Sage, you sound like Mom and Dad!” And Maggie, I think.
“Seriously, Brenna? High school isn’t some magical place where you’ll suddenly feel like a grown-up. And it can be stressful. More stressful than middle school.
“Come on,” he continues, “that day you went to do the Photography Club thing? Remember, that was pretty stressful.”
“Well, that’s because I didn’t know where I was going. That wouldn’t have happened if I was a student there.” I still don’t tell him about my experience today. It’s too embarrassing.
“But they weren’t all nice and friendly to you, were they? Did any of them care that you were lost?” Sage stares straight ahead. “You know, the high school kids have some growing up to do, too. I don’t think that exchanging your middle school friends for high school friends is the answer. I think you need to talk it out with your friends tonight. Sounds like this has been going on long enough to mess with a lot of people.”
I think about that. It certainly has been hard on me. Maggie and Zoe, too, if I’m being honest with myself. Sunita has been pretty quiet about everything until lunch today. And David isn’t as jokey and clueless as he lets on. And Josh and Jules are probably wondering what is going on. I guess this is a big mess.
We pull up to the clinic. Sunita’s mom is pulling out of the parking lot. I see some of her other kids in the backseat. They all wave at us as they drive away.
“Thanks Sage, that helped,” I say, getting out and standing beside Sage’s car.
“No problem. Good luck. And hey, I’ll find that hole and patch it for you.” And Sage backs out of the parking lot, too. Finally, I get a break, and it comes in the form of my brother.
Inside, a couple of little kids wait with a bouncy wheaten terrier pup. The kids’ mom has the pup on a loose leash so the puppy is bouncing and running between its owners and a few Vet Volunteers seated on the floor.
Josh and Jules sit cross-legged, and the puppy scrambles into each of their laps and back out again. Maggie looks up from the floor but doesn’t say anything to me. She snaps her fingers above the puppy’s head. The puppy keeps
trying to lick them. This makes the two little kids laugh. They try to snap their fingers but don’t know how. So one of the little boys moves his fingers pretending to snap, but he clicks with his tongue instead. Good idea. But the puppy goes for the source of the sound and licks the boy’s mouth instead of his fingers.
This makes his brother roll on the floor laughing, and the puppy immediately joins him. The pup’s leash gets tangled beneath the little boy. As the little boy tries to stand, the puppy runs back to Jules and the leash rubs through the little boy’s fingers and he cries out in pain.
And that’s when Dr. Mac calls the family in for the pup’s checkup.
His mom hops up to help her son. “It’s okay, Malik, it’s just a scratch,” she says. She holds his hurt hand and looks at it closely.
“But it’s b-b-b-bleeding,” he cries.
“Just a tiny bit,” she says.
“We have bandages,” Dr. Mac says. “Why don’t you let my girls clean him up while we start with Finnegan? Maggie, Brenna, fix the little guy up and then bring him in to us, okay?” Dr. Mac does not wait for an answer. She takes the puppy’s leash and heads to the Herriot Room.
The little boy’s mom looks us over and must decide we can handle it because she allows us to take Malik to the Dolittle Room.
He has stopped crying, but he does not look as confident about us as his mom did. Maggie washes her hands and says to Malik, “We take care of all kinds of hurt animals in here. Puppies, kitties, we’ve even had a hurt snake here. Can you believe it?”
His eyes get round, and you can tell he’s interested. Maggie dries her hands and puts on gloves. She nods at me to do the same. Jeesh, I was going to anyway. I wash, dry, and glove my hands.
“Can you bark like a tiny puppy?” she asks Malik.
“Ruff, Ruff!” he yells.
“No, a teeny-tiny puppy, like an almost-invisible puppy,” she says. Maggie rinses his hand with sterile water over a basin.
“Ruff, ruff,” he says in a soft, low voice.
“You are very good at that,” she says to him.
From the human first-aid kit, I get a bandage and antibacterial ointment. We have to have a first-aid kit for us because we often get scratched up—or worse—by a frightened animal.
“Now a kitty,” Maggie whispers. “A teeny-tiny, almost-invisible, little kitty.” I hand her the bandage that I’ve already dabbed with ointment.
“Meow, meow, meow,” Malik whispers.
Maggie places the bandage on his fingers. “All done,” she says.
Malik smiles but then says, “Boring bandage.”
Maggie looks at me.
“That’s all we’ve got,” I say apologetically. But then I remember something. “Just a sec.”
I run out to the waiting room. I know where Sunita keeps the special stuff. Josh, Jules, Zoe, and Sunita are all out there.
“Just taking one,” I say to Sunita when I close the desk drawer that we all call Sunita’s. Even Dr. Mac.
Back in the Dolittle Room, I give the sheet of stickers to Maggie. She smiles—smiles—at me.
“Which one do you want on your bandage and which one do you want to keep?” Maggie shows him the stickers.
He chooses his stickers and asks, “Can I have one for my brudder, too?”
Maggie lets him choose another for his brother and walks him over to the Herriot Room. I throw out the bandage wrappings and use a sanitizing wipe on the exam table. All sterile for our next patient.
Maggie walks back into the Dolittle Room with Zoe right behind her. Maggie closes the door and says, “We need to talk.”
Those are never good words to hear. She looks so uncomfortable. She looks like she might cry. Where did her smile from a moment ago go? Zoe looks from me to Maggie and back again.
“Before you say anything,” Maggie begins, “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. But I’ve been pretty mad. Well, hurt anyway.”
I’m about to respond, but Maggie holds up her hand. She has more to say before she lets me talk.
“Look what a great team we make,” she says. “Why would you want to break up a team?”
The exam room is clean, and there is nothing out of place, nothing to fix, nothing to do. We all seem uncomfortable, like we don’t even know what to do with our hands, so we stand—Maggie and Zoe on one side, and me across from them—arms at our sides, the empty exam table between us.
“I don’t want to break up the team. I don’t know why you think that. Yes, I have wanted all of us to get to know some of the high school kids, but I didn’t want that to mess things up between us.”
I try to stay calm, although just saying those things makes me a little angry again. But it felt like old times for a moment there, and I want to go back to that. So I choose my next words carefully.
“Look, I’ve never had better friends than the Vet Volunteers. And I love being a Vet Volunteer.”
I almost lean my hands on the sterile exam table, but then stop myself.
“But it sounded like you think you’ve outgrown us,” Maggie insists. “That hurts, Brenna.”
Zoe nods. She looks like she could cry.
“I don’t feel like I’ve outgrown any of us,” I say.
“Really?” Maggie says.
“Yes. Someday, I’d like to have a paying job and study abroad and, yes, go to high school. You, too. And I think you’d like some of these high school kids if you gave them a chance. Not all of them, but some.”
“As long as they don’t try to take away my best friend,” Maggie says.
“No chance of that,” I say.
“Hey, what about me?” Zoe asks.
“You’re my best cousin,” Maggie says, putting her arm around Zoe’s shoulder.
“I guess I’ve been a little too focused on the next thing and not focused enough on the now thing, huh?”
“A little,” Maggie says, and leans on the exam table.”Now look what you did,” I say. I hand Maggie and Zoe the wipes, and they laugh as we wipe away her handprints. Luckily, it’s not so easy to wipe away our friendship.
Chapter Eleven
By the time Dr. Mac is done with the well-puppy checkup, all the Vet Volunteers have made up and made some plans.
“Sorry, kids,” Dr. Mac says after the family has left and she has locked the door behind them. “That took longer than I expected. First-time dog owners have lots of questions. I didn’t realize they were first-timers, or I wouldn’t have asked for you to come so early. She looks around at all of us seated on the floor and in the chairs of the waiting room.
“Did I miss anything?” she asks. Boy, did she ever.
“We had talked about doing high school presentations, but we’ve decided to drop those and put on a Community Awareness Day,” Sunita pipes up.
I look at Maggie, then back to the group. “A spring open house at the wildlife rehabilitation center,” I say. “We can show people around the center and teach people about the problem of abandoned animals.”
Dr. Mac says, “Are your parents on board with this?”
“I haven’t asked them yet. It just came together when all of us started talking,” I explain.
“We could bring the bunnies that have been abandoned here,” Jules suggests.
“Maybe some families would adopt them the day of the open house,” Sunita says. “Especially if we advertise ahead of time that they’re available. Give people time to consider the adoption. We don’t want anyone doing this on impulse, after all.”
“What if we called the shelter to see if they wanted to come, too?” David asks.
“You mean participate?” I ask him. “Maybe bring the bunnies that they have?”
“Yup. That’s exactly what I mean,” he says. “And, what if we invite the feed store and tractor-supply managers to come? They could learn about this pro
blem. Might help for next year.”
David can really surprise you some days. Inside that goofy brain of his lurk some pretty fantastic ideas.
“We could have the ducklings learn to swim,” Maggie suggests. “People would come out to see what we mean, and they would have fun and a great lesson on what can happen to animals purchased as temporary toys.”
“That’s a great idea,” I say.
“I got it from you,” Maggie says.
“What?”
“When you did the presentation in science class. I listened,” she says. I remember that she did. Even though she was so mad at me then, Maggie cares about animals and just eats up animal facts.
“Sounds like you kids have a lot of planning to do. Great ideas, all!” Dr. Mac says. Then she looks at me, “Brenna, you’ll talk to your parents and get this nailed down?”
“Immediately,” I say. I realize that it’s a great opportunity to show them that I can be mature, and make up for some of the trouble I’ve caused recently.
That night, I e-mail all of the Vet Volunteers and give them the open house date, four Saturdays away. We have a lot to get done.
Four weeks later, we have a gorgeous day for the wildlife rehabilitation center open house. In fact, it’s so warm, it feels like a summer open house.
I walk around with Poe on my shoulder and my clipboard in my hand—it has all the times for the day’s events in case someone asks me for them—and check on all our “stations.”
I spot a reporter. She is carrying a large satchel and is holding a small notepad.
“Are you Brenna Lake?” she asks.
“I am.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Vivian Michael, Montgomery County Gazette? Your father—I believe it was your father—he’s out there parking cars? He told me to come find you and I’d get a lot of good information? He said you’d be the one with a crow on your shoulder?” She smiles wide and nods her head up and down a lot.
She seems friendly. I like her. But it’s kind of funny that everything she says sounds like a question even when she isn’t asking anything.