“We don’t give Shannon treats in front of Scout,” David Michael pointed out.
Sticking out his lower lip, Andrew said, “Well, it’s not fair.”
With the keen instincts of a seasoned baby-sitter, Mary Anne realized that there was more at stake here than feeding Scout treats. Of all of Kristy’s siblings, Andrew was the one who was obviously having the most trouble accepting Scout’s imminent departure.
“Speaking of treats,” said Mary Anne, “I brought something special for us.”
“Is it candy?” Karen asked, diverted. She added, “Candy is bad for dogs. Especially chocolate.”
“It’s not candy and it’s not people treats either,” Mary Anne replied, leading the way to the kitchen. “It’s a surprise.” She opened the refrigerator and was relieved to see a key ingredient in her surprise resting on one shelf of the refrigerator: beef suet.
“Good,” said Mary Anne.
“What’s good?” asked David Michael.
“What’s the surprise?” Andrew asked.
“First we have to go on an expedition,” said Mary Anne. “Everybody put on your coats and gloves and hats.”
“It’s cold outside,” Andrew objected. “I don’t want to go out, and neither does Scout. Do you, Scout?”
Hearing her name, Scout wagged her tail and looked expectantly at Andrew. Mary Anne could tell what an intelligent, calm dog she was becoming.
“Want to go for a walk, Shannon?” David Michael asked.
Shannon’s response was a happy dance that involved running to the back door, where the leashes hung on a hook, and back to David Michael.
Scout’s tail picked up its tempo, but she didn’t run and leap like Shannon.
“Andrew, you and Scout will have to come with us,” Mary Anne said firmly. “We can’t leave you here. We won’t be outside long.”
“Oh, all right,” said Andrew.
Mary Anne helped Karen into her coat and turned to find that Andrew had bundled himself up, but that Scout wasn’t wearing her special dog vest with the words GUIDE DOG IN TRAINING on it. Knowing that Scout was supposed to wear it every time she went out for a walk, Mary Anne looked around. “Where’s Scout’s vest?”
“She doesn’t need it.” Andrew scowled.
“She’s supposed to wear it every time she goes out, Andrew,” said Karen sternly. Karen is a stickler for rules, which can be a pain sometimes, but isn’t a bad quality when it comes to dog training.
“She doesn’t want to be a guide dog,” said Andrew. “She just wants to stay with me and be happy.”
Mary Anne thought fast and said, “But it’s cold out, Andrew, and Scout’s coat isn’t as thick as Shannon’s. Don’t you think she should wear her vest?”
For a long moment, Andrew hesitated. Then he said, “Oh, okay. Just this once.”
After convincing Karen that Pumpkin didn’t want to go for a walk, and telling her that she could be in charge of the “collection bag,” Mary Anne at last led the kids outside. David Michael led Shannon on her leash; Andrew was holding on to Scout’s leash with one hand and Mary Anne’s hand with the other; and Karen clutched a net grocery bag.
“What are we collecting?” Karen asked.
“Pinecones,” said Mary Anne. She looked around. “Has anybody seen any?”
“In Morbidda Destiny’s front yard!” Karen said, her eyes wide. Karen has dubbed Mrs. Porter, who lives next door, Morbidda Destiny. And she’s more than half convinced herself and her siblings that Mrs. Porter is a witch.
“And in Abby and Anna’s yard too. Next to their driveway,” added David Michael.
“That sounds good. Let’s walk the dogs around the block, and then we can gather pinecones,” suggested Mary Anne.
As they walked the dogs, Mary Anne fended off questions about what the pinecones were for. “I’ll tell you when we get back to the house with them,” she promised. “For now, all you need to know is that the cones can’t be too brittle or opened up too wide. They should be sort of half folded shut.”
When they had circled the block, they stopped by the pine tree near the sidewalk in front of Mrs. Porter’s house.
“Scout and I will keep witch watch,” Andrew said. He turned to stare at Mrs. Porter’s big, old house. Mary Anne had to admit that in its dark, run-down state, it did look like a drawing of a haunted house from a children’s picture book. But she also knew that Mrs. Porter wasn’t a witch.
When they’d picked up all the perfect pinecones they could find by the sidewalk, they walked to my yard. Andrew helped pick up pinecones there, holding each one down for Scout to examine before putting it into the bag Karen was holding.
Mary Anne noticed that although Shannon still didn’t have her leash manners down exactly — she had a tendency to pull toward anything that interested her, though not as hard as she once had — Scout didn’t pull at all. And she was a big enough dog now to pull Andrew anywhere she wanted to go. But she stayed by his side.
They returned to the house with a bulging bag of pinecones, probably many more than they would need. But Mary Anne figured that the exercise was good for everyone and that they could do more sorting when they reached the kitchen.
Inside, they spread newspapers on the kitchen table and swathed themselves in aprons. Then Mary Anne put the kids to work tying loops of yarn to the tops of the pinecones. Meanwhile, Mary Anne put the beef suet in a pan and began melting it over low heat into a sort of jelly. When it was mostly melted, she stirred in a big glob of peanut butter.
“Eeewww,” said Karen. “I’m not eating that. That looks like a recipe from a witch’s cookbook.”
“Actually, it’s a recipe from a bird book,” said Mary Anne. “David Michael, would you please get the birdseed? It’s by the back door.”
David Michael and Karen poured some birdseed into a shallow bowl that Mary Anne had set on the table. When the suet–peanut butter mix was cool enough not to burn anybody, but still jellylike, Mary Anne set the saucepan on a trivet on the table. She picked a pinecone out of the bag, held it up, and made a big show of examining it, then twirled it in the jellylike goo.
Handing the sticky pinecone to Karen, Mary Anne said, “Now, roll it in the birdseed.”
“Bird snacks!” cried David Michael.
“That’s right.”
“See, Andrew?” said David Michael, taking the next pinecone from Mary Anne. “After you roll it in birdseed, you can hang it in a tree, and the birds can eat the seeds and the, uh …”
“Peanut butter surprise,” Karen supplied.
Andrew looked more interested and less unhappy than he had all day. Soon all four of them were making birdseed pinecones as fast as they could, lining up the finished ones on the newspaper.
When they’d used up all the goo, they took the treats outside. (Karen insisted on saving all the unused cones for future bird-food projects.) Then they decorated the tree outside the family room window with bird feeder pinecones. There were a few left over. Mary Anne put them in a covered bowl, labeled it BIRD FOOD in big letters, and set it in the refrigerator.
Then they went back inside to wait for the birds to arrive. “Come to dinner,” called Karen. “Come on, birds.”
A black-capped chickadee appeared as if by magic, attached itself to a pinecone, and began to peck as the cone bobbed on the branch.
“Bird television,” David Michael said, grinning at Mary Anne.
“And every new bird is like changing the channel,” agreed Karen.
They watched “bird television” until Nannie came home, and Charlie arrived to take Mary Anne and me to the BSC meeting. Mary Anne noticed that all afternoon Andrew stayed near Scout, one hand resting on her collar.
When Mary Anne told us about this later, she didn’t need to add that Andrew was going to have trouble letting go of Scout. Everything he’d done all afternoon had made it clear that “Good-bye, Scout” was not part of his vocabulary.
“It’s true. Andrew’s been sticking to Scout
like glue ever since he came back from Chicago,” said Kristy.
“It’s not easy going back and forth between your parents, even when they are as nice as Watson and Lisa,” Stacey said. (Lisa is Andrew and Karen’s mom.)
“I know,” Mary Anne said. “Look at how hard it was on Dawn.”
We were quiet for a moment, thinking over what Mary Anne had told us about her baby-sitting job with Karen, Andrew, and David Michael.
“Maybe …” Jessi’s voice trailed off.
We all looked at her. She continued, “Well, maybe Andrew feels sort of like Scout. You know, Scout leaves. Andrew leaves. Maybe he’s worried that if Scout can go away and not come back, that could happen to him too.”
“It’s a possibility,” said Kristy thoughtfully.
“He also wants something of his own,” I pointed out. “That’s pretty obvious. A big pet to call his own.” Andrew has a goldfish and a hermit crab — neither of which you can pet, take for a walk, or hang out with like you can with, say, a dog.
“True,” Kristy agreed. “But that’s not going to happen. At least, I don’t think Mom and Watson are ready for any more animals.”
The phone rang then, and we went into appointment-making mode. After we’d scheduled the sitting job, I said, “Speaking of Valentine’s Day …”
“Were we? Speaking of Valentine’s Day?” asked Claudia.
“As far as I can tell, that’s all anybody’s been speaking of lately,” I retorted. “Anyway, listen to this. You were right about Ross Brown. He actually asked me to the Valentine’s Day Dance! At first I thought he was joking. In fact, maybe he was. I mean, we both laughed after I said no.”
“No,” Claudia echoed blankly. “You said no?”
“Yes. I mean, of course I said no. I don’t dance. Not at the Valentine’s Day Dance, anyway.”
“You’re kidding. I mean, don’t you like Ross? He’s nice. He’s cute. He’s funny,” said Stacey.
“Then you go with him,” I shot back, feeling a little defensive, in case you couldn’t tell.
Stacey continued, “Even if you don’t like him that much, you could go to the dance with him. Have some fun. Maybe meet a really cute guy there who you do like.”
“So you think Abby should use Ross to meet other guys?” Kristy was not amused.
“No! But I mean, it’s just a dance. It’s not as if Ross asked Abby to marry him or anything,” Stacey said.
I snorted. “A good thing too.”
Jessi said, “Maybe someone else will ask you, who you like better. You’re right, though, it’s no big deal.”
“No matter who asked me, I’d still say no. Even Cam Geary.” I directed this last sentence at Mary Anne, because I could see she was about to weigh in with her opinion. Cam Geary is a TV star and, according to Mary Anne, the cutest guy on the planet — except for Logan, of course, who allegedly looks like Cam anyway.
“Even Cam Geary would have his feelings hurt, I think, if you turned him down the way you say you turned Ross down,” Mary Anne said.
“Look, I’m not going to lie or make fake excuses, okay? I don’t want to go to the dance, and I don’t want to go to the dance with Ross. There are a few other things in life besides the Valentine’s Day Dance, you know.”
Mary Anne, ever the peacemaker, said, “Well, anyway, it’s nice to be asked, isn’t it?”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I didn’t. “Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
Brrinng! Saved by the phone once again, I settled back, with a sigh, in my chair in the corner. Were we finished with the Ross–Valentine’s Day Dance subject? Somehow, I didn’t think so.
* * *
I’d barely walked in the door after the BSC meeting when Anna called from the kitchen, “Abby?”
“I’ll be there to help in just a minute. I’m not late!” I was feeling belligerent.
Anna said, “I know you’re not. I just came down myself. All we have to do tonight is set the table.”
At breakfast, Mom had promised to bring home a “city picnic,” which meant she would go to one of her favorite kosher places, Russ & Daughters, to buy all kinds of goodies.
“Oh. Right,” I said. “Sorry. I’ve had a bad afternoon, sort of. Maybe even a bad day.” I went into the kitchen.
“Well, I have some news that will cheer you up.” Anna’s eyes were sparkling.
“Mom bought tickets to the next women’s World Cup?”
“No.” Anna shook her head. “Better than that.”
“I’m stumped. I can’t imagine what would be better than that … except playing on a World Cup team.”
Anna laughed. “Ross Brown is going to ask you to the Valentine’s Day Dance!”
She waited breathlessly for my reaction.
I hated to disappoint her, but what could I do?
“Old news,” I said flippantly. “He did, and I’m not.”
“Not?”
“Not going. To the dance. With Ross. Or anyone.” I opened a drawer, took out silverware, and began to set the table.
“You’re kidding!” Anna cried.
I winced. “Indoor voice,” I muttered.
Anna ignored me. “You said no?”
I told her the story. It was, I thought, a funny story. But for the second time that day, I didn’t get a laugh. (This proves, conclusively and forever, that “identical twins” aren’t necessarily identical inside out.)
“I don’t believe it,” said my humorless sister.
“What?” I said. “How did you find out, anyway? Are you on his side? Did he sign you up for the Give Abby Grief and Make Her Go to the Dance Committee?”
“No. I mean, I’ve barely ever even spoken to Ross. But he’s friends with a girl in my cello section, and she told me. And he’s nice. He’s funny. He’d be a great date.”
“Not for me,” I said. “Ross is fine, but I don’t like him in that way. Never have, never will. And let me make it extra clear: I’m not interested in dating Ross or anyone. End of story.”
I slammed the final fork down on the table.
“Oh, Abby,” said Anna. “You could have gone to the dance.”
“Tell Ross’s friend to tell Ross to ask me to the women’s World Cup, then I’ll go. Maybe.” I walked out of the kitchen, exasperated. Everyone had indeed gone crazy.
I wished Ross had never asked me to the dance. I wished I’d never told anybody he had. What a rotten way to start the weekend.
Upstairs, in my room, I pressed my forehead to the cold windowpane and beamed a message out across the sky: Ross, I thought. Ask someone else to the dance.
Soon.
I woke up the next morning and for no reason at all thought, Maybe I’ll go over to Kristy’s house.
This is not my usual Saturday morning behavior. Kristy and I ride the school bus together, I’m her assistant coach for the Krushers softball team (made up of kids whose average age is 5.8, many of whom play with more enthusiasm than skill), we both like sports, but we are not that close. Kristy’s bossy.
And I’m not into being the boss-ee.
That’s a joke, in case you didn’t notice.
But with my own twin giving me “Have you lost your mind?” looks, I felt in need of someone who wasn’t Valentine’s Day Dance–addled. As far as I could tell, that someone was Kristy.
Naturally, her whole house was already in gear when I arrived, even though it was early. In fact, I met Kristy and Watson out front. Watson was holding Scout’s leash while she, um, went on command. That was one of the first things that the guide dog school encouraged Kristy and her family to teach Scout — to relieve herself in a specific spot and on command. That way, when she was partnering a blind person, or someone whose sight was impaired, she would be able to go on command, rather than trotting off to the nearest patch of interesting-smelling grass with her person in tow.
“Good girl, Scout,” Watson was saying as I approached.
At that moment the front door banged open, and Andrew came hurtling ou
t, with Kristy’s mom behind him. “Andrew, wait! You don’t have a coat on.”
“Scout’s mine!” he shouted, grabbing for the leash. “I’m supposed to walk her.”
“You can walk her back inside,” Watson said calmly, handing Andrew the leash.
“Come on, Scout,” said Andrew. He glared at Watson and Kristy, included me for good measure, then led the chocolate Lab back inside past Mrs. Brewer, who was shaking her head.
As I reached the door, I saw the two adults exchange a glance.
“I could use another cup of coffee,” said Watson.
“Decaf,” Kristy reminded him. Watson had a very mild heart attack not long ago. And even though he takes care of himself and follows doctor’s orders, and although Kristy’s mom is there for backup, Kristy can’t suppress her natural take-charge instincts.
“Decaf,” Watson agreed with a smile.
“You hungry?” Kristy transferred her attention to me.
“Already bageled. With cream cheese. And lox,” I said.
“Well, I need to English muffin,” Kristy said, then grinned. “Come on, you can keep me company.”
Kristy’s mother and stepfather headed for the kitchen table.
“Anyone else want an English muffin?” Kristy asked.
“No,” said Watson. “Thanks.”
Mrs. Brewer shook her head.
Andrew marched into the kitchen with Scout and Karen, who had Pumpkin on her shoulder.
“I’m hungry,” said Andrew. “And so is my dog.”
“Scout eats at night now,” Karen reminded him. “Once a day.”
“I can feed my dog when I want to,” Andrew protested.
Mrs. Brewer put a hand out and caught Andrew gently by the arm as he headed for the pantry. She pulled him up onto her lap. “Andrew,” she said, “Scout is fed at night. You know that. You help feed her.”
“If you’re hungry, I’ll toast a muffin for you,” Kristy said to me.
“Ah-choo,” I said. “Allergies.” My nose was becoming stuffy.
“Oh. Sorry!” said Karen. “Come on, Pumpkin. Come on, Scout.”
They left, and Andrew started to slide out of Mrs. Brewer’s lap. But she stopped him.