“That’s my girl!” Dad said. He patted my head. “We’ll try again later. Maybe Trumpet will be calmer by then.”
She wasn’t. As soon as I went back into the music room after dinner, Trumpet came galloping in and hurled herself onto the armchair. She sat down and looked at me like she couldn’t wait for me to start playing.
I glared at her. “If you like it so much,” I said, “why don’t you shut up and let me play? You’d appreciate it a lot more if you could hear it! Believe me!”
“I think it’s way better when Trumpet sings along,” Isaac said snottily.
“Isaac, go away!” I snapped.
“AUWF AUWF,” went Trumpet, like she agreed with me.
But she didn’t agree about letting me practice. No matter what I played, as soon as I started to sing, she would throw back her head and join in. The weird thing was, she didn’t do it when I played without singing. The piano by itself just made her cock her head, or lie down and listen politely. But there was something about singing that made her go bananas.
I hoped it wasn’t just my singing. I know this will sound stupid, but I was kind of like, Does this dog know something about my voice that all my teachers don’t?
“Maybe I’m not as good as I thought!”
“That’s ridiculous,” Dad said, tugging on one of my braids. “You’re our little musical genius. Whose opinion matters more, mine or some dog’s?” He sat down on the bench beside me and played a dramatic chord. Trumpet sat up. “Check this out,” Dad said. He started to play “Great Balls of Fire.” The minute he started to sing, Trumpet started to howl. He kept playing, and she kept howling all the way through.
“As if one tone-deaf howler wasn’t bad enough,” Mom joked when he finished. “But seriously, Ella, you know you’re wonderful. Everyone agrees, even the premier music critic in the country.” She was talking about herself. She jokes a lot about what an important critic she is, but it’s true that lots of people who care about classical music read her online column like Mozart has come back from the dead to tell them what to think.
“Maybe she wouldn’t howl at a really good singer, though,” I said.
“Hey,” Dad said, pretending to be offended.
“You are a really good singer, Ella,” Mom said. “But here, let’s test that theory.” She put in a CD. Sure enough, as soon as Charlotte Church started singing, Trumpet began to howl.
That made me feel a little better. Only not really, because I realized that not only would it be impossible for me to practice, but now I couldn’t even listen to my music. Trumpet would howl at everything.
I was beginning to think we couldn’t have gotten a worse pet for this family. Surely Aunt Golda had noticed this problem of Trumpet’s? What had she done about it? Why would she leave a disaster like this to me?
It got worse at bedtime. We didn’t have a dog bed for her yet, and Trumpet didn’t want to sleep in her traveling bag. Mom spread out a few towels on the floor of the kitchen and shut the door while Trumpet was sniffing them suspiciously.
Immediately Trumpet started howling. She howled and howled like someone was poking her with knitting needles or trying to steal her ears.
“Ignore her,” Mom said. “She’ll go to sleep eventually.”
She didn’t. Finally, after an hour, Dad went and opened the door of the kitchen. He meant to yell at her, but as soon as the door moved, Trumpet shoved herself through the gap and galloped upstairs. She charged into my room, where I was sitting on my bed, reading one of our summer assignments for sixth-grade English. Trumpet practically threw herself under my bed.
Dad came running up behind her. “Where did she go?” he asked, panting. I pointed down at the floor under my bed.
Dad shook his head. “Maybe we should let her stay there,” he said. “If it lets us all sleep. Would you mind?”
“I guess not,” I said. “As long as she doesn’t howl.”
“I want her to sleep under my bed!” Isaac shouted, running into the hall in his bulldozer pajamas.
Dad steered him back to his room. “Maybe some other night, champ,” he said as he tucked him back in.
I leaned over the edge of the bed, lifted up the blanket, and peered underneath. Trumpet was flopped out on the carpet under my bed. She looked asleep, but she opened her eyes when I peeked at her. Her tail swished back and forth.
“All right,” I said. “But don’t you dare make a sound.” I dropped the blanket. And I didn’t hear a peep out of her for the rest of the night.
On Sunday it was still wet outside, but it wasn’t pouring anymore. So we put Trumpet out in the yard while I practiced. At first I thought it was going to work. I got all the way to the third line of “Alhambra” before Trumpet’s big ears heard me through the window. Then she came and sat down right outside the sunroom windows and howled and howled and howled. I could hear her perfectly clearly with all the windows closed. What was worse, so could all the neighbors. Finally Mr. Sorenstam next door called to beg for a little peace, and we had to bring Trumpet inside.
It was a mess. Trumpet howled when I tried to practice. She barked whenever we turned on the radio. Even the TV could make her go crazy if anyone tried to sing, like in show theme songs or commercials. We all took turns trying to make her shut up. Isaac yelled at her, but she just barked louder like she thought it was a volume competition. Mom tried to lock her into other rooms in the house, including the basement. That obviously didn’t work because Trumpet hated it, and she made sure we all knew about it. Dad looked at Trumpet sternly and said, “Now, Trumpet, why don’t you be a good dog for once?” (That’s kind of how he disciplines us, too.)
Trumpet went: “AUUWWF!”
As for me, I tried to ignore her. But she followed me all over the house. I don’t know what about me was so fascinating. I’m only interesting when I sing, and now I couldn’t even do that, thanks to Trumpet. I tried to hide from her a couple of times, but she found me, wagging her tail every time.
By the end of Sunday, I was really tired. I needed a break. I needed to practice!
For the first time in my life, I couldn’t wait for school to start.
Dad knocked on my bedroom door to wake me up on Monday morning. I guess Trumpet thought we were being attacked, because she shot out from under the bed, barking like crazy. She threw herself at the door, “awuuu”-ing and howling. Dad opened it in a hurry.
“Shush, shush, shush!” he said, but it was too late. Trumpet had woken Mom. Normally Mom gets up after we leave for school. She rents an office downtown, where she goes to write during the day. The deal is that Dad takes us to school in the morning, and she picks us up again in the afternoon. That way she gets to sleep a little later.
But not this morning. And when Mom hasn’t gotten enough sleep, she can be really cranky about it.
“Henry!” she hollered from her room.
“Sorry, honey!” Dad called back. “Ella, will you let Trumpet outside?”
I scrambled out of bed and went downstairs in my pajamas. Trumpet thumped down the steps behind me, wagging her tail. I opened the door to the backyard, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Trumpet pushed past me and started trotting around the yard, nosing at the dandelions in the bright morning sunshine.
Suddenly I froze. There was someone in the yard behind mine. He was standing on his deck, like I was standing on mine. And now he was staring at me and my dog.
It was Nikos Stavros. He’s in my grade at school. Even though his yard is right behind mine, we almost never see each other. I mean, there’s not much reason to go into my yard. I’m usually inside, practicing my music. And he’s usually inside, studying, as far as I know. He’s one of the smartest guys in our class.
So what are the chances that he would be in his backyard right when I opened the door in my pajamas? I mean, right?
Not that I care. I’m not like Tara and Natasha, who obsess and giggle over boys all the time. I try not to pay attention to boys. They’ll just distract me from
my musical career.
But seriously! My pajamas have little cows playing musical instruments all over them!
Cows!
Plus my hair is always a gigantic curly mess first thing in the morning. I wanted to run inside, jump back into bed, and stay there for the rest of sixth grade. But he was already waving to me.
“Hey Ella!” he called. “Ready for the first day of school?”
“Yeah,” I said, pointing at my pajamas. “Don’t I look ready?”
He laughed. That made me feel a little better. But not a lot.
“Is that your dog?” he asked.
I’d nearly forgotten about Trumpet, what with all the emotionally scarring pajama trauma happening. “Oh. Yeah,” I said. I tried to smooth down my hair, but I could feel it flipping up in ways that hair really shouldn’t, at least not in front of boys. “I mean, sort of. For now.”
“He’s so handsome,” Nikos said, leaning on the rail of his deck. Nikos can get away with saying words like “handsome” because he’s cool as well as smart. I mean, if Parker Green likes him, you know he’s cool.
And he’s pretty good-looking. I wouldn’t notice something like that, but Tara followed him around for a while last year, so he must be. He has dark hair and dark eyes and he looks kind of like that hot Greek guy in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.
When Tara found out he lived behind me, she even tried to be friends with me so I’d invite her over. But there’s not a lot to do at my house if you don’t want to listen to Sarah Brightman CDs or play the piano. That’s another reason I don’t hang out with girls from school very much — I feel like we’d probably have nothing in common. Only my music-camp friends get me, and they all live in other states.
Anyway, I showed Tara my goldfish, and then she wanted to go “tan” on my deck, which was funny because her skin is already this perfect dark brown color. But she’d even brought a bikini to wear and everything. I told her I didn’t “tan” and that too much sun was bad for your skin, and then she got kind of mad. So I let her go hang out on my deck by herself, but Nikos never came outside. I could have told her he hardly ever does.
She didn’t come back after that.
“Actually, Trumpet’s a she,” I said to Nikos. “And we might not keep her. She’s really loud.”
“Oh, that’s what I heard yesterday!” Nikos said, snapping his fingers. “I was thinking, gee, Ella’s really out of practice.”
“Ha-ha-ha,” I said, but I couldn’t help smiling at him. He has a cute smile. I mean, not that I noticed.
“Well, you should keep her anyway,” he said. “She’s cute.”
Trumpet went up to the fence and wagged her tail at him like she understood.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” I said, smoothing my hair down again. “Come on, Trumpet!”
She came trotting back obediently.
Nikos waved again. “See you in school!” he called.
I took Trumpet back inside and went to look at myself in the mirror. Did I look as embarrassed — and as embarrassing — as I thought?
Oh, yes. My hair was in prime morning crazy mode. And I was blushing, so my face was all pink. I figured no one had ever had a more embarrassing dog.
That’s what I thought until I got to school, anyway. I was in Mr. Peary’s class, with Nikos and Parker and Tara and Natasha and Heidi and a bunch of other kids. Mr. Peary seemed interesting. He made us all move our desks into a U shape so we were all facing each other, which was cool because we’d never done something like that before. While we were moving our desks, Parker Green came in. He usually looks really calm, like nothing bothers him, but that day his hair was kind of windblown and he was breathing like he’d been running. He handed Mr. Peary a note and said that his dog had made him late.
I had no idea Parker had a dog. I was glad my dog hadn’t made me late. Mom would have been really mad. She was already pretty grumpy about being woken up and about having to come home in the middle of the day to let Trumpet out.
My desk was on one end of the U, close to Mr. Peary’s desk. Heidi Tyler pushed her desk in beside mine. She gave me a friendly smile. Heidi is nice to everyone. She’s a little scary, though, because she’s the tallest girl in the class — much taller than me — and she breaks things by accident all the time. I don’t know what her science-fair project was last year, but whatever it was, it exploded during the fair, leaving mysterious smelly black-and-green goop all over Heidi and the judges. In case you’re wondering, she didn’t win. (Nikos did.) She’s also the kind of girl whose soda can always sprays fizz all over everyone when she opens it. Every single time. I know she doesn’t mean to be such a klutz, but it’s still sort of dangerous to be around her.
Parker and Nikos were on the other side of the classroom, beside the windows. When I glanced over at them, Nikos actually smiled at me. I couldn’t remember him doing that before. But then, I didn’t usually look at him either.
“All right,” Mr. Peary said. “Let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves. Tell us your name and something interesting about yourself.”
As usual, the only interesting thing I could think of about myself had to do with music, so I talked about the new songs I’d learned over the summer. Nobody looked very excited. But I was sure they would be once they heard me sing at the talent show.
Heidi went next. She stood up and said, “I’m Heidi, and this summer my family went to New Zealand, so I got to skydive — well, tandem skydive — and shear a sheep — well, hold a sheep while someone else sheared it — and climb a volcano and swim in the Pacific Ocean and see the place where they filmed a Lord of the Rings battle and it was totally awesome.”
See, that was a lot more interesting than anything I could have said. I hoped I would have thrilling stories like that once I was world-famous and traveled everywhere to sing in concert halls and stuff. Great-Aunt Golda would have loved Heidi — Heidi was clearly “experiencing life to the utmost!” already.
But the story everyone got most excited about was Parker’s, which was funny because it was the shortest. He just stood up and said, “I’m Parker, and I have a new dog.”
“What kind of dog?” Nikos asked.
“A golden retriever,” said Parker. “His name is Merlin.”
Heidi nearly fell out of her chair, she was so excited. I’m not exaggerating. Her chair tipped to the side and she had to grab her desk to stay upright. “Oh, wow!” she yelped. “That is so cool! I love dogs! I want one so badly!”
I realized I could have said I had a new dog, too. Then everyone might be asking me about Trumpet and what kind of dog she was. Maybe Nikos would say he’d seen her and Tara would be jealous. Maybe Heidi would be giving me all that hyperactive attention. But I didn’t want that anyway. Did I?
That’s when Natasha spotted a dog out on the playground. She pointed out the window and everyone got out of their seats to look. I wasn’t sure if we’d get in trouble for doing that, so I stayed where I was. It turned out to be Parker’s dog! He had to leave class and go get his dog from the playground in the middle of the school day. He looked really embarrassed about it, both when he left and when he came back, even though it just made everyone want to talk to him even more than they usually do. Parker can look cool no matter what happens to him. But if that had been me, I would have died of embarrassment. I would not have been able to come back to the classroom, I think. I would have been too sure that Tara and Natasha were making fun of me.
So I was lucky, I guess, that my dog wasn’t as embarrassing as Parker’s new dog.
But it was still a relief when lunchtime came, because it meant I could sneak off to the music room and practice. I ate my sandwich in the cafeteria as fast as I could. I used to sit with the other girls in my class at lunch, but then they would bother me and ask me a lot of questions if I tried to get up and go practice. It was like they thought it was too weird that I actually wanted to be playing piano. So it’s easier to sit by myself. I can eat faster that way, anyhow.<
br />
I saw Heidi and Kristal and Rebekah sit with Parker and his friends. Tara and Natasha didn’t like that too much. They probably wished they’d thought of it first. They kept whispering to each other and looking over at Parker’s table. But Parker didn’t notice. I thought that was kind of funny. Rebekah might have noticed — she’s kind of quiet and sweet, and she’s always trying to make people happy, so she pays attention to who is looking at her and what everyone is saying. Not Heidi, though. Heidi was too excited about Parker’s dog to notice anything else. I wondered if she would think that Trumpet was “the most amazing fantastic beautiful thing she’d ever seen,” too. Somehow I think Heidi would fall in love with any dog.
Then Heidi knocked over her tray and got green beans and milk all over the table and all over Danny and Kristal. See what I mean? It’s not safe to be near her.
I hurried away to the music room soon after that. Miss Caruso, the music teacher, doesn’t mind if I use it whenever I want to. Sometimes she’s eating lunch in there and she listens to me play. But today the room was empty. I sat down at the piano and felt calm again, like I hadn’t felt since Trumpet arrived. I warmed up my voice, played through both of my pieces, and felt a lot better.
The only problem was that I knew it couldn’t last. After school I had my piano lesson. Then I’d go home, and Trumpet would be there. Usually I practiced until dinner, but if I tried to do that, the howling would drive me crazy.
What was I going to do?
When the final bell rang, I got my stuff and walked slowly out to the parking lot. I spotted Isaac running around the playground with something pink and shiny in his hand. He was yelling, “Ha-ha! Can’t catch me! Ha-ha!”
“Isaac Finegold!” a girl’s voice screamed. Uh-oh. I ran over and saw Rosie Sanchez throwing a major temper tantrum. Her older brother is Danny, who’s in my grade. Rosie is in fifth grade. I don’t know why Isaac was bothering a fifth-grader. Especially Rosie. He really should know better than that.