But that was before we got to school and things started to go terribly wrong.
We could hear shouting from the sixth-grade hallway as we went through the front doors, and I could tell that one of the people shouting was Rory Mason. Rory is one of my best friends. She sang “Leader of the Pack” in the talent show with me and Ella. We have this plan where after high school the two of us are going to backpack around New Zealand together jumping out of planes and spelunking in dark caves and stuff, because I know she wouldn’t be scared to do any of that and I figure that’d make me braver, too.
Then I realized that the other person shouting was Avery, and I was like, Oh, no. Every time Avery gets in trouble at school, his parents get super-mad and then there’s even more yelling and fighting, and then he’s grumpy for months afterward. So you’d think he would try harder not to get in trouble, but sometimes it’s like trouble just falls on him. I don’t mean accident-trouble, like what happens to me. I mean, if someone’s going to pick a fight or if someone’s going to get blamed for something, it’s probably Avery.
Also, I know Rory, and she pretty much says what she really thinks, and she would totally not be afraid of hitting him. Plus, I didn’t need my best friend and my secret friend hating each other’s guts. It’s hard enough to stop Avery from complaining about everyone at school.
“She says you took it, Avery!” Rory yelled as we came up to the crowd that was standing around our lockers. I saw Rory’s little stepsister, Cameron, standing behind her, looking all mad, so I figured that was the “she” Rory was talking about. That meant real trouble because Rory is like a Rottweiler about defending Cameron (who is eight) and her brother, Cormac (who is six).
“I didn’t!” Avery yelled back. “She’s lying!”
“Cameron wouldn’t lie!” Rory shoved him in the chest.
“Yeah!” Cameron yelled. “So there! Meanie!”
“I don’t need her stupid lunch money!” Avery shouted. He looked really upset. His green polo shirt was coming untucked and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists. I know that makes him look like he’s about to punch someone, but I think it actually means he’s trying to stop himself from getting too mad.
“Give it back, Avery!” Danny called.
I thought that was kind of unfair. We didn’t even know the whole story yet. Danny is like that sometimes. He jumps right into action without thinking about what he’s doing or what other people might feel. I mean, he’s my friend, but sometimes I think he needs to be careful he doesn’t become a more popular version of Avery.
Besides, here’s something to know about Avery. Yeah, I know, he’s a bully and he says mean things and he likes making other people as miserable as he is. But he’s not a liar, and he’s not a thief. I was pretty sure about that.
“Yeah, Avery, stop being a jerk!” Tara Washington shouted. Like she should talk, by the way. She is absolutely as mean as Avery when she wants to be.
Then Brett Arbus poked his nose in and offered to buy Cameron’s lunch in his smiley, slippery way. I don’t really get Brett. I know the other girls think he’s cute, but I think he has shifty eyes. Plus, I’ve seen him wrinkle his nose at me a couple of times when I’ve fallen over in the cafeteria and spilled my lunch tray everywhere. So I know he has a low tolerance for klutzes, which means we definitely wouldn’t get along.
“It’s not about the money,” Rory said. “It’s about pushing around a little girl! What kind of freak-show coward are you, Avery?”
Well, OK. So then I had to get involved. Didn’t I? I mean, poor Avery, if he was innocent. Or if he wasn’t, then Rory needed my help.
I jumped in and grabbed Avery’s arm. “Stop fighting!” I said. “You guys are both going to get in trouble again!” Avery shook me off and kicked Yumi Matsumoto’s locker really hard with his boot. I was surprised he didn’t leave a dent. If I’d tried to do that, by the way, I would have fallen over and sprained my ankle, most likely.
“I didn’t steal any stupid lunch money,” Avery growled, glaring at Rory.
“Cameron says he did!” Rory insisted. “Why would she lie about that?”
OK, I had to admit that was pretty confusing. “Maybe there’s a mistake,” I said. “Hey, Cameron, did you maybe just lose it?”
“No!” Cameron said, pouting. Cameron is a very cute third-grader. She looks like a miniature Nicole Kidman, with perfect pale skin and vibrant red curls. But I’m afraid being that cute helps her get away with anything. I mean, I would never tell Rory that her sister is a bit spoiled, but … she kind of is. “It was in my backpack and then it was gone! He took it!” Cameron said decisively.
“Out of your backpack?” Rory said. “I thought you said he took it from you.”
Oh, I thought. So it could be a mistake. I tried to give Avery a reassuring look, but he was too busy scowling at Cameron to meet my eyes.
“He did!” Cameron said. “It was mine!”
“But did you see him take it out of your backpack?” I asked.
Cameron’s blue eyes were filling with tears, but I’ve seen her do that lots of times to get what she wants, so I wasn’t sure it was all that real. “I know he did!” she cried. “I know he took it! He’s mean!”
I couldn’t really argue with that, but I could see that Rory was confused, too. She’ll do anything for Cameron and Cormac, but she’s also really fair. I knew she wouldn’t have accused Avery if she hadn’t been sure he did it. And now she wasn’t so sure.
That’s when we heard the dreaded sound of Vice Principal Taney’s voice.
“What is all this?” he barked, hurrying toward us. He looked really mad, almost as mad as he was when someone hit him with a piece of bologna during the cafeteria food fight a couple weeks earlier. I felt like my feet were frozen in place. It was like someone just piled a whole pack of Great Danes on my shoulders. I was too terrified to move.
Rory and Avery and Cameron were stuck there, too, but everyone else vanished like they’d been Hoovered up by an invisible vacuum cleaner. I didn’t blame them — I’d have run away from Mr. Taney, too, if I could — but still, thanks a lot, Danny, for sticking around to defend me.
Mr. Taney has long, bony fingers. He was waggling one of them at us like he was hoping it would turn us all into salamanders.
“Sir, it’s just a misunderstanding —” I said as fast as I could. “Really, there’s nothing wrong, everyone’s —”
“Detention!” Mr. Taney shouted. “All of you!” He stopped in front of us. His white hair was sticking up in grouchy tufts. There was a spot of toothpaste on his mustard-yellow striped tie.
“All of us?” Cameron squeaked, looking outraged. “That’s not fair! I didn’t do anything! I’m a good girl!”
Mr. Taney dislikes all the students, but unlike most people in the world, I think he hates the littler ones even more than the big ones. He pointed his bony forefinger at her little button nose. “Detention,” he snarled. He pointed it at Rory, then Avery, then me. “Detention. Detention. Detention.”
“Can’t we explain —” Rory started to say, but Mr. Taney cut her off.
“My office. Lunch,” he snapped. “And you all have after-school detention for the next week.”
“A whole week!” Cameron shrieked.
“Push me, and I’ll make it two,” Mr. Taney hissed. “Now get to class.”
So that’s how I ended up in detention with Rory and Avery after school that Thursday. See? It wasn’t really my fault, right? But maybe it’s good that I was there, because Rory and Avery kept throwing each other these fierce hostile looks, and I’m not sure they could have stayed quiet that whole time if I wasn’t sitting in between them trying to block the angry vibes.
And in some ways, it’s definitely good that I got detention, because of what happened on the way home.
Avery rocketed out of his seat the minute Mr. Guare told us we could go. I don’t even think he stopped at his locker. He shot out the front door of the school, practically leav
ing puffs of smoke behind him like a cartoon.
Rory and Cameron walked me to my locker and then stood well back so nothing would fall out of it onto their heads. I don’t have any idea how my locker becomes so messy so quickly, but I never have time to clean it and, anyway, at least I know everything’s in there somewhere. I hope.
“You want a ride home?” Rory asked me as I untangled my sweater from my math book and spilled jelly beans all over the hall. “I can’t promise it’ll be fun. Dad’s not happy at all.”
“It’s not my fault,” Cameron said for the eightieth time. “Avery’s mean. I know he took my lunch money.”
Rory didn’t bother answering her.
“That’s OK,” I said. “I brought my bike today.”
“All right,” Rory said, pulling her ponytail tighter. “See you tomorrow, Heidi. Sorry about detention.”
“It’s no big deal,” I said. “I finished most of my homework, so it’s not all bad.” I smiled at Rory to show her I knew it wasn’t her fault.
Rory took Cameron’s hand and they went off down the hall toward Coach Mason’s office. I wrestled with my locker until I got it shut, and then I went out the front door and unlocked my bike. It was the last one there. I hung my shiny blue helmet on the handlebars and pushed it across the street.
There’s a big field across from the school with a track running around it, which grown-ups use a lot for exercise. You can usually find someone jogging there, wearing sweatpants and headphones and a determined look, but this afternoon it was empty. Trees and thick bushes grow around the edges, hiding the field from the streets around it, and there’s a big space in the middle that the town uses for summer sports. I play soccer there a lot.
My bike went bump bump bump over the dirt as I pushed it toward the low wall that runs along one side of the track, under the trees. Avery was sitting on the wall, throwing stones at a tree trunk. Sometimes he waits for me there so we can walk home together.
“I have this great idea,” he said as I walked up. “Let’s take that lunch money I ‘stole’ and run away to New York City and never come back.”
“I know you didn’t steal it,” I said. I dropped my bike on the grass and hopped up on the wall next to him. “Are your parents going to be really mad?”
“Well, Dad’s staying in a hotel again this week,” Avery said, “so maybe she won’t tell him, since they’re ‘not speaking.’ But Mom —” He threw another stone, really hard, and it bounced off the bark with a clunk.
“Maybe if you explain it to her … That it was a mistake …” I said. “I can talk to her if you want.”
“Whatever,” Avery said. “It’s not worth it. If she wants to get mad, fine. I don’t care. That stupid little brat.” He jumped down, picked up a handful of rocks, and tossed them all at once. Blip blip bonk bonk bonk they went as they pinged off the tree and scattered to the ground.
I didn’t argue with him. If I tried to defend everyone Avery gets mad at, or if I tried to defend him to all my other friends, I’d never have time for anything else. “Why do you think Cameron said it was you?” I asked.
Instead of answering, he shoved his hand in his pocket, pulled out a small white object, and tossed it at me. I lunged to catch it and would have fallen off the wall, but Avery caught my arms and pushed me back up.
“There you go, throwing yourself at me again,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Thanks,” I said with a grin, peering at the thing in my hand. It was an eraser, little and white and shaped like a tiny white dog — some kind of terrier, I guessed, with a red collar around its neck and a little pink tongue hanging out. “This is so cute,” I said.
“I thought you’d like it,” Avery said with a shrug. I looked up in surprise, and he went, “Don’t get all mushy-wushy on me, Tyler. I found it on the playground yesterday. Problem is, the brat saw it at the same time and she pitched a fit when I wouldn’t let her have it.” He poked a finger in one ear and turned it, scrunching up his face. “Man, she’s loud. I told her to go annoy someone else and left her there screaming. Anyway, I guess that’s why she’s mad at me.”
“Do you think she made it all up?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Either way, she’s an annoying brat.”
“Wow,” I said, flipping the eraser between my fingers. “So you won this in a fight with an eight-year-old girl. No wonder I have such a crush on you.”
“Shut up,” he said, grabbing my foot and pulling off my sneaker.
“Give that back!” I yelled as he ran off across the field. “I’m not going to chase you with one shoe, Avery! Get back here!”
“What, this?” he called, stopping several feet away. He tossed my shoe from one hand to the other. “You want this?”
I crossed my arms. “I’m not going to come after it,” I said.
“OK,” he said with a shrug. “Then we can just stay here forever. Suits me. I don’t want to go home.”
Rrrrrrrooorrrroorrrrrooooooo.
I tilted my head at Avery. “Did you just growl at me?” I asked. I was sure I’d heard something — something like a growl or a whimper or a mumble. Had it come from the bushes by the wall? Some of them had thick leaves and overgrown vines tangled around them. Was there an animal hiding in one of them?
“You’re losing it, Tyler,” Avery said, wiggling his finger by the side of his head like I was crazy.
“You didn’t hear that?”
“I didn’t hear anything,” he said with another shrug. He tossed my shoe behind his back and caught it in his other hand, then waved it at me.
“We shouldn’t be late for dinner,” I said, deciding to ignore the weird noise in the bushes. “Then we’ll get in even more trouble.”
“Bet my mom wouldn’t notice,” he said.
“Bet she would,” I said. “Avery, give me back my sneaker.”
“Nope,” he said, dancing back another step.
“You’re a pain in my butt,” I said.
“That’s why you’re in loooooooooove with me,” he said. “Hey, do you know you’re wearing two different-colored socks?”
I looked down and realized that my shoeless foot was wearing a dark blue sock, while the other one was wearing a yellow sock with black polka dots. How had I done that? I must have been in such a hurry that morning that I hadn’t even noticed. My room is always kind of a mess, no matter how much my mom yells at me to clean it. It’s easy to get things mixed up in there.
“Yeah, I did that on purpose,” I said.
“Sure you did,” he said.
“If you don’t give me back my shoe right now,” I said, “I’m going to tell everyone at school that you’re secretly in love with me.”
“Like anyone would believe that, when I’m so far out of your league,” Avery said, but he was frowning. “Hey, I have an idea. Since you like dogs so much, how about, if you want it — then you can fetch it!” He turned and threw my sneaker as hard as he could. It flew up in a huge arc, up and up and up and way out across the field.
“Avery!” I shouted, but then suddenly there was a huge rustling sound, and something exploded out of the bushes. A blur of black-and-white fur flew out, shot past Avery, and zoomed across the grass. Before my sneaker even hit the ground, the fur blur was halfway to where it was going to land.
I gasped.
It was a dog — the biggest, furriest dog I’d ever seen.
Avery’s mouth was wide open. I’m sure mine was, too. We stared as the dog pounced on my sneaker, wrapped his massive jaws around it, and came trotting back toward us. His glorious black tail swung back and forth like a giant flag in a parade. He held his head up high and his long fur swished shaggily as he pranced over the grass.
He was gorgeous.
The dog trotted right past Avery and over to me. He was so huge, his head was level with my knees even though I was sitting up on a wall. The dog dropped my sneaker right in my lap, nudged my knee with his nose, and looked up at me with the biggest, softest brown eye
s I’d ever seen. A long pink tongue hung out of his mouth and he looked like he was smiling all over his shaggy black face.
My heart nearly leaped out of my chest when he looked at me. It was like we could read each other’s mind, and they were saying the same thing: Hey there, best friend.
Well, hi there,” I said, holding my hand out to the dog. His tail wagged harder as he sniffed my fingers thoroughly and then licked them.
Avery came a bit closer, staying out of the dog’s reach. “What — where did that — what is that?” he asked.
“It’s a dog,” I said, and Avery snorted. The dog started rubbing his massive head against my knees and I buried my hands in his fur to scratch behind his ears. “It’s the best dog in the world. Thank you for bringing me my sneaker, best dog ever.”
“That’s not a dog,” Avery said. “That’s, like, a bear cub or something.”
“It’s a Newfoundland,” I said. “They’re amazing dogs. The dog in Peter Pan was a Newfoundland — you know, the one that took care of the kids before they went off to Neverland.”
“Uh, wrong, Tyler,” Avery said. “I saw that movie. It was a Saint Bernard.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Yeah, in the movie. In the book, which came first, Nana was a Newfoundland.”
“Whatever,” said Avery. “You read too much.” He stared at me as I pulled my sneaker on. It was a little slobbery, but I didn’t care. I hopped off the wall and knelt beside the dog, who leaned toward my face for a minute, sniffing, and then slurped his tongue up my cheek. I laughed and rubbed his solid white neck and chest. I read somewhere that dogs like that. He sure seemed to; his tail went flap flap flap and I could practically feel the breeze it made.
“Hey there, handsome,” I said to him. “Are you the best dog ever? Did you teach Avery a lesson about stealing my shoe? Yes, you did! What are you doing out here? Aren’t you the handsomest? How did you get to be so handsome?” And other stuff along those lines. That’s pretty much what happens to me whenever I’m around dogs. I get all googly and say whatever pops into my head (well, OK, maybe that’s not so different from how I usually am). And right then I was too happy to think straight. I just wanted to throw my arms around the dog and never let go of him. He had the sweetest face I’d ever seen and I felt like he loved me already and I was, like, ready to jump out of an airplane for him or whatever I needed to do to keep him.