The Dog Days of Charlotte Hayes Read online

  Chapter 3

  After another hot walk home from school, I go directly out back and take care of Beauregard. I’m really thirsty myself but set about filling his water bowl first. Then I sit next to him and do the belly rub thing. He pushes his head into my lap. Since I’m wearing shorts, I soon feel saliva dripping down my leg. I make a face, ’cause I’m repulsed, but don’t move away.

  I look over at the blue doghouse Daddy built. It doesn’t offer much refuge anymore. Beauregard recently outgrew it. Sometimes he goes in, turns around, and lies down, but his head and front paws end up hanging out the front.

  Just as I’m heading into the house, Luanne shows up.

  “What are you frowning for?” she asks.

  “I’m thirsty and hot, but I had to take care of Beauregard first,” I say. “That dog would starve and die of dehydration if it weren’t for me.”

  “Poor guy.” Luanne walks over to Beauregard and lavishes soft strokes about his head. “How’s my big baby?” she murmurs. Beauregard’s tail starts swishing a mile a minute as he soaks up all the lovin’ Luanne is giving him.

  Luanne always dotes on Beauregard. She’s a bona fide dog person. She even has her own dog, a little brown mutt, Jester, who gets to live inside. He has his own stuffed animal collection. Every time I see him he’s got a blue bunny, tan bear, or yellow duck hanging from his mouth.

  Unlike me, Luanne looks fresh and full of energy. Of course she lives between the school and my house, so she’s already made a pit stop at her own home to cool off and get a drink.

  “I’m going inside now,” I tell her.

  She gives Beauregard a final pat and follows me in.

  Mama is in the kitchen, bent over, Justin Lee clutching her hands. He isn’t walking on his own yet, so he and Mama are practicing.

  I can’t open the fridge quick enough to get out a can of grape soda. Air hisses as I push in the tab, and within seconds half the can is rolling around in my stomach.

  Luanne is baby talking to Justin Lee in a singsong voice as he takes unsteady steps with Mama’s help. He likes the attention from Luanne and starts grinning up a storm. Luanne tickles his stomach and, taking him from Mama, balances him on her hip. “You are getting heavy, mister!” she says.

  Luanne is also a baby person. Me, I’m not so sure. Babies seem like even more work than dogs.

  Last week Agnes insisted on teaching me how to do a French braid. I didn’t really care to learn, but sometimes she can be real bossy, and it’s not worth putting up a fight. Turns out I’m glad I didn’t raise much of a stink, because once I got the knack of weaving hair into a tidy design, I kind of enjoyed it. So now I’m up in my room, brushing Luanne’s hair so I can braid it up fancy.

  Once I get everything all smoothed out, I lay the brush down on my bedspread. The brush is full of my orange hair, but now there’s a few of Luanne’s jet black hairs mixed in. Luanne’s mother is from the Philippines, and Luanne takes after her; she looks nothing like her daddy, who is freckled and brownish blond. I divide Luanne’s thick, shiny hair into three sections at the top and twist, gathering a little hair from each side as I go.

  “She still hasn’t talked,” Luanne says.

  “I know.”

  “She’s different, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.”

  There really isn’t much more to say about the new girl who appeared at our school two days ago—no one knows much about her—so we start talking about other stuff.

  “Wish my mom would have a baby. Ouch!” Luanne suddenly jumps a bit.

  “Sorry. Got to get it tight or it won’t look right.” Luanne’s an only child. I actually think she’s lucky, but I don’t say anything. Don’t want to appear ungrateful for my own sister and brother.

  “Mom said she’s done, said she’s happy with me and that one is enough. I’ll just have to visit Justin Lee. He’s so cute, isn’t he?”

  “I guess.” I do the last twist to Luanne’s hair and reach for a pink elastic band.

  “I said the other night, if we can’t have a baby in the house, then maybe we should get a puppy, but Mom said the same thing about Jester: one dog’s enough.”

  “In my family one dog is too much,” I say, sighing. “It’s not that anyone intends to be mean to Beauregard. He’s just…neglected. And lonely.”

  “He’s such a good boy. So calm and gentle. I bet he wouldn’t be any problem at all if you brought him in the house.”

  “That’s what I tried to tell Mama and Daddy last night, but they wouldn’t listen.” I secure the pink hair band at the end of Luanne’s braid and nudge her shoulder. “All done.”

  Luanne walks over to the mirror above my dresser and admires herself, turning her head from side to side. “Looks great.”

  “You can’t even see it from the back,” I say.

  “There’s no stray hairs sticking out, so it has to look good,” she replies.

  And it does. I don’t think even Agnes can do a French braid as neat as I can. I’ve always been good with my hands, though. I’m real good at art. The best at drawing in my class.

  I look out my bedroom window into the backyard below. Next door Mrs. Strickland is out, pulling some weeds in her flower bed. Beauregard is straining against his chain and wagging his tail, as if he’d like nothing more than to gallop over and give her a big slobbery kiss.

  I wish I could fix Beauregard’s problem as easily as I fixed Luanne’s hair. We’d both feel better, I’m sure.

  I wake up in the middle of the night, fuzzy-headed and trying to remember a dream. It was a nice dream, I know that much for sure, and I want to continue it. Bits and pieces float groggily back. A family I don’t know. Beauregard living with them. Him snuggled into a huge plaid doggy bed in the middle of their kitchen. Food and water bowls near the sink. Both bowls printed with his name. The letters were orange, and the room was painted yellow. Happiness. A feeling of happiness filled the room. And even though I wasn’t in the kitchen with that family, I was hugged by that happiness, the feeling still clinging to me. The feeling starts to dissipate, though, and I try to sink into sleep again. But it won’t come, and before I know it, I’m wide awake.

  I know what I have to do. I have to find Beauregard a new home.

  At breakfast Daddy is digging into a stack of pancakes, his favorite, and he looks pretty blissful, so I decide now would be as good a moment as any.

  “Maybe we should give Killer away,” I say.

  Daddy lowers his fork, and his eyebrows arch in surprise. “Why should we do that? I love Killer.” He raises his fork back up and points it at me. “You love that dog, too, don’t you, Charlotte?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’ve seen you with him. Petting him and talking to him. What kind of craziness are you up to? Have you lost your doggone mind?” He starts laughing. “Get it? Dog gone mind.” He pierces a piece of pancake and pops it in his mouth.

  Before I can say anything, Mama says, “I wouldn’t mind getting rid of Killer.”

  With that, Agnes bursts into a crying fit. “You can’t get rid of Killer!”

  Mama and Daddy both seem puzzled by her sudden outpouring of emotion over Killer, but I’m not exactly surprised by the tears. Agnes’s boyfriend called last night after dinner and broke up with her. I know she just wants an excuse to cry right now.

  Daddy was teasing her about her sorrow when it happened. “You had a boyfriend?” he asked. “Are you talking about the kid who comes around here with the long hair in his eyes? I thought that was a new girlfriend.”

  “With a name like Tom!”

  “Thought it was Jamie.”

  “That was my last boyfriend,” she wailed, and proceeded to stomp up to her room.

  At that point Daddy started to crack another joke, but Mama gave him a stern look, and he stopped superquick.

  “Awww…she’ll have a new boyfriend tomorrow,” he said, shrugging.

  Still pretending it’s the thought of Killer being given aw
ay that has upset her so, Agnes daintily dabs at her eyes with a napkin, trying to get herself under control.

  Daddy shoves another piece of pancake into his mouth. “See what you did, Charlotte, made your sister cry.” He winks at me to show he doesn’t really blame me and smiles. “Killer’s a jim-dandy dog. Hasn’t caused a moment’s trouble. Doesn’t dig. Doesn’t bark unless he has a reason to. And I paid good money for him, too. Why on earth would I go and give him away?”

  Mama answers the question for me. “He goes through dog food like crazy. I buy a big bag at the grocery store every week. I’d much rather spend that money on other things, wouldn’t you?”

  Justin Lee squishes a piece of pancake into his eye. It sticks, like a monocle, and he laughs proudly.

  Daddy starts laughing right along with him, ignoring what Mama has just said.

  “Yeah, think of the money you could save if you didn’t have that dog to feed,” I say, trying to get the conversation back on track.

  “Killer earns his keep. He’s our watchdog. I’ll tell you what, no one would dare break into our house at night. He’s already big, over a hundred pounds easy. Can you imagine when he’s full grown? That giant shadow of his in the moonlight and that big, deep bark? He’s our security system. A bag of dog food a week is cheap for that.” Daddy takes a piece of his own pancake, dabs it in syrup, and sticks it to his eye, copying Justin Lee’s antics.

  By now Justin Lee’s pancake monocle has fallen off, so he squishes another piece of pancake into his eye and starts chuckling like crazy. Daddy erupts with laughter, too. And Agnes starts crying all over again. The room is a noisy ruckus, except for Mama and me.

  Mama just looks at me and shakes her head at the commotion. Then she puts her head in her hands.

  The good news is that I just found out Mama is on my side, that she wouldn’t mind if Beauregard got a new home.

  The bad news is, though, she’s not the one who needs convincing.

  After a few minutes Agnes finally regains her composure enough to talk about how elections are being held at the high school for the senior homecoming queen and class attendants. You can tell by her voice she thinks she has a good chance of representing the freshman class. She probably will. Agnes is very popular. And pretty.

  Mama and Daddy become interested in the possibility of Agnes’s winning the homecoming election, and it’s apparent the conversation about Killer is over. I sigh and go through the breezeway at the back of the house. The dog food bag is kept in the corner there. At least Mama always remembers to buy food.

  I scoop a small bucket full of food, carry it out, and dump the contents into Beauregard’s food bowl. Every nugget is gone in about two seconds flat—he’s a true chowhound. Then I fill up the water bowl, which I know will be empty when I get home. It’s supposed to be another scorcher today.

  Back when school started near the end of August, I made a point of asking Daddy to at least refill the water bowl when he came home for lunch. He said he would, but somehow he always forgets. Makes me so mad. How can he forget if Beauregard is right there outside the kitchen window as he eats his lunch? I wonder how he’d feel if he had to spend an entire day in the hot sun without anything to drink.

  I take a few minutes to dutifully perform a morning belly rub. “What are we going to do, Beauregard?” I think about the dream I had about him happy in a new home.

  Beauregard rolls from his back onto his stomach and looks at me as if he trusts me with all his heart.

  “I’ll keep trying. We’ll find that family. Don’t worry,” I whisper to him.

  Suddenly Beauregard sits up and starts pawing at his neck with a frenzy, like something suddenly bit him.

  Fleas?

  I bolt to my feet. Would Daddy want to put up with fleas?

  I run back to the house. Agnes is putting the breakfast dishes into the sink, Mama is at the table, making out her grocery list, and Daddy is bouncing Justin Lee up and down on his knee.

  “Beauregard has fleas!” I announce, waiting for their horrified reactions.

  “That figures. He’s a dog. Dogs and fleas go together like bees and honey,” Daddy says, not even missing a bounce with Justin Lee.

  “But what if one jumps on me and I come into the house. We could have a real infestation, all of us scratching and red from bites.”

  “Ewww, that’s disgusting,” Agnes says, wrinkling her nose. “I’m staying away from that dog!”

  “See, maybe we should give him away after all,” I say.

  But all Daddy says is, “Mama, put a flea collar on your grocery list.”

  Mama doesn’t look too happy to be adding to her list, but she jots it down anyway.

  And before I know it, I’m on my way to school and my brain is still spinning, trying to come up with a decent plan.

  I can’t help thinking about fleas, too, and even though nothing’s biting me, I stop to scratch myself.

  Chapter 4

  At lunch Luanne starts whispering about the new girl, who is sitting all alone at a table, with only her food tray for company. She is staring hard at her Johnny Marzetti, which she only picks at. It’s almost as if she expects the lump of elbow noodles to carry on a conversation with her.

  The new girl has been at our school for three days now. She is very beautiful with long blond hair that curls at the ends. She has long eyelashes and never smiles, never speaks. She is also rich. Most of the kids here at Perry Avenue Elementary live in town, all in small older houses with varying degrees of peeling paint and broken-down front porches. But Grace Walters, the new girl, lives on the outskirts of town in a brand-new humongous brick house. It has a big arched window in the middle of the second story, and inside, you can see a gold chandelier hanging there. Our parents always slow down on Vinton Road to gawk at it. After you pass the house, all that can be seen for the next half mile is spanking white fence. And horses.

  I guess because she’s so weirdly beautiful and rich and hasn’t spoken, we all treat her like she’s an alien that’s been dropped off by a spaceship or something. No one is mean to her, really. We just don’t know what to say or do around her. So we stare at her and whisper.

  All at once a firecracker of an idea flashes through my head. What better home for Beauregard than Grace’s? Heck, if her family has horses, his size certainly shouldn’t bother them any. He’d be living in the lap of luxury. And Grace seems like such a gentle girl. I couldn’t imagine her yelling at him or mistreating him. I bet if I could talk Grace into wanting Beauregard, her father would offer like a thousand dollars for him. And that would be too good of a deal for my daddy to turn down, wouldn’t it?

  I pick up my tray. “I am going to sit with Grace Walters,” I announce to Luanne and my other friends. They look stunned. A few of them gasp.

  Luanne brushes her black bangs aside and says in a hushed voice, “You can’t.”

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “Well, I don’t really know…” My friend looks very perplexed.

  I leave her and the others to ponder my fate.

  With a thunk I plunk my tray down across from Grace. She gives a startled jump, and I notice that all of a sudden there is dead silence coming from my classmates. I can feel everyone’s collective eyeballs focusing on me and Grace, but I can’t force any words from my throat. We look at each other for a split second, then just as quickly withdraw our gazes. Just when I think I can’t stand it a moment more, Grace mumbles, “Thank you.”

  I sit down. “For what?”

  “Coming over here.”

  “Oh…sure.”

  For the first time I see Grace smile. I notice her two front teeth are crossed. Badly.

  She quickly covers her mouth with her hand and looks embarrassed. “I’m getting them fixed next month. Braces,” she mutters through her fingers.

  “That’s okay. I’ve got a little gap between mine.” I point at my front teeth.

  “I guess we’re opposites.” She smiles again and doesn’t seem as e
mbarrassed.

  She’s not an alien at all, I decide. She’s just shy.

  I want to bubble over about Beauregard and how he would make the perfect pet for her family, but I figure that might scare her off. I need to ease my way into this somehow.

  “Maybe you could come over to my house after school,” I finally say. “I live nearby. We can just walk there.” I won’t even say a word about Beauregard. I’ll have her over, she’ll fall in love with him, and that will be that.

  “I can’t,” Grace says. “My parents would want to meet your parents first. They have a rule about that.”

  “Oh…” I imagine her very proper parents meeting mine. Not good. Daddy with his red face and silly jokes. Mama all tired out. Our ramshackle old house. And dirty Beauregard chained up out back; he wouldn’t make a good first impression on grownups, especially rich ones.

  “Maybe you could come over to my house tomorrow,” Grace says. “My mom could pick us up after school. I live outside town, so she drives me every day.”

  I nod. “That would be great.”

  My parents don’t have any rules about meeting parents. Of course they practically know everyone in our town, since it’s so small. Maybe me going over would work out better anyway, I decide. I could make up some sob story about how I have an allergy or something to Beauregard and that he needs a new home. And that would give me enough time to maybe give Beauregard a bath before they finally see him, so he would look pretty and fluffy and handsome for both Grace and her parents.

  Grace gets shy again all of a sudden, and I am at a loss for what else to say. I motion to everyone at my old table to come join us and am met with frozen faces. I motion again, a little more desperately. Luanne finally comes through, lifting her tray and heading our way.

  The others just sit and continue to stare as if they were witnessing the parting of the Red Sea.

  Luanne says hello to Grace, but Grace just nods and starts acting fascinated with her Johnny Marzetti all over again. I shrug, and then Luanne, who is never one to be quiet for long, starts talking to me like we are the only two at the table.