Cinnamon Bun Besties Page 6

  Cinnamon Bun was cute as ever, though. She glanced up at me, then stuffed her pretty little head into the outside pocket of my pack where the treats were.

  I couldn’t believe it. It was her! It was really her! Cinnamon Bun—just the way I remembered. Adorable. Amazing. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  I managed to steady my breathing and bent down slowly.

  She looked up at me. I swear she was smiling at me. Then …

  “Shoo!”

  I’d forgotten about the old man. Now that I was nearby, I could see he was about my grandpa’s age, and that he carried a metal cane. He smacked the air near Cinnamon Bun with the cane. “Go! Get! Gone!” He waved the cane wildly. I could tell he thought he was protecting me.

  “No!” I tried to stop him, but it was too late.

  Cinnamon Bun jumped back and out of the way as the cane smacked down hard on my pack. The sound was like a slap.

  “Get!” the man repeated, smacking the backpack again with the cane.

  “Wait!” I shouted, then in my best command voice, “Stay! Sit! Lay down!”

  The dog looked up. I could tell she wasn’t afraid—more startled and confused—but still, before the cane crashed down a third time, she ran away.

  I wasn’t fast enough or in good enough shape to chase her again. All I could do was stare as the golden dot of my dog’s fur popped through those thick, prickly bushes and disappeared.

  “You’re welcome,” the old man said. He scooped up my backpack strap on the end of his cane and swung it over to me.

  Tears pushed at the back of my eyes. But even in a situation like this, Mom would kill me if I wasn’t polite, so I slipped my backpack off the tip of his cane and mumbled “Thanks,” while putting the straps over my shoulders.

  “No need to thank me. Just stay in school and don’t do drugs,” the man said, then headed out of the park, whistling cheerfully.

  Looking back every few seconds in the direction Cinnamon Bun disappeared, I hurried away from the park toward the shelter.

  I was so frustrated. Cinnamon Bun had been so close, but I couldn’t rescue her. I knew Marley and Rotem would help me try again tomorrow, but I wanted her to be with me tonight. Safe and warm in my house. Curled up on my bed.

  When I had said “Thanks” to the old man, I didn’t mean it. No thanks to him, the best dog on the planet was back out on the street with the coyotes.

  That last thought made me quicken my steps. When I got to the shelter, I burst in through the door.

  “Call animal control,” I announced to Mrs. Ryan, who was busy helping a man get a cat into a carrier cage. The cat was protesting wildly.

  “Suki,” Mrs. Ryan said in a cool voice. “I’m busy. Go to the back and ask Ben for your assignment.”

  “But it’s an emergency,” I told her, the words rushing out. “That dog. The one I want to adopt—she was in the park …” Over the sound of the cat’s meows, I rattled on about the man, the backpack, the cane, and coyotes.

  “Suki!” Mrs. Ryan put up a hand to stop me. “I don’t have time for this now. I need you to let me finish here. And you need to go to the back room.”

  “I—” The expression on her face was a mix of frustration, anger, and disappointment. I was pretty sure the last two expressions were for me.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. It was probably too late for animal control to find Cinnamon Bun by the park, anyway.

  In a softer and calmer tone, I asked, “Can I help get the cat ready for her new home? I could hold the cage door while you push her in.”

  “We’ve got this,” Mrs. Ryan told me; a long strand of hair fell into her eyes. “You should help Ben with Bowzer.”

  I walked toward the back, feeling down. It was another day without Cinnamon Bun.

  “Hey,” Ben greeted me. He was standing by the long counter where the dog food was kept. Since I was late, Ben had already begun filling bowls with the small chunky brown pellets that smelled like grease and dirt. The big bag said CHICKEN AND RICE, but the pellets didn’t look like either of those things.

  “Your mom said to help with Bowzer,” I told him while I took my volunteer shirt from my backpack and slipped it over the other shirt I was wearing. I didn’t want to waste time changing.

  Ben wasn’t wearing his volunteer shirt. I wondered if it was because he was wearing a really cool ’90s band shirt and refused to take that off, or that he’d just forgotten it.

  “Big Bow-Wow’s not eating,” Ben told me. “You’ve met that nasty beast, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, glancing at the massive lump of fur lying on the nearby cage floor. “How are you going to convince him to eat without losing your fingers?”

  “No clue.” Ben shrugged. “Help me put out the other dog bowls and we’ll face the monster dog last.” He added, “I’ve been considering feeding him one of the puppies. I think he’d eat that. Nutritious and delicious.”

  I was starting to understand Ben’s sick sense of humor. I gave him a small smile instead of freaking out.

  I couldn’t help constantly peeking at Bowzer as Ben and I set out food in each of the shelter’s cages. I refilled water bowls. The other dogs seemed so happy as they bounded toward dinner. But Bowzer didn’t move.

  “You sure he’s alive?” I whispered to Ben, when it was the monster dog’s turn to be fed.

  Ben coughed and Bowzer looked up for a second, then lowered his head to the floor. He was alive, but clearly miserable.

  “When did he stop eating?” I asked. I was pretty sure he’d been eating yesterday.

  “Last night,” Ben said, stopping in front of the big cage. Bowzer was curled up in a large furry ball. This time, he didn’t bother to raise his head and look at us. I stood for a moment, watching his chest to make sure he was breathing. “Did you call a vet?” I asked, feeling concerned. He might be the meanest dog on the planet, but still, something was wrong. No dog deserved to look that sad.

  Ben paused at my question and sighed.

  “What?” I asked him, turning my head to face him. Ben was a little taller than me and I had to look up. “Did you call the vet?” I repeated.

  Very slowly, Ben raised one shoulder. “No.”

  “Why not?” I asked. Ben didn’t respond.

  This conversation was strange. Why was Ben being so weird and not answering?

  Instead of badgering him with more questions, I decided to do what my dad would do when I wasn’t answering him.

  I put my hands on my hips and stared at him. And stared and stared and stared …

  “Okay! Fine!” Ben said at last. He glanced over his shoulder at the door to the lobby, where his mom was still working.

  The door was shut. We were the only volunteers around.

  Ben lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “We can’t afford a vet.”

  “But doesn’t the shelter get money from the city?” I’d learned that in my orientation yesterday.

  “Not enough to keep the dogs alive if they aren’t adopted.” Ben moved back from Bowzer’s cage, as if that big dog could hear us, and dropped his voice to an even quieter whisper. “We need donations.” He bobbled Bowzer’s food bowl between his hands. “It’s been a bad few months, so we had to stop calling the vet. It was too expensive.”

  “So what’s going to happen?” I asked, my mind spinning. I wanted to help, but I was only a kid! “What about the vet that checks out the new strays?”

  “A volunteer doctor comes once a month, but not more than that,” Ben said. He looked past me to Bowzer. “The vet was already here this month for the puppies. We’d have to pay if she came back, and we can’t afford it.”

  I got the impression that, since Bowzer couldn’t ever be adopted, he was low on the priority list. Healthy puppies came first.

  “But—” I started. Wouldn’t a nice vet want to help poor Bowzer? He looked so pathetic.

  Ben stopped me. “I’m with you, and believe me, I tried to argue,” he said. “But Mom said w
e’ll just help Bowzer as well as we can until Dr. Drew comes back or we get some more donations.”

  “And what if more donations don’t come?” I asked, worried about the answer.

  Ben was back to not talking about it. He shrugged. “My mom used to be a realtor,” he said, then pinched his lips shut. I understood: without more money, the shelter would shut down forever.

  Now it was my turn to sigh. These were what my mom and dad called “adult problems.” What could Ben and I do? Could the shelter really close and Mrs. Ryan go back to selling houses? What would happen to the dogs? The cats? The bunny?

  There was only one thing I could think of doing that could help.

  I took the food bowl from Ben’s hands and turned to the big dog slumped down in the big cage.

  “Okay, Meanie,” I said. “I’m not afraid of you. The vet won’t come for you, so … I’m taking over. You are going to eat!” I hoped my voice sounded firm and not shaky. I had a little flashback to when he pounced on me for the treat. Bowzer had some sharp-looking teeth.

  I took a step forward and held out the bowl. Like I’d done with the cinnamon bun drink in the park, I used my hand to waft the stinky scent of dog food pellets toward the furry giant.

  “Bowzer, listen up. I’m going to open the cage door,” I told him. “Be a good doggie… .”

  Chapter Nine

  GAME ON

  That same Friday night

  Well, I ended up with three stitches and a tetanus shot.

  “Does it hurt?” Marley asked. I was under the covers, in pajamas, elevating my left hand on a pillow.

  “Sort of,” I told her. “The nurse gave me a little shot to numb the spot when the doctor did the stitches.”

  “That dog sounds awful,” Marley said.

  “It wasn’t Bowzer’s fault,” I told her for the third time. I’d explained it to my mom and dad several times, too, when they took me to the clinic. I didn’t want anyone to be mad at Bowzer. He was just being a dog.

  “I brought in the bowl. Bowzer refused to eat and even scooted away. So I pushed the bowl closer. I shoved it a little too hard, and the bowl bumped his chin. Food spilled out. So I started to clean it up,” I said. “Bowzer was watching my every move, but didn’t come near me.”

  That’s when everything went wrong.

  I continued, “Then Mrs. Ryan came in, saw me in the cage, and freaked out. She yelled, ‘Suki, what are you doing?’ Bowzer didn’t react, but she really startled me. I jumped backward, and the cage door accidentally slammed on my fingers.”

  There had been a lot of blood. Like, a horror movie amount.

  Mrs. Ryan apologized for scaring me, but the truth was, I wasn’t supposed to be inside Bowzer’s cage. I should have slipped the food in and closed the door.

  While I was gushing blood, Ben wrapped my fingers in a clean towel. He distracted me by talking about music. Ben had been taking guitar lessons for a few years. So I told him about Marley’s band. It kept my mind off the pain.

  “I think he was disappointed my fingers didn’t get chopped off,” I told Marley. We both laughed, which hurt a little because it made my hand shake.

  “Since the cage door was metal, I had to get a tetanus shot,” I said, tipping my elbow so my best friend could see the small Band-Aid near my shoulder.

  “You’re lucky that’s all that happened!” Marley exclaimed. “I don’t think you should go back to the shelter.”

  What? That was crazy-talk. I was totally going back.

  I could have been fired from volunteering, but Mrs. Ryan thought I’d learned an important lesson. Mom and Dad said I’d learned something, too. I’m not sure what I learned. Maybe to not let Mrs. Ryan scare me? Or don’t scratch yourself on metal? Or that shots hurt?

  I was also starting to like that dumb big dog. He had rubbed his head on my leg after I got hurt, when I was still in the cage. I think he was saying, “Sorry.”

  “I’m going to the shelter tomorrow,” I assured her. “Right after we catch Cinnamon Bun.” There was an empty cage where Cinnamon could stay while I worked. I had it all planned out, and even with my bad fingers, before I left the shelter, I made sure to put down clean bedding.

  “I’m heading to Rotem’s to finish the trap after I leave here,” Marley said.

  “I don’t think I can help build the trap tonight,” I told her with a yawn.

  My eyelids were feeling heavy. I didn’t think it was the shots, but maybe. It could have just been that the day was long and pretty rotten. It was late, too. I was so, so tired. I yawned again.

  “That’s okay,” Marley told me. “We’ve got it covered. I convinced Rotem that the obstacle course and the rover were too complicated.”

  “Good.” That was a relief.

  “We scaled it all down, and it’s ready to roll!” she told me. “Just some treats, a cage, and peanut butter.” She sighed. “I did promise he could still have a Cinnamon Bun perimeter, since that was his favorite part. And I thought you could get the coffee. Think you can meet us at the park at ten?”

  “I’ll be there,” I said with another yawn. I assumed I’d be awake by then, but the way I felt, I thought I might sleep for days. My pillow felt so soft and my bed was more comfortable than ever. I struggled to keep my eyes open.

  After that, I don’t remember Marley leaving. I must have crashed.

  My alarm woke me up at nine thirty the next day. Marley must have set it, because I know I didn’t.

  I stood and stretched, feeling good. Nothing hurt. I wiggled my fingers and then reconsidered. They did hurt a little, so that meant I’d have to make sure to hold Cinnamon Bun’s leash in my right hand.

  I got dressed in my favorite t-shirt and jeans with holes in both knees, then grabbed a zip-up sweatshirt and went down to breakfast.

  Yesterday was a disaster, but today was a fresh start.

  I briefly remembered JJ, Mrs. Choi, the volunteers … but then I put it all in a mental closet and closed the door.

  This was going to be the best day ever. I was going to get a jump on Cupid Cards. To beat JJ, sales had to start Monday, so I needed a table, decorations, and as many hearts as I could cut. I was going to text some kids from student council to see if they could come over. Plus, Marley had already agreed to help, because that’s what besties do. (I was too tired to get started last night, but I was sure she’d be on board whenever I needed her.)

  And then, there was the bigger, even better, part of the day—today, Cinnamon Bun would be mine.

  The sign on the coffee shop door said HAPPY SATURDAY.

  “Yes, it is,” I said to the sign as I pushed open the door.

  JJ and Olivia were sitting at a side table with paper and pens. It looked like they were making a shopping list for the Cupid Cards. Shoot. I wasn’t as ahead of them in my planning as I’d hoped.

  I turned away from JJ and Olivia. They were not going to ruin my day.

  “One Cinnamon Bun Swirl,” I ordered. “Grande Plus.” That would be enough for me and to drip around the “perimeter” to attract my new dog.

  I stood to the side of the coffee bar to wait for my drink, and kept my eyes to the floor. I wanted the barista to hurry, but he wasn’t getting my psychic messages and was ignoring the loud tapping of my toe.

  “Hi, Suki.” It was Olivia. “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Nothin’,” I replied.

  “Oh.” She paused, then said, “JJ and I have some questions about the Cupid Cards.” I wasn’t surprised. “And we’d like your help.” Okay, that part surprised me.

  “Why?” I found myself asking. I glanced past Olivia to JJ. He was holding the pen against his lips, deep in thought. I saw him write something down, then cross it out.

  “As you know, JJ’s determined to sell more Cards this year than last,” she told me.

  I held back from groaning, “Duh.”

  “Look, Suki, I know you liked JJ in the fourth grade, and were mad when I dated him, but isn’t it time to get over that
?”

  “Uh, what?” That wasn’t where I thought this was going.

  “So maybe we can make a peace treaty and, in exchange, you can tell us ways to make everything run a lot smoother?”

  “I—” Wow. What on earth? I never liked JJ. I never was jealous of them. Is that really what the two of them thought? I didn’t even know where to start my argument. “No, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong,” I said, warming up. But I wasn’t sure what else to say. Though I certainly wasn’t going to help them with the Cupid Cards.

  I was grateful when I heard the barista call my name.

  “Bye,” I said, spinning around so fast my hair whipped my face. I took my cup from the barista with a fake smile, then scooted out of the shop as fast as I could walk with a hot drink and a stitched-up hand.

  Thankfully, my legs were just fine.

  Marley and Rotem were sitting on the park bench. I imagined hanging out there with Cinnamon Bun once she was mine. I was starting to think of the bench as our special spot.

  “Yo!” I called out as I got close. I took a sip of my drink and wondered if I should have bought drinks for Marley and Rotem. Not sure how I’d have carried them, though, with only one good carrying hand.

  “Yo to you,” Marley replied, raising her head.

  Rotem scooted away from her, snapping his book shut before I reached them. He stood. “Let’s get started.” It was then I notice the bag by the tree. It was a full-size wheeled duffle, like the one I took to camp every summer. The bag was so packed, it was bulging.

  Rotem opened the zipper and began to bring pieces of the trap out, laying each one on the lawn as he went.

  First there was a cage. I was surprised at how small it was, but Cinnamon was a small dog. The solid box tilted slightly left, but otherwise, it seemed to be pretty solid construction.

  I couldn’t really remember what Marley had said when she was over, other than that the plan had been scaled back. But I was happy to see that they’d ditched nearly everything in Rotem’s original plan, besides the cage. This was much better. After it was set up, they put a spoonful of peanut butter inside it. The puppy would go in the cage to lick the spoon, and we’d close the door. Easy as that.