Prolog – Vietnam
The big dog lay next to the fallen soldier. Her huge head resting on the still chest, her paw draped over the bloody shoulder. A slow, sad rumble can be heard escaping from the dog’s lungs as she looks at the soldier’s blank eyes. Like the soldier, Scouts time to serve is over.
One year later
Chapter 1: Best Pen Ever ~ Andy
Click, click, blue. Yeah, blue. This one blue. This is the coolest pen. 52 x 12. I’ll do every problem in a different color. Yep, this is soooo cool. Best use of clothing allowance ever. Roger bought fish food — I guess that’s OK— but Ken bought clothes. Ugh, clothes. That’s because Ken’s 17 and in 11th grade. He likes girls. Kelly Summer, to be specific. Yuck. I bought this pen. The best pen ever. Ten colors! All at a click of my thumb. I’ll do each of these math problems in a different color. No pattern, just random colors.
Chapter 2: The Next Day ~ Andy
Done, finally — ugh! I slam my history book closed. History is so boring. And my homework took soooo long because stupid Mrs. Philips made me redo my math paper. The one I did with my new multicolored pen. She wrote REDO IN PENCIL across the top. In RED ink. And I only got three wrong. Three, that’s pretty good for me. Sixth grade stinks. I’m sick of it already, and we’ve only been back to school for a couple of weeks. It’s going to be a very long year.
I wander into the living room to see what’s up. Maybe Roger will want to play basketball or go down to the Teen Club and play pinball.
“Where is everyone?” I ask Ken.
“Mom and Dad are down at the Dog and Suds,” Ken says absently. “I’m babysitting.” He’s sitting very close to the TV. In his hand, poised at the ready is a pair of pliers. When an ad comes on, Ken reaches up, grips the metal post where the knob used to be, and rotates it to change the channels. He’s watching multiple TV shows switching between The Price is Right and Kung Fu. If both of those have ads, he switches to The Brady Bunch for Ann. This is both fascinating and super annoying. I don’t know how he keeps track of what’s going on.
“Talk for Bobby,” Ann says.
“No, not now,” I say. “I’m too old to play with Bobby.” Bobby’s a goofy doll that Ann decided was a boy instead of a girl. Mom knit a shirt and pants for Bobby and I twisted a paper clip to make him glasses. Ann thinks they look just like mine. We put a plastic ring on Bobby’s wrist from a box of Cracker Jacks. The ring gives Bobby superpowers. It was fun when I was little, but I’m too old to talk for Bobby anymore. And I’m not a baby. I don’t need a babysitter.
Ann points the ring at me and shouts, “Skeleton Power!” I ignore her. She’s only 6. Ken can babysit her.
“Where’s Roger?” I ask.
“At Cricket’s or something,” Ken says.
Great. First I have a ton of homework, now Roger’s gone off and didn’t even tell me where he was going. Just because he’s in 7th grade and 13, he thinks he’s so cool. Cricket is really just David, but because they’re in junior high, they all have neat nicknames.
“What time will Mom and Dad be home?” I ask.
“I don’t know. There was some kind of problem in the kitchen. The fryer wasn’t heating or maybe the fries were defrosted,” Ken says as he reaches up and changes the channel again.
“Go back to The Brady Bunch,” Ann wines.
A year ago, Mom and Dad opened a Dog n Suds restaurant. It’s a family affair. Roger and Ken work there after school a couple of days a week and weekends. I can start once I turn 12. I really like watching for cool cars pull in. Last week a Super Bee and a Roadrunner stopped for ice cream. It’s kind of exciting. People call it the Drive-In. We serve root beer in heavy glass mugs.
I get a half-full bag of chips from the kitchen. We already ate dinner, but I’m still hungry. I’m always hungry. Mom told me it’s because I’m due for a growth spurt and that the husky size pants I wear now will be too short and too big around the waist next spring. I hope she’s right.
I take the chips and head down to the basement. This is Roger’s domain, mostly. Lining the walls are fish tanks. They bubble and gurgle happily. I flip each tank light on. Green guppies, blue guppies, yellow guppies. Roger is sorting the guppies by color. I don’t quite know what’s the point. I sit down, watch the fish, and eat chips. I wish I had gills. That would be so cool. I could swim in the lake for hours, if I only had gills. Hmm, and a wetsuit. It’s super cold.
The lake. Everyone around here calls it, the lake. They mean Lake Superior, the biggest fresh water lake in the world and one of the coldest. I open and close my mouth like a fish. It would be cool to be able to swim — I mean, really swim — in the lake. I never told anyone, but I love the lake. Sometimes it’s like glass and looks so gentle and kind. Other times, it’s wild and rough. I like it when it’s wild and rough. When it’s like that, I can hear it from the house. And it’s always cold. Really cold. Too cold to swim in for very long. After about 10 minutes in the water, your lips turn blue and your bones start to ache.
I finish off the chips and lick my fingers. I reach up to turn off the light on the blue tank when I notice a fish swimming on its side near the top. Round and round in circles it goes. The other fish keep darting at it. Picking at it. Poor fish, it’s a goner. I get the fishnet, scoop out the dying fish, and flush it in the basement toilet. Be free — maybe you’ll get a chance to swim in the big lake before you die.
Net in hand, I think about mixing up Roger’s fish. What will happen if I put the green guppies in with the blue guppies? Will they fight, or will we get blue-green guppies? Roger will be mad, that’s what will happen. I put the fishnet down, go upstairs, and, on my way out the back door, holler, “I’m going over to the school. Maybe Rog is there.”
Seems like I’ve been following Roger around my whole life. Mom says that when I was a toddler and Roger was just past being a toddler, if I put my bottle down, Roger would start drinking it. I learned to walk watching Roger walk and learned to talk listening to him. That’s why I had to go to speech class in 2nd grade — Roger couldn’t say his R’s. I remember working hard to ride my bike without training wheels because it was the only way I could keep up with Roger. But now Roger’s in junior high, and I’m stuck at the elementary school.
At the playground I see a kid by the swings, but it isn’t Roger. Roger is stocky. This kid is skinny with longish blond hair. It’s the new kid from my class. He has on a cool black leather jacket. He’s not swinging. He’s picking up each swing, lifting it high over his head and throwing it so that it wraps around the top pole. The metal chains rattle until the seat comes to an abrupt stop high up on the pole. Too high for the little kids to reach.
Roger would never do that. Roger would say it was mean. But Guy Tober can get the swings down anyway. He’s the best climber in class. It’ll be fun to watch Guy climb up, hang from one arm, and use the other hand to unwrap the swings. Guy can fix them first thing in the morning. And Roger isn’t here anyway.
The new kid notices me after he finishes wrapping the last swing around the support pole.
“What’re yah staring at?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say. He’s taller than me, but kind of scrawny. I can take him if I have to, but then I notice the giant German Shepard that got up to stand next to him as I approached. It’s a scary, big dog. I freeze.
“You’re in my class. Mrs. Philips is the worst,” he says with a smirk.
I nod in agreement. Encouraged by our shared dislike for Mrs. Philips I say, “I’m Andy.”
“Jake, and this is Scout” the new kid says. He reaches out scratches the big dogs head. His gaze moves from me to the elementary school behind me. He adds, “Hey, do you want to go on the school roof? Look, if we climb on that shed, and you give me a boost, I could get up, then I could give you a hand up. We might find something cool.” There is both challenge and expectation in Jake’s voice. He continues, “Unless you’re chicken?”
I look at the shed and the school. We can get to the roof for sure. I say, “OK.”
Scout stretches out in the dirt next to the shed as I give Jake a boost up. He’s not very heavy. Jake has a little trouble pulling me up, but I get a toehold on a cracked brick and scramble up. The flat roof is covered with black tar paper. It’s cool. I can see out to Munising Bay and Pictured Rocks. The sun is low in the western sky, making the rugged cliffs bright red and orange. Wow, it’s pretty.
“Catch!” Jake shouts. As I turn, a blue Frisbee sails past my head. “I told you we’d find something cool.” I toss the Frisbee back to Jake, and we throw it back and forth. I’m aware of the edge of the roof, careful not to throw the Frisbee too close. Jake isn’t being so careful.
I’m winding up to send the Frisbee back to Jake when a voice floats up toward us.
“Hey, you kids. Get down here!”
I freeze mid-throw. My arm comes down, my hand still gripping the Frisbee.
“Come on,” Jake yells. “Run!” We run to the edge of the roof where we’d climbed up and peer over. The coast is clear. The voice is coming from the opposite side of the school. Jake lowers himself down, and I follow. As soon as we’re on the ground, we take off running.
Jake hollers, “Scout, with me.” And the big dog is up and running with us. Just beyond the playground are the hills and the cover of trees.
“Stop! Police!” someone yells after us.
Munising, Michigan, is a small town, and I know both of the local police officers. One is a friend of my dad’s. The other is my mom’s cousin. I’m in big trouble. Jake and Scout beat me to the edge of the trees. Jake stops running and turns to watch as I catch up. Scout is standing in front of Jake, she’s making a low, fierce growl deep in her throat.
Jake is breathing hard. “Quiet girl, it’s okay, we outran him,” he pants between breaths. “You should have seen your face,” he says laughing. “You looked so scared.” He looks at me with a broad grin on his thin face and adds, “That was fun. Hey, you brought the Frisbee. Cool.”
I turn to see the policeman standing by the shed. He’s looking at us but not coming after us. Relieved, I toss the Frisbee to Jake and try to act cool. I don’t want Jake to know that my heart is still pounding, and not just from running. I was scared, really scared. It was exciting, too. More exciting than anything I’ve ever done with Roger. But it’s getting dark, and I will be in real trouble if I get home after dark. “Hey, I have to head home. I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” I say.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
I worry all the way home that the police will be waiting for me, but all is quiet. Ann is getting ready for bed. Roger is in the basement feeding his fish, and I wonder if he notices one is missing. Ken is reading or doing something equally boring. Mom and Dad are in the living room watching the news. I sit down on the couch and try to act like I didn’t almost get caught by the police.
“Where’ve you been son?” Dad asks during an ad.
“At the playground with Jake. He’s a new kid,” I say.
“Hmmm. Where’s he from?” Dad asks.
“Um, I don’t know,” I answer. I feel stupid for not having asked Jake where he was from.
“Is your homework done?” Mom asks.
“Yep,” I say. The ad ends and Walter Cronkite is back with the current casualty numbers from the Vietnam War.