I sat thinking, watching TJ work.
The actors for the short were two LEGO figures I’d just given him for his ninth birthday. They were the kind of figures that came sealed in a bag, so I couldn’t tell which ones I was buying. TJ had been excited when he opened the first bag and it was a caveman with a big club, but the second bag was a cheerleader—and he wasn’t excited about her at all.
But later he figured out if he took red and green Magic Markers and added gore and goop to her face, he could make her a zombie cheerleader. And then it was OK.
So his short was going to be an epic battle between Caveman and Zombie Cheerleader.
Right now, Caveman was running step by step (which meant picture by picture) across the desktop, past little LEGO buildings. Caveman didn’t know yet that Zombie Cheerleader was hiding behind one of them, waiting to jump out and clobber him over the head with her pom-pom and then eat his LEGO brains.
“Your short is going to be so good,” I said.
“Um-hm,” he grunted. He moved Caveman’s foot forward and snapped a picture.
“It’s going to be really funny when they start fighting.”
“Why are you in here?” He moved the other foot. “You always say how boring it is to watch me do this.”
I’ve noticed with TJ that sometimes it works best when I just tell him the truth. “I’m trying to figure out what to bribe you with so you’ll go dog walking with me after school tomorrow. I don’t think Mom will let me go by myself.”
He thought for a minute. “All my chores after dinner tonight.”
I sighed because that was a lot. Mom always said that since she cooked, we had to clean up. After dinner, she went into the living room to relax with a book, while me and TJ split the work: wiping the counters, loading the dishwasher, and sweeping the kitchen floor.
Doing the whole thing would be a lot. But Baxter was worth it.
“OK. Deal.”
So after dinner, Mom went into the living room, and TJ leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the kitchen table. “This is the life.” He grinned.
As I was doing all the stupid chores, I decided to convince Mom about the dog walking after she’d had her long hot bath. She was always relaxed after that.
While Mom took her bath, I sat on my bed with all my dog books. I wanted to figure out what kind of dog Baxter was.
I opened up all four books to the section on dog breeds and studied the pictures.
Baxter was the size and color of a Scottish deerhound, and he had their crazy silver eyebrows and scruffy beard, too. But he had a strong, shaggy tail more like a flat-coated retriever. His ears were long and floppy like a wirehaired vizsla. And his bushy mustache and “muttonchop sideburns,” as Professor Reese had called them, looked more like a Glen of Imaal terrier.
Deerhounds were smart, the books said. Retrievers were cheerful. Vizslas were energetic. And Glen of Imaal terriers were good with kids.
All of which sounded just like Baxter.
Mom came in to kiss me good night.
“You know how I’m supposed to look for opportunities to be dependable?” I said. I told her why walking Baxter would do that plus how Fun! TJ thought it would be and how we’d stay together the whole time and stay in the neighborhood, too.
“I can see you’ve given this a lot of thought.” She nodded. “There’s one thing I’m worried about, though.”
“We’ll be really careful! We’ll look both ways before crossing the street!”
“What I’m worried about is you getting too attached to Baxter.” She patted my arm. “You know Professor Reese isn’t going to keep him, honey.”
“I know. It’s just for a few days. But please, Mom? I really want to!”
“OK. We can give it a try.”
Yes!
Mom kissed me good night and went back to her room.
I looked out my window toward Professor Reese’s house. There was a light on in the living room, but I figured Baxter was down in the lab with her because it looked like Professor Reese was working late: the basement window was glowing.
But the weird thing was, the light coming from the window was red.
The red light grew brighter and brighter, like maybe she was turning on the equipment, piece by piece—even the tanning bed that used to be a tanning bed—growing redder and redder until suddenly . . .
The house went dark.
57:15 on the Nose
In the morning, I walked into TJ’s room to wake him up. He was lying on his stomach with the blanket all wadded up beneath him and his arms thrown over his head—sort of like if Superman was flying and crash-landed in a basket of laundry. His pillow had slid to the floor from the force of the impact.
I tapped my finger on the back of his head. “Anybody home?”
He swatted at me. “Go away!”
TJ’s blanket wadded up made me think he’d had a nightmare, where he was fighting snarling wolf dogs with black lips. So I left the rest of the Crispy Rice for him and ate Wheat Flakes instead, which taste OK, only they don’t talk to you while you eat them.
Mom was in her room, getting dressed for work. As soon as I finished eating, I yelled, “Can I go see Baxter now?”
“It’s too early. You can stop by on your way to school.”
I slumped against the counter. Then I remembered that I hadn’t told Dad all about everything yet. “OK, I’m going to Dad’s.”
“Seven fifteen on the nose, Jordie. Watch Dad’s clock,” Mom yelled back. “And can you make sure TJ’s awake?”
I went back into TJ’s room, grabbed his hoodie from the floor, and threw it at him, because an atomic bomb could go off
