Dead Possums Are Fair Game Page 7

  “Awesome,” said Jonathan, pulling the papers with our calculations out of his backpack. He spent close to an hour rearranging columns and rows, entering numbers, and working with different fonts for each sheet.

  Every once in a while, I’d peek over his shoulder to make sure it looked good. After the tenth time, he crossed his arms and tapped his foot. “Can I help you with something?”

  My shoulders slumped. “Sorry—I just want it to be perfect.”

  “You worry too much. It’ll look great.” He checked the time on his watch.

  “What time do you have to leave for your dad’s dinner?” I said.

  “At eighteen-hundred hours.”

  I looked up from my gluing. “When?”

  He grinned. “Habit, sorry. Everything at our house is told in military time.”

  “I don’t know how to tell military time.”

  “It’s easy. Just add twelve to any time after twelve noon, and you’ll know what time it is. One o’clock in the afternoon is one plus twelve, or thirteen-hundred hours. Two o’clock in the afternoon is two plus twelve, or fourteen-hundred hours.”

  I did the math in my head. Backwards. “So eighteen-hundred is eighteen minus twelve? It’s really six o’clock?”

  “Yep.” He leaned back on the sofa and sighed. “Okay, I think I’m done. Should I print it out?”

  “Yeah, go for it. I think the printer is still on.”

  He walked over to the printer to get his papers. Picking them up, he gave a nod of approval. “Perfect.” He grinned. “Now do you want to see them? I’m gonna start packing up.”

  “Sure.” I put down the glue bottle and Jonathan handed me the spreadsheets—one for each animal. “Wow,” I said. “There sure are a lot of numbers on these.”

  He let out a small laugh. “Yeah, well, the animals we picked live for a ton of minutes and seconds.”

  “You’re telling me—I’m the one who had to figure out the tortoise, remember? I didn’t know a calculator could show that many numbers.”

  He started to put the spreadsheets in his bag, but I stopped him. “Why don’t you leave the spreadsheets here? I’ll put them with the photos and give them to Lucille at the back gate tomorrow morning.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. We might as well keep everything together,” I said, knowing full well that I wasn’t planning on giving anything to Lucille.

  He shrugged. “Okay.” He handed me the papers and I put them on top of the photos I’d printed.

  “Thanks again for letting me come over and use your computer. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do when Mom told me ours had kicked the bucket.”

  I grimaced. “I remember when our last computer crashed. My mom cried for hours because there were some photos she hadn’t saved to the external hard drive and they were gone forever.” I looked over at the closed laptop. “Speaking of saving stuff, what name did you save the spreadsheets under?”

  “I’ve got them saved on my thumb drive.” He pulled the thumb drive from his pocket. “Do you want to hold onto it, just in case?”

  I shrugged. “Sure, but you checked everything, right?”

  “Yep. Several times.”

  He handed me the thumb drive. It was shaped like the Incredible Hulk. I pulled off the Hulk’s legs to reveal the metal part that plugs into the USB port. “That’s cool.”

  “Thanks—my dad gave it to me for my birthday last year.”

  I stuck the Hulk’s legs back on and set the thumb drive on the table. “I think we’re done for now.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Jonathan headed home and I finished gluing the printed photos of animals onto construction paper. I put the spreadsheets in a pile, placed the photographs and thumb drive on top, and carried the stack to my room, where I placed it on top of my book bag on the floor. I didn’t want to put them inside my bag because the glue still needed to dry. But I quickly picked them up again. With Chewy eating half my belongings and barfing on the other half, I didn’t want these anywhere he’d be able to reach. They needed to be kept somewhere high off the floor.

  I opened the closet door, thinking the dresser would be a great spot, but Aunt Willa’s stuff covered every inch of the top. I could put them in Mom’s office, but not until she was done for the day. She had a strict rule about people walking in and out of her office during “work hours.”

  Frustrated, I sighed and wished for the hundredth time that Chewy (and Aunt Willa) had stayed at someone else’s house. I glanced at the clock. Chewy wasn’t even allowed inside until after dinner, so I could safely leave the papers on my backpack to dry until after my shower. Then, I figured, I’d stash everything in Mom’s office where it’d be safe until morning.

  Tomorrow was Thursday—just one more day of prep and then the math fair. Just one more day until I would know the fate of my summer. If only something would tip the scales in my favor.

  I hoped Lucille was home by now because I needed to call her … and let her know that I would be taking over her job as display designer.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SELF-INTEREST

  self·in·ter·est

  noun self-in-tĕ-rist

  —regard for one’s own interest or advantage, especially with disregard for others

  I grabbed the phone in the kitchen and went out to the front porch. I didn’t want my parents hearing my conversation; I knew they wouldn’t understand and they’d probably think I was being mean. But seriously, Lucille was horrible with vocabulary and spelling, and she was sloppy. It was my grade hanging in the balance, not just hers. I swatted at a mosquito buzzing near my face, and the stub of a pencil I’d stuck behind my ear earlier fell to the driveway. I picked it up and started fidgeting with it between my fingers nervously. After pacing for a few minutes, I dialed Lucille’s number.

  Mrs. O’Reilly picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Hi Mrs. O’Reilly. It’s Ella. Can I speak with Lucille?”

  “Sure, hon. Hold on.”

  A few seconds later, Lucille picked up. “Hey. What’s up?”

  I eased into the conversation. “How was Girl Scouts?”

  “Great! I got my first-aider level 1 badge.”

  “That’s cool.” I took a deep breath. “So, I’ve been thinking about the layout for the math project.”

  “Me, too! I’m so excited to work on it. Did you and Jonathan get everything printed out?”

  I filled her in on Jonathan’s computer crash as I continued to pace back and forth in our driveway.

  “I’m glad you were home, Ella. Can you imagine if he came to school tomorrow without the stuff to give me?”

  “Yeah, about that.” A pit formed in my stomach. “I think I should probably do the layout.”

  There was a pause. “But why? That’s my job.”

  “I know,” I said, “but … umm … it has to be—it’s really important that it looks … well … perfect.”

  “What do you mean? I’ll do a good job.”

  “Let’s face it, Lucille—you’re not a great speller, and you’re really messy. You can’t even find your homework half the time because it’s crumpled up in the bottom of your backpack. I don’t want to fail because of you.” I closed my eyes and grimaced, ashamed of what I had just said. It hadn’t come out right at all.

  There was dead silence on the other end.

  “Lucille?”

  She sniffled. “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” I sighed. “I meant that my math grade is so bad right now that if I don’t get a hundred percent on this project, I’m doomed. I just want to do everything I can to make sure I get an A plus.”

  “What am I supposed to do, then? Everything else has been done.”

  I looked at the pencil I held. “How about you bring in a bunch of pencils and paper for people to use when they visit the booth?”

  “Pencils and paper?”

  “Yeah, and calculators.
” I tried to sound excited, like it was a great idea or something, but it sounded pretty lame to me. “Please, Lucille, I know I can be a control freak sometimes, but this is really important to me.”

  I could hear a long sigh on the other end. I knew I had hurt her feelings. “Are you mad at me?”

  “Sort of,” she said. “But I’ll get over it.”

  That was the thing about Lucille—she didn’t hold grudges. I knew I was taking advantage of that, but I felt I had no choice.

  “Thanks, Lucille. I’ll see you tomorrow at the back gate, okay?”

  “Okay,” she mumbled.

  I put the phone back in the kitchen and rubbed my temples. I had a headache and the skin underneath my cast itched like crazy. I jabbed the tiny pencil between my arm and the cast and scratched it the best I could.

  It felt fantastic.

  Until I lost my grip on the pencil.

  I pushed my fingers down as far as I could, desperately trying to feel for the eraser tip, but I couldn’t reach it. I leaned my head against the wall and sighed.

  I needed longer fingers.

  And I needed to move to a planet where there were no math fairs, sloppy friends, itchy casts, and short pencils.

  I headed toward my bedroom, ready for the day to be over … and ready to get those papers off my floor. It was close to dinnertime and Mom was about to finish in her office.

  I froze in horror when I reached my doorway.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  LAST STRAW

  last straw

  noun last straw

  —unacceptable, beyond bearing

  “Noooooo!” I screamed.

  Chewy’s legs scrambled under him so fast he had a hard time moving. He shot out of my room, knowing full well he did not want me to catch him.

  “Get back here, you dumb dog! You’re going to wish you never set a paw in this house!” I screeched.

  I chased him down the hallway, flattening Aunt Willa and Mom against the wall as they hurried toward my room.

  “Ella!” Mom said. “What’s going on? What happened?”

  I turned around to face Mom. Tears welled up in my eyes. “This is what happened!” I cried. I thrust the half-eaten, torn spreadsheets and photographs in her face.

  Aunt Willa gasped and Mom’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no!”

  “I think he ate Jonathan’s thumb drive, too. And it was a birthday present from his dad!” I glared at Aunt Willa. “What’s he doing inside? He’s not supposed to come in this early!”

  “Oh honey … I … I let him inside so I could give him his heartworm medicine. He went and laid down afterward, and I thought he went to sleep. I am so sorry.”

  “We’re supposed to put our displays together tomorrow! I’m going to fail because of your mangy mutt!” I knew I was yelling, but I couldn’t stop. Something inside me exploded and the words just kept coming. “He’s ruined my favorite pair of jeans, and he’s kicked me out of bed every night since you got here so I’m stuck sleeping on the sofa! You’ve moved all my stuff so I can’t find it and you’ve taken over my bathroom with all your photography junk. I hate the smell of your candle and can’t stand your music!”

  I couldn’t see anything through my tears, but I heard Aunt Willa gasp.

  “Ella!” Mom’s voice cut in sharply.

  I stood there, shoulders shaking, and sobbed.

  I was mad.

  Mad at Chewy.

  Mad at Aunt Willa.

  Mad at math.

  Mad at the fact photographers had to do math.

  Mom must have sensed what I was feeling because she pulled me toward her and simply wrapped her arms around me. She held me tight until I ran out of tears. When I looked up, I saw Aunt Willa. She stood rubbing her arms and shifting her weight back and forth on her feet.

  “Ella,” she said quietly. “I am so sorry about the spreadsheets. And the jeans. And that Chewy took over your bed. You’re up and ready for school before I’m awake so I didn’t know he’d been doing that. As for Jonathan’s thumb drive, I don’t really know what to do about that.” She leaned over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “And I’m doubly sorry I hid your stuff on you. I didn’t mean to—I just forgot to tell you where I was putting things. I didn’t realize you didn’t like the candle or the music. Do you forgive me?”

  What was I supposed to say with Mom standing right there? At least she hadn’t interrupted with a speech on the importance of “processing feelings through open communication.” However, I knew Mom would say I owed Aunt Willa an apology for my outburst. I sniffed and nodded that I forgave her—but I didn’t really mean it. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

  Mom raised her eyebrows.

  “Sometimes I’m overly picky about my room. And it’s not your fault that Chewy eats everything in sight and is a—”

  Mom cleared her throat.

  “—never mind,” I muttered.

  Aunt Willa took the destroyed spreadsheets from Mom’s hand. She looked them over and shook her head. “I’m going to make this up to you, Ella. I’ll help you redo this, and it will be good as new. We’ll stay up all night if we have to.” She smiled. “Maybe we can even manage to keep Chewy off your bed.”

  I snickered, but because of my runny nose, it came out more like a snort. Hearing his name, Chewy peeked around the hall and warily walked toward us.

  “It’s all right, Chewy,” I said. “I won’t chase you down the hall again.”

  Mom glanced at her watch. “It’s almost time for me to start dinner. Should I just bring you two something to munch on in your room so you can keep working?”

  “Good idea,” said Aunt Willa.

  “Meatloaf sandwiches?” Mom suggested.

  “No!” we quickly said. At the mere mention of meatloaf, poor Chewy whined and ran back down the hall. Aunt Willa and I looked at each other, and despite my anger, I couldn’t help but smile a little.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Aunt Willa said. “How about I order us a pizza? I’ll get one for your parents and one just for us.”

  I wiped my nose with my sleeve. “Pepperoni and pineapple?” I said.

  She winked. “Is there any other way to have pizza?”

  Mom put Chewy outside while Aunt Willa ordered the pizzas. I grabbed the laptop from off the coffee table and we locked ourselves in my room to work.

  “I hope nothing else was on Jonathan’s thumb drive. I don’t know how I’m going to tell him the Incredible Hulk is being digested.”

  Aunt Willa bit her lip. “Chewy has a stomach made of steel, but I hope that doesn’t make him sick.”

  I thought for a minute and then, feeling slightly vengeful, I smiled. “You know, he threw up after eating Mom’s meatbrick.” I raised my eyebrows and looked at Aunt Willa.

  Her eyes widened as my comment sank in. “Are you suggesting we feed him some more and hope he throws up again?”

  I nodded. “Seems like a good use of Mom’s meatloaf to me, and maybe it will teach Chewy not to swallow everything in sight.”

  Operation Dog Puke was put in motion. I snuck a slice of meatloaf out of the kitchen and met Aunt Willa in the backyard. At first, Chewy wouldn’t touch it. He must have remembered what happened last time. I figured maybe if I squirted a bunch of ketchup on it, he might eat up. Half a bottle of ketchup later, he licked the plate clean. Ten minutes later, Aunt Willa, Chewy, and I stared down at the Incredible Hulk swimming in a blob of brown and red pure nastiness.

  Aunt Willa grimaced. “Tell Jonathan I’ll get him a new thumb drive.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  REALITY

  re·al·i·ty

  noun ree-al-i-tee

  —something that exists or that is real

  While we waited for the pizza to arrive, I explained to Aunt Willa what I wanted the spreadsheets to look like. I tried to show her the old ones, but Chewy’s handiwork made it next to impossible and nothing was retrievable from the thumb drive. I still had everyone’s calcu
lations on their animals, thankfully. I sent up a quick hallelujah that I hadn’t thrown those out after Jonathan had finished. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck redoing everyone’s time conversions. We turned on the computer and pulled up a spreadsheet.

  “I know this program,” Aunt Willa said. “I use it for my budgeting.” She turned to me and winked. “More math in real life. We can bust out this project in no time.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. As much fun as it would have been to pull an all-nighter with Aunt Willa, I was actually looking forward to sleeping on my mattress. Aunt Willa had already told me Chewy would be fine outside for the night.

  “Pizza guy is at the door!” Mom hollered down the hall.

  “I’m coming!” said Aunt Willa. She turned to me. “Start inputting these numbers here.” She pointed to a column. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared out the door as I sat at my desk and got to work.

  Aunt Willa returned with our pizza and two cans of soda.

  An hour and a half later, we looked over the freshly printed charts of each animal’s life span. Aunt Willa had shown me some things on the computer program I hadn’t known about before. The spreadsheets looked better now than before Chewy had eaten them. Apparently, Chewy was a blessing in disguise when it came to both meatloaf and math homework.

  “All I need now is to go online and print out pictures of the animals on the chart,” I said.

  “Hold that thought,” Aunt Willa said as she removed the pizza box from the desk. She ducked behind the darkroom curtain and returned with a stack of photos in her hand. “The reason I didn’t want you to go into your bathroom lately was because I wanted these to be a surprise.” She set a pile of photographs on the desk and gently slid them over. I spread them out. Beautiful, glossy, full-sized images of lions, elephants, hippos, and other animals from her trip to Africa appeared in front of me. “When you told me what your math fair team decided to do for a display, I thought it was … well, brilliant. And when you told me what animals you’d picked, I was so excited because I knew I had these photos—I just needed to develop the film. Some of these photographs are from other trips, like the platypus, but I had the negatives back at the condo.”