Aces Wild (13 page)

“It’s possible,” I admitted.

“WELL, THEN, I WOULD SAY THAT WHILE IT MIGHT NOT BE DISASTROUS, IT COULD HAVE SERIOUS IMPLICATIONS ON THAT PERSON’S LIKELIHOOD OF PASSING THE FINAL TEST.”

“Oh.”

“MOREOVER, THERE IS A SOCIAL COMPACT INHERENT IN PARTICIPATION IN A COLLABORATIVE TRAINING ENDEAVOR. HOWEVER, WHEN WEIGHING
THE IMPLICATIONS OF ONE’S ACTIONS ON OTHER PARTICIPANTS, ONE MUST REMEMBER—”

“All right, all right, I’ll go,” I said, caving under the weight of the lecture. “I just thought maybe you’d appreciate having the night off.”

“THIS ISN’T ABOUT ME, KID. THIS IS YOUR CALL.”

“But isn’t that what you just said?” I asked.

“NOPE. I SAID WE MUST BELIEVE IN FREE WILL—WE HAVE NO CHOICE. ISAAC BASHEVIS SINGER.”

I tilted my head to one side. Ace-the-dog copied me. “So, you’re telling me to go to class.”

“NOPE.”

“Okay, well, what would you say if I said I’m not going to class?”

“I WOULD SAY I HOPE YOU HAVE A GOOD REASON.”

“I do,” I said. “I got invited to a sleepover.”

“WHICH IS WHAT YOU WANTED IN THE FIRST PLACE. RIGHT? YOUR PROPOSAL AND THE SEVENTEEN GIRLS STAYING OVERNIGHT?”

“Not seventeen,” I said. “But yes, I just—”

“YOU DON’T WANT TO LET ME DOWN.”

“Actually, no. I mean, I don’t, but that’s not it.” I hesitated, and then I confessed, “I wasn’t really invited. I mean, I was, but only because Allie told the girl to. So now I don’t really feel like I should go.”

“OKAY, SO DON’T GO.”

“But I really want to go—”

“SO GO.”

“Just not like this.”

“LOOK, KID, YOU’RE MAKING ME DIZZY. GO, DON’T GO. JUST LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU DECIDE.”

I looked at him. “That’s just it. How do I decide? They both feel wrong.”

Ace shrugged. “THEY MIGHT BOTH BE WRONG.”

“Or they might both be right, right?” I asked.

“RIGHT,” said Ace. “AND YOU KNOW WHAT THREE RIGHTS MAKE?”

I shook my head.

“A LEFT,” said Ace.

I tilted my head like Ace-the-dog, more confused than when I started.

“JUST THINK ABOUT IT,” said Ace.

“The three-rights-make-a-left part?”

“ALL OF IT.”

Two wrongs? Three rights? Too much! I just wanted to go to the sleepover! And Ace had said it was my decision, even though I wasn’t sure I believed him. So I decided to go. The hoot Allie let out when I called to ask for a ride—a much better reaction than the noncommittal grunt I got from Ace—confirmed that I had definitely made the right decision. My mom gave me a funny look when I mentioned the last-minute change in plans, but when I told her Ace was okay with it and she didn’t have to drive me anywhere, that seemed to satisfy her. Even though I had already packed
Ace a treat bag for class, I left it on the counter and went upstairs to pack something even better: a sleepover bag. I put in my pajamas and my toothbrush and toothpaste, plus my sleeping bag and a throw pillow shaped like a heart. I grabbed my glasses case and was about to pick a book from my bookcase when—

Whatcha doing?

I looked at O.J., sitting on top of my bookcase, staring at me with that goofy grin of his.

“What does it look like?” I told him. “I’m packing for a sleepover.”

Oh? What happened to earning your own sleepover?

“It’s okay. I can miss class one night.”

But this’ll be the second time. Do you really think Ace is going to pass if you don’t go to class?

“Look,” I told O.J. “Even if I work my hardest, Ace still might not pass. And then I won’t get to have a sleepover. And then I won’t get any sleepover invitations. This way, at least I get one.”

Yeah, but do you want to go to a sleepover you weren’t really invited to?

Ouch
, I thought. For a plastic pup, O.J. had quite a bite. “Leave me alone,” I said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re not even real.”

O.J. continued to stare at me, grinning cheerfully.
Besides, wasn’t the point to prove you could do this? To your parents, and Ace, and everyone? Do you really want to give up so easy?

“No,” I said. Because I wasn’t giving up. Or was I?

You worked really hard to prove you were responsible enough to get a dog. And now you have to work even harder to prove you can stick to what you set out to do
.

“I don’t want to prove anything. I just want to be like every body else.”

But you’re not like everybody else. You’re weird, and everyone knows it. Just look at yourself! You’re talking to a plastic jug
.

Get a grip, Zelly
, I told myself. Just the same, I turned O.J. to face the wall so he’d stop making me feel so guilty. I selected one of my favorite books,
The Book of Three
, from the shelf and noticed that a chunk was missing from the cover and it had telltale tooth marks all over it.

I groaned. “Ace!” I yelled.

At the sound of his name, Ace came running. He had something red and round in his mouth. I grabbed Ace by the collar and reached down to take away the tomato he was—

“Ace! No! That’s not for—ACE!”

In my hand was Bubbles’ pincushion, slightly damp and full of sharp pins and needles. Ace beamed up at me as if he expected me to toss it for him to fetch. Inspecting it, I was relieved to see that Ace had probably just swiped it. But as I held it, it dawned on me that this wasn’t just about winning a sleepover. If Ace didn’t learn how to behave, and soon, he might have bigger problems than making a mess or embarrassing my parents in front of company. He could seriously hurt himself, or run off again and—I didn’t want to think about it.

Setting the pincushion on the top of my bookshelf, next
to O.J., I hooked a finger under Ace’s collar. I led him out to the hall and grabbed the upstairs phone with my free hand. I dialed Allie’s number again, and when she answered, I explained that I wouldn’t be coming after all.

“Arrggghhhh! Zelly! What is your problem?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just need to see this whole training thing through. I can’t let O.J. down.”

“What?”

“I can’t let Ace down.”

“You said O.J.”

“No, I didn’t,” I said.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” said Allie. “Look, I’ve got to go.”

And she hung up the phone.

I almost called her right back.
Just kidding!
I wanted to say.
Zelly, you crack me up
, Allie would say.
You’re so funny that way!

Funny
. How was I funny? Funny like Ace? I didn’t want to know the answer.

Slowly, I put the phone down and released Ace. “Grandpa,” I yelled, heading down the stairs, my puppy nipping at my heels.

“You just missed him,” said my mom, who was playing cards at the kitchen table with Sam.

“No, seriously?” I said.

“Margie picked him up in her punch-buggy-no-punch-back,” announced Sam. “You gotta see it, Zelly. It’s yellow and there’s stickers all over it! It’s the coolest car ever! Except maybe a hovercraft, only that’s not exactly—”

“Sam, we get it.” I ran to the window and looked left and right—no such car in sight. “Did he say when he’d be back, Mom?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. Why?”

“I have to get to class.”

“But I thought you were going to a sleepover?” My mom gave me a confused look. “Didn’t you say Allie’s mom was picking you up?”

“Yeah, well, it’s a long story but I’m not. Okay?”

Confusion shifted to concern. For a fleeting second I wondered if Ace had grumbled to her on his way out the door. But instead of commenting on my change of heart, she just said, “Well, try calling him.”

I dialed his number from the downstairs phone, but when I did, I heard a tinny version of “If I Were a Rich Man” from
Fiddler on the Roof
coming from the mudroom.

“Mom, he forgot his phone again!”

“Okay, relax. We’ll figure out something.”

“Thanks for giving me a ride, Mrs. Stanley.” I slid into the backseat of her car, buckled my seat belt, and pulled Ace into my lap. Bridget, buckled into a harness next to me, turned her murky gaze in our direction. I petted the two dogs at once, one squirmy, one sedate, both sweet.

“Sure, Zelly, happy to help. How’s Ace doing with his classes?” she asked.

“Uh, he’s doing okay,” I said.

“Good for him!” said Mrs. Stanley. “Bridget was such a disaster at that age. Weren’t you, Bridgie?”

Bridget’s tail twitched repeatedly. It could have been a muscle spasm, but it really looked like a wag. She had been mostly deaf and almost blind the whole time I’d known her, but some days she could fool you into thinking she wasn’t missing a thing.

Mrs. Stanley shook her head ruefully. “Such a little troublemaker. Chewing on everything. Howling at all hours. We had to pull up all the rugs. And she ate all our socks!”

“Ace too! He tried to eat a pincushion today. And did you hear he ate a bowl of candy on Halloween and had to go to the emergency room?”

“Oh no. Poor baby! Bridgie did that twice, once on Halloween, once on Easter.”

“Bridgie? Really?” It seemed crazy that mellow old Bridget could have once been as bad as—or worse than—Ace.

“Mmm-hmmm,” said Mrs. Stanley. “Such a mischief-maker. Even after we taught her what was what, Bob had to retrain her several times.”

“Retrain her?” I asked. This hadn’t occurred to me. I kind of assumed that training a dog was sort of like riding a bicycle: once you had the basics down, you were all set.

“Sure,” said Mrs. Stanley. “You know, to keep her up on her skills, keep her from picking up bad habits. Of course, she’s slipped a lot lately, but that’s to be expected,” added Mrs. Stanley. “Even with her joint supplements and her other pills, she’s not very comfortable sitting or standing, poor old girl.
And it’s got to be confusing for her not knowing where she is half the time.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, talking to both Mrs. Stanley and Bridget at once. For some reason, I started thinking about Ace-the-grandpa. He wasn’t very comfortable sitting or standing, either, and yet he was willing to sit in an old folding chair for an hour at class every week.

We stopped at a light and I noticed an old woman in a bright pink coat standing on the corner next to a bus sign. I smiled, remembering Ace waddling onto the bus with Ace smuggled under the Baxter State. I felt bad for causing Ace-the-grandpa to miss class after he had been so determined to get me—and Ace-the-dog—there. I petted both dogs, glad to be sandwiched between them.

When Mrs. Stanley dropped me off, I went inside and found Mrs. Wright walking Rosie around the orange cones in the otherwise empty training area. I’d never been this early for class before. Mrs. Wright came to a halt when she saw me, and Rosie immediately sat.

“Zelly! Good to see you. We missed you last week, didn’t we, Rosie?”

Rosie, hearing her name, stared up at Mrs. Wright, wagging her tail expectantly. Mrs. Wright tossed her a piece of cheese. “Where’s your grandpa?” she asked.

“He, uh, couldn’t make it tonight.” I felt bad that it probably seemed like he was blowing the class off, when in fact I was the reason he wasn’t there.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, her face concerned.

“Oh yeah, he’s great. He’s just, um, not here. Is it okay that I don’t have a grown-up with me?”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Wright.

“Also, can I ask you a favor?” I asked.

Right before class started, I used Ace’s cell phone to call Mrs. Stanley. “I’m all set,” I told her. “My teacher can give me a ride home.”

It was a long evening. The focus was on the command “stay.” I couldn’t help finding my thoughts drifting to Hailey’s sleepover. I wondered what they were doing. I couldn’t help wishing that instead of having to “stay” here, I could “go” there. So did Ace, apparently. He refused to stay in one place, sitting, standing, or lying down.

“Ace, stay!” I tried. Again and again and again.

“Maybe he has ADHD,” suggested the man with Lady, the Great Dane.
Not helpful
, I thought, frustrated. His dog wasn’t so perfect. Lady could do “stay” for hours, but he practically had to sit on her to get her to lie down.

“Why don’t you stay-ay-ay just a little bit longer?” sang Mrs. Wright to Ace. To demonstrate his inability to do just that, Ace stood up on his hind legs and danced to the tune, clowning for a treat.
Hopeless!
I thought, not for the first time.

Finally, thankfully, class ended. Mrs. Wright and I walked our dogs to her car.

“Do you want to sit up front?” asked Mrs. Wright. “Tonight I’ve got an extra crate Ace can use.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I told her. “I can just sit in the back and keep him on my lap.”

Mrs. Wright started the car, and I reminded her of the way to my house.

“Your grandpa did a great job last week,” said Mrs. Wright. “Ace is really coming along.”

“Right!” I said sarcastically.

“He is! He’s a smart boy, and he’ll get there, just you wait and see.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“He’s quite a character, your grandfather,” she added.

“Yup,” I said.

“My husband was too. Your grandpa reminds me of him. Same kind of strong … personality.”

I could see her smiling dreamily in the rearview mirror.
Oh no
, I realized. She had the same goofy look Allie reserved for her number one crush, Seth. Mrs. Wright was falling in love with Ace! While Ace was just being a flirt. He was already dating three other people, one of whom he was out with right now!

I felt really sorry for Mrs. Wright. She was a nice lady. Which is maybe why I blurted out, “Mrs. Wright, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Nope. Do you?”

“N-n-n-o,” I stammered, feeling my face get hot and immediately wishing I had kept my mouth shut.

Mrs. Wright smiled and said, “I’m just teasing, dear. Why do you ask?”

“To tell you not to go out with my grandpa.”

“Oh!” said Mrs. Wright with surprise. “Really? Why not?”

“Well, see, he had a heart attack.”

“Oh my goodness!” said Mrs. Wright. “Why didn’t you say something? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” I told her quickly. “It wasn’t, like, yesterday. It was over the summer. I’m only mentioning it because since then he’s been acting, um, crazier than usual. He means well. He’s not a bad person. But lately he’s started doing all this stuff he’s not supposed to do.”