Aces Wild (12 page)

“Yeah, ha-ha,” I said. “For your information, my dog ate tons of chocolate. He had to be rushed to the emergency room. He could have died.”

I ran out of the lunchroom and spent the rest of lunch hiding in a stall in the girls’ bathroom, waiting for the bell to ring and trying not to cry. I couldn’t believe Allie!
Why did my so-called best friend think I was so funny-weird-bizarre-pathetic I needed someone to beg for invitations for me?
She had made everything worse! I wished we had never moved here. If I were back in Brooklyn, Ace wouldn’t live with us, I would have real friends who saw me for me, and stupid sleepovers would be a nonissue.

That night, I went up to my room right after dinner. I was exhausted from the night before, so I lay down on my bed with a book and got good and lost in it. So lost, in fact, that when my mom came in to tell me I had a phone call, she startled me awake.

“It’s Allie,” she said, holding it out to me.

I shook my head. “Tell her I can’t come to the phone,” I mouthed.

“O-kay,” she said. She got back on the line, and I heard her walk out saying, “Allie, hon? She’s already in bed. Yes, Ace gave us a scare last night, but he’s going to be fine.…”

Meanwhile, Ace-the-grandpa had replaced my mom in the doorway. He was wearing the Baxter State, plus his muffler and his ice-fishing hat. In his hand was a leash. Attached to the end of it was Ace-the-dog.

“YOU READY FOR CLASS?” he asked.

“No,” I told him.

“OH? WHY NOT?”

“I changed my mind. I don’t want a sleepover.”

“WHAT ABOUT THE DOGGELAH? WHAT ABOUT WHAT HE WANTS?”

“It doesn’t matter, Grandpa. Ace can go by himself for all I care!” I snapped. “I’m not going.”

I lay down, turned to face the wall, and braced myself for a lecture on how quitters never win and winners never quit, or something like that. Instead, I heard my door close. Exhausted, I shut my eyes.

A little later, I sat bolt upright in bed. My room was dark. I felt around in my covers. “Ace?” I said.

No Ace.

I ran downstairs. “Ace!” I called. I knocked, then opened the door to Grandpa’s room.

No Ace. Neither Ace.

Then it hit me:

Ace had gone to class. With Ace. And without me.

But why? I told him I had given up on getting a sleepover. The answer came to me a split second later: Mrs. Wright. Ace loved attention, and Mrs. Wright heaped it on him. “It’s a date,” he had said when she dropped us off, and she had giggled.

Oh no
, I thought, shuddering.
Don’t tell me he’s up to four girlfriends … that we know of
.

When I woke up the next morning, Ace-the-dog was snuggled up in my bed next to me, sleeping soundly. Clearly, it didn’t bother him at all that he had snuck off to class without me. My mom came in a couple of times to make sure I was getting up, and I convinced her to drive me on account of the fact that what the weatherman called a “wintry mix” was coming down outside.

“Should we offer Allie a lift?” she asked.

“Her dad drives her and Julia when it rains,” I told her. I felt a little guilty for not checking, even though this was usually the case. I thought about the possibility of her standing on the corner waiting for me and I felt bad, but not bad enough to call her.

I had a lousy day at school. Mr. Tortoni gave us a pop quiz on probabilities, but I couldn’t focus on it. All I could think of was the probabilities of my life:
If one girl is allowed to invite ten friends but ends up inviting eleven girls, one of which is not really a friend, what is the probability that the eleventh girl will ever actually receive another sleepover invite? If one dog refuses to stay in one place longer than five seconds ninety percent of the time, what is the probability that he will flunk out of obedience class for the second time?
Then, in English class, I couldn’t find my pen, so Mrs. Clements did what she usually did: took one of my shoes as “collateral” on getting her pen back. I wiggled my toes as I wrote, feeling angrier and angrier. At Mrs. Clements, at Allie, and especially at Ace-the-grandpa. I went to the nurse during
lunch. I lay there with a wet paper towel on my forehead and watched icy raindrops chase each other down the window until I heard the bell ending after-lunch recess.

When I got home from school, I practically tripped over one of Sam’s creations. It was a tower made of paper cups, drinking straws, LEGOs, and a deck of cards. I called, “Ace!” as always, but he didn’t come. “Mom?” I tried.

“I’m in the basement,” she called back.

“Sam!” I yelled next.

Sam came running, lightsaber in hand. “Halt, who goes there?” he said, facing off with me.

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“Where is who?”

“Ace, Sam! Where’s Ace?”

“Oh!” said Sam. “They’re in the living room.”

“They?” I asked, but the answer was immediately obvious. Ace and Ace. Ace-the-grandpa was holding a little metal ball in his right hand and was periodically clicking it. In his left hand was a half-eaten hot dog. Ace-the-dog was staring at it, licking his chops.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“SIT,” he ordered, ignoring me. Ace-the-dog sat down. I heard a click and saw Ace toss Ace a little piece of hot dog. Ace inhaled it in one gulp.

“SUCH A FRESSER,” Ace told my puppy.

“What’s that sound?”

“WHAT, THIS?” said Ace. He clicked it at me—
click! click!
—a few more times before handing it over so I could
inspect it. It was a small, familiar-looking round brass gizmo, sort of like an old-fashioned pocket watch. When I clicked it myself, I realized where I’d seen and heard it before.

“Isn’t that what Bubbles used to use to count knitting rows?”

“YUP,” said Ace. “IT’S FOR KNITTING AND SITTING.”

“I don’t think this is funny,” I said.

“SO DON’T LAUGH. HERE—YOU TRY.”

Ace handed me the leash, lowered himself onto the couch, and stared at me.

“I wasn’t at class,” I said pointedly.

Ace hoisted himself up again. “THIS ISN’T FROM CLASS. WE’RE TRYING SOMETHING NEW,” he said, sounding pleased with himself. “AND YOU’RE WELCOME.”

“You’re welcome?” I said in frustration. “For what?”

Ace frowned. “I TOOK HIM TO CLASS. I DID YOU A FAVOR.”

I was beginning to see orange again. I knew if my dad was here, he’d be trying to defuse the situation with a nice plate of celery, cream cheese, and raisins right about now (“Ants on a log, anyone?”). But my dad wasn’t here.

“That’s not a favor!” I shouted. “A favor is when you ask for something! I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Zelly, I’m using the Force now,” said Sam, pointing his lightsaber at me. “Stop yelling.”

“Plus what about Halloween?! Did it ever occur to you that Ace could have died from all that chocolate?” I continued,
ignoring Sam. “No—all you cared about was going on your date! All you ever care about is yourself!”

“FOR YOUR INFORMATION, KID—”

“I’m gonna die!!!”

Ace and I stopped yelling and turned to look at Sam. He was no longer pointing the lightsaber at us. He was shaking and his eyes were huge.

“SAM, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

“Zelly said so! I ate all my Milky Ways even though Mom said to just have one,” he confessed.

“Not you,” I said. “Ace.”

Sam’s bottom lip started to quiver, and his hand flew to his rubber band bracelets. “
Gwampa’s
going to die?” he whispered.

“SURE, EVENTUALLY,” said Ace.

“Grandpa!” I said sharply. “Look, Sam, I was talking about Ace-the-dog. Dogs can die from chocolate, not people. But he’s fine. Grandpa’s fine too.”

“Fow weal?”

I nodded. Sam looked to Ace, and he nodded too. Sam let out a long breath, shuddered, then said, “Can I watch TV?”

“YES,” Ace and I said together, even though we both knew the answer was supposed to be
Check with Mom
. For once, I was actually glad to see Ace disregarding a rule. With Sam gone, Ace turned to me.

“LOOK, KID—” Ace started to say, but I wasn’t in a mood to have my ear bent. So I pulled Ace out of the living room by his leash and dragged him right into …

Auughh!

—the crazy house of cards that Sam had built.

It was not as dramatic as throwing them up in the air, but the result was the same. All the cards—and cups and LEGOs and drinking straws—went flying, landing all over the floor in every direction.

Great
, I thought.
Fifty-two pickup. Story of my life
.

“I’m sorry,” said Ace.

“I don’t want to— What?” It was disorienting to hear Ace’s voice at a fraction of its usual volume.

Ace sat down carefully on the ottoman. “I just wanted to help you out,” he said feebly.

“Yeah, well, thanks. But don’t,” I said. “Usually it makes things worse.”

Ace started to use his cane to sort of sweep the mess in the same direction. It wasn’t a very good tool for the job, so most of the cards stayed put.

“Hold on. I’ve got it,” I told him. I didn’t like to see him looking so defeated and, well, old. Cranky, feisty, loudmouthed Ace drove me crazy, but dejected Ace was actually worse. I sat down on the floor and used my hands to gather the playing cards.

“I had no idea about the chocolate business,” he continued. “We never had dogs.” He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Look, kid, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Me and my mishegoss. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to go out, this never would have happened.”

“It’s okay,” I said. For someone who rarely apologized, Ace was surprisingly good at it.

“I get antsy being in the house by myself,” Ace admitted. “Too quiet.”

“Me too,” I told him.

“Also, I shouldn’t have taken him to class,” added Ace.

“He didn’t, by any chance, do a better job without me there?” I asked hopefully.

“NOPE,” he bellowed, his usual decibel level returning, along with the color to his cheeks. “WORSE.”

I knew that shouldn’t have made me feel better. But for some strange reason, it did.

As Allie “predicted,” I did indeed receive an invitation to Hailey’s sleepover. The fabulous Thursday-night-before-no-school-Friday sleepover that everyone who was anyone was going to.

Except me. Because I declined it. Reluctantly.

Which made Allie grumble the entire way to school when I told her. “Give me one good reason why you’re not going,” she said.

Nope!
I thought.
And I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you
. In the days since Halloween, I had successfully squirreled my anger at Allie away to the back of my mental nut-storage, thus enabling me to spend my lunch periods in the cafeteria instead of the girls’ room. Once or twice, I had been tempted to tell her. But the more time passed, the more it felt like that would make too big a deal out of it. I pictured Allie telling
Jenny and Megan—or, worse, telling all the girls at Hailey’s house—about it.
You know Zelly Fried? She is such a drama queen! First, she spied on me, then she got mad over nothing and wouldn’t even tell me what was wrong!

And I had almost convinced myself that maybe it
was
nothing. I mean, what was so bad about Allie asking Hailey to invite me anyway?
I should just feel grateful to be invited
, I told myself,
not mad about why
.

But it didn’t feel like nothing. It felt like something had changed with me and Allie. Or maybe it was always this way, but I was so busy assuming everything was fine or not paying attention that I didn’t see what was obvious to everyone else: Allie had lots of friends, not just me. She was the center of our lunch table, her class, and the sixth-grade social universe altogether. Me? I was the popular girl’s
funny
friend. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she felt sorry for me. She practically said so.

“I have to take Ace to dog obedience class,” I told her. “I missed last week. So I’m kind of behind already. Plus my grandpa will be mad if I blow it off.”

“Zelly! Your grandpa won’t even notice! Isn’t he kind of, you know …” Allie looked like she was trying to think of a polite way to say something that wasn’t so nice. She went with “Busy? With all his girlfriends and everything?”

“He’ll notice,” I told her.

But I’ll admit I was tempted. What if Ace didn’t mind if I missed class? After all, he hadn’t lectured me when I didn’t go the week before. It would be pretty silly to turn down Hailey’s
sleepover without even asking him, wouldn’t it? It couldn’t hurt to ask.

So that evening, I knocked on his door.

“Ace?”

“Ruff!” At my feet, Ace-the-dog barked once. Maybe because he heard his name and was expecting a treat. Maybe because he was announcing our presence in puppy language.

“WHA?”

“Hi, Grandpa. Can I ask you a question?”

“YOU JUST DID.” I smiled weakly. “ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT,” he said. “ASK ME ANYTHING.”

“Hypothetically speaking,” I said, using one of Ace’s favorite techniques to try and get on his good side, “do you think it would be disastrous if a person missed dog obedience class for a very good reason?”

“THAT WOULD DEPEND,” said Ace, snapping into judge mode, “ON THE CIRCUMSTANCES. WOULD THIS PERSON HAVE ALREADY MISSED ONE CLASS, HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING?”