Call Me Amy (4 page)

“Illegal?”

“Last year they made that Marine Mammal Protection Act. Only Federal agents are allowed to handle harbor seals.”

“Where is he?” I asked.

“In my garage. I filled up my kid sister's wading pool and made a ramp for him.” Craig's excitement darkened. “My old lady says I've gotta get rid of him though.” His rare seriousness faded as quickly as it came. He raised one eyebrow and wrinkled up his nose. “Wanna see him?”

“Yes,” I answered without thinking.

“Pup's a little shy of people. That's the other reason I'm not letting the schmucks from school know. But you and him would probably get along okay.” He studied me a second. “Stop by after school tomorrow.” Craig picked up an old shell, skimmed it across the water and then turned towards shore.

He swung his bike around and called out, “Gotta split,” as he leaped on, popped a wheelie and took off.
I'm sure he thought he was pretty cool, but I was thinking he looked kind of goofy. His long legs had out-grown the bike years before.

I watched him ride past Miss Cogshell's, then past the general store and post office until he was out of sight. Right away I started worrywarting about going to his place. I worried that Craig had already changed his mind; that he wished he'd never bumped into me. He'd be embarrassed in front of all his friends if
I
followed him home. On and on my mind circled.

Dad always said that all I needed was a little self-assurance. Easier said than done. Sometimes I wished I could just go to the doctor's and get a shot of confidence. I took one last look at the ocean and trudged up the hill.

That night, I tried to empty my mind by watching
The Waltons
on TV, but instead of thinking about John Boy, I was thinking of Craig. When I remembered how he had teased me about my fuzzy hat in third grade, I decided not to go to his house, but then I kept wondering what Pup was like. It
was
kind of sweet that Craig had already named the seal. Other seal sightings had always been further along the coast in a secluded cove surrounded by steep ledges. Tomorrow might be my only chance to meet a harbor seal up close.

T
HE NEXT DAY
at school, I couldn't concentrate. I really wanted to meet Pup. I glanced over at Craig once during lunch, but he was laughing with the other boys and looking like the same hunk as always. As usual, he wore that big, old army jacket. Did he ever take that thing off? His faded blue-jean legs stretched halfway out into the aisle. With no trouble at all, I worked myself into a frenzy. Had I dreamed up the whole story? Was Craig thinking about Pup, too? Did he hope I would forget to visit? Or maybe he forgot he invited me?

On the bus ride home, I couldn't decide if I should get off the bus one stop early or not. I did.

I watched the bus rumble away as I fanned the fumes from my face, then turned to see Craig waiting at the corner. “C'mon, slow poke,” he called. I caught up to him, and we walked together, my short legs taking two steps to each of his long strides.

“Got any pets?” he asked.

I shook my head. For months I had been begging for a pet, and was just beginning to realize it wasn't going to happen. “The last thing we need,” my mother had said while she arranged her knick-knacks, “is a dog leaping around or a cat leaving fur balls all over the place.” My father would just get that look in his eyes of not quite listening, although once he did shake his head and mumble, “Too much work.” They didn't seem to get that I'd be the one taking care of the pet.

“Huh?” he said, leaning down to hear me.

“No, but I want one.”

“Me, too. I've always wanted a dog, and now I've got Pup. I know, I know . . . a funny-looking dog but wait 'till you hear him bark.” Craig lifted his chin to the sky. “Arf, Arf.” He laughed, his head thrown back, white teeth showing. “Just kidding. I'm not sure if he can bark. I think it's only sea lions that do that.”

We continued walking in silence while I struggled to think of something to say. The afternoon sun was stronger now, and the wind had died down. I carried my math and social studies books. Craig just had a saggy gym bag. The walk seemed to take forever, and since Port Wells is such a small town, I wondered why I had never bothered to come over this way before.

“You don't talk much, do you?” he said easily, interrupting my thoughts.

I shrugged my shoulders like an idiot. I mean, what was I supposed to say? A few years back my family used to call me chatterbox, but I knew he wouldn't believe that, so why bother getting into it. With Nancy always picking on me, I'd learned it was safer to keep my mouth shut, even at home. I rearranged the books in my arm.

“Hey, I'm not makin' fun of you.” Craig grinned. “It just makes big mouths like me want to know what goes on inside your head. That's probably why you're so smart in school. You listen more careful to stuff.”

I shrugged again, anxious to change the subject. “So, where's your house?”

“Straight ahead.”

Craig lived on a busy street—at least busy for Port Wells—with similar rundown houses along both sides. Each home had a small square of grass between it and the road. I guess he noticed me looking around because he said, “A little different from your mansion.”

I was about to tell a white lie and say his place was nice, but Craig put one finger to his lips as though we weren't supposed to be there.

Outside Craig's garage was a big heap of bicycles, tricycles, a wagon, and a lawnmower. I remembered that Craig had several little brothers and sisters.

“Had to make room for Pup,” he said.

Craig tossed his gym bag down and grabbed the handle of the garage door, sliding it up. Then he stepped inside, reached into a rusty cooler and pulled out a small fish. Sunshine poured in through the open door. I searched the garage. Craig got down on his knees and motioned for me to do the same.

“Here, Pup,” he called quietly. He wiggled the fish out in front of him, and directed his actions toward one area. I peered into the darkened corner and made out two bright eyes above a pair of whiskers, as Pup inched his blubbery shape along the floor. The sunlight bounced off his spotted gray fur. “I think the door scared him,” whispered Craig.

“He's beautiful,” I said, moving closer. “Why—he's crying!”

Craig grinned. “Nah, seals just make salt tears whenever they're out of the water.”

We watched him for a while. Pup didn't want the fish, but he did go for a swim in the little pool. His sleek body floated in the shallow water. He dragged the poor wounded flipper behind him. Pup swam in a few circles. There wasn't room to do much more.

“He needs to be set free as soon as he heals but it may take a few weeks. I'll miss him.”

I glanced at Craig as he watched Pup slide up and over the edge of the pool. Was this really the wild, joking kid who called me Shrimp?

Craig went back to tempting Pup with the fish, but Pup appeared content to lie on the dry cement in a patch of afternoon sun.

“C'mon, Pup,” coaxed Craig. He brought the fish right over to the little seal and was dangling it in front of his nose, when all of a sudden, Pup tossed his head high and let out a loud snort of disgust. It startled Craig so much that he stumbled back and fell into the pool.

I rushed over. I wondered whether it would be silly to offer to help Craig climb out of the tiny pool. He jumped up quick, looking like a big sloppy seal himself. His blue jeans were dripping wet, and he still clutched the little fish. I tried like anything to keep a straight face.

“I guess he doesn't want this,” said Craig, tossing the fish back into the cooler. “Hey—what are you . . . hey, are you laughing at me?”

Craig looked me straight in the eye, and I don't know what my problem was, maybe just nerves, but next thing I knew I burst into giggles and couldn't stop. We both laughed until I got a pain in my side. Pup watched us with what I decided was an amused expression.

Then the door that led from the garage to the house swung open, and I watched Craig's face change to anger or fear—I wasn't sure which. It took me by surprise. Craig's mother stood in the doorway with an odd look on her face. She was a pretty woman, like someone you might see on TV, except there was something sad about her.

“Time we split this scene,” said Craig, almost shoving me back out of the garage. His mother watched us through narrowed eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, and as she stepped into the garage she stumbled a bit on the stairs.

“That—animal—has—got—to—go.” She spoke sharply, and paused between each word. “You're supposed to be helping me with the babies after school.”

“Right, Ma.” Craig pulled down the garage door. He mumbled a few swears under his breath.

I grabbed my books and raced down the driveway to catch up to him.

As we reached the street, Craig's front door crashed open. “It has to be gone by tomorrow,” his mother screamed after us.

Embarrassed, I snuck a look at Craig. His face was distorted with emotion.

“Now you've met Super Mom,” he said too loud, attempting to laugh.

“She probably just had a rough day.” I ran a few more steps to keep up. “Don't you want to change your wet clothes?”

“I don't wanna go back there. The sun will dry 'em.” Craig jerked his hair back out of his eyes and looked at me. “She's like that every day. And if I don't find a place for Pup, fast, I'll have to throw him back in the ocean tomorrow.”

“Maybe my house,” I offered.

“Isn't your dad good pals with the harbormaster?”

“Oh, yeah.” How in the world would Craig know this? “You're right, he is. I can't figure it out. Howard is so stern-looking, yet half the town seems to think he's wonderful.”

“Ha,” said Craig. “That's because half the town is hoping ol' Howie will overlook their little crimes.”

“Maybe he could help?”

“No way. Howie's not finding out. And it would take forever for those Federal guys to get here. That time the Percys had questions about their blue lobster, it took them a stinkin' week to show up.” Craig lifted
and shook his legs, one at a time, in an attempt to dry them faster, then glanced at me.

“So let me make sure I've got this straight,” I said, looking down. “You're breaking the law and could get arrested.”

“If you wanna think of it that way. I think of it as saving Pup's life.” Craig looked straight into my eyes again. “Would you have left Pup to die?”

I glanced away, those blue eyes making me nervous, and thought some more. My dad was always talking with his friend Howard. He was part of the little group my parents got together with. Mom enjoyed having fancy dinner parties while I hid up in my room, bored out of my brain, munching junk food. No, they wouldn't feel right keeping information from Howard. And from what I'd heard, Howard went straight by the book. If there was something wrong going on, no matter how trivial, he took after it like it was a mass murder. Regardless, now that I'd met Pup, I had to help save him.

W
E CONTINUED WALKING
towards the pier while Craig and I went back and forth discussing everyone who lived in the Port. No place seemed right for an illegal seal.

And then I thought of the perfect location. Would a house filled with tiny china animals, including a few marine species, have room for a real one?

“I know who might help us.”

“Great,” said Craig. “Who?”

I took a deep breath and said, “Miss Cogshell.”

Craig widened his eyes and then broke into that grin of his.

“You've gotta be kidding. Old Coot? She'd probably brew him in a pot.”

“I used to feel that way, but she's okay once you get to know her.”

“Nah.” Craig shook his head like I was crazy, then jerked his bangs up. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Know her?” Craig's voice impatient.

“Oh, well, um . . . not really.” I looked down at my sneakers. Maybe someday I'd be brave enough to answer those kind of questions with, “Sure. Want to make something of it?” Then again, Miss Cogshell could hate real animals for all I knew. There weren't even any cats around her place. Maybe she was allergic. I was standing there feeling crummy when an even better idea hit me.

“I've got it. Down behind her house there's an old woodshed. Real private.”

“I've seen it.” Craig nodded, turning to go. “I'll get him in there tonight.”

“What about me?” I asked.

“I'm doing it around midnight,” he tossed over his shoulder. “A little past your bedtime, Shrimp.”

I watched him go up the road in his soggy jeans, and wondered what his problem was. If he could get out at midnight, so could I. Besides, it was my idea to use the woodshed.

That night, after filling three pages of my diary, I stretched out on top of my bed, fully dressed, my alarm set for 11:30 p.m. I figured I could get a little sleep. Wrong. Instead I tossed and turned, glancing at the glowing dial of my clock radio, for what seemed like hours.