Rachel Takes the Lead Read online

  They actually seemed to be thinking about it. Then one girl said, “How about a cooking club? Where we could share recipes and try different food?”

  Another girl nodded with enthusiasm. “We could meet here. Maybe they’d let us use the stuff in the cafeteria kitchen.”

  “Okay.” I jotted this down in my notebook. “Thank you.”

  I moved on to another table and repeated the same introduction and question. This group had ideas too—a book club. A film club. A creative writing club.

  I wrote these down rapidly. Our lunchtime was almost up, so I couldn’t hit any more tables, and I hadn’t even eaten my own lunch. I didn’t care.

  I went back to my table, where the others were gathering their stuff to leave.

  “What are you doing?” Ellie asked. “Rachel, are you campaigning?”

  I considered this. “Maybe.” And then I said, “Yes. And I’ve got a platform.

  IN NEXT-TO-LAST PERIOD, THE TEACHER WAS absent so we had a substitute. She was one of those last-minute teacher replacements and she had no lesson plan, so she gave us the option of doing homework in the room or going to the media center. I chose the media center, because I wanted to look for a book on training dogs. But once I was in there, I remembered something I hadn’t had time to do at home that morning.

  I sat down in a computer cubicle and logged onto the Lakeside community site. Scrolling down, I clicked on Lost and Found. There was a wallet, and a bracelet… and then my heart sank.

  Lost: miniature brown terrier. Answers to Rocko. If found, please contact the Henderson family. This was followed by a phone number, an email, and a street address. An address not far from where I’d found Fifi.

  I tried to stay calm. This didn’t have to mean Fifi. Terriers weren’t unusual—there could be hundreds of them in Lakeside. Well, maybe not hundreds, but a bunch of them. I tried very hard to think of other dogs I’d seen around town that would fit this description. I couldn’t remember any, but there had to be some. The announcement made it sound like the lost dog was some kind of purebred terrier, though it didn’t specify a breed. I reminded myself that the pet shop man had said Fifi was mixed-breed, maybe with some terrier, some spaniel too. And okay, Fifi was small, but I wouldn’t call her miniature. The missing dog in the announcement—it wasn’t Fifi.

  But I wasn’t able to convince myself of that. My eyes were burning, and I could feel the tears welling up. I could write the Hendersons an email, right here and now, but I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.

  I suddenly became aware of the librarian looking at me in concern. I forced a smile, turned off the computer, and walked out.

  I stopped in a restroom to dry my eyes and splash water on my face. Even in here, there was a poster for Paige. But I didn’t care about the stupid election anymore. Nothing else mattered. Only Fifi.

  I went on to my next class, but I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t do anything. I just stared into space and fought back more tears.

  How long had I had Fifi? Only a few days, but it felt like forever. Like she’d always been a part of my life and she always would be.

  When the last bell finally rang, I moved as fast as I could. I didn’t even go to my locker for my coat. I knew my friends were all heading off in different directions, and I didn’t want to run into any of them outside.

  I hurried home. It was cold without my coat, but I was walking so fast I didn’t feel it. When I finally arrived, Fifi greeted me at the door with a look of urgency.

  I went in and picked up her leash and a poop bag. Then I stopped at the open door of my mother’s office, where she was bent over her computer keyboard and typing furiously.

  “Mom?”

  She turned. “Oh, honey, I didn’t hear you come in. You didn’t go to Ellie’s? How did you get home?”

  “I got a lift with a friend.”

  It was a lie—a real lie, not a lie of omission—but I didn’t care.

  “Mom, did you take Fifi out?”

  She gasped. “Oh! I was working so hard to meet this deadline, I forgot. I’ll take a break, we can go now.” But her eyes went back to the screen.

  “No, you keep working,” I said. “I’ll take her out.”

  Mom’s eyes widened. “Alone? No, just wait and—”

  I didn’t want to argue, but I interrupted her. “Mom! I won’t cross any streets, we won’t go far, and I’m taking her on my own.”

  She looked shocked, too shocked to speak, and I didn’t wait for her to recover. I attached Fifi’s lead and took her outside.

  Fifi took care of her needs immediately. I cleaned up after her and dropped the bag in the trash can on the corner. And then I turned us in the direction of the address that was now burned in my mind. As I walked, I could almost hear Alyssa’s voice. Forget about it, Rachel. Pretend you never saw the announcement.

  I wished I could. I loved Fifi so much. But someone else loved her too, someone who had her before I did. I wasn’t perfect—after all, I’d just lied to my mother. But this was different. There was no way I could pretend I didn’t know that Fifi belonged to someone else.

  I probably should have called this Henderson family first. I didn’t even know if anyone would be home. Maybe if no one answered the door, I’d have Fifi for another night. But when I reached the address, the curtains were open and I spotted a figure inside. There was no turning back now.

  I wanted to pick Fifi up, have one last hug, let her lick my face one more time. But I had to keep moving before I completely broke down. I started up the walkway to the front door.

  The door opened. A woman and a little girl came out. The woman held a lead, and attached to that lead was a miniature brown terrier.

  The woman looked at me, then at Fifi, and smiled. “Oh! You saw our announcement. We found our Rocko. He’d gone into our basement and couldn’t find his way out. Luckily, I had to go down there to get clothes out of the washing machine, and there he was!”

  I really didn’t care how they’d found their Rocko. And if only they had mentioned in the announcement that the lost dog was male, I wouldn’t have had to suffer like this. But I couldn’t be angry. At that moment, I was so thrilled, so relieved, that all I could do was tell them I was happy for them and lead Fifi away.

  I was practically dancing all the way back home. Maybe that was why my grip on the lead might have loosened. But whatever the reason, very suddenly, Fifi pulled away from me and ran out into the street, her leash dangling from her collar. She only had eyes for the squirrel that was hopping along the other side of the road—and I only had eyes for the car that was coming!

  Everything seemed like it was going in slow motion as I frantically waved my arms and made eye contact with the driver, who immediately hit the brakes. I dashed out after Fifi and scooped her up. By then, the car had stopped completely, and it didn’t proceed until I was back on the sidewalk with Fifi in my arms. The driver stuck his head out the window.

  “Everyone okay?”

  “Yes,” I managed to say. But my heart was pounding and I was shaking. I don’t think I’d ever been so completely frightened in my whole life.

  I couldn’t put Fifi back down on the ground right away. I hugged her tightly and waited for my panic to pass. And as I waited, I thought about my mothers. This was why they were both so cautious, so worried about me being on my own. There were things out there that they just couldn’t control. Maybe, for the very first time, I truly understood their fears. Because now I had someone to care for in a world of unknowns. Fifi was my responsibility, and I loved her so much. I had to protect her. Like they felt they had to protect me.

  But I’m not a dog.

  Fifi could never completely take care of herself. She would always need me to watch out for her, to keep her safe, to make sure she was clean and fed. As a small child, I would have been like Fifi, needing attention all the time.

  But I’m not a small child anymore. And I know how to take care of myself.

  I walked through the d
oor at home and found Mom pacing the living room. When she saw me, she ran and threw her arms around me.

  “Rachel, I’ve been so worried! Please, don’t ever do that to me again!”

  “Don’t do what?” I asked, though I knew perfectly well what she was talking about. She let go of me and stepped back.

  “Run out like that! By yourself!”

  “Oh, Mom,” I sighed. I bent down and freed Fifi from her leash. She didn’t trot off but stayed by my side, as if she could sense that I needed her there at this moment.

  “Shouldn’t you be working on your project?” I asked Mom.

  “How can I work when I’ve been so upset!”

  I’d once read in a story about an unhappy character who was “wringing her hands.” At the time, I couldn’t imagine what that would look like, but now, watching Mom rubbing her hands, folding and unfolding them over each other, I understood the expression.

  “Oh, Mom,” I said again, but before I could get any further, Mami came into the house. She looked upset too as she put down her bag. Had Mom actually called her when I left?

  But no, she was distressed for a different reason. “I went online to check the Lakeside community bulletin board before I left school,” she told us. “Rachel, darling, I don’t know how to tell you this—”

  “You saw an announcement about a lost dog,” I said. “A miniature brown terrier. Owned by a family with the last name Henderson.”

  “You saw it too?” Mami asked. “Oh, honey, we’ll have to call these people.”

  “There’s no need,” I replied. “It isn’t Fifi.”

  “How do you know that?” Mom asked.

  “I just went to see the Hendersons. They’ve already found their dog.”

  Mami gasped. Mom went completely white.

  “You—you went to a stranger’s house? By yourself?”

  “Yes, Mom. By myself. Well, with Fifi. They were outside so I didn’t go into their house,” I added.

  That didn’t seem to reassure them. Suddenly, I felt very, very tired. But I knew this was the time for a talk, and I pulled myself together.

  “Mom, Mami, please sit down and listen to me.”

  They must have both been in a state of shock, because they actually did as they were told and sat down on the sofa. I sat on the armchair facing them. Fifi jumped into my lap and I held her close.

  “I understand how you feel,” I began. “You loved Leah, and she died. And you love me and you’re afraid something terrible will happen to me too. But I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m twelve years old. I’m smart, and I’m sensible, and I’m careful. You have to start treating me like the person I am.”

  They were both staring at me, and I wasn’t surprised. I’d never talked to them like this before.

  “I need more independence. I need for you to let me make my own decisions. At least, some of them. I mean, I still need your advice and your opinions and all that. But I can walk to and from school on my own, to and from friends’ homes on my own. I can run errands on my own, I can walk Fifi on my own. I promise you I won’t do anything rash or dangerous. But you have to trust me to know what I can do by myself.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then Mami turned to Mom.

  “She’s right, Jane.”

  Mom was still pale, but a sad little smile crossed her face. “You’re growing up,” she said softly.

  “I love you, I’ll always love you,” I said. “And I’ll always need you too. But not for everything. I need to take more responsibility for myself. I was always so shy and fearful, I went along with everything you wanted. But I’m changing.”

  Mami was crying now. I reached into my backpack and brought out a pack of tissues. Handing them to her, I smiled. “See how responsible I am? A long time ago you told me I should always carry tissues. And I do.”

  Then I told them about running for seventh-grade representative. How Kiara had nominated me because she thought I’d do a good job. How I’d been talking to people more—not just my friends, but other kids too, about their hopes and ideas for our school. How I’d been standing up for myself. How I would have to make a speech in front of the entire seventh grade next week. At that, two pairs of eyes got very round. They were surprised, possibly even shocked. But I thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a tiny hint of approval in their faces. And then it was as if we all knew what to do next. We got up, came together, and put our arms around each other in a group hug.

  “Well,” Mom said finally. “I’d better finish my project.”

  “And I need to get dinner started,” Mami said.

  “I’ve got stuff to do too,” I said.

  “What are you doing?” Mom asked. “Homework?”

  “No, other things.” I smiled. “Nothing for you to worry about, Mom.”

  My mothers looked at each other and nodded, as if making an unspoken agreement.

  “We will try, Rachel,” Mom said, and she squeezed my hand. “We’re so proud of you, honey.”

  Fifi followed me into my room. I sat down at my desk and logged in to the Lakeside community site. Fifi curled up at my feet. Before I started typing, I turned to her.

  “I love you, Fifi. But I have to be a responsible person and do the right thing.” I watched as the words I composed appeared on the screen.

  “Have you lost a dog? I’ve found one.” When I finished posting the announcement, I sent a group email to my friends.

  “Want to help me put up flyers about Fifi tomorrow?”

  I had a lot to write in my diary that evening. About changing my mind and running for seventh grade rep. About almost losing Fifi. About my talk with Mom and Mami.

  I feel so strange, I wrote. This is so not me! Something’s going on in my head and I don’t know why. I stopped, and then added, But I don’t feel bad about it.

  IT WAS A BUSY WEEKEND. THERE WAS A LOT to do, which was maybe a good thing since it kept me occupied and I couldn’t think so much about the assembly on Monday. Of course, every now and then it popped into my head, but at least I had stuff to distract me.

  On Saturday, the entire sisterhood came over to my house for lunch. It seemed that Ellie’s Little Miss Perfect behavior at home had paid off—she was released early from grounding. I had prepped them all beforehand with the news about my declaration of independence, and they came prepared to regale my parents with tales of their own examples of the freedom they had.

  Ellie was Little Miss Perfect in this situation too. I kicked off the conversation by asking her what she usually did on Saturdays, and she casually described going to the public library by herself.

  Alyssa came on a little strong and overdid her tales of independence a bit, going on and on about her parents’ working long hours, how she and her older siblings were given great responsibility, how she was often left alone to babysit her little brother.

  Kiara, naturally, took my request literally.

  “I run errands for the woman who lives next door, and I go all over town by myself. When our housekeeper is very busy, I go out to get groceries, by myself. Almost every week, I visit my aunt at her beauty salon. By myself.”

  After lunch, we posted the flyer I’d made about Fifi online and printed out copies. Before we left with them, I showed one to Mom and Mami.

  “Shouldn’t you add a description of the dog?” Mom asked.

  “Maybe a picture?” Mami suggested.

  I shook my head. “If I did that, anyone who wanted a dog could claim her. This way, if someone calls, I’ll ask them to describe their lost dog and I’ll be able to tell if they might be talking about Fifi.”

  I could tell my mothers were impressed by my thinking. Maybe even a little surprised.

  I picked up a roll of tape, and we went out to distribute the flyers, starting along Main Street. A couple of stores let us put one up in their window, but some wouldn’t. After about half an hour, we found ourselves admiring the window display at Tinsel, a very cool clothes shop. I couldn’t take my eyes off a
cropped pink sweater with gold threads running through it.

  “Why don’t you go try it on,” Ellie suggested. “It’ll look even better on you than on the mannequin.” We went in and I located the pink sweater hanging on a nearby rack. But even before I began to search for my size, I spotted the price tag on a tiny card perched above the display. Two hundred dollars for a thin sweater? Was that real gold on it?

  So I didn’t bother taking it into the dressing room. We spent a few more minutes poking around, though, and while we did, Ellie asked a salesperson if we could put the flyer in their window. She took one look at us and must have figured we weren’t potential customers—not that day, and probably not ever—because the answer was no.

  We pressed on. We put flyers on bulletin boards at the library and the post office. We stuck them on benches in the park, on a construction site fence, all over town. At one point we stopped back at my house so Fifi could come along with us for a little bit, and even though I knew it was ridiculous, I kept wondering if she knew what we were doing. All I could do was hope that nobody would respond to our efforts.

  On Saturday evening, I went to the movies with Mom and Mami. The movie wasn’t something I particularly wanted to see, but I felt like I needed to assure them that my newly proclaimed independence didn’t mean I wouldn’t want to be with them occasionally. And it did distract me a little from thinking about Monday.

  On Sunday, I did my homework in the morning after one of Mami’s particularly fabulous breakfasts. And then, after lunch, I got to work on my speech for Monday.

  As I wrote the words, I tried to imagine saying them out loud in front of the entire seventh grade at the assembly. But that got my heart beating too quickly and my stomach churning, so I just concentrated on writing. I didn’t even want to practice it, not with my friends, not with Mom and Mami. It might sound all wrong—they might make suggestions I didn’t want to hear. When I finally had it the way I wanted it, I put it in my backpack and wondered if I’d be able to sleep that night.