Best Friend Next Door (3 page)

As soon as I wake up, I check the whole house for Butterball. Nothing. At least the rain has stopped. I wonder if he attempted to walk back to Captiva. I’ve read about heroic cats who follow their families for thousands of miles. But Butterball is so fat I can’t imagine him waddling even one mile.

Even his empty litter box makes me sad. Okay, that’s gross.

I peek into Mom J’s office. “Can you help me make missing posters for Butterball?”

“Sure,” she says. “Mom C drove around looking for him before work, and I just checked the neighborhood, too. Making posters is another great idea.”

We spend the next few minutes designing a sign on the computer. It says:

MISSING

Large orange cat named “Butterball.”

Purrs when you hold him in your arms.

Beneath Mom J’s phone number, we insert a picture of me holding Butterball. It’s back in Captiva, and we’re in the beanbag chair on our porch.

Mom J prints out fifteen copies and I grab a roll of packing tape. I can see out the window that the sidewalks are muddy. I slide into my Crocs and we walk around the neighborhood, putting up signs on poles and lampposts.

When we get home, I keep checking Mom J’s phone to see if anyone has called or texted. Nothing yet. But I feel better knowing we did something to help find Butterball.

My feet got dirty while we were out, so I go upstairs and soak them in the tub. Then I get nail polish remover and a cotton ball and wipe the chipped shades of blue off my toes. I always have multicolored toenails. Today I’m going to paint them burgundy and silver, alternating toes, because I’ve heard those are the Greeley Elementary School colors. No one can say I’m not trying.

A half hour later, my newly polished toenails are dry. I’m just coming down to the kitchen for juice when I hear a meow at the cat door.

“Butterball!” I squeal, scrambling across the room and lifting him up. “Mom J! He’s home!”

Mom J rushes in and we dance around the kitchen. I can’t believe it. Butterball is home. Or at least as home as we can be in Greeley.

I bury my face in his thick fur, but then jerk back in surprise.

Butterball is wearing a new blue collar around his neck.

“We knew he’d come home,” Mom J says, grinning. “See, it all worked out!”

I smile at her. For some reason I decide not to show her the blue collar. As soon as she leaves to take down the
MISSING
signs, I remove the new collar and fasten on Butterball’s regular yellow one. Then I shove the blue collar behind the cat food, far out of sight.

Two days later, Mom J and I are walking to the farmers’ market. Greeley has one every Thursday and Sunday. Mom J has been talking about it all morning. You’d think she’s never eaten fresh vegetables before. I keep that thought to myself, though. Ever since Butterball returned home, I’m trying to be an optimist again.

We’re right in front of the post office when I freeze. “Look!” I say.

“What?” Mom J asks.

I point to the nearest lamppost, where a sign says:

MISSING

Large orange cat. Answers to the name “Radar.”

Likes to be scratched under the neck.

We only had him for a few days, but he’s a sweetie.

We miss him like crazy.

On the bottom is a phone number and a photo of that girl next door.
Hannah!
In her lap, she’s holding a fat orange cat.

“That’s not
Radar
,” I say. “It’s Butterball! He was with the girl next door. She must have put that collar on him.”

“What collar?” Mom J asks.

I flush. Now it seems silly that I didn’t tell her. “Nothing … it’s just that Butterball came home with a new blue collar on. I took it off.”

Mom J grins. “That must have been where he went. Old Butterball. He didn’t make it very far.”

Mom J pulls her phone out of her tote bag and taps the screen. While it’s ringing, she hands it to me.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice asks.

“I’m calling about the cat in the sign,” I say. “Umm, Radar?”

“Oh!” the woman chirps. “I’m Margo. Let me grab my daughter, Hannah. She’s the one who found him. She’s been so upset since he took off.”

As I wait, I stare at the picture of Hannah smiling as she cuddles Butterball. When I met her the other day, she seemed pretty unfriendly. Maybe I got it wrong, though.

After a moment, Hannah comes on. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Emme Hoffman-Shields.” I pause. “I’m the one who just moved in next door, with the same birth—”

“I know who you are,” she says.

Or maybe I got it right after all.

I clear my throat. “I saw your sign about my cat.”

“
Your
cat?”

“Yeah,” I say. I pause and glance at Mom J. “The cat isn’t a stray. He’s my cat. He ran away for a couple days and now he’s home.”

“Oh,” Hannah says.

“Yeah. I just wanted to tell you that.”

After a second, Hannah says, “Okay, well … thanks.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say. “Bye.”

I hang up and hand the phone to Mom J.

“What’d she say?” Mom J asks.

“Not much. I mean, Butterball is
my
cat. What can she say?”

“So it
was
Hannah who had him?”

I nod. “She doesn’t seem very nice.”

Mom J links arms with me and we cross the street to the farmers’ market. “Maybe she’s going through a hard time,” she says after a minute.

I have to admit the farmers’ market is cool. Two men are playing banjo and there are free samples everywhere. Mom J buys turnips (ugh) and chard (okay) and beets (double ugh) and piles them into her tote. She gets me a peach (healthy) and an apple-cider donut (crusted in sugar) for a snack. I go for the donut first.

As we’re walking home again, I start thinking about Hannah. Even though she only had Butterball for a short time, maybe she feels as bad as I felt when he ran away.

“Mom J?” I ask, wiping my fingers on my shorts. “Do you still have that girl Hannah’s number?”

“Sure.”

“Can I call her again?”

Mom J hands me her phone. This time, when the woman answers, I say, “Is Hannah there?”

“May I tell her who’s calling?” Hannah’s mom asks. I think she said her name was Margo.

“It’s Emme again … with the cat.”

When Hannah comes on, I quickly say, “His name is Butterball, but you can call him Radar if you want. It’s a palindrome, after all.”

Hannah doesn’t say anything, so I continue talking.

“And we already have the same birthday and the same shirt, so if you want to share my cat …” I pause. “That’s okay with me.”

“Are you serious?” Hannah asks. Her voice is practically a whisper. “You’d share Radar with me?”

“Butterball,” I say. “Or Radarball. Whatever. You can come and pet him anytime, and he can even sleep at your house now and then. I mean, we’re right next door.”

I glance at Mom J. She’s walking a little ahead, swinging her tote bag.

“I actually have some things that my stepmom bought for him,” Hannah says. “A catnip mouse and a string toy. Catnip makes him crazy.”

“I know!” I say, giggling. Hang on, did Hannah say
stepmom
? I suddenly want to ask her a million questions. Like how come she has a stepmom? Are her parents divorced? And who lived in my house before we moved in? And does she like swimming? And who’s her fifth-grade teacher? Mom J and I went by the school yesterday to drop off forms and found out I have Ms. Linhart.

We turn onto Centennial. I see Hannah’s house and my house in the distance.

“I know this sounds strange,” I say, “but I’m obsessed with palindromes. Whenever I hear a new one, I—”

“Am I loco, Lima?”
Hannah asks, cutting me off.

“Yes!” I shriek so loudly that Mom J turns around and raises one eyebrow. I wave my hand like
It’s cool
, and she keeps walking. “Or
Ma has a ham
.”

“Oh, great palindrome,” Hannah says, “even though I hate ham.”

“Me too!” I scream. This time, Mom J raises both eyebrows.

Hannah giggles. “Why am I not surprised?”

Maybe I’m being an optimist, but I can’t help blurting out, “Hannah? It feels like we
have
to become friends.”

At that exact second, Hannah opens her front door and steps onto her porch. She puts down the phone and waves at me. I wave back at her.

It’s almost like she knew I was coming.

O
kay, I’ll admit it. Things are getting a little better. School started and it’s not terrible. I might even like it. Fifth grade means we get to walk to the cafeteria and recess by ourselves. And I like volleyball in gym. It’s fun to bump the ball over the net and I’m getting good at serving. Everyone says it helps that I’m tall.

It’s a sunny Saturday morning. On Saturdays my dad usually cooks hash browns. But all this week Margo has been complaining that onions make her want to puke. She says it’s
morning
sickness except it lasts
all day long
. And it’s not just onions. She runs from the kitchen, covering her mouth if she smells broccoli or—
yep
—peanut butter.

Which is only my favorite thing on the planet. I’m trying not to take that personally.

My dad makes multigrain waffles for breakfast instead. As we sit at the table I don’t join their conversation about how whole grains are good for a growing baby. Snore.

I clear my plate and head up to my room. My dad, Margo, and I have a big, scary, possibly exciting appointment this afternoon. The appointment is so big and scary and possibly exciting that I can’t think about it or
I’ll
throw up just like Margo. And so, to get my mind off the two hours and seventeen minutes until we leave for the appointment, I grab a sheet of paper and sit at my desk.

I draw a dark gray line down the center of the paper. On one side I write
Things that are good
. On the other side of the line, I write
Things that stink
.

I look out my window. I can see Emme in her backyard with her tall mom, Claire. Claire is the one who is a lawyer and goes to work every day. Sophie’s family hardly ever used the backyard but Emme and her moms are out there all the time. They’re always weeding the garden or reading in lawn chairs. Sometimes I go over and hang out with them. Ever since I found Emme’s cat, things have gotten better between us. One time Emme’s other mom, Julia, made us pear slices with peanut butter and we ate them on a picnic blanket in her yard. Another time we helped Julia hang a wooden glider on the swing set. It’s cool that Emme and I are becoming friends. I feel bad that I wasn’t very nice to her when she moved in, but she caught me at the worst possible moment.

Under
Things that are good
, I write:

Meeting Emme

After Emme’s name, I add:

Liking school

I was so nervous about having a guy teacher, but Mr. Bryce has turned out to be The Best. He’s funny and nice and he wears silly ties, like one with smiley faces or another with golden retrievers. Emme isn’t in my class—she has Ms. Linhart—but I have girls like Layla and Marley and Natalie, who are all nice.

I move my pencil to the next line and write:

Swim team starting next Tuesday

The Dolphins, a youth team through the YMCA, practice twice during the week and also on Saturday mornings. Coach Missy says I’m going to rock the fifty freestyle this year.

I glance at
Things that stink
and chew on my pencil.

Missing Sophie,
I write.

I
do
miss Sophie, but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. When I’m at school or hanging out with Emme I don’t think about the fact that she lives in Canada now. That’s when I start feeling guilty and vow to send her a real letter. I promised I would write to her when we talked last week. I’ve started a few letters, but for some reason I can’t get past
Dear Sophie
.

Not having peanut butter in the kitchen until Margo gets over her morning sickness,
I add to the list of things that stink.