Soupy Saturdays With the Pain and the Great One (8 page)

It was true. She did.

I showed Olive another treat and she followed me into the shower. But when I turned on the water Olive jumped out without
getting wet. I wasn’t so lucky. I got soaked. Dylan laughed his head off.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opened. The Great One stood there with her hands on her hips. “What are you doing?” she shouted. “And what’s wrong with Olive?” She ran her hand over Olive’s back. “Is this shampoo?” she asked, smelling her hand.

“Yes,” I told her.

“Are you out of your mind?” she said.

Before I could answer—before I could say
No, I’m not out of my mind
, she yelled, “You can’t use people shampoo on a dog.”

“Says who?” I asked.

But the Great One didn’t answer. She marched out of the room and yelled,
“Mom … Dad … we have an emergency!”

Mom and Dad both came running.

“Uh-oh,” Dad said. “What’s happened to Olive?”

“We were just trying to shampoo her,” I explained.

Dylan didn’t say anything.

Mom looked at me and said, “Jake, you’re all wet. Go and change your clothes.”

So I went to my room. I got out of my wet clothes. I pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie. Then I flew down the stairs in time to see Dad hosing off Olive in the yard. The Great One was wearing rain gear even though it was a sunny day. She was trying to hold Olive still.

“You better pray Olive doesn’t catch cold and die,” the Great One said to me. “How would you explain
that
to Aunt Diana?”

I started to worry.

Dylan said, “Dogs swim even when it’s cold out. What do they care about water from a hose?”

But I could see that Olive cared. I felt really bad for her.

“Get some towels, Jake,” Dad called. “We have to dry off this dog.”

But Olive had other plans. She started shaking the water off her coat. She shook and shook, spraying water everywhere. At Dad, at Mom, at Dylan, and at the Great One.
“Stop it, Olive!”
the Great One shrieked.

But Olive didn’t stop until she wanted to.

That night we were playing Monopoly when Fluzzy came out of hiding. He batted around one of Olive’s toys. Then he carried it away in his mouth. “Did you see that?” I asked. “Fluzzy just stole one of Olive’s toys.”

“Borrowed,” the Great One said. “Fluzzy doesn’t steal.”

That’s when the phone rang. I answered. It was Aunt Diana. She wanted to know if Olive was having fun.

“Yes, Olive is having a lot of fun,” I told Aunt Diana.

“What’s she been doing?” Aunt Diana asked.

For a minute I wasn’t sure what to say. Then I got an idea. “Today we played dentist,” I said.

“Dentist!” Aunt Diana said. “Was Olive the dentist or the patient?”

I got this picture in my mind of Olive trying to brush
my
teeth. “We took turns,” I told Aunt Diana.

Then I looked at Olive. She looked back at me with those big brown eyes. And I knew that even if she could speak, she would keep our day a secret from Aunt Diana.

“Thanks, Olive,” I said.

Weirdo on Wheels

Olive stayed with us for a week. On Saturday we took her back to Aunt Diana’s house. Before we got going Dad stacked our bikes on the car rack. “Don’t bother taking mine,” I told him. But he took it anyway.

“Are you going to ride your bike today?” the Pain asked.

“None of your business,” I told him. “Are you going to get carsick today?”

“None of your business,” he said. Then he laughed.

Aunt Diana lives in the country. As soon as we got going, Olive stuck her head out the car window. I like Olive. She’s a good dog. There’s just one problem. Even after her bath, she’s still the smelliest dog in the history of the world. I covered my face with a towel so I wouldn’t have to smell her.

It took an hour to get to Aunt Diana’s house. For once, the Pain didn’t get carsick. And Olive was very glad to see Aunt Diana and Mitchell. Mitchell is Aunt Diana’s husband. We don’t call him Uncle. We just call him Mitchell. Or Mitch. He’s very tall. He’s so tall he can reach anything. Aunt Diana doesn’t need a step stool since she married Mitch.

At their wedding, the Pain stuffed his pockets with mini hot dogs in tiny rolls. That was before he decided to only eat white food. Mom found the hot dogs the next morning when she was putting away his
clothes. The mustard made a mess of his jacket. That’s what you get when you take the Pain to a wedding.

Aunt Diana had lunch ready when we got to her house. Soup and sandwiches. The Pain ate white cheese on white bread. When we finished, I helped Aunt Diana clear the table. “Did you enjoy taking care of Olive?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” I told her. “Olive is a very nice dog. There’s just one thing.…”

“What’s that?” Aunt Diana asked.

“It’s about Olive’s smell,” I said.

“What smell?” Aunt Diana asked.

“You know,” I said. “The bad smell.”

“What bad smell?” Aunt Diana asked.

Then she put her face right up close to Olive’s and she cooed, “You don’t smell bad, do you, girl?”

Olive licked Aunt Diana.

I decided not to say anything else.

Then Mom called, “Who wants to go for a bike ride?”

“I do,” Dad answered.

“Me too,” the Pain sang. “Come on, Abigail—let’s go!”

“No, thank you,” I said. “I’m going to stay here and play with the baby.”

The Pain gave me a look.

When the three of them were gone, Mitchell said, “Hey, Abigail …”

Mitchell hardly ever says anything. When he does, he talks very softly. You have to listen carefully or you’ll miss what he’s saying. “There’s no traffic on our road,” he told me. “It’s a good place to learn to ride a bike.”

I pretended I didn’t hear him.

“Abigail …” he said, louder. Then he repeated what he’d just said—about how their road is a good place to learn to ride a bike.

“No, thank you,” I told him. “I’m playing with the baby.”

“Actually,” Aunt Diana said, “the baby is ready for his nap.” She scooped up Jackson and carried him away.

I could feel Mitchell looking at me. “I’ll
just sit here and read,” I told him. “I brought a book.”

“You know, I’m a pretty good teacher,” Mitchell said. “I teach seventh- and eighth-grade math.”

“What does math have to do with riding a bike?” I asked.

“Well … some kids think they can’t learn math,” Mitchell said, “so they’re afraid to try.”

“I’m good at math,” I told him.
I’m good at other things too
, I thought.
I can blade better than anyone I know. I can jump rope, turn an almost-perfect cartwheel, and make pancakes with hardly any help. The Pain is hopeless at those things. So how come he can ride a bike? It’s so unfair
.

“All it takes to ride a bike is practice,” Mitchell said.

“Practice
falling
?” I said. “No, thank you.”

Mitchell opened a bag. He pulled out padded pants and a padded shirt. He pulled out knee pads, elbow pads, wrist guards,
padded gloves, and a helmet with a face guard. He stuck the helmet on my head.

“Where’d you get all this stuff?” I asked.

“I collect it,” Mitchell said. “Just in case.”

“Just in case
what
?” But I was thinking,
Hmm … maybe with all this padding I should try
.… Then I thought,
No, I have tried
.… Then I thought,
Yes, but if I don’t try one more time, I’ll never know. And this will positively, absolutely be my final try
.…

So when Mitchell held out the shirt, I took it and pulled it on. It was way too big. So was everything else. But Mitchell didn’t care. Soon I was padded everywhere. I was so padded I waddled like a penguin.

Mitchell led me to the front door. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror.
No one would recognize me in all this stuff
, I thought.
No one would know it’s me, Abigail Carly Porter, from 10 Larken Road
.

“Riding a bike is like learning to swim,” Mitchell told me. “Once you learn you’ll never forget.”

“I’m good at swimming,” I said. Then I added, “Not like my brother, who’s afraid to put his face in the water.”