Mom,” I told her. I ran to catch up with Ace, who was already out the door.
“This is your plan?”
Ace wrapped his scarf tighter around his face and craned his neck, looking up the street.
“DO YOU WANT TO GO TO CLASS, OR DO YOU WANT TO GO TO CLASS?”
“I do, it’s just—I thought we were getting a ride,” I said.
Either the wind was too strong or Ace was pretending not to hear me. I waited until I caught his eye before yelling my next question: “You’re sure the bus runs at night here in Vermont?”
“WE’RE NOT IN THE BOONIES, KID. THIS IS BURLINGTON. THE BIG CITY. OF COURSE THE BUSES RUN AFTER DARK.”
“And you’re sure they let dogs on the bus here in Vermont?” I asked.
“WHAT IS THIS, TWENTY QUESTIONS?” said Ace.
“No. It’s just—how long are we going to have to stand out here? I’m freezing.”
“I TOLD YOU TO WEAR A COAT.”
“Yeah, but you also told me we were getting a ride. You didn’t tell me we were going to stand outside in the cold waiting for the bus. Which isn’t coming.”
“IT’LL COME,” insisted Ace.
“When?” I asked.
“SOON,” said Ace. “YOU WANT MY MUFFLER?”
“No,” I said, pulling the strings on my hoodie tighter and hugging Ace to my chest. He shivered against me, poor little guy. Just then, the smell of burning leaves hit my nose, making me turn. “What are you doing?”
“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE?”
“Grandpa! Mom said you’re not supposed to smoke anymore!”
“WHAT SMOKING?” said Ace, but I could see a stubby brown cigar sticking out from between layers of his scarf. “I’M JUST LIGHTING IT. TO MAKE THE BUS COME.”
“That’s it,” I said. “I’m going back in—”
“AHA!” said Ace. “YOU SEE?”
Sure enough, two blocks away, I could see the bright lights of the bus heading toward us.
“Okay, great, but now what?” I remembered reading a book about Henry Huggins taking his dog Ribsy on a bus in a big cardboard box. But this was real life—how was
that
supposed to work? “They’re not going to let us on with a dog.”
Ace carefully stubbed out the cigar. He took off the Baxter State and unwrapped his scarf, so I could see that he was smiling. His caterpillar eyebrows started wiggling with excitement. He took one end of the scarf and wrapped it around Ace, who was still in my arms. Then he took Ace from me and turned his back on me.
“GO ON. TIE IT,” he instructed. “QUICKLY!” I took the scarf ends, which were sticking out from underneath his armpits and pulled them together, tying a knot, then knotting it again. When he turned around, Ace was pinned to his belly like a fortune cookie fortune taped to the refrigerator. “NOW THE COAT!” barked Ace, so I grabbed it, helping him pull the sleeves back on while nervously looking over my shoulder for the bus.
When Ace got the Baxter State back on and zipped it up around his bulging belly, he looked like a sumo wrestler. Plus, even though he didn’t zip it all the way up, I couldn’t see Ace, so I worried he was going to suffocate inside.
“What are you doing?! Grandpa, take him out of there!”
“WHAT? HE’S FINE. WHAT COULD HAPPEN?”
“Lots of things! They could kick us off the bus. They could call the police. We could be sent to jail!”
“NONSENSE,” said Ace. “BESIDES, AN IDEA THAT IS NOT DANGEROUS IS UNWORTHY OF BEING CALLED AN IDEA. WILDE.”
“It’s not wild! It’s crazy!”
“NOT
WILD
. WILDE. OSCAR WILDE. THE WRITER. HE SAID THAT.”
“Oh yeah? Was he wearing a dog when he said it?”
“DOG? WHAT DOG?” said Ace.
Before I could protest anymore, the bus pulled up and the door opened right in front of us. Holding his belly with one hand like he was afraid it might explode, Ace grabbed the handrail and started to waddle up the stairs. I had no choice but to follow. He had my dog.
“AI-YI-YI,” grumbled Ace as he carefully maneuvered his way up the bus steps. When he got to the top, he steadied himself on the railing and
“This is your plan?”
Ace wrapped his scarf tighter around his face and craned his neck, looking up the street.
“DO YOU WANT TO GO TO CLASS, OR DO YOU WANT TO GO TO CLASS?”
“I do, it’s just—I thought we were getting a ride,” I said.
Either the wind was too strong or Ace was pretending not to hear me. I waited until I caught his eye before yelling my next question: “You’re sure the bus runs at night here in Vermont?”
“WE’RE NOT IN THE BOONIES, KID. THIS IS BURLINGTON. THE BIG CITY. OF COURSE THE BUSES RUN AFTER DARK.”
“And you’re sure they let dogs on the bus here in Vermont?” I asked.
“WHAT IS THIS, TWENTY QUESTIONS?” said Ace.
“No. It’s just—how long are we going to have to stand out here? I’m freezing.”
“I TOLD YOU TO WEAR A COAT.”
“Yeah, but you also told me we were getting a ride. You didn’t tell me we were going to stand outside in the cold waiting for the bus. Which isn’t coming.”
“IT’LL COME,” insisted Ace.
“When?” I asked.
“SOON,” said Ace. “YOU WANT MY MUFFLER?”
“No,” I said, pulling the strings on my hoodie tighter and hugging Ace to my chest. He shivered against me, poor little guy. Just then, the smell of burning leaves hit my nose, making me turn. “What are you doing?”
“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE?”
“Grandpa! Mom said you’re not supposed to smoke anymore!”
“WHAT SMOKING?” said Ace, but I could see a stubby brown cigar sticking out from between layers of his scarf. “I’M JUST LIGHTING IT. TO MAKE THE BUS COME.”
“That’s it,” I said. “I’m going back in—”
“AHA!” said Ace. “YOU SEE?”
Sure enough, two blocks away, I could see the bright lights of the bus heading toward us.
“Okay, great, but now what?” I remembered reading a book about Henry Huggins taking his dog Ribsy on a bus in a big cardboard box. But this was real life—how was
that
supposed to work? “They’re not going to let us on with a dog.”
Ace carefully stubbed out the cigar. He took off the Baxter State and unwrapped his scarf, so I could see that he was smiling. His caterpillar eyebrows started wiggling with excitement. He took one end of the scarf and wrapped it around Ace, who was still in my arms. Then he took Ace from me and turned his back on me.
“GO ON. TIE IT,” he instructed. “QUICKLY!” I took the scarf ends, which were sticking out from underneath his armpits and pulled them together, tying a knot, then knotting it again. When he turned around, Ace was pinned to his belly like a fortune cookie fortune taped to the refrigerator. “NOW THE COAT!” barked Ace, so I grabbed it, helping him pull the sleeves back on while nervously looking over my shoulder for the bus.
When Ace got the Baxter State back on and zipped it up around his bulging belly, he looked like a sumo wrestler. Plus, even though he didn’t zip it all the way up, I couldn’t see Ace, so I worried he was going to suffocate inside.
“What are you doing?! Grandpa, take him out of there!”
“WHAT? HE’S FINE. WHAT COULD HAPPEN?”
“Lots of things! They could kick us off the bus. They could call the police. We could be sent to jail!”
“NONSENSE,” said Ace. “BESIDES, AN IDEA THAT IS NOT DANGEROUS IS UNWORTHY OF BEING CALLED AN IDEA. WILDE.”
“It’s not wild! It’s crazy!”
“NOT
WILD
. WILDE. OSCAR WILDE. THE WRITER. HE SAID THAT.”
“Oh yeah? Was he wearing a dog when he said it?”
“DOG? WHAT DOG?” said Ace.
Before I could protest anymore, the bus pulled up and the door opened right in front of us. Holding his belly with one hand like he was afraid it might explode, Ace grabbed the handrail and started to waddle up the stairs. I had no choice but to follow. He had my dog.
“AI-YI-YI,” grumbled Ace as he carefully maneuvered his way up the bus steps. When he got to the top, he steadied himself on the railing and
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