Dog Show Disaster Page 7

  Miss Lewis grinned at the nurse.

  “Thank you. We won’t tire her out, I promise. In fact, she’ll probably be energized seeing students.”

  We stepped lightly into room 245. The overhead light was off and a curtain was drawn across the middle of the room.

  Miss Lewis stepped around to the other side.

  “Are you up, Christie? I brought visitors.”

  It suddenly occurred to me that I should have brought flowers or a card or something. But, hey—I thought I’d be running laps or something when this day started.

  I poked my head around the curtain, and to my surprise, Mrs. Mellon was sitting up, eating Jell-O, with a little bit of a smile on her face.

  “Allie, it’s so good to see you. I’m so sorry I let you down right from the get-go on this project.”

  Her face was pale, and she had dark circles under her eyes, but you could still see her zest for life.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “The most important thing is that you and the baby are healthy.”

  Mrs. Mellon started crying a little, and she wiped an escaping tear off her cheek with her fingers. “I’m fine,” she said. “But please, pray for Bethany. She’s so little, and there are so many complications.”

  “I will. And I’ll ask my whole family to pray too. Some of the kids and I prayed for you in the quad when they were wheeling you out.”

  Mrs. Mellon wiped another tear. “Bless you, sweet girl. I know that made a difference.”

  Madison stepped up from behind me.

  “Hello, my name is Madison Doonsberry. I just started attending OMS yesterday. My brother, Parker, is in your class.”

  Mrs. Mellon sniffed and then grinned a little. “Nice to meet you, Madison. My husband loves your dad’s show. He’s an avid fisherman.”

  “Thank you,” Madison said. “I’ll be sure to tell him that he has another fan.” The way she emphasized another was kind of annoying.

  Miss Lewis grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and dragged it over close to Mrs. Mellon.

  “Madison is going to help us on the project as part of the steering committee. I’m thinking it will take quite a few extra people to fill your shoes.” She fluffed Mrs. Mellon’s pillow, and leaned back in her chair. “You’re looking very tired, friend. Are you sure this meeting isn’t going to be too much for you?”

  So they really are friends?

  “It’s fine,” Mrs. Mellon said. “Actually, it’s going to be easy. All I have to do is give you one thing” She turned to me. “Allie, can you reach my bag over there?” I retrieved the turquoise tote, and handed it over to Mrs. Mellon. She reached in, pulled out an overloaded key ring, and unhooked a little key.

  “This will open the top drawer of the silver filing cabinet next to my desk. In that drawer you’ll find multi-colored files, with all the information you need, including timelines, contacts, vendor lists, and past donors.”

  Miss Lewis took the key and weaved it onto her key ring. “Thanks, Megan. I’m so thankful you’re organized.”

  “To a fault,” Mrs. Mellon said. “I drive my husband crazy with all my color-coded files, drawers, and hangers, but hey—in this case it’s going to pay off.”

  Mrs. Mellon adjusted her bed up a few notches, so she could sit straighter. “The only thing I don’t know about is dog trainers. So I guess you’re on your own there.”

  I nodded. “That’s no problem. I’m good friends with Mr. Felix at the animal shelter, and I think he’s a trainer.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Mellon took one more bite of her Jell-O and then pushed her food tray to the side. “It looks like you have the start of a really strong team. I know Ronnie and Samara will be great too. I wish I could promise to be there on the day of the event, but I just don’t know yet with all the care that Bethany needs. They’re telling me she might be in the hospital for four months.”

  I gulped. “Four? Isn’t that expensive?”

  “It’s beyond expensive. But I’m trying not to think too much about that yet. We just need to get Bethany through one day at a time. We almost lost her yesterday.” The tears started again, and this time they didn’t stop. Miss Lewis stood up and leaned over to hug Mrs. Mellon.

  “We’re going to let you rest, Christie. Don’t worry about a thing. God is taking care of every big thing and every small thing.”

  “Thank you. And thank you all for coming.” Mrs. Mellon kept sobbing, so I didn’t say anything. I just patted her shoulder and moved out of the room. Madison followed. We waited in silence for a couple of minutes, and finally Miss Lewis emerged—her eyes red from crying.

  She straightened her blouse and wiped a tear that had made its way to her chin.

  “So, would you girls like to see some small things that God is taking care of?”

  She didn’t wait for our answer, but instead took off down the hallway. Madison and I had to jog to keep up.

  We finally landed at some double doors. Miss Lewis picked up a phone receiver from the wall and waited for someone to answer.

  “Yes, this is Megan Lewis. We’re here to see Baby Mellon.”

  Hearing her say Baby Mellon made me laugh to myself. When we first found out that Mrs. Mellon was pregnant, Hunter had joked that they should name the child “Water.” My cousins and I groaned.

  “But you know that’ll be the kid’s nickname, so why not?”

  I’m glad Mrs. Mellon and her husband have better name taste than Hunter.

  The double doors opened, and we entered the NICU hallway. There was a large window on the left side. I took a couple slow steps, but was reluctant to peek in.

  “It’s okay,” Miss Lewis said. “We have special permission to be here, but only for a few minutes.”

  I didn’t understand why they were allowing a couple of middle school girls into such a sacred place in the hospital. But I stepped forward and put my face near the glass.

  A nurse stood next to a large clear case with holes in it. She smiled and gestured toward the tiniest baby I’d ever seen—it seemed like she was not much bigger than a mouse! A mask was strapped to her little mouth, and a tube was attached to that. It looked like IV fluids were entering her body through her umbilical cord area, and wired stickers were placed all over her chest, feet, arms, wrists, and legs.

  “She’s classified as a micro-preemie,” Miss Lewis said. “She needs help with just about everything—breathing, eating, keeping cool and warm . . .”

  So helpless.

  Madison put her hand up on the window. “Welcome to the world, Mini-Mellon. I hope you like it here.”

  “She will.” Miss Mellon rested her forehead on the glass. “She’s had a rough start, but things will improve every day.”

  Madison took her hand down and sighed. “But there are no guarantees.” She turned, walked to the other side of the hallway, leaned against the wall, and slid her back down to the ground. She pulled a phone out of her tote bag and stared at the screen, like she was expecting a text or a call or something.

  I figured I’d give her some privacy, so I turned back to Baby Mellon.

  Be still and know that I am God.

  That Bible verse—one of my favorites—popped into my brain, and it described this little one so accurately. It seemed so easy for her to be still—after all, she couldn’t walk or talk or do anything productive at all. Was she having a conversation with God as I watched her at this moment? Did she know she was safe in the hands of Jesus?

  I hope so, God. Please help her know that you are her refuge and strength. Don’t let her feel afraid.

  The nurse pointed to the clock on the wall. Miss Lewis nodded. “Okay, girls, time’s up. Let’s go find Mr. Langley and get back to school.”

  Mr. Langley and Mrs. Mellon’s husband, Greg, were sitting on a cushioned bench, eating muffins and drinking coffee. Mr. Mellon’s hair was sticking up all over, and it wasn’t in a stylish, bedhead sort of way either.

  “Thanks for coming. I know Christie loved seeing all of
you. She wanted so much to finish out the school year, and I know she would have wanted to work with you, Allie, on the school project.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Mellon.” I wanted to add that I really wanted to work with her too and how disappointed I was, but Miss Lewis was standing right there.

  “I’ll be back tonight, Greg.” Miss Lewis tapped on her phone screen. “Text me a list of things she needs and I’ll bring them.”

  Mr. Mellon stood and ran his hand through his hair mess. “Thanks, Megan. She didn’t exactly get a chance to pack for her trip here, so I’m sure she’ll need something.”

  “I’m here to help with whatever you need.” She reached over and put her hand on Mr. Mellon’s shoulder. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “Same goes for me, Greg,” Mr. Langley said. “Let me know what you need. You have an OMS family who wants to help too.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Miss Lewis looked down at her watch. “Bell rings in twenty minutes.”

  And with that, we all ran-walked to the Lewis Beetle.

  CHAPTER 15

  Steering into a Brick Wall

  Once we were at school, it was like I had a sign on my forehead that said “Suggestion Box.” Students who had never spoken to me before came up to me all morning to put in their two cents about the carnival and dog show.

  “Can we have a special category just for Chiweenies?” Rachel Long asked. “I have four, and they are sooo cute. They’re just not the smartest, so it may not be fair to put them up against other dogs.”

  “I don’t know, but I will consider it.” I tried to think if I’d ever seen a Chiweenie before. Was that a cross between a Chihuahua and a dachshund? Weird.

  Jimmy Caruthers pulled me aside during our nutrition break. “We simply must make the Catahoula a mascot at the ceremonies. It is the Louisiana state dog, after all.”

  “Jimmy, do you know anyone who owns a Cata . . . What did you call it?”

  “Catahoula. Like the Parish name. And no, I don’t know anyone who has one.”

  “Oh. Okay. I’ll consider it.”

  Dog show suggestions flew at me all the way until lunchtime. And a little fear began to rise in my belly. I thought I knew a lot about dogs, but clearly, I was wrong.

  I took out my spiral notebook and scrawled a few notes:

  • Google “Catahoula.”

  • Call Mr. Felix. Ask him about dogs.

  That will be one long phone interview!

  By lunch, and time for the first steering committee meeting, I had filled five pages with questions, suggestions, and . . . prayers, like this:

  Oh, no, God, what have I gotten myself into?

  The library was the location for the steering committee meeting, but I stopped by the cousin lunch table before I ran over.

  “We’re excited for you, Allie!” Ruby smiled big and handed me a large cookie, wrapped in plastic wrap. “You can share bites with the committee, and if they like it, tell them I can make a few hundred for the carnival.”

  “I can’t wait to take T-Rex to the special dog training!” Hunter reached over to pick up his water bottle, but knocked it over onto the ground. “Aaaack! I did it again!”

  “Here, Hunter, you can have mine.” Kendall rolled her eyes and slid her bottle over in front of Hunter.

  “Sorry I can’t have lunch with you guys, but if you want details about how the meeting went, I’ll be in the Lickety Split at four o’clock, doing some homework. Come and hang out.”

  “We’ll be there,” Kendall said.

  I turned to walk toward the library, and Lola caught up to me.

  “Hey, Allie, I talked to Madison this morning at break, and she told me that she’s on the steering committee. Is that true?”

  Ugh. I did not want to get into that whole story right before the meeting. I stopped and tried not to make eye contact with Lola.

  “Um, yeah. Miss Lewis thought it would be the right thing to do, so she asked me if it was okay, and I said yes.”

  Lola’s eyes got big. “You did? Is it really okay with you? I mean, wow, first Miss Lewis, and now Madison?”

  I fidgeted. Looked up at the sky, then down at the ground. Played with the plastic wrap on the cookie.

  “Allie . . . I know you’re struggling . . .”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll tell you. I’m freaking out. I’m in over my head and now I feel like I have a person swimming next to me who wants to watch me drown.”

  Lola put a hand on my shoulder. “You won’t drown. You’ll see. This is going to be the most memorable year-end project ever.”

  “Lola, tornadoes that destroy whole towns are ‘memorable’.”

  I swung the library door open, and spotted the main “steerers” of the steering committee sitting at a round table in the center of the room. Samara James, Ronnie Alexander, Miss Lewis, and a scowling Madison all sat with their spiral notebooks open—pencils sharpened and ready to write.

  “Glad you could make it, Carroway,” Miss Lewis said. She had lost that gentle demeanor that she had at 0600 and now resembled the drill sergeant we all know and fear.

  My heart skipped a beat, and I checked the clock on the wall. “I’m sorry, am I late?”

  Miss Lewis shook her head. “No. You’re straight up.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re right on time,” Madison said. “But that leaves no margin for error. We all hurried over and were here fifteen minutes ago.”

  “It’s fine, Carroway. You can sit here.” Miss Lewis tapped the back of an empty chair right next to her.

  Well, at least it’s not next to Madison.

  True, it wasn’t right next to her. But when I sat down, she was staring right at me from across the table.

  Miss Lewis began the meeting.

  “First, I want to congratulate Miss Carroway for her marvelous idea for raising funds for the animal shelter. The kids obviously loved the idea, and they have great confidence in you as a leader to vote you in as Student Project Manager.” Then she turned to Ronnie and Samara. “You two had stellar ideas, also, that I’m sure will be used in future year-end events.”

  Miss Lewis then turned her attention to Madison. “Allie has invited Madison to join our team, and you’ll soon see that it was a wise choice. We’ll be adding more students after today, when we decide what subcommittees we need to pull this thing off.”

  I invited her? Well, that’s a stretch.

  Madison piped up, “I’d like to volunteer to handle fundraising.”

  “Fundraising?” Samara James’ eyebrows shot up. “That’s the last thing people usually volunteer for.”

  Madison tilted her head to the side. “But that’s the most important thing—don’t you think? I mean, that’s why we’re doing this in the first place, right? To raise funds?”

  “Sure,” Samara said.

  “Well, then, I think since I have a dad who’s on television, I should be in charge of that. I think donors will listen to me.”

  “Allie’s on TV too,” Ronnie added.

  “Yeah,” Madison said. “But the Carroways have been around this town forever. No offense—but people may be tired of them. My dad’s show is the new exciting thing, so, why not take advantage of that?”

  How dare she insult my family and make sense all at the same time!

  “What if we have a drawing, and offer anyone who donates at least two-hundred dollars of goods or services to the carnival a chance to enter to be on Lunker Law?”

  Miss Lewis cut in.

  “Madison, that’s a fabulous idea, but are you sure this is something your dad can offer?”

  “Of course. He calls the shots on the show, and I know he’s committed to helping the community—and his daughter.” Madison put both hands on her heart.

  I could tell that Samara and Ronnie thought it was a good idea too but didn’t want to be the first to say anything. So I helped them out.

  “That’s good. I like it. Yes, Madiso
n, you can be our fundraising chairperson.” I suddenly remembered the cookie. “You’ll want to talk to my cousin Ruby about a bake sale. Take a bite of this, and I’m sure you’ll agree it’s the tastiest thing you’ve ever eaten.”

  I slid the cookie over to her, and she slid it back. “Oh, no, I could never think of poisoning my body with that much sugar. But I’ll talk to her. I don’t mind selling junk if it raises more money.”

  “I would love to head up decorations and promotion,” Samara doodled away in her notebook. “And that includes painting a mural with our theme on it. What exactly is our theme again? I know it’s a Canine Carnival and Dog Show, but do we want to use that as a subtitle and then come up with something catchier? I can design a logo if you like.”

  Logo. Huh. How about something with a big red tornado tearing up our school?

  “I got it!” Ronnie poked his index finger up in the air. “How about OMS Bark Fest?”

  We were all silent. I was stunned.

  Ronnie continued, “You know, OMS, because it’s at Ouachita Middle School. “Bark’ because it’s a dog thing, and “Fest” is short for festival . . .”

  “We get it, Ronnie,” Madison tapped her pencil and gave him a blank, bored stare.

  “It’s brilliant.” Miss Lewis sort of mumbled and kept taking notes.

  “I love it!” Samara dug in her backpack and pulled out some colored markers and started sketching on a new page. “And I have ideas for a logo already.”

  Madison turned her stare toward me. “What do you think, Allie. You’re the SPM, so it’s your call.”

  Yeah, sure. Leave the decision up to me, so if no one else in the school likes it, I take the heat.

  “It sounds great,” I said. “Bark Fest it is. And Samara, I’m sure my cousin Lola would love to help you with the mural.”

  “And I’d like to be the volunteer coordinator,” Ronnie wrote the word “Volunteers” in big, bold letters on the front of his notebook. “I love making lists and recruiting people. You tell me what activities we’re running, and I’ll get you the people.”

  Miss Lewis lifted an accordion-style paper file box from the floor and opened it. She pulled out a stack of colorful folders and began parceling them out to each of us, based on what the label said.