As they put on their coats, Keisha remembered her promise to help Razi stay quiet during the school day. Razi’s first-grade teacher, Mrs. Jenkins, didn’t allow children to bring things from home that might provide a distraction, but she sometimes made an exception for the super-squeezy concentration ball. It was a ball Big Bob had given Grandma to keep her fingers strong, but the Carters found that it helped Razi remember to stay quiet if he squeezed it whenever he felt like talking. Mama kept the super-squeezy concentration ball in a basket in the hall, along with the hats and mittens the children used when it got cold. It was such a warm fall, the children didn’t need their hats and mittens yet, so Keisha had to dig around for it. She stuck it in her pocket when Razi wasn’t looking.
The fresh air seemed to give her brother new energy. He bounded down the front steps, picked up a stick and ran ahead of Keisha. As he ran, he made up a song to go along with the rhythm of the stick he was dragging across every chain-link fence they passed.
“Razi!” Keisha called after him. When the chain-link fence by the Tuttles’ house ended, the Bakers’ wooden fence began. Keisha knew that behind the wooden fence sat Harvey the dog, just waiting for someone to bark at.
Keisha blamed Harvey for making Razi say that if the Carter family ever got a household pet, he wanted a kitty, not a puppy. So far, Mama said no domestic pets. That meant no animals that lived inside. The Carters had enough animals to care for without adding a pet, thank you very much, and everyone who lived in the house had to pull their own weight. Except for the baby.
But ever since Keisha had read Beverly Cleary’s Henry and Ribsy, and 101 Dalmatians and Lassie Come-Home, she was convinced that if you wanted to have adventures, it was much more likely with a dog. That was why she decided to be a Romany girl before she learned about the extra credit in Mr. Drockmore’s class. The Romany people had dogs all over the place, for protecting and hunting, and maybe for waiting at home by the caravan, with their adorable tongues hanging out and their behinds wiggling.
Sure enough, as soon as Harvey heard the stick dragging along the wooden fence, he started running on the other side, barking his loud, growly bark and making a ruckus of his own.
But Razi was famous for ignoring his sister when he got scared. He started to run even faster. Would he remember to look both ways if he got to the end of the block first?
Fortunately, Mr. Sanders, their postman, was coming down the street from the opposite direction. He stuck out his arms and said, “In the name of the United States Postal Service, I order you to halt, young man.”
Razi leapt into Mr. Sanders’s arms, which was not easy for Mr. Sanders because his arms were already full of mail.
“After that display of athleticism, I’m going to guess you are a track star for Halloween this year.”
“I’m not going to be a track star,” Razi said, breathing hard. “I’m going to be a police officer and give that dog a bad-doggy ticket.”
Keisha caught up. “No he’s not. He’s going to be an alligator. Mama made the costume this summer.”
“And what are you going to be, Miss Keisha?”
“Well, I was going to be a Romany girl, but I’m not sure because—”
“You will excuse my ignorance, but what is a Romany girl?”
“Grandma told me that I love dogs so much, I should be a Romany girl. They used to be called Gypsies because people thought they were from Egypt. But they really came from India.”
“That’s fascinating, Keisha. I think you should be a Romany girl, too.”
“For Romany people, dogs weren’t just pets. They were necessary. Romany dogs definitely pulled their own weight.”
“I’m going to be a police officer and make Harvey sit in the Peaceful Corner. He talks more than I do.”
Mr. Sanders put Razi back on his own two feet. “Why do I feel so confused this morning? Did I miss something?” he said.
“Oh, Razi, you’re an alligator. And I wasn’t finished.” Keisha turned back to Mr. Sanders. “I’m not exactly sure yet because Mr. Drockmore said he’d give extra credit to students who delivered their reports in costume. My report is on the first published African American poet, Phillis Wheatley.”
Mr. Sanders scooped up a few advertising leaflets he’d dropped on the ground. “That’s right. Zeke and Zack were trying to decide whether to be George Washington and John Adams or a hamburger and fries.”
“What are you going to be, Mr. Sanders?” Like Daddy, Keisha knew Mr. Sanders always dressed up.
“It’s a secret,” Mr. Sanders said.
“Tell me. Tell me! I can keep a secret,” Razi said.
Mr. Sanders ruffled Razi’s hair. “I know you can. But it’s such a big secret, I haven’t told it to myself yet.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Razi declared.
Keisha covered her mouth so Razi wouldn’t hear her giggle.
“What I don’t want to be is late on my delivery route. Or to make either of you late for school. So I think we’d better scoot.”
“Bye, Mr. Sanders.” Keisha took her brother’s hand and they set off again.
Even though Razi kept looking back and begging Keisha to let him run and ask if Mr. Sanders was delivering any packages for him, they managed to make it to school on time.
“And how is our Razi this morning?” Mrs. Jenkins hugged Razi as soon as he reached the first-grade line. Razi tucked his chin farther inside his shirt. She had on a wool blazer and Razi didn’t like the way wool felt. It was too scratchy.
“Very well, thank you,” Razi mumbled, staring at the ground.
Keisha could tell that seeing Mrs. Jenkins reminded Razi of his problems at school.
Mrs. Jenkins untucked Razi’s chin and cupped it in her hand. She leaned back so she could look into his eyes. “We’re going to decorate our treat bags today, and I need someone to demonstrate making pumpkin faces. But he must be cheerful.”
“Oh! Oh!” Razi waved his hand so wildly, he bonked Keisha on the head.
“Mrs. Jenkins?” Keisha slipped the ball out of her pocket and passed it to her.
Razi was so busy trying to be chosen, he didn’t notice.
“You’d best line up, dear.” Mrs. Jenkins put the ball into her coat pocket. “I see the fifth graders going to their classrooms.”
Keisha kissed her brother on the top of his head before running across the playground. As long as you were in line when your class went through the big glass doors, you were not considered late. Keisha caught up to Zeke and Zack just before they went into the building.
“You’re always here before us,” Zeke said.
“No she’s not,” Zack argued.
“Yes she is.”
“No. Yesterday she wasn’t.”
Keisha put one hand on each of their shoulders. At least something was going the way it was supposed to this morning. Daddy called Zeke and Zack the Z-Team. They were nice to everybody else, but they almost always disagreed with each other.
“I was just talking to your dad. Hamburger and fries? I thought you were for sure about Washington and Adams.”
“It depends on how we did on our social studies quiz. Mom is hoping for the food because that would be easier to make.”
“She likes construction more than sewing.”
“And fast food more than cooking.”
The Sanderses lived a few houses down on Horton Street, so the boys came over a lot while Mrs. Sanders attended classes at Grand River Community College to get her associate’s degree in botany. The Z-Team liked to check in after school to see what smells were coming from Mama’s kitchen.
As soon as Mr. Drockmore took attendance, Keisha did her morning freewriting about Harvey the barking menace and how his bad behavior would make sure she never got a puppy … ever! Now if Mama let them have a pet, they would have to get a hamster or, at best, a kitten. But you couldn’t take a kitten to obedience class, could you? Kittens didn’t stand by the door with tails thumping, waiting for you to come home and take them out for an adventure. Maybe they wouldn’t get any pet at all.
After freewriting came math, and after math, the students worked on science observations. One of the things Keisha liked most about Mr. Drockmore was that he sometimes let students choose their own project teams. Aaliyah, Jorge, Marcus and Wen were Keisha’s friends and her science project team. Today they were studying the density of water at different temperatures. Yesterday they had frozen colored-water ice cubes Today they were watching what happened when they dropped the ice cubes in a jar of hot water.
“Oooh. It looks like a red jellyfish.” Aaliyah pointed to the melting ice cube. Little tentacles of color were coming out of the bottom. “Speaking of red … does anybody know where I can get a piece of red carpet?”
“It’s getting less dense as it melts,” Wen said as she wrote in their observation notebook.
“What do you want a red carpet for?” Marcus had his head down. He was drawing a jellyfish on a piece of copy paper. Later they would paste it in their science notebook. Marcus had earned them a lot of extra credit points that way.
“I’m going to be a red-carpet celebrity for Halloween.”
“For real?” Marcus stopped drawing and looked up at Aaliyah. “Which one?”
“I thought you were going to be Sojourner Truth,” Wen said.
“I could use the extra points … but have you seen the way that woman dressed? She’ll ruin my reputation in the neighborhoods!” Even though Aaliyah lived in the Garfield Park neighborhood, she thought of Alger Heights, where Keisha lived, as her home, too, since her grandma—whom all the kids called Moms—lived in Alger Heights and Aaliyah went to Moms’s house most days after school.
“There’s a sign outside Verhey Carpet saying that they sell squares for fifty cents,” Wen informed Aaliyah.
“You could be Sojourner Truth at school and Beyoncé when you trick-or-treat,” Marcus pointed out.
“Marcus, a fourth-to-fifth cannot be seen in the Halloween line dance with an old-lady shawl and a funny hat. I have a reputation to protect. Besides, Alicia Keys is my girl. Beyoncé is too la-di-da.”
“I know what you mean.” Wen closed the notebook. “Abigail Adams wore the same funny outfit.”
“I think school should be school and Halloween Halloween,” Marcus said. “Maybe we should have a revolution.”
The Fantastic Fifth Graders, or FFGs, as Mr. Drockmore called them, had begun the year studying American history. The unit finished right around Halloween, so everyone in class knew a lot about the American Revolution and the period leading up to the Civil War.
“But it’s a tradition,” Wen said.
“Well, isn’t that what revolutions are for?” Marcus asked. “Making a change?”
Social studies was in the afternoon, after lunch. With only a few days to go before their presentations on Friday, students were busy making the posters they would use to give their oral reports. Mr. Drockmore had let them draw numbers to choose their famous person. Keisha had drawn number six, and she got her first choice. She loved learning about Phillis Wheatley because Keisha liked to write, too, and Phillis had this great flowy handwriting that was fun to copy. Though it was amazing that Phillis could be brought to America as a slave and learn English like a native speaker in less than a year and a half, Keisha didn’t really get her poetry. Grandma called it “highfalutin.”
The classroom was quiet while they created, except for the squeak of markers and the sound of cutting construction paper. Mr. Drockmore was busy at his desk, filling in his planner.
“Mr. Drockmore.” Marcus stood up as if he was going to make a speech. Everyone turned to look at him. Mr. Drockmore closed his planner.
“Mr. Pearce.”
“Permission to address the assembly.”
“Permission granted.”
Zeke and Zack scooted their chairs closer to Marcus, who held up a piece of paper and read: “We the people of the fifth grade of Langston Hughes Elementary, in order to form a more perfect Halloween, establish new traditions, ensure a good time, provide for FFG creativity, remain consistent with other grades’ costumes and secure the blessings of future generations, do request to establish that we can wear our favorite costumes on Halloween and give our oral reports in them, so that we can rock the line dance, have more fun and only make one costume.”
Wen and Keisha looked at each other with a wide-open-eyed giggle. Would it work?
Mr. Drockmore clapped his hands. “That’s a very nice play on the words of the Constitution, Marcus.”
“We helped him during lunch,” Zeke said.
Zack raised his hand. “Yeah, we thought about staging a revolution, but then we decided to ask first.”
“What I don’t understand”—Mr. Drockmore twisted the cap on his whiteboard marker—“is why you don’t like the idea. Last year’s Fantastic Fifth Graders seemed to really enjoy this assignment.”
“We’re different,” Zeke added. “We like science better.”
Mr. Drockmore smiled. “And what does science have to do with not dressing up as your famous person?”
“Engineering is science, isn’t it?” Zack asked. “Our mom said she’s going to have to turn into a construction engineer if we have enough social studies points.”
“And why is that?” Mr. Drockmore asked.
“We really want to be a hamburger and French fries.”
Now Wen raised her hand. “Creating your own costume exercises your creativity. And you have always told us that scientists have to be good at imagining things that don’t exist yet.”
Keisha raised one hand and, with the other, pointed to the back of the room, to Mr. Drockmore’s poster of his hero, Albert Einstein. “Mr. Einstein did say imagination was more important than knowledge.”
“Whoa! Whoa!” Mr. Drockmore held up his hands. “You’re triple-, quadruple-teaming me. Time-out. I’ll discuss this with you individually when you give me your progress reports. Then I’ll make a decision.” Mr. Drockmore opened his planning book again, signaling that it was time for the class to get back to their independent work. “I must say … you are a determined bunch of patriots.”
During afternoon recess, as Wen, Aaliyah and Keisha sat on one of the benches waiting for their turn to jump, Keisha told them all about Phillis Wheatley.
“During my conference, Mr. Drockmore said it was a great idea to recite one of her poems,” Keisha told the girls.
“Did you pick yet?” Aaliyah asked. “Practice on us.”
Keisha bit her lip. “Okay. ‘Ode to Neptune’ … um … ‘While raging tempests shake the shore, while Aeolus’ thunders round us roar, and sweep im—’ um, ‘impet—’ ”
“Impetuous?” Wen had listened to Keisha recite the day before at jump rope practice.
“ ‘Impetuous over the plain … be still, O tyrant of the main.’ ”
Ms. Tellerico, the principal, blew the whistle for first-half recess. The girls stood up and brushed off their bottoms.
“Our turn. I’m jumpin’ first,” Aaliyah said.
Keisha and Wen took the rope from Therese and Erica. Aaliyah was jumping before they even started to swing the ropes. “This is how you remember your report, Key. Look at me! Look at me! I plow and I plant and I chop down trees. Look at me! I’m so strong. I can jump rope all night long.” Aaliyah jumped out and took the rope from Keisha.
“That’s not exactly how her speech goes,” Wen said.
“I’m giving Sojourner Truth a makeover.”
“I think you should be Serena or Venus Williams for Halloween,” Keisha said. “Not a red-carpet celebrity. If Sojourner Truth were alive now, she’d be an athlete.”
“You could wear one of your mom’s tennis dresses,” Wen suggested.
“I do look good in white,” Aaliyah said. “And I’m almost as tall as my mom, and I could run between houses faster. Hmmm …”
Since the fourth-to-fifth wing had the last lunch-time of the day, the afternoon always went by more quickly than the morning. Just before the bell rang for the walkers, Mr. Drockmore told the class that he would review their comments and their social studies quiz grades and let them know his decision about the costumes tomorrow. Keisha tugged her backpack out of her locker and lined up. Mr. Drockmore always excused the family elders first so they could go get their brothers and sisters before things got crazy. She ran across the playground to the K–1 wing, reaching it just as the children were lining up to march outside.
Mrs. Jenkins stood with the super-squeezy concentration ball held out in front of her. Razi was in line, pinching his lips together with his fingers. Uh-oh.
“The ball helped at first,” Mrs. Jenkins told Keisha when she got close. “Razi had a good morning, and I told him I was confident that he could have a Peaceful Corner–free day today. But during library time with Ms. Fontarelli, the ball got away from him three times. The last time, it rolled under the Dr. Seuss fish tank and, after retrieving it, he emerged covered in dust bunnies with a poor, dehydrated dead blue fish in his hand.”
Mrs. Jenkins paused to button up her blazer. “At that point, Razi exercised poor judgment, choosing to wave the fish in front of the three children he knew would scream the loudest. To top it off, he declared that he would bring the fish back to life with the abracadabra stick, and he went into Ms. Fontarelli’s desk without permission.”
Keisha put the super-squeezy concentration ball into her pocket. She noticed that Mrs. Jenkins had buttoned her blazer up wrong, putting the top button into the second buttonhole. Should she say something to Mrs. Jenkins about that?
Mrs. Jenkins raised her hand so that all walkers knew to keep their mouths closed and their hands to themselves while walking outside. Keisha walked alongside the group. She then waited until Mrs. Jenkins released the walkers, grabbed the Razi hand that wasn’t pinching his lips and pulled her brother along toward home.
When they got in sight of the house, Razi broke away and rushed up the back stairs into the warm kitchen, where Mama, Daddy and Big Bob were sitting at the table with slices of ginger cake and cups of coffee. By the time Keisha got into the kitchen, his face was buried in Mama’s skirt.
“What is this?” Mama asked, rubbing circles into Razi’s back as he cried. “Did we spend more time in the Peaceful Corner today?”
“I wonder why they call it the Peaceful Corner.” Daddy put his hand on Mama’s. “Our little Razi-Roo never feels very peaceful when he’s in it.”
While Mama fed Razi bits of ginger cake and listened to the story of his day, Keisha cut her own slice and went to sit between Daddy and Big Bob Grandma always said when you were having a not-so-Tallahassee day, you had to be on the lookout for good things to balance you out. Good things seemed to hover around Big Bob.
“I know just how you feel, buddy. Remind me sometime to tell you about my finger-painting disaster of 1946. Want to sit on my shoes?” Big Bob asked Razi after Mama rubbed his teary face with her napkin. Big Bob was so big that you could sit on his shoes and lean back, and it was the perfect place for Razi to play under the table with the nuts and bolts in the Carter family toolbox.
After Razi was settled, the conversation continued. They were talking about Big Bob’s recent visit to his sister’s house.
“Anyway …” Big Bob took another sip of coffee. “It was so good to see Betty. She found a box of my mother’s jewelry, and she wanted each of us to pick out something to keep. As you can imagine, I didn’t have the faintest idea. But I thought our Alice might like this.” Big Bob reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a ring. It looked tiny in his palm. He passed it to Mama, who held it up to the light. The Carters oohed as it flashed green sparkles all across the room.
Razi’s head popped up from underneath the table. “Can I see it? Please! Please, Big Bob. I can be careful.”
“Of course you can,” Big Bob said. He caught Razi’s waving hand and examined the fingers. “I think it will fit your thumb. Then you can look at yourself in the mirror and be the king of Horton Street.”
Mama passed the ring back, and Razi stood very still while Big Bob put the ring on his thumb.
Everyone turned to watch Razi scamper down the hall. Mama said, “It is a lovely ring, Bob, though I’m not sure it will fit Alice. Is it an emerald?”
Big Bob nodded. “Emerald was my mom’s birth-stone. According to Betty, it was Mom’s favorite ring. I thought if Alice liked it … well, that would be a way to honor Mom. I know she would have loved Alice, but of course Mom was long gone by the time I met—” Bob stopped talking and stared at the tops of his hands. “Maybe Alice could wear it on her pinky. That’s fashion-forward, isn’t it, Keisha? A pinky ring?”
Big Bob looked at Keisha as if she would know such a thing. “I’ll ask Aaliyah,” she said. “She has a subscription to Stylin’ Teen.”
Razi ran back into the room, waving his arm. “I am the king of all that I see,” he declared. “But now it is time to fix my drawbridge.” He pulled the ring off his thumb and handed it back to Big Bob. Then he disappeared under the table.
“Didn’t you say on the phone there was something else you wanted to talk about?” Daddy asked Big Bob. “Something about a pup?”
Keisha glanced at Mama. Could it be? Had they told Big Bob to be on the lookout for a puppy?
But Mama just looked curious.
“Oh, right. We got a pup at the Humane Society and he’s causing quite a commotion. Dr. Wendy thought you might be able to help.”
“With all those dogs, how does one puppy cause a commotion?” Mama asked.
“Well …” Big Bob paused. He looked as if he didn’t know how to begin. “I was there when they brought him in. Poor thing seemed scared of his own shadow. I just spent a little time petting him, trying to calm him down. It seems he took a liking to me, and now … whenever I show up, he sets to howling.”
“Sure you don’t have a wolf pup there?” Daddy asked. “Same animal family.”
“No. Dr. Wendy said it’s not a wolf pup. But it might be coyote. Or a cross.”
“A coydog? Where did they find him?” Mama asked.
“A farmer found him out in his field. In Allegan. He thought about keeping him, but his other dogs wouldn’t have him. They kept deviling the poor little guy.” Big Bob had been turning the ring in his fingers. Now he put it in his pocket. “We’re not sure what to do with him. That howling means he’s more than a mutt. He’s got a good bit, if not a whole bunch, of wild in him. I was wondering if you’d take a look, Fred.”
“No!” Razi’s head popped out from under the table. “Right, Mama? No dogs allowed!”
“Razi Carter.” Mama’s voice was firm as she leaned down to speak to him under the table. “You do not make the decisions in this family. Bob and Dr. Wendy are asking for our help. When we ask for their help, Bob and Dr. Wendy help us. As my father used to say, ‘One hand cannot clean itself.’ ” Mama straightened and said to Big Bob: “Your puppy can stay with us a few days in a pen in the back, Bob.” She gave Keisha a serious look before adding, “If it is wild, it belongs here.”
“Did the farmer give him a name?” Keisha asked. “When he thought he would keep him?”
“Nonononono,” Razi was saying under the table. “No dogs allowed. I said no! Bad dog, Harvey.”
“Don’t interrupt, Razi,” Daddy said.
“Racket,” Bob said, raising his voice so he could be heard.
“Racket?”
“That’s how the farmer found him. Sitting at the side of the field, just a-hollerin’ his poor little head off and making a racket.”
“Ada,” Mama whispered. “Run tell Grandma she has a visitor.”
“Doggies are bad. Bad dog, Harvey!”
“Razi Carter! Don’t make me tell you again.” Mama was using her stern voice.
As she bounded up the stairs, Keisha thought that even though Razi didn’t like dogs, he and this puppy had at least one thing in common—racket making.