Donut Holes

 

WHEN ODETTE WOKE, the dog was right up by her face, asleep with her doggy head on Odette’s pillow, her little body tucked under the covers, breathing into Odette’s nose soft, warm puffs of air. The dog’s wiry black hair stuck out at every angle, and Odette smoothed it back away from her closed eyes. The dog yawned. Her pink tongue stretched out, her tiny white teeth shined. Then she slowly opened her eyes—deep black pearls.

Down below, Dad was pulling out the coffee pot. He filled it with water from a refillable canister beneath the sink and spooned ground coffee into the top part. Then he plugged the whole thing in and turned it on. It was a full-size coffeemaker, even in their pint-size kitchen, because Odette’s parents “believed” in coffee. It looked ridiculous and oversize on the narrow countertop, leaving barely any room for anything else. Also, totally unfair—her parents got a full-size coffeemaker and Odette had to get rid of almost all her pillows. Even though Odette “believed” in throw pillows.

Odette could see a lump in the big bed at the back of the Coach. Mom was still sleeping, and Rex must have crawled in with their parents in the middle of the night, as he often did, because his table bed was empty.

The dog got up and stretched, circling on the bed and snuffling around.

“Good morning, honey,” Dad whispered. “How’d you sleep?”

“So-so,” said Odette, though she’d slept as deeply and well as she could ever remember.

“Looks like your dog needs to go out,” Dad said. “Do you want me to take her for you? You could sleep a little longer.”

But Odette was wide awake. “No, that’s all right,” she said. “I’ll take her.” She sat up and hit her head on the top of the Coach.

“Ooh,” said Dad.

Odette rubbed her head and climbed down the ladder. Then she reached up and grabbed the dog, who wagged her tail fiercely.

“Put on her harness,” Dad said, which Odette was planning to do anyway. She’d hung it on a hook by the door the night before. The dog struggled like a piglet as Odette fit her into the harness, shoving her head through the big loop and pushing her pointy little front legs through their spaces. Then she clipped the whole thing together and attached the leash.

“Don’t forget a bag,” Dad whisper-called after Odette as she pushed open the door. She hadn’t; one of the green biodegradable poop bags Mom had bought at the pet store along with the harness and the dog food was already tucked into Odette’s pocket from last night.

The dog leaped down the two pop-out stairs, landing squarely and romping off, stretching the leash tight. Odette followed after, surprised by the warmth of the morning air that greeted her. They’d only traveled a few hours from home, but already the weather had changed.

It was an ugly campground. The night before, it had been too dark to see clearly, but this morning Odette took in all the ugly around her—the few squat tents set up on patches of dirt-bare earth, the bathroom building down the way with its peeling paint and wooden block letters announcing WOMEN and MEN.

Trees lined the perimeter, separating the campground from the road just beyond. They looked thirsty, those trees, underwatered and sad.

The dog squatted and peed in the dirt, but the ground was so dry that the pee couldn’t even soak in. It pooled in the dust, running downhill toward Odette’s foot.

“Is that your dog?”

Odette turned around. There behind her, poking her head out from the biggest of the tents, was a girl. “I guess,” Odette answered.

“She’s so cute!”

She was one of those girls who gushed. Odette watched as she unzipped the tent the rest of the way and crawled out, and then Odette tried not to stare, because it was rude to stare, but it was hard not to. The girl’s hair was wild, too wild to have gotten that way just from sleeping on the ground a couple of nights.

It was a giant cloud of light brown fluff. It was an aura of hair.

“What’s her name?”

“Um,” said Odette. She didn’t want to tell this girl that she still hadn’t come up with a name. “Georgette,” she blurted out, the first name that popped into her head.

“Cute,” the girl said again. “What’s your name?”

“Odette,” Odette said.

“Odette and Georgette. Adorable.”

“But I call her Georgie,” Odette amended. “No one calls her Georgette.” This last part, at least, was true.

“Well, I’m Katie,” said the girl. She squatted down to pet the dog now named Georgie. Katie’s legs were long and skinny, with dry white scratches up and down them. She wasn’t wearing any shoes. “Good girl,” she crooned. She reached out and the dog waggled her butt and scooted, low to the ground, toward Katie’s hand.

“This is, like, the smallest dog I’ve ever seen,” said Katie. “What kind is she?”

“I don’t know,” said Odette. “Some mutt.” Her attention was divided between Katie, who was now scratching Georgie’s belly, the dog having rolled onto her back in the dirt, and Katie’s tent, from which someone else was emerging. It was a woman, with hair just like Katie’s, but bigger.

“Is that your mom?” Odette asked.

“Uh-huh,” said Katie, not bothering to look back. “I wish I had a dog.”

For a second, Odette considered offering the runt to her.

Then Katie’s mom called, “Hey, girls! Do you want some donuts?”

Katie gave Georgie one final scratch and then stood. “Sure,” she answered. Then, to Odette, “You want some?”

Odette shrugged. She wasn’t supposed to take food from strangers, but this seemed like a safe exception.

Katie’s mom pulled a blue and white box from the trunk of their car, a beat-up old hatchback parked just beyond their tent.

“Thanks,” Odette said. She looked into the box. Actually, there weren’t any donuts. The box was filled with little round powdered balls—donut holes, not donuts. But, Odette figured, it was close enough.

They sat on a couple of big logs that had been upended to make stools and ate the donut holes. The sun shone hot on the back of Odette’s neck. Georgie tucked into the patch of shade behind Odette’s knees and flopped down, panting.

“So where are you from?” Katie broke her donut holes into little pieces before eating them. It was a good technique; no powdered sugar dusted her chin.

“Not that far from here,” Odette said. “Just Southern California.”

“That’s where we’re headed,” Katie said. “We live near Sacramento. We’re going to Disneyland.”

Odette nodded. Aside from the beaches, Disneyland was the biggest attraction near her house. “We used to have yearly passes,” she said.

“No way!” Katie seemed impressed. “You mean, you could just go whenever you wanted to?”

“There were a bunch of blackout dates, like around holidays. And Saturdays, too. But we could go on Sundays. Sometimes we’d go just for a couple of hours after school.”

“That’s so awesome!” said Katie. “How come you don’t have passes anymore?”

Odette cleared her throat. She’d inhaled some powdered sugar from her last bite. “We don’t really live there anymore,” she said.

“Oh,” said Katie. “Where do you live?”

Suddenly Odette was embarrassed. She kind of shrugged, and then pointed at the Coach. “There, for now,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, for now. We’re kind of . . . I don’t know, traveling around, I guess.”

“Cool,” said Katie. “Where are you going?”

“Well, we’re going to go see my Grandma Sissy first,” Odette said. “Because she’s sick.” Odette felt a funny discomfort in her belly, thinking of Grandma Sissy being sick. She’d been sick before, and she’d gotten better then. So there was no reason to think that she wouldn’t get better this time too.

“And then what?”

Odette shrugged. “Mom says the world is our oyster.”

“Huh,” Katie said. Then, “What about school?”

“Mom says we’re roadschooling.”

“What?”

“You know. Like homeschooling, but on the road. She says we’re going to ‘live our education.’”

“Huh,” said Katie again. “That’s pretty crazy.”

“Yeah.”

“What about, like, work? And money and stuff?”

The more she got into it, the less Odette felt like sharing, but Katie’s face didn’t look judgmental or anything, just curious. “My dad got laid off from his job,” she said.

“Is that, like, fired?”

Odette shook her head. “No. Fired means you did something wrong. Laid off just means . . . I don’t know, that they don’t need you anymore.”

“Oh,” Katie said, and she nodded, but her expression looked like she felt sorry for Odette or something, for having a dad whose job didn’t need him.

“It was kind of heroic, actually,” Odette blurted. “See, Dad used to make kind of a lot of money. We had a big house and everything. But his work was going to lay off a bunch of guys who made less than he did. So my dad, what he did was, he offered to leave instead. So that three other guys could keep their jobs.” She left out the other part, the part that she still hadn’t told her parents she’d overheard. About “the trouble we’ve been having with us” and how Dad figured it couldn’t make things any worse.

“Huh,” said Katie. “So, your dad saved their jobs . . . but now you guys don’t have a house?”

Odette stood up. She forgot she was holding Georgie’s leash and she sort of yanked it. The dog yipped a little. “I’ve got to go,” said Odette. “Thanks for the donut holes.”