Chapter 2

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 6, 1941

7:30 P.M.

Joe ate the last of his peas and stared daggers at the oven.

This was torture!

He didn’t mind peas—heck, he even liked peas. But right now the whole house smelled like cake—the delicious almond cake that Mama was making for Pop’s birthday tomorrow. And here he was, forced to sit at the kitchen table and eat chicken, peas, and grilled pineapple as though he couldn’t smell cake baking.

Joe remembered from school that there was an amendment in the Constitution that outlawed “cruel and unusual punishment.” He wondered if Mama could get arrested for making him eat peas while the house smelled like cake.

Still, he wasn’t so distracted that he forgot his plan. He pulled his napkin down on his lap, preparing for his next move. “Mama, can I have some more chicken, please?”

Mama looked up from where she sat with the baby by the radio. She went to the roasting pan in the kitchen and grabbed her tongs.

“Wing or breast?” she asked.

Joe remembered his grandmother giving chicken to her old Bassett hound Jesse back in Texas. She’d always pick out the bones, said dogs have a habit of choking on them. “Breast, please.”

Mama grabbed him another chicken breast with the tongs and put it on his plate. From her arms, Baby Kathy gave him a little smile, like she somehow knew what he was planning. Joe winked at her, and the smile grew bigger. Good thing she couldn’t talk!

The minute Mama turned away from him, Joe gave the piece of chicken a few jabs with his fork—no bones, perfect—and then moved it from his plate down to his napkin and pretended to be chewing a big mouthful. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but as he watched Mama, he saw that distant look in her eyes, the one she got whenever someone on the radio talked about the war in Europe. She had too much on her own plate to worry about his.

“Everything okay, Mama?” he asked her.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s fine, honey,” she said, shaking her head as if she were trying to shake off the bad thoughts. She bounced the baby in her arms. “Just worried about the war, is all.”

Joe felt his mouth draw down. The pineapple’s aftertaste was suddenly very bitter. “The war” could mean anything. “Nothing’s happened here, right?” he asked. “Pop’s ship isn’t going to the Pacific, is it?”

“No, thank God,” she said. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen any time soon. There’s just more news from Europe. That Hitler’s at it again, trying to invade Russia.”

“How’s he doing?” asked Joe, a little afraid of the answer.

“Apparently, his soldiers got caught in the snow and froze,” said Mama.

“Way to go, idiot,” said Joe.

“Joseph Dean, you watch your language at the dinner table!” she said. But underneath that reprimand was a laugh she couldn’t help or hide. He smiled, feeling warm inside. These days, making Mama laugh was a victory. It was hard enough, what with everything going on in the world, but with a new baby and a husband who worked long hours on a battleship, she deserved every laugh she got.

Joe felt that warm feeling fade the more he thought about the war. The stories coming from abroad were totally crazy. He’d heard about Hitler, a twisted ruler in Germany who made dramatic speeches and expected people to worship him. Hitler was on the march across Europe now, taking over one country after another and rounding up Jews, black people, and anyone else who didn’t fit his idea of the “master race.”

Pop had told him about that, how Hitler thought there should be a ruling class of tall, blond, blue-eyed white people, and that anyone different than that should be rounded up and taken away by the government. In Hitler’s eyes, Joe and his family were less than human because they were black.

Joe wondered what Hitler would say if he were standing in front of Pop, a hardworking man with a thousand-yard stare that made Joe stay out of trouble before he even thought of getting into it. Joe didn’t think Hitler would give him a speech about how much better he was than Pop. Hitler would be like those white officers earlier today, shaking in his boots and walking away with his head down.

He felt the heat of the chicken through the napkin on his lap and remembered his next move. “May I be excused?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Mama. “But clear and scrape first.” Joe slipped the napkin in his pocket as he stood. He scraped his bones into the garbage, tossed the plate in the sink, and ran outside.

After hopping down his front steps, Joe scanned his narrow street. No sign of anyone coming out of the tiny houses.

Quietly, he headed to the alley between his home and the Leesons’ house and peeked behind the trash cans, next to his bike.

Instantly, Skipper hopped up and put his paws on Joe’s shoulders. Joe tried to say “down,” but instead got a face full of excited licks from the excited dog.

“Easy, easy.” Joe laughed, pushing the dog back down. He brought the napkin out of his pocket, and Skipper began hopping and dancing so happily that Joe could hear his nails clicking on the ground.

When Joe unwrapped the napkin and revealed the chicken, Skipper froze in a half crouch, as though ready for the attack. Big gobs of drool rolled down Skipper’s chop, and his head darted forward, but Joe said, “Hey! Wait!” and the dog froze, staring longingly at the chicken breast.

Joe lowered it to the ground, stepped back, and said, “Okay, now.”

Skipper darted forward and wolfed the chicken breast down! Within seconds, it was gone.

“You’re pretty smart, huh?” said Joe. He knelt down and let Skipper lick the last of the chicken grease off of his fingers. “I wish I could keep you. It would be nice to have a friend like you around.”

Suddenly, Skipper raised his head, his ears perking up. He stared out of the alley, past the trash cans and into the street.

Joe felt the hair on his arms stand on end with this reaction. If Skipper was as smart as Joe thought, then he could tell someone was coming.

“What is it, boy?” he asked. “You smell something? Is there someone nearby?”

Skipper started barking loudly and jumped back into a crouched position.

“Hush! Be quiet!” he whispered, worried Mama would hear. He wondered who could be getting such a rise out of the dog—until he saw two faces coming around the side of the neighbors’ house.

“Hey, guys!” he said, waving. “Over here.”

“Joe?” asked Kai, wiping his sun-bleached hair away from his eyes and squinting into the alley. He and Millie walked tentatively toward him. “What are you doing in the alley?”

“The better question is, is that you barking?” Millie laughed. She walked with the beige navy-issue sack she used for collecting shells draped over her shoulder.

They peeked over the trash cans and saw Skipper at Joe’s feet, and Millie gasped. “Oh my gosh, look at that beautiful doggy!” she said.

Skipper wasn’t barking any longer, but Joe felt him standing stiff and ready at his side. “It’s okay, boy, it’s just my friends. Guys, this is Skipper. He followed me home.”

“Why hello, Skipper,” said Millie, kneeling down next to the dog and offering her hand. Skipper sniffed it and then gave it a nuzzle, and she rubbed his chin. “Yeah, that’s a good girl. Hello.”

“Wait, Skipper’s a girl?” asked Joe. “How do you know that?”

Millie’s mouth formed a small smile, and she rolled her eyes. “Her . . . coat,” she said. “Labrador retrievers are always shaggier around the chest and shoulders when they’re female.”

“I didn’t even know what kind of dog he, I mean, she was, honestly,” said Joe, bumping fists with Kai.

“I think I know that dog,” said Kai, smiling and giving Skipper an ear scratch. “She hangs around the docks, right?”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” said Joe. “Earlier today, a sailor told me that she swims for scraps down at the docks.”

“Exactly,” said Kai. “She gets a little jumpy when the planes buzz overhead, but she’s a strong swimmer. And a strong smeller, by the sound of it. I’m impressed she smelled us that far away.”

“Hey, speaking of smelling something all the way down the block,” said Millie, nodding at Joe’s bike, “how’d you do today?”

“Not bad,” said Joe. He pulled the basket off of his bike and handed it to her.

He and Kai had met Millie while Kai was teaching Joe to surf over at Waikiki Beach. Joe and Kai had noticed Millie selling shell necklaces from a card table out by the Elks Lodge, and Joe and Kai decided to come over and say hello. They were talking to her when a couple of sailors came up to buy shell necklaces for their sweethearts—from Kai! Millie told them it was her first sale, even though her necklaces were really nice. Kai said they didn’t just want a Hawaiian souvenir, they wanted an “experience,” including buying their necklace from a native Hawaiian. Kai hammed it up—using Hawaiian words, pointing out the different kinds of shells on the necklaces, even referencing famous sailors and ships he knew from growing up in the area. Millie was sold out of necklaces by the end of the day. So they decided to go into business together: Joe collected shells, Millie cleaned them and made the necklaces, and Kai sold them down on the beach. They split the money three ways.

“Think these’ll work?” asked Joe.

“These look great, actually,” said Millie. “Thanks, Joe.”

“And here’s your cut,” said Kai, handing Joe two faded bills. Joe’s eyes bulged—two dollars! A fortune! He could buy his weight in candy. “You catch any waves while you were down there?”

“Nah,” said Joe. “I was too busy looking for shells. Got hassled by a couple of sailors, though. That was fun.”

“You should try being the one selling them,” said Kai, rolling his eyes. “Hey, hoa, do these shells have magical powers? Do you sell pineapple or coconuts too? They think everyone here who’s not a sailor is a professional tour guide.”

“I bet— Hey!” They’d gotten distracted and hadn’t noticed Skipper moving in. She had her head in Joe’s bike basket and was tossing the shells around and sniffing for bits of fish.

“Cut it out, Skipper, these aren’t for you,” said Millie, trying to shoo her.

“Skipper, sit,” said Joe.

Skipper stopped in midsniff, sat, and looked attentively at Joe.

“Whoa!” said Kai, laughing. “How’d you do that? Did you teach her that?”

“No,” said Joe, surprised. “Skipper, lie down!”

Skipper lay down on the ground, paws folded in front of her.

“Shake?” said Joe, extending a hand.

Skipper sniffed Joe’s hand and licked it.

“Two out of three ain’t bad,” said Millie. “She’s one smart puppy. Are you going to keep her?”

“I don’t think I can,” said Joe, feeling down as he looked into Skipper’s big, soulful eyes. “With the new baby, we already have too many mouths to feed, and Mama’s worried about Pop onboard the West Virginia. I don’t want to cause her any trouble by having to care for a dog too.”

“Does the West Virginia have a dog?” asked Kai.

“What do you mean?” asked Joe. “It’s a battleship. They don’t allow dogs on battleships.”

“Sure they do!” said Kai. “I’ve seen a couple of ships with dogs here over the years. And my dad told me a story about a ship in England that has a dog named Judy on board, and how a couple of American ships are following their lead. The sailors keep them around as mascots, and it helps buck up the ones who have been at sea for a while. Do you think your dad could get her on board?”

At first Joe felt unsure—Pop was busy, and a dog might get him in trouble with sniffing around and getting up to no good. But then again, Skipper was a pretty good dog. She’d proven she was brave by standing up for Joe when those sailors hassled him, and she responded well to commands—she hadn’t even eaten the chicken Joe brought her until he told her to.

And Skipper might make a lasting impression on the other officers, which could only be good for Pop. He was always sore that the military still didn’t consider black and white men equal, and he wished his higher-ups could see past his being black. (“Between you and me, some of them don’t think much differently than that Hitler,” he’d once told Joe.) Having a mascot might help him become a favorite around the ship and at least bridge the gap between him and the other sailors.

As Joe was thinking, a whiff from the kitchen hit his nose—the cake!

“Tomorrow is Pop’s birthday,” said Joe. “It could be a nice present.” But then he imagined him offering Skipper to Pop and pictured the look on Pop’s face at the idea of taking a dog to work. Joe frowned and shook his head. “But there’s no way he’d bring her on board. He’s too serious about his job. Tries to keep his head down, not cause trouble.”

“Then we sneak her on board,” said Millie. “Make it a surprise.”

“How are we supposed to do that, genius?” asked Kai. “You have much experience stowing away on battleships?”

“I don’t need it,” said Millie. “I have a guy on the inside.”

“Danny?” asked Joe.

“Danny,” said Millie with a smile.

Millie began whispering her idea, and soon the three friends were hatching a plan.