Ever since Claire and Calvin got to Seagate, I’ve noticed that I have been thinking really mean thoughts. I never thought these things about people before. Sure, I really don’t like wheelie-backpack girls in my school, but I pretty much just stay away from them.
But with Calvin and Claire here, I’m turning into a mean person.
After a few weeks on Seagate, they started complaining to their mom that they were really bored, so she signed them up for two weeks of tennis camp in Westchester, near where they live. And when I found that out, I was ecstatically happy. Too happy. I felt bad about how happy I was. But they were just such a drag to have around. They were always complaining, and Bennett was always trying to include them in things, and then they would still complain.
So now they’re gone and it’s just Bennett, Micayla, and me again. I still miss Danish, but things are starting to feel close to right.
The annual Seagate Fourth of July Celebration is great, the way it always is: fireworks on the beach, the staff from Shazamburger grilling hot dogs and hamburgers on the boardwalk, enough for everyone on the island to have two of each.
There’s a pickle-eating contest, but Bennett is grossed out by pickles, so we never stick around for that. There’s a line at Sundae Best that wraps around the whole island, practically, but no one seems to mind. No one worries about their kids staying up late, because everyone can just sleep in the next day. That’s the beauty of Seagate: No one is in a rush. Time doesn’t really matter, because everyone has so much of it.
“Y’know that kid Mason Redmond?” Bennett asks us as we’re on the way to the beach. I’m starting to get a sense that he knows about Micayla’s crush, but I’m not sure. Bennett was never involved in our crush talk last summer, even though he was around us all the time. I’m not sure how that worked out, but it did.
We nod.
“He knows what he wants to do when he grows up,” Bennett says. “Do you think that’s weird or cool?”
“Weird,” I jump right in. “Kids should be kids, I think.”
Micayla laughs. “You always talk like a grown-up, though, Remy!”
“You know what I mean, Mic.” I nudge her with my shoulder.
Bennett ignores our little back-and-forth. “But he’s our age, so how does he know he wants to be a veterinarian? And why is he working on it over the summer?” He seems really concerned, but there’s no reason to be.
“Don’t worry,” I tell Bennett. “We’re kids. We can just focus on being kids. That’s what my mom always tells me.”
“My mom tells me that sixth grade at my school is going to be really serious and I’m going to need to buckle down,” Bennett says. “I don’t even know what that means, and isn’t that a weird expression?”
“Yeah,” Micayla says. “I don’t think of buckles as being down; I think of them as, like, being through something.”
They go back and forth about the expression, and then I start laughing, because the whole thing just sounds so silly.
I say, “Guys, we really only get two months of summer, so let’s just enjoy it and not think about school, okay?”
They nod.
I’m not sure they agree with me, but at least they go along for the moment. We never used to talk about what we want to do when we grow up. Talking about it now gives me a funny feeling, like I’m lost in a crowd and can’t find Bennett or Micayla anywhere.
We’re almost at the beach when a poster catches my eye. It’s haphazardly stuck to one of the streetlights with masking tape, and it has a picture of a dog on it.
“Guys, hang on one second,” I say. “I have to look at this.”
Micayla and Bennett hang back, and I hear them talking about the whole “knowing what you want to do when you grow up” thing, and I try to tune it out. I’m not sure when my friends became so serious, but I think I liked them better before.
The poster says:
OUR BELOVED OSCAR IS MISSING!
Help us find our amazing boxer Oscar. He has brown fur everywhere except his stomach and his paws, where he has white fur. He answers to the names Oscar, Oscie, or Cuddle Cookies (don’t ask). Email DawnRam200@gmail.com if you find him.
Reward if found and returned.
Thank you!
I stand there for a second after reading the sign. Then I rip it down. For the first time in forever, I have this feeling like I really need to do something. I have to find Oscar. I know how hard it is to be without a pet, but these people don’t have to. And especially since I’ve become so attached to Marilyn Monroe, the sting of missing a pet feels even more brutal.
“You guys.” I run over to them. “We have to find this dog.” I show them the poster, then feel a little bit guilty for ripping it down. Other people need to see it too, if we’re going to be able to find Oscar. But I also need to take it with us—I need to keep looking at his picture to remember what Oscar looks like, and I need to keep the email address handy for when we find him.
“I’ve definitely seen this dog around,” Micayla says. “Should we go ask Mason at Dog Beach?”
I cover my mouth and try not to laugh. This crush is becoming totally obvious.
“No, let’s not talk to Mason,” Bennett says. “He stresses me out. I thought summer reading was enough to be worried about, but now I have to think about my career?” Bennett shakes his head. “I can’t handle that kid this summer.”
I walk them over to one of the wooden benches on the path to the beach, and we sit down for a second to talk. “Plus, don’t you think Dog Beach would be the first place that his owners would look for Oscar?” I ask.
“You’re probably right,” Micayla says, slightly defeated.
“Do you know Oscar’s family?” I ask them. “I think he looks familiar, but I’m not sure. Danish usually stayed away from the bigger dogs.”
“Danish was a little wimpy,” Bennett says, and then moves back a little bit because he knows I’m about to hit him.
I hit his arm anyway. “Hey! Bennett Newhouse, take that back!”
“Come on, Rem, we loved him, but he tried to drink coffee out of your dad’s mug that one time. He didn’t even like doggie treats; he always wanted his own croissant from Mornings.”
Bennett’s right about that. We said it again and again that Danish was more human than canine, and he did sometimes prefer a croissant from Mornings to a treat from Daisy’s. The owners of Mornings (Seagate’s fanciest breakfast place) are a couple named Beverly and Sidney, and they’re really not dog people. I guess Danish knew that, and he was constantly trying to get them to change their mind.
Danish was never allowed inside, but I’d usually get him his own croissant. They made him so happy. How could I refuse him?
We all agree that we’ve seen Oscar around but we’re not sure where, and we’re not sure who he was with. So we take the poster and we walk around Seagate and go up to as many people as we can, asking, “Have you seen this dog?”
Most people shake their heads.
One old lady says, “I think I saw him at Daisy’s. He was stealing treats from the other dogs! No one did anything to stop him!” She shakes her head like it was a complete travesty, and then she walks away.
Micayla suggests that we ask Avery Sanders. “She’s such a gossip, and she knows everybody, so she’d probably be able to help.”
She has a point, and I haven’t seen Avery in a few days, come to think of it. The last time I saw her was at the Wednesday concert when Claire made us feel bad about dancing.
After a few more minutes of searching, I can tell that Micayla and Bennett really want to go to the beach. It’s not hard to figure it out, since Micayla keeps saying, “Can we take a break, Rem? I really want to swim. They said it might rain later.”
And Bennett says, “Let’s go looking again tonight. Everyone’s out now, and Oscar’s probably scared and hiding.”
I don’t know if boxers even get scared. I think they’re often used as watchdogs and sometimes help the police catch criminals. I was reading a book on dog breeds at the school library so I could help my parents choose our next dog, and I seem to remember that.
“You guys can go,” I tell them. “I’m going to keep looking.”
They tell me to stop being crazy and that of course they’re coming, but a few minutes later they go to the beach for real, and I’m left walking around alone.
I don’t know why it’s so important to me that I find Oscar, but it really is. I guess it’s because my dog-free life is pretty permanent right now, but Oscar’s family’s life doesn’t have to be.