Switched, p.1
Switched, page 1
To Riley for inspiration, and to Jose for heart
Title Page
Dedication
1 Powder-Blue Rabies
2 Possum Belly
3 A Trouble Doubleheader
4 Dog’s-Eye View
5 Floor Toast
6 Mrs. Stinky Flower
7 The Golden Growls
8 Dogfight
9 The Biter
10 Hole New Thing
11 The Joys of Dogginess
12 Poor Mr. Wuffles
13 Scent of a Mad Ferret
14 Gone Wishin’
15 Friends Left and Right
16 A World-Class Funk
17 A Double-Wide Disaster
18 Playdate with a Punk
19 End of the Line
20 Ruby Lends a Paw
21 Countdown to Extinction
22 Birthday Boy
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Bruce Hale
Copyright
It had taken all afternoon to set up, but it only took five minutes for the dog to destroy everything.
As soon as everyone else had left the house on errands, Parker Pitts had hustled like mad, trying to make everything perfect for the farewell party for his big sister, Billie. He’d vacuumed, tidied, and dusted the whole downstairs (much more thoroughly than Mom ever had). He’d festooned the dining room with blue streamers, party hats, and musical notes cut from shiny golden paper.
Heck, he’d even gotten their neighbor Mrs. Johnson to drive him to pick up the cake from the bakery. It was powder blue (Billie’s favorite color), decorated with musical notations and an edible microphone on top (all his idea).
The cake sat on the table. His mom would pick up the Thai takeout on her way home.
All was perfect—just the way Parker liked things to be.
Restless, he readjusted the place settings he’d made from Dad’s scratched vinyl records and repositioned the bass clef centerpiece just so. He was ready. Everything was set to make Billie’s send-off for her semester abroad a truly magical experience.
As six o’clock struck, his mom’s and dad’s cars pulled into the driveway almost simultaneously. That alone made it a red-letter day. Parker couldn’t remember the last time they’d both been home for dinner together.
Gee, and all it took to make this rare event happen was one of their kids leaving town.
At the thunk-thunk of car doors and the happy chatter of everyone coming up the walkway, Parker smiled. He loved how his family was a rainbow of color, from his mahogany-skinned dad to his wheat-skinned mom, with he and Billie falling somewhere in between. His grandma used to be on the walnut-colored end of that spectrum, but—
With an effort, he forced away the thought of her. What you didn’t think about couldn’t hurt you.
The front door swung open. “We’re home!” his mom called.
Right away, the clickety-clack of doggie toenails scrabbled on the entryway’s wooden floor. Thunderous footfalls and thuds from bumped furniture marked the progress of Boof, Billie’s shaggy goldendoodle.
Parker gritted his teeth.
That dog.
He burst into the dining room like a dirty-blond hurricane. Making straight for Parker, the dog reared up on his hind legs, planted two massive paws on Parker’s chest, and bathed his face with a tongue funkier than fifty weeks’ worth of dirty gym socks.
Parker staggered back.
“Yuck!” Twisting away from the creature, he swabbed at his slimy face with a forearm. Now he’d have to go wash again. “Bad dog! Down!”
Nothing he said seemed to sink in. Of course, that wasn’t surprising, given that Boof had flunked out of the Perfect Puppy Academy and that Billie rarely bothered to reinforce the few commands the dog did learn.
Boof jumped up again. This time, one of his sharp toenails caught on Parker’s shirt pocket. When Parker tried to shove the dog away, the fabric tore with a loud r-r-r-rip.
His favorite Star Wars T-shirt, wrecked.
Parker’s face flushed hot. “Bills!” he cried. “Get this thing away from me!”
Bored of jumping, Boof thrust his nose into Parker’s crotch and took a loud, deep whiff. Parker raised a knee, spinning away.
“Billie!”
Gliding into the room like a long-necked princess in ripped jeans and an explosion of curls, Billie patted her thighs. “Come here, Boofie-Boof. Is the widdle puppy bugging my widdle brudder? Is he?”
The mop-haired dog thwacked his tail back and forth, knocking paper party hats off the chair and onto the floor. Amber eyes shining, he padded over to Billie and licked her face up one side and down the other.
Parker shuddered. “Little puppy? He weighs almost as much as I do.” He collected the hats, wondering if they’d been contaminated by dog germs. Could you sterilize paper hats?
Just then, Billie noticed the decorations. Her mouth fell open in an O, and her hazel eyes widened. “For me?”
Parker nodded.
“Oh, P-man, you’re the best!” She beamed so broadly her eyes disappeared into slits. Rushing forward, Billie gave him a fierce hug. “I’m going to miss you, bro.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Parker, ducking his head.
His throat tightened. Though she was four years older and technically his half sister, that didn’t matter. Ever since Grandma Mimi had helped them bridge their differences five years ago, Parker and Billie had been pretty tight. He was really going to miss her.
Of course, if he admitted this to Billie, her head would swell so big she’d never fit through the airplane door. So he let her guess.
“Ooh, and that cake!” she squealed, squeezing her hands together. “Total coolness!”
Parker couldn’t hide his grin. “Thought you’d like it,” he mumbled. Then his skin prickled with drying dog slobber and he shivered. “Um, be right back.”
Parker hurried into the kitchen and blasted the hot water, vigorously scrubbing his face and hands with soap. Too bad Boof wasn’t like the animals from some of his favorite fantasy tales, all helpful and full of natural wisdom. He was no Aslan of Narnia. In fact, as far as Parker could tell, this dog’s wisdom consisted primarily of knowing which cat poop was the crunchiest.
“Did you tidy up around here again?” asked his mom, setting some takeout bags on the counter. She squeezed his shoulders and smooched the back of his head as he washed. As you’d expect of the city’s top Realtor, she was impeccably turned out, today in a copper-colored dress that matched the highlights in her hair. “You really didn’t have to.”
Parker shrugged. “I wanted to.” Drying his face with a fresh dish towel, he reflected that it felt more like he had to. Ever since Mimi … well, ever since then, he really wanted to keep things at home clean and well ordered. It made him feel better. And like Mimi always used to say, a tidy room makes for a tidy mind.
At the thought of his grandma, Parker’s lips clamped tight and his chest felt heavier than a mountain of regrets.
She should’ve been here tonight. His Mimi loved a party.
In that moment, Parker missed her like a beached whale misses the waves. He sucked in a ragged breath, casting around for something else to clean.
Just then, his dad sauntered into the kitchen. As usual, his tie was askew, his cobalt shirt looked like it had never met an iron, and his tweed jacket was rumpled. The overall effect was like an unmade bed with a potbelly.
“What’s the word, Bird?” he asked. “Good day today?”
“Not bad.” Parker sponged up the spilled water around the sink, hiding a shy smile. He loved when his dad called him Bird, the nickname of Charlie Parker, an old-timey sax player he was named after. In fact, his dad was such a jazz fan, he and his first wife had named Billie after some long-ago singer. Between Dad’s music professor job and Billie’s talents, it was a tuneful household, to say the least.
“Mmm, that smells good.” Parker’s dad rummaged in one of the takeout bags, cracking open a cardboard container and lifting out some flat noodles. “Pad Thai with chicken?” He slurped down the noodles and went back for more.
“And spring rolls, and shrimp curry, and garlic eggplant,” said his mom. She hip-checked her husband, swatting his hand away from the food. “All her favorites.”
Belatedly, Parker detected the rich aromas of Thai food—lemongrass, garlic, fish sauce. Somehow, he was always the last to notice smells.
“Wow, you guys did all this for me?” Billie stood in the doorway, a mile-wide smile splitting her face. “I didn’t expect a party.”
“It’s not every day my little girl goes off to a fancy Irish performing arts school,” said Parker’s dad.
“Dad, I’m not a—” Billie began.
But whatever she’d intended to say was drowned out by a tremendous crash from the dining room behind her.
“What was that?” asked Parker.
Billie spun around. “Boof!”
Rushing to the doorway and peering past his sister’s shoulder, Parker witnessed a sight that turned his blood colder than a holiday on the ice planet Hoth. His breath died in his throat. Somehow, Boof had clambered up onto the table, destroying the centerpiece and scattering the place settings. Legs braced wide, he was gobbling up Billie’s cake with doggie glee.
“No!” cried Parker.
“Bad dog!” yelled Billie. They rushed into the room.
Boof’s head flew up. His eyes were wild, and his muzzle was thick with frosting, making it look like he had a case of powder-blue rabies. A crepe paper streamer dan
He gave a puppy bow, chest low, tail wagging.
Then, with a loud wurf, he bounded off the table and tore from the room. Billie gave chase. Parker froze, astonishment rooting him in place. He gaped at the wreckage. The bass clef centerpiece was bent in half, two of the vinyl records had shattered, and the cake! The cake was a blue-and-yellow ruin, punctuated with paw prints. As he watched, a clump of frosting dropped off the edge of the table and landed on the floor with a plop.
Parker’s fists balled. His jaw clenched. His skin itched all over with the burning need to clean up this awful mess right now—right after he strangled that rotten dog.
Then, from the corner of his eye, a flash of violet light caught his attention. Parker did a double take. It looked almost like one of the items on the hutch—a carving of the Yoruba trickster god Eshu that Mimi had given him—was glowing.
A wave of gooseflesh rippled across his shoulders. “No way,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. This kind of thing only happened in the movies. Sure enough, when he looked again, the glow had gone. Just a trick of the light.
“Oh, honey.” His mom came up behind him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Really, it is.”
Parker was too busy grappling with his warring impulses (clean or kill?) to look up at her. But he knew she’d be wearing that worried expression she often displayed whenever he got into cleaning mode.
“Ugh, that knuckleheaded dog.” His dad joined them. “For a while there, I thought he was learning, but I swear he’s getting worse.”
“Dogs can sense big changes,” said his mom. “Maybe this is just normal acting out.”
“Normal acting out?” said Parker, picking up a fallen streamer. “Yeah, right. Because normal dogs wreck parties. Normal dogs climb onto tables and eat cakes.”
His mom sent him a tight-lipped look, like she disapproved of his sarcasm but was cutting him some slack.
Dad shook his head ruefully. “I told Tina it was a bad idea to give Billie a dog, especially with her semester abroad coming up so soon.”
“And since when has your fancy-pants ex ever listened to you?” The edge in Parker’s mom’s voice was sharp enough to slice stale bread.
“Tina loves to spoil her—when she happens to remember that Billie exists.”
Parker’s sister poked her head through the doorway. “Where’s Boof?”
“You lost him?” asked Mom.
“He can’t have gone far.” Parker’s dad planted his hands on his hips, scanning the area.
From the kitchen came the rustle of a plastic bag and some serious crunching noises. All four heads turned.
“The food!” yelled Parker.
Feet unfrozen, he hurtled past his parents, back into the kitchen. What he saw sent a hot shot of adrenaline blasting through his body. Boof’s paws rested on the counter, and the handles of a plastic takeout bag were disappearing down his gullet like a hobbit into his hole.
“No-no-no!” Parker charged forward. He snatched at the bag but missed when Boof lunged away and galloped past.
With a wordless cry, Parker dashed after him.
From behind came his dad’s shout: “What?! Not the pad Thai!”
Parker’s eyes narrowed. Two impulses wrestled inside him: He burned to get his hands on that mutt, and he yearned to clean up the mess the dog had left. For now, stopping the doggie demolition derby came first.
Down the hallway he pounded, chasing the blond blur of Boof.
The dog glanced back with one wild, white-rimmed eye.
He was enjoying this.
And then they rounded the corner, and Billie stepped out, arms spread wide. “Gotcha!” The dog’s paws skidded. Before Boof could slip away, she snagged his collar, yanking him to a halt. “Bad Boofie!”
As Parker caught up, he witnessed the last of the bag disappearing into the dog’s mouth. “Your ‘Boofie’ ate our dinner,” he said.
“Oh, no.” Taking the beast’s shaggy head between her hands, Billie bent down to look into his amber eyes. “All of it?”
“The noodles.”
“Yikes.”
“He swallowed the bag whole,” said Parker. “And most of the container.”
Billie’s face blanched. “Call the vet! We’ve got to get it out of him. He might die.”
Boof’s tail thumped against the floor. He licked her face with what looked like yards of tongue.
“Yeah, seems like he’s sinking fast,” said Parker.
Together, they closed the dog in his crate so he couldn’t destroy anything else. After some initial whining, Boof turned around three times, flopped down with a grunt, and began gently gnawing on his bedding.
Dad phoned the vet.
Collapsing onto a kitchen chair, Parker stared at the floor. His heart thudded dully in his chest.
“Ruined,” he said. “All ruined.”
Billie squatted beside him, rubbing his back in gentle circles. “Come on, P-man, we’ve still got the rest of the Thai food. And I bet we could salvage some cake.”
Parker couldn’t meet her gaze. “It’s a puppy apocalypse.” He quivered at the thought of the mess. It made him itch like foxtails under the skin. Not another second. Parker surged to his feet and fetched a fresh sponge, a roll of paper towels, some kitchen gloves, and a garbage bag. With a heavy sigh, he set to work cleaning up.
Boof didn’t get it. Good-smelling things should feel good inside you.
So how could something that smelled as amazing as the family’s meal feel so funny in his gut? Even cat poop wasn’t this rough going down. Mysterious things rumbled and bubbled and burbled inside as he lay there chewing his bedding.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Boof was all alone, and his family didn’t love him anymore.
He whined again. The humans in the other room ignored him. His Sweet Girl had shouted at him, which she almost never did. Boof curled his tail under at the thought. He’d never felt this bad before. Probably.
Why was everyone so mad? He’d smelled the anger rolling off them in waves, along with Gloomy Boy’s usual scent of sadness. All Boof wanted was for everyone to love him. He was lovable, right?
What was wrong? Why didn’t anyone want to play?
They were all in the other room now, eating their meal, talking their human talk. Without him. Boof’s place was beside the table, with his Sweet Girl slipping him scraps when nobody was looking. He belonged with his family.
Boof heaved a heavy sigh. Hanging out in his little cave was all well and good when he could come and go as he pleased, but to be shut in here like a barely weaned puppy?
So unfair.
Why couldn’t he be with his Sweet Girl and have everyone be happy, calling him “good dog” and petting him? Was that too much to ask? True, Gloomy Boy had been sad ever since Boof had known him—suffering cats, he didn’t even respond to doggie kisses! But the rest of the family had been mostly happy. Not anymore. For days now, they’d been running around acting excited, but being all tense and bothered underneath.
Something was up, and it made him anxious.
Usually eating, chewing, and running around helped calm him down. But not today. Boof stood up, turned about several times, lay down, and sighed again.
After what felt like forever, Gloomy Boy and his mother, Flower Woman, carried dishes into the room. They scraped the extra food down some magical hole where it disappeared (What a waste—I’ll eat it!) and washed and dried the plates.
Every time Gloomy Boy shot him a dirty look, Boof thumped his tail hopefully. Who can even remember what all the fuss was about? We’re friends, right?
But each time, the Boy turned away scowling.
After Flower Woman had gone, Gloomy Boy spent a long time sprinkling powder on the counter and floor, and rubbing them. His energy was edgy, spiky. Time and time again, Boof showed him the big puppy eyes, signaling that it was okay to pet him. But the Boy paid no attention.
After he left, nobody came by in, like, forever. Boof stewed in his loneliness. At long last, Sweet Girl’s dad, Ball Man, strode in and squatted down before the cave door.
“You feeling okay?” he asked. “The vet said to keep an eye on you.”
Although he recognized vet (not one of his favorite human words), Boof responded to the gentle tone with a warm look.
