The Case of the Rock 'n' Roll Dog (2 page)

Sometimes I dream of cookies.

Today's were snickerdoodles, which are sugar with cinnamon. I took a bite.
Yummy
. My bad day had gotten a whole lot better. But then Nate pulled his spelling test out of his backpack to show Granny. He had a perfect score. And Granny turned to me. “Didn't you get yours back, too, Cameron?”

WHEN Granny saw all the marks on my spelling test, she said we could practice on the way to school.

Then, when she wasn't looking, Nate stuck out his tongue at me.

Sometimes I hate my cousin.

If you're wondering why he lives with us, it's because when my mom was elected there was no one to be First Lady. I mean, no offense to my dad, but he would never make it as First Lady. Besides, during the week he has a job in California building airplanes. Most of the time, we only see him on weekends.

Anyway, just like my mom asked her own mom to take care of me and Tessa, she asked her little sister, Jen, to move from San Diego and be “White House Hostess.”

The news guys call her “First Auntie.”

I like Aunt Jen so that part was okay. Unfortunately, Nate came along in the deal.

Besides being good at spelling, Nate is some kind
of piano genius, and he is tall and gets good grades. Some people (like my mother!!!) say he's handsome, too.

I don't think he likes me and Tessa very much.

Granny says Tessa and I are too hard on Nate. She says it's tough to be the new kid and besides Nate is shy. I say the real problem is how Nate acts so superior all the time.

The something healthy part of our snack that day was apples, carrots and celery. When we were done eating, Courtney, Nate and I went up to the solarium. It's at the top of the White House, and it's like our family room—with the TV and the Ping-Pong table and a view of the Washington Monument.

Tessa and Hooligan came, too. Tessa's in second grade. She didn't have homework. But we were taking all the markers, and she wanted to draw pictures of outfits.

Upstairs, we kids settled in on the floor to work, and Hooligan settled in on the floor to nap.

Our assignment was to write and illustrate a report about a famous American. My famous American was Sandra Day O'Connor—the first woman justice on the Supreme Court.

Courtney's was Nellie Bly, a reporter from more than a hundred years ago.

Nate's was John Philip Sousa, a musician and
composer who wrote marches like “Stars and Stripes Forever.”

You might not think you know that song, but I bet you do. Somebody wrote silly words for it: “Be kind to your web-footed friends, for that duck may be somebody's mo-o-other. . . .”

See, you do know it, right?

We had done most of the writing part of our reports in class, so now we were illustrating. My picture was Sandra Day O'Connor's ranch in Arizona. I started to draw a cactus.

Courtney was drawing something called a typewriter that looks like a computer keyboard.

Nate was drawing a fat brown line.

Nate is not a very good artist, but still. A fat brown line?

He saw me looking. “I'm drawing John Philip Sousa's baton,” he explained.

Tessa looked over. “Was John Philip Who-za a baton twirler, too?”

It wasn't that funny. But Nate laughed like he would bust a gut. When he finally stopped, I said, “Not that kind of baton, Tessa. The same word means the stick a band director uses.”

“And it's Sousa, not Who-za!” Nate started laughing all over again.

Tessa narrowed her eyes at him. “What
ev
er,” she said.

Nate can never resist telling everything he knows.
“The Sousa baton is special,” he said. “John Philip Sousa used to be the director of the Marine Band. In 1892, when he retired, they gave him this baton. After he died, the baton was donated back to the band by his family. The book I read says the Marine Band director still uses it today. In fact, there's a tradition that the band can't play without it!”

All this time, Hooligan had been napping on the floor next to us. Now, for mysterious doggie reasons, his eyes blinked open.

Hooligan doesn't wake up slow and groggy like me. He wakes up ready to rock'n'roll!

“Watch your markers,” I said. “Hooligan thinks they're chew toys.”

Courtney said, “He can't have mine!” and made a sudden move to corral them.

This was a mistake.

Sudden moves are specialties of squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits. Hooligan loves squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits. He thinks they're chew toys, too.

Now our dog was not only wide awake, he was excited. And sometimes when he's excited, he does this thing we call the
frenzy
: He lunges forward, thumps his paws, springs high in the air, then spins so fast he turns blurry.

You can never tell for sure when he's going to do it, but if he does—
blam-o!

Tessa knew the signs. “Uh-oh.” She grabbed for his collar . . . but it was too late!

Hooligan lunged, thumped, sprang and spun—this time with an extra added marker grab in the middle.

I thought the grab was a nice touch; Courtney was not a fan. “
No!
” she squealed, which Hooligan heard as: “
Let's play!
” There was a fast tug of war. Courtney lost. Then Hooligan sprinted off with three markers in his fearsome jaws.

Nate stayed put, but Courtney, Tessa and I chased Hooligan once around the solarium then down the ramp that leads to the floor below. Two markers fell, but he kept the pink one. We know it was pink because every once in a while he bumped the wall and it left a stripe. Finally, we rounded a corner, and he was gone.

“What happened to him?” Courtney was breathing hard.

I shook my head. “He's been disappearing a lot lately—going AWOL my dad calls it.”

There are six floors in the White House, and 132 rooms not counting all the offices, storage rooms and workspaces. It's not that hard to hide, even for a too-big dog.

“Hoo-hoo-hooligan!” Tessa's holler was a yodel. “Hoo-hoo-hooligan—
fetch!
”

Hooligan is not exactly well trained. Tell him to sit, stay or heel, and you might as well be speaking Cat. But
fetch
he understands. You never know what he'll fetch or where—but some kind of fetch will happen.

Courtney shook her head, disgusted. “My dog Rex
never
behaves this way.”

Tessa said Courtney's dog Rex was about as fun as a sofa cushion.

Courtney told her to take it back.

Tessa said she wouldn't—and this could have gone on a while except here came the sound of galloping doggie toenails, and a second later Hooligan appeared at the end of the hallway, bounding toward us at top speed.

There was something in his mouth—something bigger than a marker.

I sidestepped the same way I'd sidestep a soccer defender.

But Courtney takes tap not soccer, and—
blam!
Hooligan caught her in the knees. Then—
ooof!
Down she went.

At least the rug was soft.

Courtney lay on the floor as if she were dead. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“I hate your dog,” she said.

“What hurts? Do you need a Band-Aid?” Tessa asked.

Courtney opened her eyes. “Everything hurts! Do you have a whole-body Band-Aid?”

I reached down and helped Courtney up. She didn't look that bad—except for the big, fat frown on her face.

Back in the solarium, Hooligan was sitting on his haunches, thumping his tail and smiling a big doggie smile at Nate. He was hoping for a dog yummy—since he'd done such a great job at fetch. But he hadn't brought back the pink marker. He'd brought Skateboard Barbie.

No way would Nate touch a Barbie, so it was Tessa who rescued her. When Hooligan didn't go crazy or fight her for it, I knew he was tired out, too.

Tessa did a quick inspection. “No teeth marks on her face at least.”

“You
told
him to fetch,” I reminded her.

“I want my marker back,” Courtney said.

“At least he didn't eat our homework,” I said.

BESIDES being my best friend, Courtney is also my worst enemy.

Maybe you know what I mean?

If you don't, I will explain. A best friend and worst enemy is a person you can't live without because you have known her so long. And it's a person you can't live with because she annoys you so much.

Courtney has been my friend since we were three year olds in preschool. That's when Mom was elected to be a senator from California, and we moved to Washington, D.C.

Back when Mom was a plain senator, Courtney's dad didn't write about her much, but now he writes about her a lot. This is a problem, and there's another one besides. I can tell sometimes Courtney feels jealous about how I live in the White House.

She doesn't get that it's not all wonderful.

I mean, there
are
good parts. Like riding in the helicopter. And I don't have to do chores like washing
dishes. But we fold our own clothes and make our own beds because Granny doesn't want us to think we're some kind of special.

Our other chore is taking care of Hooligan. We feed him and take turns cleaning out his dog bed—sweeping the basket and the cushion, shaking out the blanket, spraying away doggie smell.

This is a pretty gross job, though, and sometimes by mistake we both forget.

Even the good parts of life in the White House come with problems. Like with The Song Boys. I couldn't wait for their concert! But I was also worried about Courtney. She was going to be so mad if she wasn't invited.

Then on Tuesday, I found out I should have been even
more
worried. By the time I got to school, everyone in my class knew The Song Boys were coming.

And guess what? They expected to be invited, too!

I told Granny after school, and she said, “There's only one thing to do. Talk to Aunt Jen.”

Granny is Aunt Jen's mom, but even Granny is a little afraid of her. It's not that Aunt Jen's mean. It's just that she's not exactly cozy.

Aunt Jen's office is in the East Wing. Nate and Tessa and I are allowed to go anywhere in the family part of the White House by ourselves. But if we want to go to the office part, someone has to come with us. Today it was Charlotte. She is my favorite Secret Service agent.

To get to the East Wing, you go down two floors
and then through a long hallway past a fancy library and a real movie theater with red velvet seats and paintings of First Ladies from a long time ago. The best one is named Mamie Eisenhower. She has bangs and a kind smile. She is wearing a beautiful light pink dress.

While we walked, I told Charlotte why I had to see Aunt Jen.

“I feel your pain, kid,” she said. “My friends ask me for White House favors, too.”

“What favors?” I asked.

She grinned. “Well, one of my nieces wanted a signed picture of you and Tessa, just for example.”

“I probably have a picture someplace,” I said.