Why Me? The Courage to Live (Why Me? Series, Volume 1) - Softcover

In 1975 Ms. Kent decided to pursue her lifelong dream of becoming a writer. She moved to the town of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, which had an active colony of writers and artists. In San Miguel she wrote her first young-adult novel, Belonging. She also met her future husband, children's author R. Conrad (Dick) Stein.

Deborah Kent has published more than a dozen novels for young adults, as well as numerous nonfiction titles for middle-grade readers. She lives in Chicago with her husband and their daughter, Janna.

Chapter One

"She never did," I said. "Megan McAllister never turned in her raffle money."

Samantha's groan felt like a hammer blow to my skull. I winced and held the phone at arm's length.

"She never remembers anything! I told her Thursday! I told her yesterday! I told her -- "

Samantha was winding up to a full-blown rant as the front door banged open, pounding my head with yet another shock wave. Dad gestured frantically from the porch. "Chloe, aren't you ready yet?" he demanded. "I've been waiting out in the car for the past five minutes!"

"Just a second, Sam," I said, though she probably didn't hear me. I cupped my hand over the mouthpiece and told Dad, "I've got to straighten out this one last thing."

"I have six errands to run," he fumed. "If you want a ride, now's the time!" The door banged again, and he was gone.

I went back to Samantha. "Listen," I said, "I've got to go to work. Call Megan and remind her to -- "

"I bet she forgot where she put the envelope. She probably forgot we need it by Monday. That girl could forget her own name!"

"I have to go!" I pleaded. "Just call her, okay?"

"It'll be a waste of time. She is totally untogether! She -- "

My head pounded unbearably. I felt immensely tired.

"Okay, don't call her then," I said. "Whatever."

"I'm sorry," Samantha said quickly. "I didn't mean to give you a hard time. I'll take care of it somehow."

Dad leaned on the horn as I thanked her and said good-bye. I grabbed my jacket and stood up, but my head gave such a thump I almost had to sit down again. As I lurched to the front door, I nearly tripped over our black kitten, Trixie. Trina, the white kitten, watched from the back of the couch. She almost seemed to be laughing.

"Coming!" I called, catching hold of a chair to keep my balance. The phone started ringing again. It was probably for me. It might even be Megan, with the whereabouts of the Drama Club raffle money. I thought of turning back to pick it up. But no -- I was due at The Shelter in three minutes, and it was a ten-minute drive.

"Well!" Dad said as I climbed into the front seat. "How many hats are you wearing today?"

I didn't feel like being teased. Besides, the thought of wearing even one hat made my head throb more than ever. "I'm going to be late," I said. "Dr. Pat will kill me."

Dad flashed a wicked grin. "Dr. Pat won't kill you. She'll just put you to sleep!"

I searched fruitlessly for a good comeback as we merged onto the expressway. My mind had gone blank. I sat in silence, pressing my hand to my forehead, until Dad pulled up in front of the animal shelter where I worked every Saturday.

My legs felt stiff as I stepped down to the pavement. The world revolved slowly before my eyes, and I gripped the door handle for support.

"You okay?" Dad asked, concerned.

I nodded. Lately, people asked me that question all the time. I was tired so much it made me light-headed. I had too much to do, that was the trouble. Maybe Mom was right, and I ought to drop French Club, or twirling, or something. Maybe I should just drop school! Now, there was a thought! I could sleep in every morning, and never have to worry about papers or exams. I'd have six extra hours, five days a week! It sounded glorious!

Buoyed by that cheery thought, I walked through the door with a smile. A chorus of barks erupted from the kennel in back, the way it always did when a new human arrived. Dr. Pat sat at the desk, talking to a gray-haired woman who held a cat carrier. "Chloe! Thank goodness you're here!" she exclaimed. "The place is jumping!"

I had worked at The Shelter for the past two years, ever since I was a freshman. I was a natural, I suppose. When I was little, I was always bringing home stray cats and dogs, or rescuing baby birds that had fallen out of the nest. If anyone asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said, "An animal doctor." I got the job at The Shelter through Dr. Pat -- her name was really Dr. Patriciano, but she was Dr. Pat to everyone. Dr. Pat was an old friend of Mom's from college. She was a veterinarian, with her own practice on weekdays. On Saturdays she put in time at The Shelter, taking care of animals that were lost or homeless. The Shelter was short-staffed on weekends, and Dr. Pat always had plenty of work to keep me busy.

Now she pointed to the cat carrier, which the gray-haired woman set on the counter. "This guy's going to need the whole workup," Dr. Pat told me. "Take him in back, okay?"

I peered into the box, expecting to see a glaring feline. Instead, I discovered a brown and white puppy huddled in a corner. It had thick, drooping ears like a cocker spaniel.

"Oh! It's a dog!" I exclaimed. "He's so cute!"

The gray-haired woman watched wistfully. "I wish I could keep him myself," she said. "Somebody will want him, don't you think?"

"Sure," I agreed. "Puppies are easy."

I carried the puppy in its box to one of the examining rooms. From here the din was almost deafening -- yaps, howls, and now and then a big bass woof. From across the hall floated the plaintive mews and wails of The Shelter's cat population. I rubbed my throbbing head and wished I could lie down, just for a few minutes. Just to rest.

Well, rest wasn't an option. I opened the box and reached in, holding my hand still so the puppy could sniff my fingers. "See, it's okay," I told him. "You won't like getting your shots, though. It's a good thing you don't know what I'm talking about." He didn't understand the words, but he seemed to like the sound of my voice. He wriggled and wagged and licked my hand.

"How're we doing back here?" asked Dr. Pat as she breezed in. She scooped the puppy from the box and set him gently on the table. I watched as she examined him from nose to tail -- peering into his eyes, ears, and mouth, running expert hands over his squirming body.

"Looks healthy to me," she said. "Hold him a second; he'd like to make a break for it!"

I held the puppy by the scruff of his neck while Dr. Pat got ready. Every animal dropped off at The Shelter had to get shots against things like rabies and distemper. In addition, each one had to go through ten days of quarantine before it could be adopted.

Dr. Pat talked as she worked. "I need you to give some baths. That big Lab -- he's a sweet guy, he won't give you a hard time. Then there's that feisty little mutt -- you know, the beagle cross. Think you can handle her?"

"Sure," I said. I knew the dog she meant. She was a real escape artist. She'd try to bolt whenever you opened her cage.

"Okay," said Dr. Pat. "Go ahead and get started."

She put the puppy back into his box and headed toward the quarantine wing. "Did he get his shots already?" I asked. "I didn't even notice."

"All done," she assured me. "What a good boy! Not a yip out of him!"

"I think it's the way you do it," I told her. "They all like you."

"It's just experience," she said. "You get the hang of it if you do it a lot."

I went out to the bathing room and ran a couple of inches of lukewarm water into the stainless-steel tub. Then I opened the door to the kennel.

The barking engulfed me. Up and down the rows of cages, every dog shouted for attention. Most Saturdays I walked from one to the next, getting reacquainted with old friends and saying hello to new arrivals. But today I went straight to the glossy black Labrador in his cage on the end. "Hey there, Mike!" I said, unfastening the door. "You having a good day?"

Dr. Pat had warned me not to give names to any of the animals at The Shelter. If I named them, I was more likely to get attached to them, and feel sad when they were given away, or if they had to be put to sleep. I tried to "stay objective," as she suggested. But sometimes I couldn't help myself. The Lab, with his quiet alertness, was an individual. I couldn't resist giving him a name of his own.

I clipped a leash to Mike's collar and led him to his fate. He walked sedately beside me, not protesting, but showing no trace of excitement either. When we entered the bathing room, he cowered for a moment, hunching against the floor. Then he seemed to gather his courage. He gave me a beseeching look, straightened up, and let me boost him into the tub.

Mike was the most easygoing dog I'd ever seen -- a real gentleman, Dr. Pat called him. But we'd had him almost a month, and no one had adopted him. The Shelter was only allowed to keep animals for ninety days. I tried not to think about what would happen if Mike didn't find an owner in the next two months.

I finished with Mike in ten minutes, and rubbed him dry with one of the rough dog towels we used. He looked fantastic, all sleek and shining. The next time someone walked in to adopt a dog, I hoped they would find him irresistible.

As soon as Mike was in his cage again, I went to look at the beagle cross, the dog Dr. Pat called the "feisty little mutt." I called her Pins-and-Needles, Pins for short. Pins was never still. She bounced from one wall of her cage to the other, or pawed frantically at the door. Now, as I approached, she exploded into barking and wagging, quivering from nose to tail. It made me tired just to watch her. I couldn't imagine how it would feel to have so much energy!

Better get it over with, I told myself. Once she's finished you can sit down and rest.

Slowly, carefully, I slid open the cage door. Pins was right there, waiting for a chance to slip out. I snapped a leash onto her collar and wound it around my hand for good measure. Just to be on the safe side, I even slipped a light leather muzzle over her jaws. Dr. Pat had taught me that it paid to be cautious.

"Okay, girl, come on out," I said. Pins burst forth like a ball from a cannon. She gave such a tug on the leash that she almost jerked me off my feet.

"Stop it!" I cried. "Calm down!" I tried to jerk back on the leash, the way Dr. Pat had taught me, but somehow my arm wasn't strong enough. For a few moments Pins and I were locked in a tug-of-war. Finally, coaxing and hauling, I got her into the bathing room. Luckily, she wasn't very big -- only about twenty pounds -- so I managed to hoist her up and over the rim of the tub. For an instant she stood stock-still in the water, frozen with amazement. Then she gave a tremendous bound, the leash whirled out of my grasp, and Pins vanished through the open door.

"Hey!" I yelled, lunging after her. In the hall I grabbed uselessly for the trailing leash, but Pins whisked it beyond my reach.

She paused in the doorway and gave a mighty shake, splattering drops of water everywhere. Then she raced into the front office and leaped up on Dr. Pat, who sat at the desk with the phone in her hand.

Dr. Pat gave a little shriek of surprise and grabbed for Pins' leash, but the dog evaded her, too. The leash snagged around the leg of a chair. Pins gave another bound, the chair overturned, and she was free again.

At that precise moment the door opened. Two boys stepped inside, one tiny and the other tall. Pins hurled herself at their legs.

In one smooth, swift gesture, the tall boy dipped and straightened again, holding Pins' leash aloft.

"Whew!" he said, laughing. "The catch of the day!"

Pins crouched at his feet, trembling with the excitement of the chase. She knew it was over, but I had the feeling she had loved every moment.

Slowly, my mind took in the people before me. The smaller boy was seven or eight, his grin showing the gap of missing front teeth. The other boy was tall and blond, and familiar in his Woodstock High School sweatshirt. I'd seen those laughing blue eyes before.

"Aren't you Todd Bowers?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. He eyed me closely. "You're in fifth lunch, right? I see you with Sam Ryles."

"Right. I knew I'd seen you around."

"Is this the dog we're taking home?" the little boy piped up.

Todd looked down. "I don't know," he said. "We've got to look around first." He turned back to me. "It's Ian's birthday," he explained. "Mom promised he could get a puppy -- he's wanted one forever."

By now Dr. Pat was off the phone. She took charge of Pins, and sent me to introduce Todd and Ian to the puppies that were up for adoption. We had six at the moment -- four from a litter of shepherd-collie crosses, a dachshund, and a very cute part-golden retriever.

Ian fell in love with the golden at first sight. "I think her name is Mocha," he said, cuddling her in his arms.

"Mocha?" I asked. "How come?"

Ian looked blank. "It just is," was all he could tell me.

"He's like that," Todd said over Ian's head. "He gets these ideas, and you can't change his mind."

I nodded. A wave of weakness swept over me, weighing down my whole body. Chasing Pins had robbed me of my last bit of strength. I forced my legs to carry me to the front office, where I handed Todd the adoption papers and the forms about bringing Mocha back for booster shots and neutering. I heard myself giving explanations, answering questions, but the voice belonged to someone else, far away. I had only one clear thought -- I had to sit down. My legs folded beneath me and I sagged into a chair. Across the distance, Todd's voice asked the familiar question, "Are you okay?"

"I guess...not."

Dr. Pat came in and placed a cool hand on my forehead. "You feel a little feverish," she said. "Maybe you'd better go home early."

"Mom can't pick me up till four-thirty," I said bleakly. I wanted only to crawl into bed. And that was impossible. Impossible.

"I can give you a ride home," Todd volunteered. He looked away shyly and added, "If that's okay."

Somehow my tired brain took in the weirdness of the situation. Todd was totally cute. I had always admired him from a distance. I couldn't connect him with one particular crowd at school; I'd seen him with football players and nerds and everybody in between. He was the kind of guy who seemed to like everyone -- and everyone liked him, too. Now here he was, Todd Bowers himself, at The Shelter with his little brother! Todd Bowers was offering me a ride! And I was too sick even to be thrilled.

He wasn't offering because he liked me, I reminded myself. I had nearly fainted dead away, like the heroine of some old-fashioned novel. Todd was a nice guy, ready to lend a helping hand. He wanted to help me out, like a Boy Scout guiding an old lady across the street.

"Well?" Todd asked. "You want a ride?"

"Sure," I murmured. "Thanks."

How would I face Todd on Monday in the caf? I'd cringe with embarrassment! But I couldn't think about the long-term future. I wanted only one thing right now -- to get home. Ways and means didn't matter.

Todd and I had little to say on the ride to my house. Ian filled up the silence, chattering about Mocha, gleefully describing every wag of her tail and flick of her tongue. When Todd pulled up at our front walk, I thanked him again and climbed out.

"You want me to walk you to the door?" he asked, his voice worried.