Free The Summer of Riley by Eve Bunting Page B

cheering up.
    We watched. First there was a story about a new bookstore opening in Portland, and Trixie interviewing a Portland woman who’s written a children’s book, I guess.
    And then Grace’s mom said, “Everybody shush. Here it is.” And I was on.
    It’s weird listening to yourself. It’s weird seeing yourself. I thought I looked real shifty-eyed.
    Everybody made comments. Everybody was delighted with me. I couldn’t believe how interested Trixie was in my every word, especially when I knew for a fact that once she’d examined her eyelashes in an itty-bitty mirror when the camera was on me, not on her. That photographer must have woven in some good fake-attention shots. It just goes to show you, I thought.
    And then we listened to Ellis, who sounded a lot nicer and kinder than he really is. The program cut to a hardware store commercial, and Grace muttered, “At least he didn’t talk about his cat.”
    Sam stopped licking the sticky lemon off his fingers. “What about his cat?”
    “Oh.” Grace stumbled a bit trying to figure out how much to tell him. “Some mean dogs beat up on his cat, that’s all.”
    Sam’s eyes widened. “If some mean dogs did that to our kitty, I’d … I’d do something really bad to them.”
    “Ellis is trying. In a misdirected way,” Grace said.
    “Why don’t you just say the same words other people say, Gracie,” Colin complained. “That way we’d understand.”
    Grace was scowling. “I’m really mad. You saidthings to Trixie that she didn’t report. She just cut items out. She made your time shorter than theirs. That’s not fair. She …” Grace stopped talking because Trixie was on again.
    “Well, that’s all for now,” she said. “Be sure to follow this saga of Riley, the condemned dog. Call those commissioners and let them know how you vote. Here’s the number again. And hey, call us too. We’re going to be taking a poll ourselves because, as you know, we’re interested in what’s going on in your world today.”
    “Vote?” I said. My voice quavered. “Polls? This is not a stupid election. This is about my dog.”
    Grace’s dad clapped me on the shoulder. “It’s okay. That’s just TV talk. You did super well, William.”
    “Thanks.” I truthfully knew I’d done all right in the interview. But nobody was saying what I also knew. Ellis Porter had done all right, too.
    “Why didn’t you say something, Gracie?” Sam asked.
    “Because Miss Trixie wasn’t talking to me, dork,” Grace snapped.
    “I’m proud of you, hon,” Mom said. “I’m proud of you for fighting so hard for what you think is right.”
    Everyone chimed in and it was pretty nice. I didn’t feel so emptied out anymore.
    I was surprised the next day at how many viewers Trixie had. Mr. Rodriguez from down the road called in the morning, and so did Mrs. Carter, my math teacher, and the box girl in the market, and a bunch of others.
    And my dad.
    “Well done, son.” I imagined him sitting elegantly in his elegant chair in his apartment—which was probably elegant, too.
    “Thanks. Somebody has to do something,” I said meaningfully. “I mean, apart from pulling Riley down the stairs and shoving him out to the animal-control guys.”
    “That’s not fair, William, and you know it,” Dad said. “I hope you succeed.”
    “Right,” I said.
    Mom usually acts as if she doesn’t hear my kitchen phone conversations, which is pretty hard when we’re both in the same room. But this time she didn’t pretend. She watched me with a serious face, and as soon as I hung up, she nodded toward the chair at the table, opposite her.
    I sat.
    “What your dad did with Riley, he did for you. And for me. Riley had to go. Your father didn’t want either of us to get into anything with the animal- control people. He knew it would make a bad situation worse. I’m glad he was here. Now let go of the anger you have for him, William. Just let it go.”
    I drifted a little salt from the