Bubba Chuck
Stumbling over her too-big-for-her-body puppy paws, Bubba chased after the flying Frisbee. When it was almost directly overhead, she sprang off her hind legs, leaped as high as she could, and caught it in her mouth.
“Boo-yah!” I shouted from across the backyard.
“Way to go, Bubba Chuck!” Red shook his fists over his head.
My best friend, Red, calls my new dog by her full name. Red calls everyone by their full name. To Red, I’m Mason Irving. To everyone else, I’m Rip.
“Hand,” Red called. He knelt by the steps to the deck and held his open palm next to his knee.
As Bubba galloped back across the yard, her floppy ears and the red Frisbee bounced with each stride.
“Release,” Red said firmly when she reached him. “Release.”
She dropped the Frisbee into his palm.
“Good girl, Bubba Chuck.” He rubbed her head. “Good girl.”
I’d been asking Mom and Dad for a dog for a gazillion years. Okay, maybe more like begging for a dog for a gazillion years, so when Mom took me to the shelter over Easter vacation, I was mind-blown shocked.
Let me tell you, a five-month-old pit bull mix is the best elementary school graduation present of all time. No doubt!
I leaned back on my hands, kicked out my legs, and crossed my feet. “What are you getting for graduation?” I asked Red.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged.
“Suzanne better hurry up,” I said. Suzanne is Red’s mom. “She’s running out of time.”
“She knows what she’s getting me,” Red said, “but she won’t tell me.”
I shook out my dreadlocks. “I’ll ask her at dinner tonight.”
“She won’t tell you.”
“Maybe she will.” I tossed my Philadelphia 76ers mini basketball from hand to hand. “And when she does tell me, I’m going to torture you with the secret.”
We were all going out to dinner tonight—me, Red, Mom, Suzanne, and Dana. Mom and Suzanne have been friends for years. Mom and Dana have been dating since the fall.
“You ready, Bubba Chuck?” Red said, shaking the Frisbee.
He pump-faked once, pump-faked again, and then flung it so it rolled on its edge.
Bubba gave chase, but didn’t catch up to the Frisbee until it stopped against the chain-link fence in the back of the yard.
“Come, Bubba Chuck!” Red called.
Bubba shook the Frisbee wildly and then charged back across the yard.
“Release,” Red said, holding out his hand.
Bubba gave him the Frisbee.
“Sit.” Red raised his palm.
Bubba sat instantly.
“Good, Bubba Chuck,” Red said. “Shake.” He leaned down and held out his hand.
Bubba slapped her paw into it and toppled over.
Red laughed. “Good girl, Bubba Chuck.” He fell onto the grass and hugged her.
Red’s amazing with Bubba. I knew he would be, because Red’s crazy about dogs. But right now, what was even more amazing was seeing Red rolling around on the grass. It was hard to believe he was the same kid who would bug if you even asked him to sit on the ground a few months back.
“Nice job, Dog Whisperer,” I said, crawling over.
Red smiled. “I speak the language of puppies,” he said.
“I can’t believe we’re graduating,” I said.
“Two weeks from today, Mason Irving,” Red said. “Saturday, June 14, at nine o’clock in the morning is graduation. Saturday, June 14, is two weeks from today.”
I rolled onto my back and tossed my Sixers ball into the air. “Gala25 is going to be sick.”
“Oh, yeah!” he said. “Gala25 is going to be sick!”
Fifth-grade graduation at Reese Jones Elementary is always a big deal, but this year it’s an even bigger deal because it’s also RJE’s twenty-fifth anniversary. Everyone’s coming back for Gala25, the huge anniversary party the night before graduation—former teachers, former students, everyone. Both Suzanne and my mom are on the graduation festivities committee, and lots of parents have been busting their butts the last month putting it all together.
“It’s so ridiculous they’re making us take another test next week,” I said.
“So ridiculous, Mason Irving.”
I put down the ball and picked at the grass. “It makes no sense,” I said. “Who schedules a test on the Wednesday of the last week of school?”
Like most kids in the galaxy, I can’t stand standardized tests. This year, testing week was at the beginning of May, and when I finished taking my last one, I was even more relieved than when the dentist told me at my final checkup that it looked like I would never need braces. But then we found out all the fifth and sixth graders in the state have to take this extra test.
Bubba opened her mouth and reached for my Sixers ball.
“Don’t even think it, girl,” I said. “That’s mine.”
“No, Bubba Chuck.” Red wagged a finger in front of her snoot. “No.”
“You want to know what’s going to be the best part of middle school?” I said.
“What’s going to be the best part of middle school?”
“I won’t have to hang around with you anymore.”
Red clenched his fists and tapped his legs. “Very funny.”
“Ha! I thought so.”
“Well … well … I won’t have to hang around with you anymore, Mason Irving.”
You may have noticed by now that Red’s quirky. Really quirky. He’s on the spectrum. Mom and Suzanne have both tried explaining what that means to me more times than I can remember, but I still don’t get it, and to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure the grown-ups who say they know what it means know what it means either.
I do know that not everyone gets Red like I do. And not everyone can joke around with him like I can. You also have to explain a lot of things to Red, but once you do, he gets them and remembers them. Red has a crazy-good memory. He never forgets things like dates or schedules or the lunch menu at school or basketball stats. Especially NBA stats. Red loves the NBA.
Not only is Red my best friend, he’s also the best friend you can possibly have.
“Did you see the middle school basketball tryouts announcement?” I said. “They’re at the end of summer.”
“Only two or three sixth graders make the team, Mason Irving.”
“I’m going to be one of them,” I said, smacking the ball. “No doubt!”
“No doubt!”
I cupped my hand under Bubba’s chin and rubbed my nose against hers. “Red and I are going to be in middle school,” I said. “Middle school!”
Text copyright © 2018 by Phil Bildner
Pictures copyright © 2018 by Tim Probert
