May 2, 2017 5 min read

The story so far: Nick and Jazz are attacked by a little mutt that has escaped from a car.

Nick froze. The dog charging them was small, but angry. A shocked “Hey!” shot from Nick’s mouth as Jazz jumped from the bench, reaching into the pocket of her jeans.

The dog stopped when Jazz hit the ground, and seemed to swallow a bark, almost choking. It leaned back, almost sitting.

“Jazz, are you nuts?” Nick cried.

At the sound of Nick’s voice, the dog glanced up at him, its eyes frantic. It seemed to realize, for the first time, that it wasn’t safe in a car anymore. Its startled eyes darted back to Jazz and it bared its teeth once more, its tail sharp as a wasp stinger and vibrating with fear and anger.

“Get back up here!” Nick shouted. And then, picturing the dog attacking her the moment her back was turned, he bellowed, “Don’t move!” He looked for a stick, a can, a rock, a bottle cap – anything to throw at the dog. He cried out in frustration, not seeing any useful litter or junk anywhere.

Before he could leap off the bench to save his sister, Jazz pulled a piece of cookie from her pocket and held it out. The dog seemed to hold its breath. “Here, boy,” Jazz said in her most gentle voice. She stooped and held the cookie lower.

Nick couldn’t believe his eyes. Instead of biting off his sister’s fingers, the dog sniffed the cookie. It dipped its head, as if bowing. Its tail relaxed and it stepped forward and gently took the cookie from Jazz.

Nick’s knees turned to licorice whips. He plopped onto the bench, sitting. An older man burst out of the Scudsy-Sudsy, yelling, “Boomer!” He ran up to the dog and scooped him into his arms. He stroked the dog’s head with a trembling hand and looked down at Jazz. “How can I ever thank you for saving my little Boomer! He might have been run over by a car or lost or … or stolen!”

In answer Jazz held up her sign. On shaky legs, Nick stood. “It goes like this.” He turned it right-side up.

“A joke?” the man said. “For a quarter?”

Jazz nodded.

“If you don’t laugh, you get your quarter back,” Nick said.

The man pulled a dollar bill from the pocket of his pants. He handed it to Jazz.

“We don’t have change, sir,” Nick said. “Not yet, anyway.”

“That’s quite all right, young man. A good joke is worth far more than a quarter.”

Smiling, Nick nodded to Jazz. “Go ahead. Tell the joke.”

Jazz took a deep breath and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything they heard Clay yelling from Jerry’s Super-Duper Grocery.

“Nick! Jazz! Come here!”

They turned to see Clay standing next to Mr. Jerry himself. Clay looked scared.

Nick held out the dollar. “We’ll be back … maybe.”

The man waved the dollar away, hugging his dog. “You saved Boomer. But I could use a laugh. Hurry back if you can. I’m on the rinse cycle.”

Nick wondered what was going on, as he and Jazz trotted toward Clay. His gut felt like a knot of worms. Mr. Jerry was wearing a bloodstained apron from the meat counter and he didn’t look happy.

“You friends of his?” Mr. Jerry put a hand on Clay’s shoulder. Nick nodded. “Look, son. I don’t allow people to beg off my customers. It’s bad for business. But your friend here says you’re raising money to help feed the homeless. That true?”

Nick looked from Mr. Jerry to Clay, whose large eyes were pleading for help. Had Clay really said that? Nick tried to picture Clay giving away money. The image that flashed in his mind was so funny, he smiled.

But raising money for the homeless wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, it was a great idea – even if it wasn’t Clay’s – maybe even especially because it wasn’t Clay’s. “Yep,” he said, avoiding Clay’s face. “We’re trying for a record, to see how much money we can make today. For the homeless.”

Mr. Jerry patted Clay’s shoulder. Clay’s head nodded, as if agreeing with Nick. “That’s what your buddy says. I just had to make sure I wasn’t being conned. You know.”

Nick glanced at Clay, who looked as if he were going to be sick.

Mr. Jerry smiled. “I’ll match you dollar for dollar. And, you know what I’m going to do? Call the newspaper.Tell them what you’re doing, why people should help young folks help the homeless. Ask them to send over a photographer and a reporter.

“So here’s the deal. I’m helping you, but I want you to do something for me. It’s a back-scratching thing. When somebody makes a donation, offer to take their groceries to their car.”

Looking beyond Clay, he said, “Here’s your first customer.” He turned and called, “Ma’am? Let this boy help you, and please consider helping the homeless.”

Nick and Clay gasped. Mr. Jerry was beckoning Clay’s mother. And grandmother.

Next Week: A joke and a record