Before I went to bed Friday night, Nana said, "How about going out to breakfast tomorrow morning, just you and me-and Cosmos and Checkers?"
I wasn't sure what mini llamas had to do with getting breakfast, but I didn't protest.
Early the next morning, as I followed Nana down the shoveled path to the small barn, I came up with a plan for never returning to my new school. I would be home-schooled, just like my cousins in Texas. Dad and Nana would be my teachers. All I had to do was talk them into it.
As we entered the barn, the llamas stood tall and curious in their stalls, their necks extended and ears alert. But with their long eyelashes, they seemed almost human. "Hi, Cosmos! Hi, Checkers!" Nana called.
I stepped into Cosmos's stall and gave her a hug. Though llamas aren't big cuddlers, she gave me llama kisses-wobbly, warm, and harmless nibbles on my face. Unlike horses, llamas can't bite. They're more like cows that way, only a whole lot cuter.
Nana and I clipped on their lead ropes, tied them outside their stalls, and brushed their coats. Then we fed them grain from buckets. When Checkers finished her grain, she stretched her neck toward Cosmos to try to snitch from her bucket. Instantly, Cosmos flattened her ears and pressed her chest out in warning.
"Watch out, Nana!" I said. "Cosmos looks like she might kick!"
Nana moved aside and tugged on Checkers's lead rope. "Mind your own business, Checkers," she scolded. Then to me, she explained, "Llamas have a pecking order among themselves-so they sometimes fight over food and spit or kick sideways to show who's boss and to get their way. These two have accepted us as their leaders. Still, they act up with each other at times to show dominance."
"Just like with the Mean Bees," I said.
"Is that a TV show, or some music group?"
I laughed. "No, Nana. Just some girls at school."
With the Mean Bees, it seems like Tara shows dominance and Jadyn backs up whatever Tara says. And then Sonali does whatever Tara says-even if it means being mean to or hurting another girl. But girls aren't llamas. We're supposed to care about one another-at least that's what I've been taught. I shouldn't have to put up with being bossed around by other girls. But not being a llama, I can't just give a swift kick every time they bug me. While Checkers waited, Cosmos finished her last bits of grain. Then we led them out to the van. Cosmos's white coat blended in with the fresh snow as she walked eagerly alongside me. She is pregnant, but she really doesn't look much wider yet than Checkers, who stopped every few feet to paw in the snow for a mouthful of frozen grass. Nana tugged Checkers forward. "C'mon, you little food hound."
I eyed the van, with its back doors open and the middle and back seats removed. I didn't know what Nana had in mind.
"In you go," Nana said to Cosmos. Apparently Cosmos loves van rides, because she hopped right in and then kushed by tucking her four legs under her body while holding her head upright. Head high, she peered out the side window.
Checkers danced back and forth, but Nana tapped her on the rump and finally she too hopped into the van and kushed. Then Nana closed the back doors. "Y'know, Chrissa, before Grandpa became too ill, we used to have full-sized llamas. Remember?"
I remembered being afraid of them, but I was smaller then and they were twice as big as Cosmos and Checkers. "I remember," I said.
We climbed into the front seats.
"Grandpa and I used to take them to the nursing home on pet days to cheer people up. They could put a smile on the grumpiest of faces."
I twisted in my seat and scratched Cosmos. Her hair was so thick I could lose my hand in her coat. Nana was right-I found myself smiling at Cosmos's long lashes and sweet eyes.
As we drove past the stone lions and down the road, I wondered where Nana was heading. We wound past houses and then toward stores and gas stations, finally pulling in at a fast-food restaurant. "Here we are," Nana said. She drove up to the speaker phone. "Good morning. We'd like two egg-and-sausage biscuits, two orange juices, one coffee, and one hot chocolate." Then we pulled forward to pick up our order. When the service window opened, Nana rolled down the car windows and Checkers craned her head out, too, like a fuzzy antenna-right behind Nana's.
The woman at the window shrieked. "What is that thing?!" she asked Nana.
"A mini llama," Nana said calmly. "And her name is Checkers."
"Well, you scared me half to death!" Then the woman started laughing and called her coworkers to come and look. Pretty soon half a dozen workers were looking out the window at Checkers. Cosmos edged up between the seats, too, as if not to miss out on the fun.
"Oh, they're becoming regulars," one woman said. "They came through last week."
"They're adorable!" exclaimed another.
A car honked behind us.
"Guess we better go!" Nana said and waved good-bye. Just then two girls walked out of the restaurant and stepped in front of our van.
Nana braked.
My stomach lurched.
I couldn't believe it! What were the chances that two Mean Bees-Tara and Jadyn-would cross my path? Please, please don't look at the van! But Jadyn turned with a sleepy glance our way, and then she shrieked and pointed. The car behind us honked again.
"Nana, go!" I pleaded.
"I can't run them over, Chrissa!"
Checkers pulled her head away from Nana's side and brought it alongside Cosmos's and my own. I must have looked like some weird three-headed creature. As the Bees scooted out of our path, they pointed and laughed.
To my dismay, Nana pulled into a parking space. "Time for breakfast!" she chirped.
I wanted to disappear. I'd never hear the end of this. I stared at the building across from the parking lot.
A knock came at Nana's window, and I forced myself to look.
Nana lowered the window. "Hi, girls," she said cheerily.
"Do those things poop in your van?" Tara asked.
Nana just laughed. "Not at all." To my horror, she reached down and picked up a coffee can. "Tell them, Chrissa." My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I shook my head mutely.
Nana shook the can. "No, they won't go in the van. But when we travel, I always bring along some 'llama beans' to sprinkle on the ground when we stop, so they'll know where to go. They're well-trained."
Jadyn wrinkled her nose at the can. "That's, like, disgusting?"
"They're just droppings," Nana said, giving the can another shake as proof.
The girls walked away, giggling.
Nana handed me a wrapped biscuit. "Here you go, dearie."
But I couldn't eat a thing.
