“No, he’s not into me,” Maria replied. “Joe’s into that Kay Jewelers girl; you know, the one who always wears that tight pencil skirt.”
“Alice? No, she’s a lesbian. She hits on me about four times a week. Quit making excuses. If you don’t ask him out, or at least give him your number, I’m gonna do it for you, like we’re back in third grade on the playground.” Claire laughed. “Remember when I asked Danny Belasé out for you?”
“And he said no! Yeah, I remember.” Maria clutched her chest, above the heart. “My first heartbreak.”
They drove through residential neighborhoods while the sun was going down in the distance, and the temperature with it.
“Hey, you mind if we stop at my house? I wanna change my clothes and check on Gramps.”
“You’re the birthday girl…happy birthdaaaaayyyyy to youuuuuuu!”
“Cut it out,” Maria said, but she was smiling.
They arrived at Maria’s house a couple minutes later. “Just wait in the car. I’ll only be a few.”
“I know. Your idea of freshening up is running a comb through your hair and making sure you’re wearing a clean pair of sweatpants.”
“Hey, you can’t beat comfort. I’d walk around in my underwear wherever I went, if it was socially acceptable.”
“You’d get way too much attention,” Claire said. “If you can hardly handle one nerdy, surfer-boy security guard’s passes at you, imagine what it would be like if you served popcorn with your ass hanging out.”
Maria shuddered. “Good point. Imagine what it would do for business, though. We’d really be rolling in dough.”
“Meh, think about Ted in his underwear.” Claire’s face went pale.
“Oh, God! Okay, convo over.”
She went up the front porch steps and unlocked the door. The smell of her grandfather’s weirdness hit her; it was a comforting smell, the smell of home.
“Gramps?”
There was no answer aside from the clicking toenails of Sherlock as he bounded across the kitchen linoleum from his usual resting spot near the refrigerator. He always waited around for Gramps to drop a piece of his sandwich, or some chips or cookies.
“Hi, Sherlock!”
Sherlock barked. He was an older dog, but he was as spry as a puppy. Next thing Maria knew, she was on her butt in the foyer from the Bloodhound knocking her down. Her face was slimy with his slobber as his super-nose explored the scent of buttery popcorn.
“Oh, yuck! Yuck! Quit it, Sherlock!” Maria said, laughing. After the licking was over, Sherlock rolled over onto his back with his legs up in the air, waiting for a belly rub. Maria gave it to him.
After a minute she got up and headed for her room.
“Gramps? You up here?” she said.
Again, no answer.
“Must be down at the ice cream shop again. Poor guy.”
Before Salem’s Ice Cream moved in, the space was a sub sandwich shop called Submerge, and Gramps had spent a lot of time there. Maria guessed he’d never really gotten over Submerge going out of business.
She went into her room, opened her closet, and pulled out a Black Sabbath t-shirt and a pair of jeans that were a little too tight in the butt. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” she said.
Sherlock barked at her feet.
“Thanks, boy.”
You’re welcome!
“What the fuck?” Maria said, turning around to glare at the Bloodhound. Sherlock sat on the carpet near the end of the bed. The music box was open on the dresser, softly playing the weird tunes of her grandfather’s rich imagination. “Did you just talk?”
The dog wagged his tail, beating the floor with it, and panted. His breath was bad. Maria waved a hand in front of her face.
“Holy shit, I’m losing it. I really am. It’s no question now that Gramps is actually my grandfather; I wasn’t switched at birth into some weird circus family.” She went back to the closet.
I don’t want to be here all alone again, Maria!
The air seemed to be sucked from the room.
“No way,” she said dismissively. “Dogs don’t talk.” The Bloodhound’s eyes were hopeful, like he was expecting a treat. She paused. “Say something again, Sherlock,” Maria requested.
She waited for the dog to speak; he did, except it wasn’t words that came from his mouth. He let out a deep, rumbling bark instead.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
In the bathroom, she decided to prove Claire wrong. Not only did she run a brush through her wiry brown hair, but she also sprayed it with hairspray, teasing it up a bit, and washed her face. Twice. All that popcorn oil was difficult to get off.
Then she went down the steps, Sherlock following at her heels. His collar jingled. At the front foyer, she slipped on her shoes. Sherlock stared at her, and whenever she stared back, the dog wagged his tail furiously.
“Ah, what the hell. You wanna go play putt-putt?”
Sherlock howled.
“Well, c’mon.” She patted her thigh. Sherlock moved even faster than when he’d greeted her at the door.
Outside, Claire’s voice wailed. “Aww, not the damn dog again!”
Maria shrugged and pulled the door closed.
“If he farts just one time, then you are both walking home. I don’t care if he’s old and it’s your birthday.”
“You heard the driver; no farting!”
Sherlock whined and looked up at Maria.
She could’ve sworn he said, ‘I can’t make any promises. Stomach has a mind of its own.’ But that would just be crazy.
Chapter Three
Tabitha lived in a townhouse with three other girls. Maria didn’t know the names of those girls, nor did she care to. Tabby’s other friends were, for lack of a better word, bitches.
Claire pulled into the driveway. A couple of frat boys were in the front yard with their shirts off, muscles flexed and glistening as they tossed a frisbee back and forth. When Claire put the car in park, the boys hooted and hollered to them. Maria curled her lip up in disgust. She’d always believed she would be hard pressed
