Maria glanced at her nightstand. Her phone wasn’t there. Where did it go? Why didn’t she have a clock in her room? She jammed her arm between the nightstand and the bed. Rubber. She felt rubber on her fingertips.
“There it is!”
What? What? Gnomes? They followed us, the bastards. I knew it!
She snatched it, ignoring Sherlock and saw the time. It was already 6:00 p.m.—her date was in less than an hour.
WHAT IS IT!?
“Sorry, Sherlock,” she said. “I thought I was late for my date.”
Not cool, Maria. He snarled and stared at her blankly. I have to go outside, like yesterday.
“Fine,” she said, yawning. She’d slept a good amount, but the tiredness was still present. As she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she wished she had woken up an hour earlier. To put it simply, she looked like hell…possibly worse. Let’s just say if she was, in her present state, entered into a beauty contest with Sherlock, an Arachnid, and a Gnome, she would be gunning for last place. Her hair was everywhere, the most unruly it had been in days, she had an odd, uneven tan—from what? She wasn’t sure.
“Oh, man,” she muttered under her breath.
Yeah, you look about as good as one of my dead squirrels, and they’ve usually been pancaked by car tires, Sherlock said as he shook his body, splattering drool all over the open door.
“Thanks, Sherlock. You’re truly the best.”
I know.
“Still haven’t gotten a grasp on sarcasm, have you?”
He ignored her and padded down the steps. Gramps still wasn’t back when she reached the landing. General Hospital or some other soap opera on the Soap Network would’ve lit up the living room, but it was as dark as the Dark Forest in there.
Maria sighed and opened the back door. Sherlock bolted out much faster than normal.
“Really had to go, huh?”
She got her answer soon enough when he barely made it past the stairs before he squatted. She covered her eyes.
Thanks for the privacy!
“Yuck, what did you eat?”
I wish I could say Gnome. Oh, get over it. We all do this…some of us differently than others. I know you have a stack of books you keep in the toilet room under the sink—don’t ever donate those!
Maria’s cheeks flared red. God, letting a dog embarrass me. Truly, truly, what has my life come to?
In the stark darkness of the kitchen, the green numbers on the stove’s digital clock stood out like a bad omen. The time was now 6:13. Time was ticking, and Joe would be there sooner than she realized. Calling Sherlock inside would be no use, Maria knew.
“Time to call in the big guns,” she murmured under her breath.
On top of the fridge, a red box with a cute Beagle on the front sat next to the cereal boxes. The Milkbones.
She plucked it out of its spot between the Fruity Pebbles and Raisin Bran and turned for the door. Outside, she shook the box half of one time before Sherlock heard and took off toward the door, his tongue out, wagging and sending spit going in all directions.
“Like taking candy from a Bloodhound,” Maria said, a smile on her face…until she realized Sherlock was coming in much too hot. “Oh, shit—”
The breath exploded out of her as he knocked her over like a professional football player. The Milkbone box spun up in the air, hit the siding of the house, and exploded into a makeshift, dog treat piñata.
Christmas came early this year!
By the time Maria got up, it was too late. Sherlock had scarfed down half the box, and time was ticking on. She needed to get ready.
“You are something else,” she said, rubbing her tailbone.
Through a mouthful of Milkbones, Sherlock said, I’m a dog, can’t blame me.
“I can and I just did. But when you’re bloated and feel like you weigh a million pounds, you’re on your own, Sherlock.”
It was totally worth it.
And just like that, he polished the rest of the box off and began chewing on the cardboard for dessert. Maria snatched it away. No way in hell was she going to come back from her date and clean up Milkbone box confetti. She just wished there was a spell for all of this or something. A flick of the wrist, and she’s Cinderella all ready to go to Prince Charming’s ball. There probably was, but if that was true, she didn’t know it…yet.
“Guess I’ll have to do things the hard way for now.”
Give it back!
“Say please.”
Pleaseeeeeeee.
Maria went around the back of the house toward the side where their garbage cans sat until Monday morning, when the garbage truck came through the neighborhood. She threw the box in the big recycling bin with the heavy lid, while Sherlock watched with sad eyes.
“Ugh, fine,” Maria said, and dug it out. Sherlock perked up instantly, his tail swishing pebbles side to side. “But go chew it up in the garage so I can at least sweep it up with a broom instead of having to pick out a million tiny pieces of cardboard from the carpet.”
You’re the best!
He ran at her again, but not as hard as before. He jumped up, his dirty paws smearing her t-shirt, which was no big deal, and he swiped her face with a flick of his slobbery tongue.
“Yuck! Milkbone breath!”
Better than dead squirrel breath, right?
Maria wiped the spit away from her cheek and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Upstairs, Maria tried to tame her wild hair. It just wasn’t working. Firstly, she’d never really been on a date before. Of course, there was that time in eighth grade when she went to the Formal Dance with Bobby Hart, but they’d arrived separately, hadn’t matched her dress to his tie, and only danced once throughout the night—at an arm’s length away, thanks to Mr. Ross and his flashlight, scanning the dark gym floor for any signs of handsiness. So that didn’t really count.
Man, that’s sad, she thought. I haven’t had a boyfriend since
