“It’s fine.” Talking makes the tears think it’s go time. I turn and push through the door so Ash won’t see my watering eyes. Chewbarka shivers and I hug her. The adrenaline is wearing off and I feel so drained my knees barely work.
“I still want to help with Chewbarka.” Ash sticks close.
“You don’t have to. She’s not your problem.” The kids at the playground ahead of us go all swimmy in my vision. I blink fast.
“She wasn’t yours either, but you’re helping her, even though it’s put you in a mess. Plus Booper’s a good judge of character.” She does a little hop-skip to keep up. “You’re a good person. I want to help.”
“I’m not. I’m an overemotional mess. Ask anybody.” Anybody would tell her I’m the kid who ran out of the cafeteria crying the second week of school. The dope who cries at every dog food commercial and has bathroom breakdowns on the regular. The dork whose mom has started to rub her forehead every time the tears come up because honestly, Daniel, you’re almost fourteen.
“Did you even see me up there?” Ashley says. “I’m the definition of overly emotional. I’m hotheaded and I cry when I’m mad and there are songs I love so much I think all my atoms are gonna explode in every direction when I listen to them.” She laughs like she’s embarrassed and holds up the glass. “Like why do I have this? I don’t even remember taking it.” She sets it by the trash can. “But it’s not all bad, right? If you weren’t an emotional, sympathetic person, Tina wouldn’t have been able to leave right away to be with her daughter. So sometimes it’s good to be a moody little cuss. Boom.” She claps her hands, snaps her fingers, and points at me like that settles it.
The choked-up feeling recedes. “Maybe the only thing helping Tina proves is that I make bad snap judgments.”
“Boy, you really know how to sell yourself.” She pokes my arm. “Look, how about you show me where the tent is? I’ll tell Mom I’m spending the night at Griffey’s. He lives four buildings over.” She points toward the back of the complex. “Mom’s going out with her BFF, Renu, later anyway. I’ll chill with Chewbarka tonight so you can go home and sleep. Which, whoa, you clearly need to do.” She waves both palms at me like tiredness is written all over me.
Relief tries to rush back in, but I’m wary now. “You really don’t need to—”
“I want to. I want you to sleep so you don’t up and die of tired.”
I trip on a sidewalk crack. Chewbarka thrashes in my arms at my sudden unsteadiness. I put her down and slip the leash over her neck. She sniffs the air and looks up at me like she didn’t just try to kick Booper’s little beagle butt. “What was that, Chewy?” I ask. “He was a good boy. He wasn’t going to hurt you.”
She sneezes and turns in a circle, then barks so hard her front feet come off the ground.
“Aw, look, Chewbarka has strong emotions like us.” Ash fakes a sneeze, turns in a circle, and barks as she does a little hop.
I laugh. “You’re even funnier than Co—ohhurgh.” The smile falls off my face.
“Who’s Co—ohhurgh?”
“No one. Just this kid I used to be friends with.”
Ash nods. She leans down to pet Chewbarka like she knows I need a second to get over that stabbing reminder of a dead friendship.
When she stands back up, I look at her. Like really look at her, full-on, for the first time. I look at her pale skin and hazel eyes and weird edgy haircut with the purple streaks and the faint spray of freckles over her nose. I look at her straight, even eyebrows and her lips starting to curve into a crooked, self-conscious smile. I look at the dimple that pops out in one cheek but not the other. At the blackberry seed stuck in her teeth.
If it weren’t for my Italian complexion, I’d be blushing right along with her. I thought she was cute before, when I’d only stolen glances at her. But now . . . I almost kind of want to take her picture. She’s more than cute. She’s maybe even . . .
“What?” she says. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re a good person too,” I blurt.
“Sweet. I knew you’d let me stay with Chewbarka.” She gives my arm a squeeze. “Wait here for like three minutes. I’m gonna run upstairs and throw a bag together. Ninety-nine percent chance my mom’s in the shower, ’cause she always showers after her mocktail. Even though I sort of dumped it down the sink just now.” She pauses like she’s thinking. “I’ll tell her you left and I’m going over to Griffey’s to cool my jets ’cause I’m mad, then I’ll text her later and say I’m staying at Griff’s overnight. Sound good?”
“Good,” I say like a reflex, only realizing after she’s scooped up the cocktail glass and bounded away that I just agreed to show her the tent. That she’ll be out in the woods all alone getting peed on tonight, and maybe that’s not the greatest way to impress a girl.
I walk to the bike rack by the playground and unlock my bike. I shouldn’t be pulling Ash into this messed-up situation any more than I already have. Plus it’s going to take forever for us to get to the tent with me pushing my bike and her walking.
I’m not even halfway done stressing about it when she comes running across the playground with a backpack and a rolled-up sleeping bag. “Wow, that was fast,” I say.
“Mom was in the shower, as predicted.” She’s out of breath. “Which is good, ’cause I just yelled the plan through the bathroom door and she was like, ‘Fine, but eat something healthy before you go!’” Ash holds up an Atkins bar.
