“I ate a protein bar at home. Part of one.” I clear my throat. “So . . . any chance you have a bike?” If we can bike instead of walk, I might have time to get home before Mom does. Barely.
She points at a rusty mountain bike chained to the end of the rack. “He’s a real Cadillac, lemme tell ya. Cost hundreds of cents at Goodwill. Name’s Sir Reginald Bevis the Steadfast.”
A laugh bursts out. “Seriously?”
“Doesn’t your bike have a name?” She studies my blue road bike. “Looks fast. How ’bout Vlad the Rapid?”
“I love it.” I grin as I put my backpack on my front and tuck Chewbarka into it. “Your mom lets you stay at a boy’s overnight? My mom would flip if I texted her and said I was spending the night with a girl.”
“Mom’s a free-range parent about me and Griff.” She unlocks Sir Reginald Bevis.
“Your mom seems selectively free-range.” I didn’t catch everything they were shouting, but it sounded like something bad happened at Ashley’s old school and that’s why they moved.
“Yeah.” Her cute face turns stormy. “Sometimes she’s way too up in my business.” She kicks at a chunk of mulch that’s migrated out of the playground. “But she’s also like my best friend. My dad says we got a real love-hate thing going and we oughta stick our heads in a freezer twice a day to help us keep our cool.”
I smile. “Sounds like he’s where you got your goofiness from.”
“Please, sir.” She pretends to brush dust off her sleeves. “I am not goofy. I am . . . shoot, what’s the word. Dignified. I am the paragon of dignified.” She giggles. “Whatever a paragon is. My mom said it earlier. Do you know? It sounds like geometry.”
“I think like . . . the most. The top.”
“I am the top of dignified.” She tilts her head and sticks her nose in the air. Then she makes a raspberry sound and laughs.
Hope feels so dangerous. But oh my gosh.
7
One Step at a Time
Ash
Chewbarka is so small that I’m picturing a one-person tent. But the green-and-white behemoth Daniel leads me to could just about fit a car in it. “It’s like this tiny dog has her own mansion,” I say as he plucks a blanket out of a bush. “Was it hard to set this up by yourself?”
He shakes leaves off the blanket. “I can’t even tell you what a pain it was. I might’ve said some words that would get me grounded for a year. Mostly while I was breaking off honeysuckle branches to make room.” He unzips the door and a strong pee smell comes out. He gives me a guilty glance. “You really don’t have to do this.”
I try not to cough on the stinky-stank as I step inside. Most of the smell seems to be coming from a corner at the back. Another corner has a few rolls of paper towels, a plastic tub of dog food with a snap-on lid, and a food-water combo bowl that says Frankie. I unzip a window and a breeze drifts in. “It’s not that bad,” I lie. “I’ll open the windows.”
“I’ll help.” Daniel sets Chewbarka down and zips the door shut so she can’t run off. We open all six windows while she does that adorable flopping-on-her-back thing dogs do when they’re itchy. I unroll my sleeping bag and Daniel folds the stanky-blanky that must be her bed. “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself all night?” he asks. “I feel bad leaving you here.”
“Dude, it’s fine.” I hide a grimace. I only say dude when I am a dude, and I’m pretty sure I said it after the dogs fought too.
“I could check on you,” he offers. “I could set an alarm and come to the tent at three a.m. to make sure you’re okay.”
“That would defeat the whole purpose of me staying here so you can sleep. Plus it would interrupt me sleeping, which could be hazardous to your health.” Chewbarka puts her front paws on my leg and looks hopefully up at me. I scratch her ears.
“But . . .” He looks uncomfortable. “You’re . . . well, it just seems weird to leave a girl alone in a tent all night.”
“I have Chewbarka the ferocious guard dog.” I thought I’d be relieved to know Daniel thinks I’m a girl. But part of me is bothered. “And I have this.” I flick open the Smith & Wesson Special Ops pocketknife Dad gave me when I turned ten. “I’m not a delicate flower or whatever, okay? So calm your tush.”
Daniel laughs, looking both relieved and tired. “You’re one tough chick, Ash.”
I fold the knife shut and tuck it back into my jeans, making a face that’s supposed to say Darn right but probably looks more like Don’t call me a chick. “I gotta use the little dog-sitter’s room.” I unzip the tent door. An end-of-summer cicada is trilling in a nearby tree. The loopy shape of its song makes me think of kids playing leapfrog.
Daniel follows me out of the tent. “There’s a gas station over there.” He points through the honeysuckle. “If you go thirty feet that way, you’ll see the back of it.” He yawns. “Probably easier than peeing in the woods. Mom says that’s a major pain for girls.”
“Yep. Back in a few.” I set off.
As soon as I’m out of sight of the tent, I lean on a tree, take a deep breath, and unclench my fists. I think my fake-confidence thing is working, but it’s definitely fake. I gotta keep telling myself that Daniel’s nothing like Tyler. He’s not. Tyler set off warning bells in my brain from the day he moved to our old apartment complex back in
