Mom’s smile shifts from fake to warm. “Anyone who does that is a keeper. Friends, girls, parents . . .” She looks out my window and her smile fades. “I know it’s been rough since—Cole.”
She was going to say Dad. I shift, not knowing where to look. Where to put my hands. I wish I had Chewbarka to hold.
“Has he talked to you at school at all? Or texted or called?”
“No.”
“Have you tried to talk to him?”
“No.”
“Nothing will change if you don’t make an effort.” She’s back to project-manager Mom, solving my problems for me.
“I know.”
She gives me The Mom Look, then sighs. “Mitch is kicking himself about something. But of course he won’t tell me.”
I fake a smile. “It’s definitely a girl.”
“Ah.” Her face clears like at least one mystery is solved. “Fiona again?”
“I’m . . . uh, not at liberty to answer.” I crack my knuckles. “As you like to say, ‘Puberty is upon us.’”
“So it is.” She sighs. “Well. It’s good to talk with you. Or to talk around things again.” She gives me a last look like she’s thinking of bringing up something neither of us wants to discuss, but then she squeezes my shoulder. “Sleep tight.”
“You too.” I get under the blankets as she leaves. She starts to pull the door shut. “Leave it open?” I need to hear when she goes to sleep.
“Sure.” She leaves.
When she’s done putting her lunch together and setting out her clothes for tomorrow, I listen to her watching Brave on her tablet for the hundredth time. She calls it her “comfort movie.” She’s been watching it a lot since Dad left.
She watches the whole freaking movie.
I pace so I won’t fall asleep. I watch YouTube on mute. I google Tina Martin for the tenth useless time. I nod off looking through the results I’ve looked at ten times already.
I snap awake at 11:52. It’s pouring outside. Mom’s light is finally out.
The hall closet door squeaks like the devil, so I don’t risk getting my raincoat. I’m soaked by the time I make it to the tent on Vlad. Chewy is huddled in a ball, shivering. “Oh no. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I pull her into my arms and wrap the smelly, awful blanket around us, curl up on the cold tent floor, and hold her close. My soggy clothes make her pee stink even worse. It must be so awful for her. Dogs have a way stronger sense of smell than humans do.
When she finally stops shaking, I text Ash: Thank you for coming today. I’m sorry it didn’t work. I’m going to try to find a way to reach Tina. Maybe I can . . . I don’t know, tell one of the receptionists I want to call her and see how her daughter is doing. Would that be weird?
Yeah. But I’m gonna have to suck it up and be weird. I’m running out of options.
Ash surprises me by answering, even though it’s nearly one a.m.: I think you should tell Bella. I bet she can help.
I tighten my arms around Chewbarka. I can’t take that chance. Is this a girl-solidarity thing? As soon as I send it, I realize it was a crappy thing to say.
No. I’m trying to help you.
I’m sorry, I answer. This mess has me all messed up.
If you were in her shoes, you’d want to know your dog was still alive. Wouldn’t you?
I don’t answer. I curl up with Chewy and gently try to tug apart some of the mats forming in her long, thick fur.
Did you put extra blankets in the tent? Ash writes. It got so cold out. I have a bunch of quarters. I can help with washing stuff tomorrow if you want.
Sort of, I say. If you consider me a blanket.
You’re there now??? Dude it’s wicked cold.
I noticed. I pull the blanket tighter around us. I like when Ash says dude. I don’t know why. It’s . . . familiar. Like we’re really good friends.
She’s quiet for a while, then: Do you want me to bring Darth Vader to you?
Of course I want her to bring her sleeping bag. I want her to bring her. But she’s already done so much, and it’s so late. We’re fine. Thanks though.
Okay. There’s a long pause, and I think that’s it. Then she writes, Isn’t it funny that to dogs, we’re basically magical giants who live for hundreds of dog years?
I send back a smiley. Never thought of it that way.
I had a good time this weekend, she writes. Not like a happy fun sunshine time, but I enjoyed it. Parts of it. The parts with you. I mean it was nice to spend time with you. Another pause, followed by I’m gonna shut up now.
I liked those parts too, I write. I can’t help smiling.
It takes the ache out of the cold.
19
Sneet Snart
Ash
Monday morning, I wake up snuggling the wrong end of Booper. I’m so wiped out from texting Daniel at one a.m. and working on the T-Rocks song that I move like molasses and barely make it to the bus. Once I’m on, I open my bag to check if I have all my stuff. My pencil case and homework folder are missing. We have a quiz in algebra first period. Of course Mr. Simmons makes us trade one of our shoes to borrow a pencil. And of course I’m wearing the socks Mom cross-stitched corgi butts and cuss words on, because as she says, Sometimes you gotta stick it to the Man even if the Man can’t see it. Which is how I felt when I put them on last night thinking of Daniel’s dad doing that jerk thing and my dad being a jerk and how I don’t want to be a dude like that, I want to be a
