I look closer at the photos of Ash wearing dresses and skirts. They’re done up like a uniformed schoolgirl in one, with a white shirt, a bow tie, and a short plaid skirt. Their hair is in a wicked-cute anime style, twisted into two buns with a purple curl and a white ribbon under each. In another they’re wearing a skirt that looks like autumn, made of draped layers in orange and brown and red and purple, with the purple frilly shirt they wore when we biked to Dad’s. In another they’re in a lacy pink dress and glasses, looking at the camera with their eyebrows up and the world’s sweetest smile. In one they’re standing with their mom next to a sign that says Great Smoky Mountains, dressed for a hike: baseball hat, sleeveless black T-shirt and khaki shorts, brown hiking boots that look too big. They’re flashing the peace sign and grinning like they’re ready to hike the whole Appalachian Trail.
I go to Ash’s bio screen. There’s nothing written, just a link to SoundCloud. I tap it and find the rest of the song Ash was singing in their story.
I hold the phone to my ear. I wish I had headphones so I could listen properly. I can’t make out every word, but the lyrics are about how it’s not wrong to live in between, that it’s what makes life interesting. That two things can seem like opposites, but can both be true at the same time. I love everything about the chorus: I’m living life my way, a changing spectrum day by day, a challenge to girl/boy clichés, halfway through the crossfade.
That’s where I am, right now. Halfway through. Waiting for Ash to pick me up. It’s cold outside and I’m about to lose Chewbarka.
But I did a really good thing for this dog. And she’s still here, right now, in my arms. “I love you, you doofy floof!” I tell Chewbarka. I nestle my nose into her neck, trying to savor her stink and her sweetness and the essence of dog for a little while longer.
I wish Ash was here to savor it too.
29
Old Soul
Ash
Daniel’s shivering on the curb outside Papa John’s when we pull up. I suddenly realize that when he told me where he was, he meant outside, not inside. He climbs into the seat behind me with Chewbarka. While the dome light is on, I see a smear of red on his face. “What happened?” I ask, alarmed.
“Huh?”
I point at his face, realizing it’s not blood, it’s food. I giggle. “Never mind.”
He wipes his cheek and sees the sauce on his fingers. “Oops. A lady in there took pity on me shivering and brought me a slice.”
“Was it good?”
“Cold and rubbery and it had olives. But I was so hungry it was manna from heaven. Chewbarka liked it too.”
“Did you have enough to eat?” Mom asks, ever the mom. “We can stop at McDonald’s up the street and grab more food if you’re hungry. They’re open late.”
“I’m fine,” Daniel says as he buckles in. “Thanks, though. That’s nice of you.” His stomach growls audibly.
“I’m hungry again too,” I tell Mom. “Let’s stop.”
In the drive-through line, Daniel tells us about Iris and the medical rescuing and says his mom is going to blow up when he gets home. My mom asks if his mom knows where he is, and he says he sort of didn’t tell her.
“Well,” Mom says, and I hold my breath. “The only condition of me driving you across town is that you text her right now that you’re with a trustworthy adult and you’re safe. And that you’ll be home by one a.m. and you’ll make this up to her. No parent deserves to freak out not knowing where their kid is at night.”
I watch in the side-view mirror as Daniel ducks his head. “Yes, ma’am.” He starts typing.
I can’t stop looking at his reflection. At the way his hair falls across his forehead, at how he purses his lips as he types. How when Chewbarka licks his neck he absently pats her with one hand and hugs her.
Why does he have to be so freaking cute? It’s entirely unnecessary. I’d still like him even if he looked like a warty old gremlin. The way he’s sacrificed so much to save that fuzzy little goof of a mutt . . . my heart can barely take it.
We get burgers and fries. Daniel inhales half of his before we’re out of the parking lot. Mom asks for the address. After he gives it to her and she puts it in her phone, he stops eating. In the mirror I see him holding Chewbarka in his lap, his head bent down touching hers. I guess he needs to bond with her before he has to give her up.
The drive is quiet. Mom keeps glancing in her rearview mirror. A couple times she looks like she wants to say something, but then she doesn’t. She puts on some Led Zeppelin, too quiet to sing along to but loud enough for the percussion to fill the silence. “Gallows Pole” comes on and traipses through its bouncy chorus, and then the whole song falls apart into a jumbled mess of drums as it reaches its chaotic, cruel end when the hangman kills the dude. Even though the guy’s friends and siblings bribed the hangman to save him.
Mom switches the song off. I hear Daniel behind me getting fidgety. We ride in silence for the last few minutes.
“Can you guys stay in the car?” Daniel blurts as we pull into the driveway.
A stab of hurt goes through me. “Why?” I want to say goodbye to Chewbarka too.
“Because—” His voice is all tight and squeaky. “I, um.”
“I’ve seen you cry before and I’m still your friend,” I tell him. “Besides, I’m probably gonna cry too.”
“Hell, I might
