Page 14

Fuck.

We stare at each other, me and the strange animal, some kind of sizing up like we aren’t quite sure what to make of the other.

Out of nowhere, it barks again—loud—and leaps like a kangaroo toward me until its front paws land on my thighs. I stumble back as the thing licks my face between barks.

“God,” I grunt. “Get the hell off me.”

“Molly!” a female voice calls from outside, making the dog pause and ears perk. “Molly!” she repeats. “Here, girl!”

Instantly, the creature drops from me and takes off out of the shed at a sprint.

I mutter, wiping the dirt from my pants and follow. There, dropping a bike in the middle of the driveway, is a teenage girl, crouching asMollylicks her face.

She stands, cocking her head to the side as dark brown hair hangs over her pale face and raccoon-inspired eyelinered eyes squint at me.

“What the Wednesday Addams fan club are you supposed to be?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest as her black-edged eyes widen. The rest of her outfit is just as ridiculous. Black combat boots, black leggings, and a black sweatshirt, sleeves so long they nearly swallow her fingers.

“A human,” she says, eyes wandering down to my shoes before snapping back to my face. “What in the stick-up-my-butt pantsuit areyousupposed to be?”

I snort a laugh, studying her. “What are you doing here?”

“Feeding Molly.”

I eye Molly and the teenage goth queen, noting they resemble one another, but am unsure of what to say to any kid other than June’s. “Hm.”

“Who are you?” she demands, borderline rude.

I look at the house and lake, every reason I have to leave both behind flashing before my eyes. “The new owner. Does this dog just free-range it or something? There’s no fence or leash.”

“She’s trained to stay. She’s trained to do a lot, really. Archie let her in when he was here, and when he wasn’t she just kind of . . .” She looks around the property. “Did whatever.”

I look at the dog again, seemingly harmless as the girl pets her.

“It’s trained?” I ask, suspicious.

“Sheis.” She pins me with an annoyed look then holds her palm out and looks at said trained dog and says, “Sit.”

Molly sits.

“Down.”

Molly lays down.

“Porch.” Molly runs across the yard, around the trees, up the four steps of the porch and lays by the front door, a sort of pride in her pant.

“Impressive,” I admit.

The girl smiles in a way that translates toI told you so. “Do you have kids?”

“No.”

“Husband?”

My eyes narrow. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t your mom tell you that it’s rude to ask so many damn questions?”