Page 13

Chapter Thirteen

I pull the front door to the shelter open and do my best to embrace the butterflies. My heart races as I approach the breakroom. A smile is already forming on my lips in anticipation of seeing Dylan. But the room is empty and disappointment races cold through my veins. My heart really plummets when I find patio A empty as well. Maybe Dylan isn’t coming today.

I let the first two dogs out and get right to work sweeping and mopping their kennels. Maybe the water fight made Dylan catch a bad cold. Should I take him some chicken noodle soup? I imagine him tucked into bed as I spoon-feed him and find it an oddly alluring fantasy. But it’s more likely he isn’t there because the water fight turned him off. He probably found somewhere else to do his community service.

Finished with the first two kennels, I pause outside Popeye’s door. Should I skip it? I shake my head. Even if Dylan does come back, he won’t be volunteering forever, and Popeye should know that. I swing the door open and Popeye trots out. He halts in the middle of the patio and stares at the empty expanse in front of him. His ears and head droop and he saunters to the side of the patio and curls up in the sunshine.

My mouth hangs open. Popeye didn’t even lift his leg to kennel F. Ignoring the looming sense of sadness, I tromp into Popeye’s kennel to sweep. I’ve just slapped the mop onto the concrete when I hear a deep voice crooning to Popeye out on the patio. My insides come alive with a forest worth of skittering animals. I halt so I can listen more closely but can barely hear over the thundering of my own pulse in my ears. I smile to myself when I recognize Dylan’s voice. He came. I didn’t scare him away.

When my stomach starts to flutter, my instinct is to hide or run, but I chant Sam’s advice in my head. Embrace the crush, embrace the crush . When Dylan and Popeye appear in the doorway, I feel the anticipation without the nerves.

“You didn’t save the beast for me.” Dylan rubs the top of Popeye’s head.

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming, so…” I shrug. He looks tired. I wonder if he overslept. Maybe he got back together with Teresa, and he’d been busy putting his mouth…I shake the thought away. No jealousy. That’s not part of a crush.

“Sorry I’m late.” Dylan stares down at Popeye as he scratches the dog behind the ears. “I had to make a stop and the place opens at the same time as the shelter.”

“Oh, you don’t have to explain to me. I’m not your boss or anything.” My laugh sounds forced.

Dylan peeks up at me through his long, floppy bangs as he speaks. “Because I miss a lot of school, it probably made you think I’d blow this place off too, but I’m not…I mean, I don’t…” He shrugs. “I’m committed to being here.”

“Okay.” I push the mop bucket ahead of me as I leave the kennel. Dylan jumps forward and takes the mop handle from me and pulls the bucket the rest of the way out of the kennel. His fingers brush mine as he takes the handle from me. I revel in the quickening of my pulse and silently thank my best friend for the awesome advice. I can’t believe he can have such an impact on me. I smile at him, and he cocks his head.

“What’s the smile for?” His brow furrows and he scans my face like he’s seeing something new.

“I’m just glad you’re here. I like working with you.” I can’t look at him as I admit that, so I place my hand on the handle of the next kennel and wait for him to put Popeye away.

Dylan snorts. “Why do you sound surprised when you say that?”

“Oh, come on. We are totally different people.” I open the next two kennel doors and Dylan opens the third, and we watch the dogs burst free and run off to smell and pee on things. “It isn’t like we have anything in common.”

“What do you mean nothing in common? We have this place.” Dylan holds his hands out, watching me sweep the first of the two empty kennels.

“I’m here because I want to be. You’re here because you have to be.” I eye him. “Totally different.”

He tilts his head back and laughs. “Fine.”

“And you are really cool,” I laugh. “And I’m so not cool.”

Dylan squints at me, his smile forming into a questioning look. “Why don’t you think you’re cool?”

I arch my brows. “Serious?”

“Yeah.”

He does look completely serious, but I can’t really understand his question. How would he think I am? Or that I would fool myself into thinking I’m cool? “Okay, um…you have that whole bad-boy image thing going on, with the motorcycle, leather jackets, girls galore.”

He rolls his eyes, but I keep talking.

“I can’t even talk to a boy without dumping a drink in his lap. I trip over absolutely nothing. I don’t even own a pair of pants that don’t have torn knees. ”

Dylan’s expression softens as I describe myself. “First off, you are clumsy. I wish I could dispute that for you, but it’s undeniable.”

I have to laugh. “It is!”

“And my bad boy image is a total farse.”

I step out of the kennel, and he wheels the mop bucket through the doorway. I think about what he said and snort. “Right.”

He mops for so long that I think he isn’t going to defend his stance. I’m just about to disappear into the next kennel when he finally speaks. “The bad boy thing, as you put it, started in seventh grade. I was missing a lot of school and…there was stuff going on at home that had me on edge. Some kid teased me about something one day.” He stops mopping and leans on the handle, looking at the wall like he’s seeing the whole thing again. “It was that creep, Tito Bernard. Do you know him?”

The pain of the memory etched on Dylan’s face makes me breathless. I nod.

“What was he teasing me about?” he asks hypothetically. “It was something so stupid. Oh! My shirt was wrinkled.”

“That jerk used to tease me about my clothes smelling,” I whisper.

I can see the question in Dylan’s eyes. He’s curious about what I said, but he stays on track. “Then he teased that my mommy wasn’t taking good care of me, or something like that.” His expression is haunted as it drops to the floor. “I remember that he mentioned my mom though, and because of what was going on at home, I lost it. All over his face. I beat him up so bad.” Dylan shakes his head. “Man, I got in so much trouble at home, but everybody at school was afraid of me after that. So, I was dubbed the bad boy.”

I stare at him, trying to remember other examples as to why that reputation stuck. “You mean it was only because of that one fight?”

Dylan sighs. “Yep.” He starts mopping again. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve perpetuated it with the leather jackets and motorcycle and stuff. But I don’t meet people in the dry wash to drag race, like the rumors say. And my gang and I don’t beat people up for messing with our women. Heck, I’ve never even dated anyone.”

I gawk at him. “You dated Teresa Walberg.”

Dylan’s head snaps up. “No, I haven’t.”

All the writings in Teresa’s textbook flash through my mind as I stare wide-eyed at him.

“What has she told you?”

“Nothing!” I shake my head adamantly. “I’m not even friends with her.”

Dylan squints. “Ava.”

I swallow at his gravelly tone. Suddenly, I want to beg him to say my name again. And again.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“No. I mean, it’s just…” I whimper like the cowardly baby that I am. “Oh god, I don’t want to tell you.”

Dylan laughs. “Now you have to.”

I slam my eyes shut and assure myself it will be okay. It isn’t like he’ll be mad at me. I didn’t do it. “Okay, so, I had to borrow her math book one day, and I found some things written in there that indicated you two had been a couple and that she was sad you weren’t anymore.”

“Written in the math book?” Dylan asks. “Like what?”

“Some standard stuff, like, “I love Dylan.” “Dylan Scott makes me hot.””

“Hey, that rhymes,” Dylan says, ironically.

“That’s what I thought!” I grin.

Dylan purses his lips and studies me. “What else did you find?”

I blush, totally giving away that there’s more. “Well, something about you being a two-timing douche bag.”

He laughs, raising his hands in the air. “How can I two-time someone I’ve never dated?”

“Yeah,” I grimace. “And that Lydia is a whore.”

Dylan’s smile falls away. “That wench. Pulling Lydia in on her fantasies. Is that all she wrote?”

“Oh, you know, there were just a couple anatomy related ones.”

He cocks his head. “Anatomy? Like I’m a good kisser?”

I squirm. “Well…um. She said you have a big–you know.”

Dylan waggles his brows. “Got it.”

“And that she misses your mouth on her…” I give him a forced smile, hopeful he’ll figure that one out too.

“Her…mouth?” Dylan raises a single eyebrow, distracting me for a second. Lord above, he is so cute.

“Not her mouth. Lower.”

Dylan’s eyes pop wide. “Her…” he scratches the side of his head and wrinkles his nose. “Her chest?”

I gasp. “Oh, no. Guess that would be logical. But no. Lower.” I wave a finger in the general direction of my lap. Dylan’s gaze follows, and he bursts out a laugh.

“Whoa, look at me with all the experience.”

A nervous laugh escapes me. “It was funny, because I slammed the book closed when I read that one, and the teacher actually stopped teaching and turned to me.”

Dylan’s unabashed laughter puts me at ease.

“Poor Ava. Reading porn in math class had to be very uncomfortable.”

I blush and wrinkle my nose at him. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Oh, I’m not. I’m glad you told me.” His smile fades into anger. “But making Lydia a part of it really is too much. ”

I walk into the next kennel to sweep. I hope my tone is matter of fact when I speak. “So, you’re not dating Lydia?”

Dylan wheels the bucket into the doorway and sighs. He leans on the mop handle, and his bicep flexes distractingly. It’s his turn to watch me work. “No, Lydia and I are just…friends, I guess. Our parents are dating and there’s a lot of drama, so we’ve learned to rely on each other when it gets tough.”

“Oh, I didn’t know your parents were split. I’m sorry.” I enter the next kennel and hear Dylan wheeling the bucket to the one I just vacated.

“Actually, my mom died three years ago.”

“Oh, Dylan, I’m so sorry.” I pop out of the kennel and stand in the doorway of the kennel he’s mopping. “I had no idea.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I don’t talk about it much. It was pretty screwed up.”

I stare at him, not sure what to say. He’s indicated several times now in our short conversation how messed up his home life is. “I…I have a sucky home life too, actually.” I swallow the lump in my throat. My entire body flushes with heat as my nerves run rampant. I’ve never told anyone besides Sam and Bek about the problems at home, and I feel so vulnerable even alluding to it out loud. “So, if you ever want to talk about it, I’d be happy to listen.”

I disappear into my kennel again, unable to witness his reaction to my revelation. Would he feel sorry for me? Be surprised? Think I’m making it up to get him to open up more? I don’t really want to know. Alarm bells ring loudly inside my head over having admitted my circumstances aloud. I want to snatch it back and erase it from the universe. I need to calm my heart rate and tame my flight instinct before I run, screaming into the hills.

“Oh, man, Ava, I’m sorry to hear that.” Dylan appears in my doorway, and I rush past him so he can mop. Instead of going into the kennel, he spins to watch me. “The same goes for you. If you ever need an ear, mine is always available.”

That’s pity I hear in his voice, isn’t it? He feels sorry for the poor clumsy girl. I flash him what I hope looks like a grateful smile and not a grimace. “Thanks.”

As he pushes into the kennel, I shout, “I’ll be right back.” And I flee to the sanctuary of the bathroom inside.