Cute. She’s very cute. As much as I would like to deny the fact, the truth is staring me in the face, green eyes sparking like a power surge.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I shake my sock at her, drawing on my anger. As attractive as she is, she’s definitely not my type.
Not at all.
“That’s what washing machines are for,” she says, her voice as patient as if she’s explaining things to one of my grade nine students.
I know she’s mocking me. “I’m not about to put this covered in that in my laundry.” I storm over to my green bin and toss it in. She’s right behind me and as the lid closes, the baggie sails in. “Don’t put that in there.”
“You don’t want it on your lawn, you don’t want it in your bin…”
I turn to face her, arms snapping across my chest. “Who are you?”
“Rachel. I’m—” She leans back to point to the semi on the other side of Mrs. Gretchen, and facts click into place. This must be the girl my new neighbour told me about when I moved in. I was still unpacking my books when Mrs. Gretchen appeared, looking spry for a nonagenarian and carrying a bottle of schnapps as a house-warming gift.
“How many dogs do you have?” I ask suspiciously.
“One, two cats, plus, I’m a dog-walker.” There’s something malicious about her smile.
“You’re a dog-walker?”
“Yes, I am. Dogs in the neighbourhood need their walks, plus I can do it around my other job.”
“And what’s that?”
“Illustrator.”
“You draw dogs?”
“Among other things. What do you do that’s so special?”
“I’m a teacher.”
“Phys ed, I bet,” Rachel scoffs with a curl of her lip.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you look like Captain America in that shirt.”
I look down. I changed out of my dress shirt when I got home from school, grabbing one of my running shirts for lack of clean T-shirts. It might be a little tight but— “Is that an insult?”
She lifts her chin, wide mouth twitching. “I was trying for one, yes.”
“I’m a chemistry teacher.”
“Are you doing an experiment?” she demands, wrinkling her nose. “Because there’s a raunchy smell coming from your house.”
I stare at her blankly, and then— “My fish!”
2
Rachel
I tellmyself that I’m waiting for him to come back out so I can find out what the smell was, but after a few minutes of standing in the dark, I give up.
Serves him right if he’s about to blow up his house. Actually—
I pause at my front door and look back. If he blows up his house, that will take out Mrs. Gretchen’s too. But still no smoke, no fire trucks and no Boen, so I go inside.
