I resist the urge to ask him.
“Chemistry. I knew that. You get the day off with the PD day?”
“I have a meeting a twelve.”
“Better go.” Why can’t I walk away first?
“I have time.”
Now would be a good time for me to try that apology thing, but I didn’t plan it out, and without a rehearsal in front of the mirror, I’ll definitely muck it up. “How was your date?” I ask instead.
“I’m not good at dates.”
“No one is good at dates, especially first dates.”
“I would think you would be.”
Maybe it’s my surprise at the comment, but the fingers holding Rusty’s leash relax, just as he’s lunging away from Charlie1. Rusty realizes his freedom and makes a run for it. Right to Boen.
“Get him away from me!” he shouts, shuffling from side to side to avoid the excited dog, almost stepping into the street
“Careful,” I cry. “Cars!”
“Dog!”
I easily catch Rusty’s leash and tug him away from Boen. “He won’t hurt you. Very friendly.”
“I don’t want a dog near me, friendly or not.”
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“I have to be at work,” he says, and stalks away.
“What the hell was that?” I watch him get further way, his long stride so quick that he’s almost trotting.
I don’t know if he can hear me, but I see him turn around just as he gets to the corner.
Boen
I can’t catch my breath as I hurry away from Rachel and her pack of dangerous animals. So many dogs, all snapping and biting and lunging at me.
If Rachel thought I was tense before, she would not like to see my face now.
I don’t like dogs. I don’t like most animals, but I have a severe dislike for dogs.
I’m afraid of them.
It takes at least three blocks for me to start to breathe normally, but my hands still tingle at the thought of the dogs. So many…
I had been six when I had my first run-in with a dog. I had been riding my bike when the neighbour’s German Shepard had come running across the lawn straight at me. Mrs. Bennett said Lola had only wanted to play, but I had seen it as an attack and swerved my bike, falling off into the street and breaking my wrist.
The second time, I’d been seventeen and training for cross-country. Out of our high school, only me and Daniel Orester had made it to the provincials, and I was the best hope for a top ten spot, which would send me to the nationals.
Two days before the meet, during an easy run through a ravine with Daniel, an off-leash black Lab the size of a small horse lunged at us, catching me in the calf. It took six stitches and needless to say, I didn’t make the meet.
Daniel came twelfth in the province.
Three weeks after that, I’d been walking home from school with Emily Barron, who had suggested she help me forget the missed match with a visit to her empty house when her neighbour’s dog of indeterminate breed escaped the backyard fence and made a run for it—straight at me, of course. I outran it—and missed any chance I had with Emily.
