Be the Girl(36)

By the time I went to swap my books for third period, a tall, raven-haired beauty was hovering at Emmett’s locker, waiting for him to appear. And when he did, the flirtatious smile she was casting his way made me want to vomit.

Josie drags her french fry through her ketchup. “I always knew Holly had a mean streak in her.”

Jen worries her bottom lip. “What’s she going to be like now that she’s done trying to impress Emmett?” Her thoughts are somewhere far off. Probably in her tortured past. It’s a fair question, though. Was playing the part for Emmett the only thing that kept Holly’s ugly side collared?

“We won’t let her come after you like that again,” I say with certainty.

She gives me a small nod and appreciative smile, though I get the impression she doesn’t believe it.





I wriggle my nose against the smell of bleach, wet dog fur, and cat urine as we step into the empty lobby of E.A.S—an old house that’s serving as the Eastmonte Animal Shelter until they can rebuild the one that burnt down two years ago.

“Hello, boys and girls!” Cassie yells.

A wild chorus of howls and piercing barks from beyond a sky-blue door respond, making Cassie laugh.

A short, silver-haired lady emerges moments later. “You love to get them going, don’t you?” Her eyes crinkle with her smile, not at all annoyed.

“Yeah. I can hear Bangles.” Cassie laughs again. “Has Boots had her kittens yet?”

“Not yet. Any day now.”

“Okay.” Cassie nods. “This is my friend, AJ. She came to see the dogs and cats with me.”

“Hi, AJ. I’m Pat.” Pat pauses to straighten an array of pet insurance and adoption pamphlets in a rack on the desk. “You ready for this?”

“I’m not sure,” I confess.

Pat leads us past the door and into a long, narrow room lined with portable metal cages of various sizes. The distinct smell of dog—sweat, fur, drool—is that much stronger back here, on account of the five dogs of varying sizes and color, already on their feet and panting as Cassie holds her hand out to their cages, greeting each one by name.

“Bangles already had his walk today, but Roger Dodger is ready for you.”

“Hi, Roger Dodger!” Cassie exclaims in a high-pitched, excited voice, bending down to clap and greet a scruffy gray Lhasa Apso, who is attempting to cram his snout through the cage. She fumbles with the latch on the cage. “I can’t do it.”

I move in to help her, but Pat puts a hand up to stop me, winking at me. “Yes, you can, Cassie. Remember, pull up and then turn.”

The dog is tearing around in circles by the time the gate pops open. He comes barreling out to jump on her legs.

“He’s so excited!” Cassie laughs.

“He’s always excited when you show up. You’ll need to get him to calm down before you can get that leash on him. And … AJ, right?” When I nod, Pat continues, leading me to a cage with a heavyset black Lab. “How about you take Murphy? He’s much calmer. These two get along well enough. Come on, Murph.”

The dog hobbles out, favoring his back leg.

“Is he hurt?”

“That’s just hip dysplasia. His previous owners brought him in because he couldn’t handle being in a house with little kids anymore. Too much noise and excitement. He got grumpy.”

Sounds like Uncle Merv. “How old is he?” I scratch the gentle dog’s graying chin. He peers up at me with sad, dark eyes. Wisps of silver fleck his face.

“Oh, he’s an old guy. Over thirteen now. He just hangs out, looking for pats. Don’t you, Murph?” She pets his head. “He’s been here a while now. Will probably be here till the end.”

I study the cage that is his home. “That’s sad.”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s hard to get anyone to take a big old dog like this. ’Course Cassie would take the whole lot of them home with her, if her dad wasn’t allergic. Right, Cassie?”

“Yeah. Whoa! Hold your horses, Roger Dodger.” She laughs, letting him lead her toward the back on the leash she somehow managed to affix to his collar.

“Make sure you show AJ what needs to be done. I’ll be with Boots if you need me.”

“’Kay.”

“And Cassie …” Pat gives her a warning look.

“I know!” She grins and holds up a tiny roll of plastic poop bags, as if that’s proof of her intention.





“I go Tuesdays and sometimes Thursdays,” Cassie says, easing out of Heather’s car. “You can come with me if you want.”

“Two hours a week and you should have your community service hours by the middle of winter,” Heather adds, grabbing her purse from the passenger seat floor. “Cassie, why don’t you go in and wash your hands really well and change.”

“I don’t need to change,” Cassie argues.

Heather makes a point of staring at Cassie’s pants, drawing her daughter’s eyes down to the muddy paw prints all over them.

“Oh. That’s okay,” Cassie says, bending down to wipe at them.

“No, it’s not okay. Put them in your hamper, and put on clean pants from your drawer. Not from your floor.”