One Small Thing(69)

I want to pick it up and throw it at his head. “Why not?”

“Because your parents might stop paying your tuition, and then how will you get a good job and support me?” He tugs playfully on my ponytail.

If people glowed, I would be as bright as the moon on a cloudless night right now.

“Okay, fine. But you’ll have to visit.”

“When I get a car.”

“Good point.”

Chase doesn’t have wheels, and even if he did, he isn’t allowed to drive one as part of his probation terms, which I think is completely unfair. How is he supposed to have a job without a car?

“The system isn’t set up to rehabilitate a chicken, let alone a person,” he told me once during our meetings by the tree. “And I have it easy compared to lots of other guys because they end up in juvie for fighting and when they get out, there’s no one there to help them. At least I had my mom and Brian.”

But because of that, Chase bikes here. It’s a five-mile trek that he makes at least three times a week.

“I better go,” he says ruefully.

We keep our time together short. Chase says it’s to make sure we can keep meeting. If my parents find out that my nightly treks to the swing are really to see him, I’ll be locked in my room. But I also think the longer he stays, the more tempted we are to stop communicating with words. I’d be okay with that, but he’s not. It’s comical that he’s saying no, but I want to respect him and his wishes, just as he would respect mine.

“I’ll see you at the shelter tomorrow.”

I want a kiss goodbye, but I settle for a hug. That’s progress. A week ago, I got a hand squeeze. Maybe by Christmas, he’ll kiss my cheek.





27

At the shelter on Saturday, Rocco the pit bull is resisting a bath. Laughing, I march over to Sandy and roll up my sleeves. “Want me to do that?” I offer.

She wipes a forearm across her face. “I would be so happy if you would. He’s being extra cantankerous today. In fact, since you’re going to get wet, can you do the rest of these critters? Ask Chase to help you.”

“Okay.” I’m happy to do anything that involves Chase. I think Sandy knows that and takes advantage of it, but I don’t care.

I find Chase outside, picking up poop. “Hey, glamour boy, come and perform in a wet T-shirt contest for me,” I call out.

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t objectify me.” He spins the garbage bag’s neck tight and then swiftly ties a knot.

“Not only do I not remember us discussing that, but if we did, I never would’ve agreed to such nonsense.”

He tosses the poop bag into a trash receptacle and shakes his head sadly. “The trials I have to suffer here.”

“Drag the pity party inside before Rocco convinces all the other dogs that baths are terrible.”

We’re too late. The dogs are feisty, having been told by Rocco that we’re there to torture them. The water is cold. The dogs are slippery. The soap gets everywhere. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun.

“You’re really good with animals,” Chase tells me after we corral the last dog back into his kennel. “You’ll make a good vet.”

“Thanks. Like you said, they’re not judgmental.” I toss the hose in Chase’s direction and pick up the overturned washtub. Rocco kicked it as he was jumping out, splashing water all over our tennis shoes. Sandy came back while Boots was barking his head off and left almost immediately, not wanting to get drenched with dirty water and wet fur.

“Dunno about that. Rocco looks pissed off.”

“I think I might’ve got soap in his eyes.”

“Nah. He’s just mad because I was the one scrubbing him down instead of you.” He winks and reaches for the water shutoff. The motion causes his T-shirt to stretch across his abs—his very nice, very firm set of abs.

“Helloooo! Where you at, Beth? It’s me,” a cheery voice yells from the outer room.

It’s Scarlett.

Chase looks up in panic. He drops the hose before he can turn the shutoff valve, and it sprays me, twisting around like an angry snake. I yelp and try to jump out of the way, but I’m not fast enough.

“Shit. Sorry.” Chase manages to corral the hose and then thrusts it into my hands, turning his back just as the outer door swings open. He walks, almost runs down the hall.

“Hey... Oh my God, what happened to you?” Scarlett laughs when she spots me.

I look down at my drenched Darling High T-shirt. “I was washing the dogs.”

Behind her is Jeff. He gives me a brief examination before looking over my shoulder. Uneasy, I glance back in time to see Chase’s head disappear around a corner.

When Jeff takes a step forward, I “accidentally” lose the hose and spray him. Jeff curses loudly.

“Sorry.” I raise a soapy hand. “It’s slippery.”

His eyes narrow in suspicion. “Was that Manson?” he asks.

“Who?” I play dumb.

“He means Charlie Donnelly.” Scarlett rolls her eyes. She sounds as tired with the stupid nickname as I am.

I decide not to answer her. Instead, I spray a line of water close to their feet. “Careful. It’s dirty over here,” I warn.