Puppy Love Page 8

  I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was flirting with me. But I tried to sound casual as I replied, “I don’t know. Maybe you should take a poll of all the girls you can find. That’s another way to meet them, right?”

  That made him laugh. “Anyway, that was Reggie. My friend Kenny had the opposite opinion. He wanted me to get a big dog—something tough-looking and macho.”

  I looked over again at Ozzy, who was neither big and tough nor cute and fuzzy. “So how’d you end up with Oz?”

  “When I went to the shelter, there was just something about him. Yeah, he’s not much to look at, I guess. He’s sort of scruffy and gangly and looks like three different dogs put together.” He shrugged. “So I don’t know. He just has, like, a good energy, you know? We got along right away. Plus, I could tell he was active enough that he’d be able to keep up with me while I run, even if he wasn’t exactly what I was picturing.”

  I couldn’t help being impressed. Most of the guys I knew at school were all about the optics. Who had the snazziest car, the best clothes, the prettiest girlfriend. That was the main reason I had zero interest in getting to know most of them—and didn’t mind that it seemed to be mutual. Took it as a compliment, almost.

  But Jamal didn’t seem to be that way at all. Was it a public school vs. private school thing? Were people just less shallow at MVHS? I tended to doubt it—I’d gone to public school up through eighth grade and didn’t remember it being that much different.

  So maybe it was just him. In any case, hearing him talk about choosing Ozzy made me feel a bit sheepish about the reasons I’d chosen Muckle. But never mind. It had worked out for the best—I was crazy about the little monster now, regardless of his breed.

  Ozzy and Muckle had stopped chasing the tennis ball to wrestle, but now Ozzy bounded toward us with the ball in his mouth again. He dropped it at his owner’s feet and barked. Jamal scooped up the slimy ball and tossed it in one graceful motion. Nice.

  Wait, why was I noticing that? I wasn’t interested in him that way. Maybe being in love with Adam was making me more sensitive to male beauty in any form.

  “I guess it’s a good thing we both found Adam, right?” I said, my mind now wandering in that direction. I shot a surreptitious look around the rest of the dog park, but my future boyfriend was still nowhere in sight. “Um, so you were saying you had a study hall with Adam once. Do you know him well?”

  “Nope.” Jamal bent to grab the ball again as Ozzy brought it back. “I mean, the school’s pretty big, and he’s a senior. We don’t really hang in the same crowd, you know? But I’ve seen him around. Didn’t know he was into dogs until Rachel told me, though.”

  I recalled him saying that before. Even though I was itching to ask more questions, I held back. For one thing, it didn’t sound as if Jamal would be able to answer most of them, since he didn’t know Adam much better than I did. For another thing, I didn’t want him to think I was some crazy stalker. After all, Jamal had no way to know about that spark that had passed between Adam and me the other day. He’d probably just see me as a pathetic girl with a crush on the teacher.

  Jamal hurled the ball across the enclosure again, sending both puppies zooming off after it. “So what’s your story, Lauren?” he asked. “I know you like obscure Scottish bands and dressing up as a disco goddess, but what else do you do for fun?”

  Uh-oh. That sounded an awful lot like flirting. And while it was flattering to think such an amazing guy might be interested in me, I didn’t want to let him think I was interested back. Not in that way. I wanted us to be friends and leave it at that.

  So I scanned my mind for something about me that would turn him off. Something that made most guys look at me like I had two heads. Aha . . .

  “Horror movies,” I blurted out. “I love ’em. The bloodier the better.”

  “For real?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  I smiled. Mission accomplished. An admission like that should put me squarely in just-one-of-the-guys territory.

  “Awesome! I love horror flicks!” Jamal’s face broke into a big grin, and he raised his hand for a high five. “See? I knew you were cool as soon as I met you! So what are some of your favorites? Do you get into the classics—you know, Hitchcock, Romero—or mostly newer stuff?”

  I returned the high five weakly. “Um, pretty much all of it,” I said. “Except I usually wait for the new ones to come out On Demand or whatever, because Robert hates scary movies. He’s always dragging me to sappy romances and stuff.”

  Jamal chuckled. “Robert seems like . . . a character.” He hesitated, sneaking me a sidelong glance. “So are you guys, you know, best friends, or what?”

  Despite meeting Robert, he still seemed to want confirmation that our relationship wasn’t romantic. As if. And yeah, by the way, mission obviously not accomplished. This wasn’t a problem I was used to having, to say the least, and I wasn’t sure how to handle it.

  But it was clearly way too late to go back to pretending that Robert and I were a couple. “Yeah, we’ve been best friends since I started at County Day last year,” I said. “I met him on my first day, at lunchtime. . . .”

  Chapter Ten

  One year and two months earlier

  I skulked over to the empty end of a long table in the far corner of the cafeteria. The nonempty end was filled with a bunch of freshman boys arguing over some sports event. The cafeteria at County Day Academy was a lot smaller than the one at MVMS, which meant it was hard to find a spot to be alone.

  And I definitely wanted to be alone. My first day at private school wasn’t going well so far. I’d figured it would be easier making friends and fitting in at a smaller school, but that wasn’t turning out to be the case. Everyone here appeared to have known one another since kindergarten, if not before. And they didn’t seem interested in getting to know someone new. Nobody even said hello when I stumbled into my homeroom after spending twenty minutes searching for it, too intimidated to stop anyone to ask for help.

  For the rest of the morning, I’d wandered around silently and listened to my new schoolmates fill each other in on their fabulous summers, most of which seemed to involve foreign travel and copious amounts of sunscreen. I wasn’t about to tell any of them that I’d spent the past three months helping Mom stuff envelopes for her latest charity thingamajig. Not that anyone asked.

  Then came lunch. I’d been dreading it all day, and not that delicious the-killer-is-coming dread I loved so much in horror movies. No, this was a sick pit-of-the-stomach dread, the kind that said I was going to spend my high school career alone, scurrying around like a mouse on the edges of people’s consciousness. Oh well, maybe at least the teachers would grow to like me.

  As I dumped my lunch bag on the table and sat down, I noticed a guy walking toward me. He was well dressed, but in a different way from most of the guys at County Day. Skinny pinstriped pants, slicked-back hair, funky red shoes. There was only one word for it: dapper.

  I watched his approach warily out of the corner of my eye, pretending to be very busy unwrapping my sandwich. What did he want? Was he coming to tell me this table was reserved or something?

  “All my other best friends have been blond,” he announced, sliding into the seat across from me. “You’ll be the one to break the curse.”

  I blinked. “Huh?”

  He stuck out his hand. “I’m Robert. Robert James Chase. You’re Lauren something-or-other, right? The new girl.”

  “Yeah.” I stared at his hand for a moment before realizing he wanted me to shake it. I did so, tentatively. “Um, hi. Lauren Parker.”

  Robert slung a battered suede messenger bag onto the table. Flipping open the flap, he pulled out a stainless steel bento box and a bottle of Orangina.

  “This stuff is super popular in Europe,” he said, noticing me staring at the drink. “It’s my new thing. I only eat and drink stuff from other countries. I’m like the opposite of a locavore.”

  Okay, this guy was definitel
y odd. But he seemed friendly, which was more than I could say for most of my new schoolmates. Besides, “odd” had never bothered me. I’d been the only one who would talk to the weird Russian exchange student at my old school.

  “So what’s wrong with blondes?” I asked Robert.

  His head snapped up. This time, I could tell I’d surprised him. “Pardon me?”

  “What’s wrong with blondes? You said I’d be breaking the curse.”

  He stared at me for a long moment. Then he grinned. “Busted,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with blondes. Some of the greatest women in history have been blond—I mean, Marilyn Monroe, right? Grace Kelly. Madonna.”

  “I read somewhere that the real-life Cleopatra was actually a blonde,” I supplied.

  “Exactly.” He sipped his Orangina. “So maybe I shouldn’t have called it a curse. More like a streak. I’m just in the mood for a change of pace.” He winked at me. “And I have the feeling you’re it, Parker.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Back to the dog park

  I heard a clock striking four somewhere in the distance beyond the dog park. It was only then that I realized I’d been chatting with Jamal for a long time. After telling him about how Robert and I had met, we’d moved on to other subjects. Jamal had asked me about my family and told me about his. His mother was an anesthesiologist at the local hospital, and—surprise!—his dad worked for the same pharmaceutical company as mine, though in a different building.

  I was surprised to learn that Jamal wanted to be a doctor like his mom. “Really?” I said when he told me.

  I guess I must have sounded a little too surprised, because he grinned. “Yeah, I know. My friends all tell me I’m too laid-back to make it through med school. But I’m actually pretty serious about it. I mean, I still make Mom take me to the hospital with her on Take Your Kid to Work Day, even though the cutoff is supposed to be, like, age twelve.”

  I laughed. “Sorry, I wasn’t doubting you. It’s just not what I would’ve guessed. Besides, I have no clue what I want to do when I grow up. I’m actually impressed.”

  Just then the puppies ran over. This time Muckle had the ball. Ozzy was bounding back and forth, trying to snatch it away from him. Muckle dodged the other puppy, then dropped the ball between me and Jamal.

  Jamal laughed. “See? Muckle really is trainable. Ozzy just taught him to play fetch!”

  I smiled and reached down to grab the ball. Jamal bent to pick it up at the same time. His hand ended up on mine, both of our fingers wrapped around the slimy yellow ball.

  I froze. I guess he did too. Because he kept his hand there for what felt like an hour, though it was probably only a second or two. Anyway, it was enough time for me to notice that his skin was warm, and that he was now close enough for me to smell his shampoo. Or maybe it was aftershave.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said, finally pulling away.

  I yanked my hand back too, leaving the ball on the ground. “It’s okay. Um, I should probably get going. I’m pretty sure there’s only one bus going my direction in the next hour or two.” I grimaced. “Maybe someday this area will get a halfway decent public transportation system, right?”

  “You’re taking the bus home?” Jamal cleared his throat. “Listen, I have my car right outside. I could drop you off. If you want.”

  I hesitated, using Muckle as my excuse not to answer right away. As I chased down my puppy and snapped on his leash, I tried to figure out what to do. On the one hand, I hated taking the bus. On the other hand, I didn’t want to give Jamal the wrong idea. Would accepting the ride make him think I liked him as more than a friend?

  Then again, he’d offered both Rachel and me a ride that first day after puppy class. Maybe he was sort of like Robert that way—he’d drive anyone anywhere anytime.

  Besides, I really hated taking the bus.

  “Thanks,” I said, dragging Muckle toward Jamal and Ozzy. “That would be great. You know—if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  “No, it’s cool.” He looked so happy that I almost took it back. “Where do you live?”

  I told him my address as we gathered the puppies and headed out of the pen. As it turned out, it was practically right on his way.

  “You can even pick the music for the drive if you want,” he offered as we walked toward the exit. “I mean, it sounds like you’ve got way more refined tastes than I do.”

  I laughed. “I won’t argue with that. There’s this pretty cool college station that we might be able to—”

  Suddenly Muckle exploded into a frenzy of excited barking. Ozzy quickly joined in, both puppies leaping and yanking at the ends of their leashes as they tried to drag us forward faster.

  “Whoa, what just got into them?” Jamal wondered.

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because I’d just spotted Adam walking into the park!

  He looked as hot as ever in faded jeans and a black Windbreaker. A pair of intense-looking border collies were trotting beside him. Neither had a leash on, though it was hard to tell, since both dogs stayed in perfect heel position. Adam did have a leash on his third dog—a brown-and-white terrier a little smaller than Ozzy.

  Adam spotted us almost immediately. What with the pups spinning around wildly at the ends of their leashes, barking their heads off, we were hard to miss. Even in a dog park.

  “Hey, guys,” Adam called in that gorgeous accent, his gorgeous face lighting up in a gorgeous smile. “You came to check out the park!”

  “We did!” I said in a tone so chipper I even surprised myself.

  “Yeah,” Jamal added with a grin. “You should’ve seen Muckle tearing up the agility equipment earlier. So to speak.”

  “Oh yeah?” Adam said, turning to me.

  I blushed. “Um, sort of,” I said. “Anyway, are these your dogs?”

  The two border collies had sat down on either side of Adam, alert but still. The terrier remained on his feet, his nose twitching as he gazed suspiciously at Ozzy and Muckle.

  “Check it out, Oz and your dog could be brothers.” Jamal laughed. “Or maybe father and son.”

  “Yeah.” Adam smiled. “I bet Ozzy has some Jack in him. Well, I’d better get my gang over to the agility pen, see if it’s free. You guys on your way out?”

  “Yes,” Jamal said at the same time I blurted out, “No, not really.”

  Jamal looked surprised. I turned to him, smiling apologetically.

  “I just remembered,” I said, thinking fast. “My mom is coming by to pick me up on her way home from her meeting. She’ll kill me if I’m not here, especially since she always forgets to check her texts.” I shrugged and tossed an old people—what can you do? smile at Adam.

  “Oh.” Jamal hesitated. “Uh, okay. See you both tomorrow in class, I guess.”

  “Yeah.” I gave him a quick wave as he turned to leave. Muckle seemed disappointed to part with Ozzy, but soon comforted himself by sniffing noses with one of the border collies. “Look,” I told Adam. “He must know they’re both herding breeds, right?”

  “Maybe.” Adam sounded a little dubious, but he was still smiling. Was he glad I’d stayed?

  “So what are you and your dogs going to do today?” I asked. “Are you going to practice agility? Maybe I can watch—you know, figure out if I want to try it with Muckle. If that’s okay.”

  “Sure, sounds good.” Adam nodded agreeably. “Let’s go, then.”

  I fell into step beside him. For once Muckle was behaving pretty well. He kept veering over toward Adam’s dogs, wagging his tail and sniffing in their direction. But they mostly ignored him.

  “Your dogs are really beautiful,” I said, glancing at the border collies. Both of them had glossy black-and-white fur a little shorter and sleeker than Muckle’s. One had perfect tuxedo markings, with a white blaze down her face and four white paws. The other had funkier markings, with a mostly white head and one f loppy black ear.

  “Thanks.” Adam smiled. “They’re my babies. I’ve raise
d all three of them from puppies—Shasta and Lark come from solid working lines with plenty of instinct. . . .”

  He kept talking about the dogs’ breeding for the rest of the walk to the agility area. I didn’t pay much attention to the details, mostly just enjoying the feeling of letting that musical accent wash over me.

  When we reached the pen, both of the dog owners from earlier were gone. Instead a stout older man was guiding a lively boxer over some jumps. “Hi,” Adam called to the man as he let himself and his dogs in, holding the gate for me and Muckle. “Mind if we join you?”

  “Go ahead,” the man called back. “We’re just about finished.”

  “Thanks.” Adam whistled, and all three of his dogs snapped around to gaze at him alertly. Even Muckle stared at Adam with interest.

  “What does the whistle mean?” I asked.

  “It’s just a signal to pay attention,” he said. “They know when they hear it, they’re supposed to look to me for further instructions.”

  “Cool.” I stood back and watched Adam put his dogs through their paces. They demonstrated each piece of equipment, and in between commands Adam explained what they were doing. I barely noticed when the older man left the ring, except that Muckle stopped pulling on the leash trying to go over to say hi to the boxer.

  At the end of the demonstration, Adam called two of the dogs to him and commanded them to jump up on the large, flat wooden table at one end of the course. He’d already told me it was called a “pause table,” though the first time he’d said it, I’d thought he was saying “paws table,” which had made him laugh.

  “Down,” he told the dogs, making a gesture with his hand. I recognized it—it was the same hand signal he’d started teaching us to use with our own puppies.

  The tuxedo-marked border collie, whose named I’d deduced was Lark, instantly sank into a down position. The terrier, whose name was Jinx, sank slowly into a sit first, eyes trained on Adam. After spending time with Ozzy, I was starting to recognize that terriers’ minds seemed to work a little differently from those of other dogs. I could almost see Jinx wondering if he really had to lie down.