Both Can Be True

by Jules Machias

  “Oh, she’s not—um, it’s Chewbarka.”

  “Fellow Star Wars fan!” She points at the framed cross-stitch on the wall with a picture of Princess Leia over A woman’s place is leading the resistance. “Which movie’s your favorite?”

  “Um . . .” Daniel glances at me helplessly. Chewbarka sniffs the air, trembling in my arms like she’s afraid of Booper. Mom tries to scratch her head but she ducks away.

  “Oh, she likes to be scratched under the chin instead of on top of her head,” Daniel says. “I mean, don’t take it personally.”

  Mom grins at him. “My hide’s tougher than that, kiddo. Takes more than a snub from a dog to rile me up.”

  I cringe, bracing for her to bring up the porcupine on her “hide” or to mention Rainbow Alliance. I set Chewbarka on the floor. Booper sniffs at her. She scrambles back into my arms, trying to climb me, then turns and snaps at him. I’m so surprised that I drop her. She snaps at Booper again and Booper growls, and then suddenly they lunge at each other and they’re fighting, mouths open, god-awful snarls and barking and teeth flashing and spit flying everywhere—

  “Whoa!” Mom grabs Booper’s collar. “Booper, get back!”

  Booper struggles to reach Chewbarka, who Daniel’s trying to pick up without getting bit. Mom wrangles Booper back to my bedroom while I try to block Chewbarka from chasing them. Daniel keeps saying, “I’m sorry, oh my gosh, I’m sorry!” He manages to scoop Chewbarka up, but then she pops out of his arms like a squeezed bar of soap and tears down the hall. I lunge and catch her leg as she’s snapping at Mom’s ankle while Mom yanks a barking Booper into my room.

  “I’m so sorry,” Daniel says. “I had no idea she was fear-aggressive, I’m so sorry!”

  I stand up with the dog, my heart pounding like mad. Chewbarka is struggling and barking in my arms and I’m pretty sure she’s peeing on me.

  Daniel takes her. “God, I’m so sorry, I really am.” He sounds like he’s about to cry. “I just—I didn’t know, I didn’t know she’d do that—”

  “Dude, it’s okay.” My whole body is shaking. I glance at Mom trying to shut the door to my room without shutting Booper’s nose in it.

  Mom finally gets the door shut and says “O-kay!” She turns to me and Daniel. “So your dog’s not socialized, then.”

  “She’s not really my—” Daniel starts. “I mean she’s sort of—”

  “She’s not his dog,” I say. “He’s just taking care of her for a month while her owner’s out of town. But he can’t keep Chewbarka at his house because—” Wait, I shouldn’t make it sound like he’s doing something he’s not allowed to do. “Because his mom’s allergic.” I bite my lip and mentally beam the crossed-fingers emoji into the universe. “Can we keep her until—”

  “Absolutely not.” Mom has her no-arguments face on. “Dogfights are no joke, even if the dogs are small. You saw how they went after each other like—”

  “But it’s just for—”

  “I said no. Daniel, did you check her over? Make sure she’s okay?”

  Daniel crumples. He kneels and starts pushing Chewbarka’s fur around with shaking hands, trying to see if there’s any damage.

  “We could keep her in my room with the door shut,” I say. “It’s only for a month—”

  “Are you not hearing my words, child? I said no.”

  “You owe me!” I snap. She did not just call me child in front of Daniel. “You wanted to move and you used what happened at Bailey as an excuse to without even asking me! So you owe me!” Ugh, why am I saying this in front of Daniel?

  Mom’s face turns stormy. “Don’t give me that bull. You said you were glad to move!”

  “That doesn’t mean—” Crap, she’s right. “You didn’t ask me about it, you told me. Like it didn’t even cross your mind that I might have an opinion!”

  “I had to get you out of there. That stubborn jerk of a superintendent wasn’t willing to do what it would take to keep you safe—”

  “I know how to take care of myself!” I can’t even look in Daniel’s direction, I’m so angry at her for saying no and mad at myself for losing my temper. “I don’t need you to swoop in and rescue me!”

  “If any of those boys had been carrying a weapon instead of—”

  “Oh my god, stop! Just stop talking!” I steal a glance at Daniel, but there’s no Daniel. I see a flash of Chewbarka’s fur as he pulls our door shut behind him. I glare at Mom. “Great, he just bailed ’cause he thinks I’m a nutcase!”

  Her eye roll makes me even madder. “I’m sure he doesn’t think—”

  “You don’t get it!” I dump her drink down the sink and go after Daniel, slamming the door behind me.

  6

  Impress the Girl

  Daniel

  I don’t know if Chewbarka is shaking harder or I am, but we’re both in bad shape as I carry her down the steps. All I want is to get back to the tent and let out the flood of tears trying to come up my throat.

  A hand touches my shoulder as I reach the building’s door. Ash is holding her mom’s empty glass and looking as miserable as I feel. “I’m really sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to fight with my mom in front of you.”

  “It’s fine.” Talking makes the tears think it’s go time. I turn and push through the door so Ash won’t see my watering eyes. Chewbarka shivers and I hug her. The adrenaline is wearing off and I feel so drained my knees barely work.

  “I still want to help with Chewbarka.” Ash sticks close.

  “You don’t have to. She’s not your problem.” The kids at the playground ahead of us go all swimmy in my vision. I blink fast.

  “She wasn’t yours either, but you’re helping her, even though it’s put you in a mess. Plus Booper’s a good judge of character.” She does a little hop-skip to keep up. “You’re a good person. I want to help.”

  “I’m not. I’m an overemotional mess. Ask anybody.” Anybody would tell her I’m the kid who ran out of the cafeteria crying the second week of school. The dope who cries at every dog food commercial and has bathroom breakdowns on the regular. The dork whose mom has started to rub her forehead every time the tears come up because honestly, Daniel, you’re almost fourteen.

  “Did you even see me up there?” Ashley says. “I’m the definition of overly emotional. I’m hotheaded and I cry when I’m mad and there are songs I love so much I think all my atoms are gonna explode in every direction when I listen to them.” She laughs like she’s embarrassed and holds up the glass. “Like why do I have this? I don’t even remember taking it.” She sets it by the trash can. “But it’s not all bad, right? If you weren’t an emotional, sympathetic person, Tina wouldn’t have been able to leave right away to be with her daughter. So sometimes it’s good to be a moody little cuss. Boom.” She claps her hands, snaps her fingers, and points at me like that settles it.

  The choked-up feeling recedes. “Maybe the only thing helping Tina proves is that I make bad snap judgments.”

  “Boy, you really know how to sell yourself.” She pokes my arm. “Look, how about you show me where the tent is? I’ll tell Mom I’m spending the night at Griffey’s. He lives four buildings over.” She points toward the back of the complex. “Mom’s going out with her BFF, Renu, later anyway. I’ll chill with Chewbarka tonight so you can go home and sleep. Which, whoa, you clearly need to do.” She waves both palms at me like tiredness is written all over me.

  Relief tries to rush back in, but I’m wary now. “You really don’t need to—”

  “I want to. I want you to sleep so you don’t up and die of tired.”

  I trip on a sidewalk crack. Chewbarka thrashes in my arms at my sudden unsteadiness. I put her down and slip the leash over her neck. She sniffs the air and looks up at me like she didn’t just try to kick Booper’s little beagle butt. “What was that, Chewy?” I ask. “He was a good boy. He wasn’t going to hurt you.”

  She sneezes and turns in a circle, then barks so hard her front feet come off th
e ground.

  “Aw, look, Chewbarka has strong emotions like us.” Ash fakes a sneeze, turns in a circle, and barks as she does a little hop.

  I laugh. “You’re even funnier than Co—ohhurgh.” The smile falls off my face.

  “Who’s Co—ohhurgh?”

  “No one. Just this kid I used to be friends with.”

  Ash nods. She leans down to pet Chewbarka like she knows I need a second to get over that stabbing reminder of a dead friendship.

  When she stands back up, I look at her. Like really look at her, full-on, for the first time. I look at her pale skin and hazel eyes and weird edgy haircut with the purple streaks and the faint spray of freckles over her nose. I look at her straight, even eyebrows and her lips starting to curve into a crooked, self-conscious smile. I look at the dimple that pops out in one cheek but not the other. At the blackberry seed stuck in her teeth.

  If it weren’t for my Italian complexion, I’d be blushing right along with her. I thought she was cute before, when I’d only stolen glances at her. But now . . . I almost kind of want to take her picture. She’s more than cute. She’s maybe even . . .

  “What?” she says. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You’re a good person too,” I blurt.

  “Sweet. I knew you’d let me stay with Chewbarka.” She gives my arm a squeeze. “Wait here for like three minutes. I’m gonna run upstairs and throw a bag together. Ninety-nine percent chance my mom’s in the shower, ’cause she always showers after her mocktail. Even though I sort of dumped it down the sink just now.” She pauses like she’s thinking. “I’ll tell her you left and I’m going over to Griffey’s to cool my jets ’cause I’m mad, then I’ll text her later and say I’m staying at Griff’s overnight. Sound good?”

  “Good,” I say like a reflex, only realizing after she’s scooped up the cocktail glass and bounded away that I just agreed to show her the tent. That she’ll be out in the woods all alone getting peed on tonight, and maybe that’s not the greatest way to impress a girl.

  I walk to the bike rack by the playground and unlock my bike. I shouldn’t be pulling Ash into this messed-up situation any more than I already have. Plus it’s going to take forever for us to get to the tent with me pushing my bike and her walking.

  I’m not even halfway done stressing about it when she comes running across the playground with a backpack and a rolled-up sleeping bag. “Wow, that was fast,” I say.

  “Mom was in the shower, as predicted.” She’s out of breath. “Which is good, ’cause I just yelled the plan through the bathroom door and she was like, ‘Fine, but eat something healthy before you go!’” Ash holds up an Atkins bar. “Want some? Kinda chalky, TBH, but these suckers fill you up for like three or four hours. They make you thirsty as heck, though, and sometimes they give you the hot farts.” She blushes and bites her bottom lip like she’s trying to make herself stop talking.

  “I ate a protein bar at home. Part of one.” I clear my throat. “So . . . any chance you have a bike?” If we can bike instead of walk, I might have time to get home before Mom does. Barely.

  She points at a rusty mountain bike chained to the end of the rack. “He’s a real Cadillac, lemme tell ya. Cost hundreds of cents at Goodwill. Name’s Sir Reginald Bevis the Steadfast.”

  A laugh bursts out. “Seriously?”

  “Doesn’t your bike have a name?” She studies my blue road bike. “Looks fast. How ’bout Vlad the Rapid?”

  “I love it.” I grin as I put my backpack on my front and tuck Chewbarka into it. “Your mom lets you stay at a boy’s overnight? My mom would flip if I texted her and said I was spending the night with a girl.”

  “Mom’s a free-range parent about me and Griff.” She unlocks Sir Reginald Bevis.

  “Your mom seems selectively free-range.” I didn’t catch everything they were shouting, but it sounded like something bad happened at Ashley’s old school and that’s why they moved.

  “Yeah.” Her cute face turns stormy. “Sometimes she’s way too up in my business.” She kicks at a chunk of mulch that’s migrated out of the playground. “But she’s also like my best friend. My dad says we got a real love-hate thing going and we oughta stick our heads in a freezer twice a day to help us keep our cool.”

  I smile. “Sounds like he’s where you got your goofiness from.”

  “Please, sir.” She pretends to brush dust off her sleeves. “I am not goofy. I am . . . shoot, what’s the word. Dignified. I am the paragon of dignified.” She giggles. “Whatever a paragon is. My mom said it earlier. Do you know? It sounds like geometry.”

  “I think like . . . the most. The top.”

  “I am the top of dignified.” She tilts her head and sticks her nose in the air. Then she makes a raspberry sound and laughs.

  Hope feels so dangerous. But oh my gosh.

  7

  One Step at a Time

  Ash

  Chewbarka is so small that I’m picturing a one-person tent. But the green-and-white behemoth Daniel leads me to could just about fit a car in it. “It’s like this tiny dog has her own mansion,” I say as he plucks a blanket out of a bush. “Was it hard to set this up by yourself?”

  He shakes leaves off the blanket. “I can’t even tell you what a pain it was. I might’ve said some words that would get me grounded for a year. Mostly while I was breaking off honeysuckle branches to make room.” He unzips the door and a strong pee smell comes out. He gives me a guilty glance. “You really don’t have to do this.”

  I try not to cough on the stinky-stank as I step inside. Most of the smell seems to be coming from a corner at the back. Another corner has a few rolls of paper towels, a plastic tub of dog food with a snap-on lid, and a food-water combo bowl that says Frankie. I unzip a window and a breeze drifts in. “It’s not that bad,” I lie. “I’ll open the windows.”

  “I’ll help.” Daniel sets Chewbarka down and zips the door shut so she can’t run off. We open all six windows while she does that adorable flopping-on-her-back thing dogs do when they’re itchy. I unroll my sleeping bag and Daniel folds the stanky-blanky that must be her bed. “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself all night?” he asks. “I feel bad leaving you here.”

  “Dude, it’s fine.” I hide a grimace. I only say dude when I am a dude, and I’m pretty sure I said it after the dogs fought too.

  “I could check on you,” he offers. “I could set an alarm and come to the tent at three a.m. to make sure you’re okay.”

  “That would defeat the whole purpose of me staying here so you can sleep. Plus it would interrupt me sleeping, which could be hazardous to your health.” Chewbarka puts her front paws on my leg and looks hopefully up at me. I scratch her ears.

  “But . . .” He looks uncomfortable. “You’re . . . well, it just seems weird to leave a girl alone in a tent all night.”

  “I have Chewbarka the ferocious guard dog.” I thought I’d be relieved to know Daniel thinks I’m a girl. But part of me is bothered. “And I have this.” I flick open the Smith & Wesson Special Ops pocketknife Dad gave me when I turned ten. “I’m not a delicate flower or whatever, okay? So calm your tush.”

  Daniel laughs, looking both relieved and tired. “You’re one tough chick, Ash.”

  I fold the knife shut and tuck it back into my jeans, making a face that’s supposed to say Darn right but probably looks more like Don’t call me a chick. “I gotta use the little dog-sitter’s room.” I unzip the tent door. An end-of-summer cicada is trilling in a nearby tree. The loopy shape of its song makes me think of kids playing leapfrog.

  Daniel follows me out of the tent. “There’s a gas station over there.” He points through the honeysuckle. “If you go thirty feet that way, you’ll see the back of it.” He yawns. “Probably easier than peeing in the woods. Mom says that’s a major pain for girls.”

  “Yep. Back in a few.” I set off.

  As soon as I’m out of sight of the tent, I lean on a tree, take a deep breath, and unclench
my fists. I think my fake-confidence thing is working, but it’s definitely fake. I gotta keep telling myself that Daniel’s nothing like Tyler. He’s not. Tyler set off warning bells in my brain from the day he moved to our old apartment complex back in June. Bells I heard even through my raging crush all summer. Bells I should’ve listened to, like I should’ve listened to Mom saying he was bad news. Like I should’ve listened when Booper growled at him. When my friend Camille told me he had warning written all over him.

  But I didn’t. Because he was ridiculously cute, and because I was stupid enough to hope he’d still like me once he learned I’m not always a girl. The night before school started in August, I sent him a link to my Insta, where I try out different looks. I wanted it to come from me. I didn’t want him to find out from the other kids that I’m the flip-flop freak, the kid who can’t pick a gender. That I only had one friend at school, Camille, because once Griffey wasn’t there to defend me anymore, everyone except her acted like I had chronic cooties.

  He wrote back Cool thx right away. Like before he could’ve had a chance to look at the link. And then there was nothing. I spent a while drawing a few measures of his favorite song. I didn’t really like his music taste, but I’d told him about my weird thing where I see sounds and sometimes draw cartoon versions of them, and he said it would be cool to see what that song looked like. I decorated the sketch with music symbols instead of the silly stick figures I started adding to my drawings in sixth grade round one when Mom and Dad were fighting a ton and I needed a distraction. I didn’t want Tyler to think I was making fun of the song. I planned to give him the drawing at the bus stop in the morning.

  Turns out the more you like a guy, the worse it sucks when he turns on you.

  My phone pings with a text. I blink back to the woods and the green and the trilling cicada. Mom wants to know if I ate something healthy.

  A protein bar, I tell her. I will not shrivel away to nothing.