Brave

by Jennifer Li Shotz

  He took a step toward the door, but Brave didn’t budge. Dylan was starting to get stressed—they were getting later by the second. Then he remembered what had happened with the bread the day before. Dylan fumbled with the wrapper on the bar and ripped open the packaging. He broke off a piece, showed it to Brave, then dropped it on the floor at his feet. That did the trick. The dog raced forward, chomped down the breakfast bar, and stared up at Dylan, anxiously waiting for more. Dylan stepped backward through the sliding glass door into the yard, and Brave followed, whining. Dylan put a second piece down on the ground, and the dog came forward to eat it.

  A bird squawked loudly in the tree that towered over their yard, and Brave’s head shot up toward the sound. His ears flicked, his nose twitched, and his whole body tensed up.

  “Over here,” Dylan said, trying to get the dog’s attention again. He crinkled the foil wrapper, and Brave turned back to him.

  Dylan hopped on his bike and pedaled it so slowly, he had to zigzag to stay upright. They made their way out of the yard and down the street like this, with Dylan luring Brave on, bite by bite, until the bar was down to crumbs. Every couple of minutes, Brave would get distracted again—by another bird, a cat in a neighbor’s window, a truck downshifting as it rounded the corner. Even with the food as a bribe, Brave was hard to keep on track. Dylan knew it was going to be a lot of work to train the dog, and he prayed their day on the ranch would go smoothly—aside from the fact that they were already super late.

  “When did you get a dog, dude?”

  Dylan dropped his feet to the ground to stop his bike and spun around at the familiar voice. Jaxon was sitting on his bike in the middle of the street, his arms crossed over his chest and an amused look on his face as he stared down at Brave.

  “Oh, hey, Jax,” Dylan said. “Yeah I sort of got a dog. Yesterday after I left the ninety-nine-cent store. It’s a long story.” A long story that Dylan didn’t have time to explain right then. “This is Brave. He’s really cool—”

  “I didn’t know you were into dogs,” Jaxon said with a shrug. “You ready?”

  Dylan was confused for a second. “Ready for wha—” he started to say, and then he remembered. Water balloons. They were supposed to throw water balloons at cars. He had told Jaxon he’d be there, but that was before Brave. “Oh, man, I’m sorry, Jaxon, but I can’t do it today.”

  “What?” Jaxon asked as if he’d heard Dylan wrong. “No way.”

  “I have to train Brave.”

  “You have to train Brave?” Jaxon said incredulously. “You mean the dog you ‘sort of got’ yesterday afternoon—after you promised me you’d do this with me?” He paused for effect. “Not cool.”

  Dylan swallowed hard. Jaxon was right—he’d said he would be there, and it wasn’t okay for him to go back on his word, was it? But he had also promised Grace he would be at the ranch first thing in the morning, and he was already late. He really needed her help with Brave.

  Dylan froze, not sure what to do. He looked down at Brave, who stared back at him with bright eyes and his mouth hanging open, waiting for another piece of food or some kind of sign that they were going to get moving again.

  “Dude,” Jaxon pressed him. “What’re you waiting for? It’s going to be so cool! You can go train the dog after.”

  Dylan’s head was spinning, and he felt like he was physically being pulled in two directions at once. He didn’t want to throw water balloons at cars—that much he knew. But this was his best friend, and the last thing he wanted was for Jaxon to start giving him a hard time or, worse, telling their friends that Dylan was boring. Plus, he told himself, maybe Jax was right. Maybe he could do both things. He was already late to the ranch after all, so what was the big deal if he was just a little bit later? That way he could go with Jaxon and train Brave with Grace.

  “You’re right. Let’s go.”

  “Good call, Dyl.” With a loud whoop, Jaxon pumped a fist in the air and took off down the street.

  Dylan followed behind, Brave running alongside him.

  They rode to the other side of the neighborhood, and Jaxon stopped his bike on the walkway of a two-lane bridge. Dylan pulled over next to him and leaned over the railing. A wave of dizziness washed over him as he looked straight down at the cars, zipping along the underpass below. He checked the time on his phone—he really needed to hurry this along.

  “You have the balloons?” Dylan asked.

  “Filled and ready.” Jaxon pulled a sealed plastic baggie from his backpack. It was stuffed with taut water balloons so full they looked like they were about to pop. “This is going to be amazing—we are totally going viral! Don’t throw any until I get my camera ready, okay?”

  “Okay.” Dylan exhaled slowly.

  Jaxon opened the bag and held it out. Reluctantly, Dylan took one of the balloons, while Jaxon grabbed two with one hand and grinned like a cat who had a solid lead on a mouse. He put the bag down and got out his phone. Brave watched them both curiously, then, following the sound of traffic below, stuck his head through the railing and looked down.

  “On three?” Jaxon’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.

  Dylan wished he could be as excited about what they were about to do as his friend was, but instead he just felt pressured. Dylan hefted the balloon in his left hand, preparing to toss it over the side of the bridge and forcing himself to look like he was having fun. But he wasn’t.

  It was a feeling he’d never had before. He and Jaxon had been friends for so long that they were as used to each other as brothers—and Dylan couldn’t remember a single time when they didn’t have a blast together. This feeling wasn’t normal, just as what they were about to do wasn’t normal.

  But there he was.

  “One.” Jaxon began counting. “Two.” He pulled his arm back, ready to launch the projectile. Dylan did the same. “Three!”

  Jaxon launched a balloon, but Dylan didn’t. Jaxon held his phone in his other hand and filmed the missile as it arced out over the cars below, then nailed the roof of an SUV with a loud splat. The car slowed for a second, and Dylan saw the driver lean forward and peer up through the windshield at them, just before she passed underneath the bridge. He hated the startled—and not happy—look on her face, but he was relieved that she hadn’t swerved or slammed on the brakes.

  “That was awesome!” Jaxon cried. “What are you waiting for, Dyl? Go! Do it!”

  Dylan swallowed the lump in his throat. He looked down at Brave, who still stood with his head through the railing, watching the cars below. The dog’s body was tensed up, and his tail hung down.

  Here goes nothing, Dylan thought. He watched a minivan approach and did some mental math to time his toss carefully. He wanted to hit the van as close to its back end as possible, or, if he got it just right, maybe he could even manage to miss it entirely. He’d never tried to bungle a shot before—but he’d also never thrown a missile at a moving vehicle before. His arm shaking, Dylan silently counted down.

  He launched the water balloon through the air. It sailed downward in a graceful motion and hit the pavement just behind the minivan, leaving a water stain on the asphalt. Perfect, Dylan thought.

  “Ah, so close!” Jaxon said. He turned the camera on Dylan’s face. “What do you have to say about your aim, young man?” he asked, like a news announcer.

  Dylan swatted the camera away. “Not my best throw,” he said, trying to smile and play along.

  Jaxon took a few turns and got a few angry shouts from drivers. Then it was Dylan’s turn again.

  “Show us what you got—go again!” Jaxon commanded him, stepping back so he could get a wide shot. The camera made Dylan feel even worse—he hated that this was being recorded, and the thought of someone watching the video made him feel sick to his stomach. He took another balloon from the bag and looked over the side of the bridge. Brave looked up at him, his brow furrowed as if to ask what Dylan was about to do.

  Dylan watched a pickup truck. Jaxon swung the
camera around and captured the truck’s approach. “There’s our target,” Jaxon narrated. He turned the lens back on Dylan. “And there’s our hero, preparing to make the perfect shot . . .”

  Dylan eyed the truck and tried to tune out Jaxon’s voice. His arm was cocked and ready, but he waited a second. Then another.

  “Dude!” Jaxon said. “You’re going to miss it! What are you waiting for?”

  Dylan launched the water balloon a split second before he wanted to, and it burst open on the driver’s-side window with a loud popping sound.

  Then it all happened at once. The pickup truck screeched to a sudden stop, its nose pulling hard to the right. Brave flinched at the sound and backed away from the railing, barking like mad, then shot off the bridge and down the street. And Dylan saw the driver of the truck rolling down the window so he could find the source of the object that had just hit his car.

  “Run!” Jaxon screamed. “Go go go go go!”

  Dylan was on his bike in a flash, racing off after Brave. The boys tried to put as much distance between themselves and the truck as possible. Dylan’s heart was pounding hard with fear, and he half expected to see the truck come racing around the corner ahead of them at any second, blocking their path. But no one appeared.

  They seemed to have gotten away with it.

  He caught up to Brave.

  “It’s okay, boy,” Dylan called out to the dog. Brave’s ears flicked toward the sound of his voice, and Dylan rode alongside him. “Come on, Brave. This way.” Dylan turned the corner and was relieved to see that Brave followed him.

  Jaxon hooted loudly as he pedaled hard, pulling ahead of them. Dylan stared at his friend’s back, wondering who this person was now—and how he could seem so happy about what they had just done.

  ★ Chapter 10 ★

  * * *

  * * *

  By the time Dylan got to the ranch it was almost lunchtime. Panting and sweating, Dylan just wanted to get to work with Brave and forget everything else about that morning.

  They pulled through the wrought-iron archway with GARCIA RANCH written across the top, and Brave trotted along. He seemed happy to be back in a familiar place. Dylan pedaled down the dirt road that wove through the property and headed for the corral, looking for Grace.

  As they passed the barn, Dylan peered inside and saw a small forklift carrying a pallet stacked high with wooden fenceposts. The engine whirred as the driver lowered the heavy load, setting it down with a thundering, ear-busting boom.

  Brave lost it. He let out a terrified yelp and crouched down low on all fours, his tail down and his ears back. He howled once more, then suddenly shot off around the side of the building and out of sight.

  “Brave—no!” Dylan shouted. “Ugh—not again!” He knew that they’d gotten lucky the day before, and that probably wasn’t going to happen twice. If he couldn’t stop Brave, then the dog could get trampled for real this time.

  Dylan pedaled after him, but Brave was too fast. As Dylan rounded a corner, Brave far in the lead, Grace suddenly appeared up ahead, blocking the dog’s path. She crouched down and reached out to Brave just as he ran by, wrapping her arms around his chest and stopping him in his tracks. Brave shook in her arms but didn’t try to get away.

  “Grace! Hey! Sorry about that, um, again . . .” Dylan said, riding up to Grace and hopping off his bike. “There was a really loud sound in the barn and he panicked.”

  “That’ll get a dog in trouble on a ranch,” said Grace with a shake of her head. She didn’t make eye contact with Dylan. “Why are you here, though?”

  “I’m late! I’m sorry,” Dylan felt his face go red. “I was just hanging with Jaxon. Do you know him?”

  “Sure,” Grace said. “Everyone knows Jaxon. You really hang out with him? Why?”

  Dylan was surprised by the question. “We’ve been friends since we were little,” he said. “He’s fun.” He noticed the defensiveness in his own voice.

  “Fun. Right. Whatever you say,” Grace said evenly. She released Brave, who had calmed down and was sitting quietly. Grace stood up. “So what can I do for you?”

  Dylan was confused. Had she forgotten? “I came to get Brave trained,” Dylan said shyly. “I mean, if the offer’s still on the table.”

  “It was on the table,” Grace said. “But the table was cleared about two hours ago.”

  She checked the time on her phone, and Dylan’s cheeks went even hotter.

  “If you want my help then you have to follow through and be on time. If you can’t even follow directions, how is Brave supposed to?”

  Dylan was used to getting in trouble when he ignored his chores or forgot his homework, and it wasn’t a feeling he liked. But this wasn’t a messy room or a missed assignment. Now things were serious. If Grace didn’t help him, then Brave would have to go back to the shelter. He could have kicked himself for making the decision to go with Jaxon and throw water balloons. What had he been thinking? Right now, getting Brave trained was more important than anything else.

  He searched for the right words, finally settling on the simplest. “I’m really sorry, Grace. I promise I’ll never be late again. I really want to train Brave—I need to train him. Can you please help me?”

  Brave barked like he knew his fate depended on winning Grace over. She looked down at him and held out a hand for him to sniff. He licked her palm.

  “All right, fine.” Grace sighed. “But two strikes, you’re out around here—that’s the Garcia family way.”

  “Got it. Two strikes.” Dylan gulped.

  “And we have to get you suited up first.” She nodded toward his shorts and sneakers. “You can’t move tree branches in that.”

  Dylan and Brave followed Grace toward the main house.

  “You guys dress like cowboys all the time?” he asked. “Seems like a lot of stuff to put on every day.”

  “Everything we wear has a purpose,” Grace said. “For work. You’ll see once we get out there.”

  They climbed the steps to the back porch of the house, where a pile of gear waited for them.

  “These are called chaps,” Grace said, holding up what looked like a pair of leather pants—if pants only covered the fronts of your legs. “They keep your legs safe around the cattle and the muck.”

  “What’s the muck?” Dylan asked.

  Grace grinned. “You’ll see.”

  She gave Dylan instructions for how to get into each piece of gear, bracing him as he pulled on a pair of her brother’s old cowboy boots, showing him how to tie the belt on the leather chaps, and finally giving him a real cowboy hat to keep the sun out of his eyes. Brave scuttled around him in circles, yipping at him, wanting to get in on the action.

  Once he was fully suited up, Grace stepped back to admire him and gave him a double thumbs-up. But Dylan just felt awkward and clumsy. He took a step toward Grace, and the heavy chaps dropped to the ground around his feet. The belt was too big for him.

  Dylan scrambled to pull up the chaps and cinched the belt as tight as it would go. The cowboy boots hurt. Their soles were rock hard and flat compared to the sneakers he usually wore. And the cowboy hat kept tipping forward into his eyes and blinding him.

  Grace looked him over, inspecting the gear. “They’re a little big on you, but it’s good enough to get you started.”

  Good enough? No way. Dylan felt small and lost in the giant, unfamiliar clothes. He frowned, wishing there was a better way to get Grace’s help, one that didn’t include him feeling ridiculous.

  “Don’t worry,” Grace said. “You’ll get the hang of everything.”

  Dylan took a breath and hiked up his belt. A promise was a promise, and he couldn’t quit on Brave. “Including the chaps?” he asked.

  “Including the chaps.” Grace grinned. “Now we have to get some duds for Brave.” She pulled a piece of rope from her back pocket and tied an adjustable knot into it, then slipped it over Brave’s head. It was a makeshift collar. Dylan realized he should have
thought to buy one for Brave—and a leash, too. That was like Dog 101, wasn’t it?

  Grace held out a small, dog-size leather vest and a bright red bandanna. “He needs protecting too.”

  “How does a bandanna protect a dog?” Dylan asked.

  “It’s bright colored, so it makes him easier to see around here.”

  As Brave squirmed and wiggled, Dylan helped angle his front legs through the armholes in the vest and knotted the bandanna around his neck. The dog seemed about as comfortable with the whole outfit as Dylan was with his. Cowboy gear looked impressive when you saw it in a movie, Dylan thought, but when it was actually on your body, it was a whole different deal. He tried to focus on the goal: Even looking this silly would be worth it when Brave was perfectly trained and could live with him forever.

  He looked down to see Brave nipping at his new vest, shaking his head back and forth violently, and swiping at the scarf with his front leg, trying desperately to get it off his neck.

  “Brave! Take it easy, boy,” Dylan called, but Brave wasn’t listening.

  “You need to show him how to behave,” Grace said.

  For a second, Dylan wasn’t sure what she was saying. How was he supposed to show a dog how to act? Get down on all fours and bark? Then he remembered what Grace had said when they showed up late. If you can’t even follow directions, how is Brave supposed to?

  Dylan understood. He needed to show Brave that even if you weren’t comfortable, you just had to get on with it.

  Brave was yapping and jumping around on his front paws. Dylan tugged on his belt and readjusted his hat.

  “I guess it’s time to get to work,” he told Grace.

  “You bet, cowboy,” Grace said.

  Grace hopped off the porch and headed toward the fields, with Dylan trailing right behind. He looked back over his shoulder at Brave, and sure enough, the moment the dog realized Dylan was leaving, he stopped spinning in circles and rushed to follow along.