“Say bye-bye to the nice boys now,” Denise said. She made Dunlop wave his paw, and the three of them disappeared out the doorway and out of sight. I turned to Steve.
“What interviews?” I asked.
“I didn’t mention that?”
“No. You did not mention that. And what kind of questions would you need to ask a person who’s offering to volunteer at an animal shelter? ‘Do you know who Lassie is?’ ‘Have you ever watched 101 Dalmatians?’”
“I didn’t know Sharon volunteered here,” Steve said in a faraway voice. It was like he hadn’t heard a word I’d just said.
A few minutes later we were passing the completed forms over and being ushered into the office.
“I’m Gabriel Dawson — everyone calls me Gabby,” the woman we’d met earlier said, shaking hands first with Steve and then with me. She pointed us into chairs. “Now, tell me why you want to volunteer at the shelter.”
“We like animals,” said Steve.
“Right,” I agreed.
“And what do you know about our work here?”
“You take care of cats and dogs and other pets that have no homes — until they get adopted,” Steve said. “My mom got our dog Slipper here. Only, his name wasn’t Slipper then.”
She asked a few questions about that, and then wanted to know if we had any experience in caring for animals. I let Steve do most of the talking.
The interview lasted about fifteen minutes, and it must have gone well because at the end of it Gabby told us they’d be happy to have us help. She said there was always lots of work to do at the shelter and made it sound as if that was something for us to get excited about. Then she told us we could start anytime we liked.
“How about now?” Steve asked.
“Perfect,” Gabby said. But before we could mention the kitten room, she grabbed a couple of leashes and led us outside to the kennels.
“The dogs love a chance to go for a walk,” she said as she hooked up the collars of the two biggest dogs.
“This is Dutch,” she told Steve as she passed him one leash. And then, giving me the other, “And this is Pepper.”
Dutch and Pepper were jumping, barking and trembling with excitement during the introductions. After that, they launched into an impromptu crotch-sniffing contest which I’m pretty sure Pepper won.
The next thing we knew, we were nearly jerked off our feet while Dutch and Pepper raced down the road with us in tow. I barely managed to stay upright and Steve didn’t seem to be doing much better as this maniacal pair of canines tore along, dragging us behind them.
They ran in and out of private yards while we called out commands for them to stop, slow down, heel and anything else we could think of. I believe it’s safe to say they finished at the bottom of the class in obedience school.
It wasn’t until they’d rushed about whizzing on every bush and power pole within a couple of blocks that they slowed enough for us to catch our breath and work our shoulders back into their sockets.
Back at the shelter at last, we were told how excited the other dogs were. Apparently, any time one or two of them get taken out, the rest think they’re going to have turns too.
“I know you won’t want to disappoint them,” Gabby said.
That’s exactly what I wanted to do and I was about to say so when Sharon and Denise came outside. The second he saw the girls, Steve announced loudly that we’d be more than happy to take every dog in the country for a walk if that’s what was needed.
By the time we finished our volunteering for the day, my legs had turned to rubber and there were more nose-prints on my crotch than I wanted to think about.
We hadn’t even seen the kitten room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Going back to school on Monday was like walking into an alternate reality.
As far as I could tell, every last student had seen the picture of Tamrah leaning toward me, lips puckered and eyes closed dreamily, in sharp contrast to mine, which were bugged out in apparent shock and terror.
I heard the word “genius” constantly. Unlike any other occasion that word had crossed my path, this time it was in reference to me — Derek Cowell. The thought that I hadn’t been posing — that I had, in fact, actually been shocked and terrified — didn’t seem to occur to anyone. Instead, the new picture cemented my standing as a guy with unusual comedic ability and timing.
The admiration was the upside. Unfortunately, there was a downside too. The other thing was the crazy amount of interest in the sought-after kiss.
As the days passed, I couldn’t go anywhere without hearing kissing sounds. A few girls made clumsy attempts to trick me into the desired shot, but I easily drove them off with spirited bouts of coughing and sneezing.
This all probably sounds amusing. It wasn’t. The first two days didn’t bother me much, but when there was no sign of things easing up by day three, it was seriously starting to gross me out. Plus my throat was getting sore from all the fake coughing.
Who wants to be eyeballed like a prize cupcake?
It didn’t end there either. There were plenty of snickers and whispers too, not to mention actual, out loud comments. Some of the things I heard were creepy, even disturbing.
It was almost enough to make me wish I could go back to being Derek the invisible.
Steve was not helpful. Actually, I have to say that he was the opposite of helpful. He made no effort to hide how hilarious he found my predicament, and couldn’t seem to grasp how awkward it made me feel.
Instead, he continuously urged me to take advantage of what was probably (according to him) going to be my only chance to kiss a girl in the foreseeable future.
Obviously, there was no way I could get him to understand that I had zero — maybe less than zero — interest in kissing anyone, no matter how attractive she was, no matter how willing she seemed, when her motivation had nothing to do with liking me.
“You aren’t being very supportive,” I grumbled at one point.
For a second, Steve stared at me like I’d spoken in code and he was trying to decipher it. Then he howled with laughter.
So, yeah, Steve totally failed in that department.
By Friday I was fed up with the whole thing. That was the day Janine Labelle, one of the girls who’d made a failed attempt to lure me into a kiss earlier in the week, decided to get revenge. She and a couple of her friends were waiting at my locker when I got to school that morning. The way they started giggling the second they saw me told me something was up, but it wasn’t until I got closer that I found out what.
I stopped dead in my tracks. For a couple of seconds, I just stood there staring at Janine’s shirt. (Not that way — I’m not a jerk.) Staring right back was a close-up of me, obviously taken on the sly. It was not a flattering picture.
The blown-up shot of my mug was bad enough, but the caption was worse.
It said: GERM FACTORY
Of course, the school has a dress code. Janine would never have been allowed to walk around openly wearing something like that. But she came prepared. Anytime a teacher was within sight, she zipped up the hoodie she’d been smart enough to wear over top of the T-shirt.
Everyone thought it was a hoot. Well, almost everyone.
It was a long day, but it finally ended.
I was out the door and on my way home seconds after the last bell. Steve and I usually walk together so I knew he’d be wondering why I’d ducked him, but I didn’t care. I was in desperate need of a few minutes alone to clear my head.
Then I heard my name being called and realized someone was running behind me. When I turned, I saw it was Denise.
“Wait up!” she called.
My first instinct was to take off, but she looked so determined I was pretty sure she’d catch me. That made me wonder what she wanted, which led to the ever-present worry
about the stupid kiss challenge.
By the time she reached me I had my hand firmly clapped over my mouth, as a kind of signal that I had no intentions of kissing her. To be extra safe, I took a backward step.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
“What’s wrong with you?” I demanded.
“What? Move your hand — I can’t make out what you’re saying.”
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” I scoffed. In a muffled kind of way.
She frowned for a couple of seconds, shrugged and said, “I don’t know what your problem is, but anyway, I have an idea.”
I listened as she explained. By the time she was halfway through, I’d dropped my hand to my side. There was a kiss involved all right, but it wasn’t with her.
“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “It might work.”
“Of course it will work,” Denise insisted. Clearly, she thought it was a good idea and saw no reason to give me time to think it over.
Not that it was a bad idea. What I’d grasped of it as she’d raced through the details sounded okay. I just don’t like to rush into anything.
If Denise registered my hesitation, she didn’t let on.
“Okay, so let’s go.”
“What? Now?”
She didn’t even bother answering that, unless you count an impatient wave for me to get moving.
Five minutes later we were at the shelter and Gabby was ushering us into the visitor room where Steve and I had filled out our applications. A few things had been rearranged to create a background for picture taking.
“I’ll go get Skylah,” Gabby said, hurrying into the hallway.
“It looks like you had this all set up before you asked me,” I said pointedly.
Denise smiled and said, “I knew you’d want to help.” I noticed she didn’t meet my eyes.
Gabby was back in no time. She had a black and white cat in her arms.
“Skylah is shy, so she may be a bit resistant to a stranger holding her,” she told me.
“Aren’t there any friendly cats?” I asked.
“Sure there are, but this one has been here longer than most,” Denise explained. “So she’s the best choice.”
“How long has she been here?” I asked.
“About a year.”
“A year!” I echoed. I’d assumed the animals at the shelter all got homes within a month or two.
“We’re a no kill shelter,” Gabby told me. “We house them as long as it takes. That means there are always a lot of cats, and the ones who are shy or fearful sometimes wait a long time for a home.”
A second later Denise had her phone out, ready to start snapping pictures. “Okay, go!” she said and Gabby passed Skylah over to me.
Just as Gabby had predicted, the cat was not thrilled to find herself being held by someone she didn’t know. She made a low, growling sound in her throat while I did my best to calm her, talking in a soft, friendly voice, which Denise had promised would help. It didn’t seem to. As I moved closer to Skylah her front paws came up in an aggressively defensive pose. She hissed and leaned backward away from me.
“I think she likes you,” Denise said drily.
By the time the photo shoot was over, the cat had bent herself into some pretty creative shapes trying to avoid me. For the most part, she was successful, but with some effort I got close enough for the picture Denise was after. My reward for this was a scratch on the chin and a fair amount of what I figured was cat cussing.
I was only too happy to pass the creature back to Gabby, who managed to keep a straight face and ask me if she should get out adoption papers.
“I think I’ll wait until the bleeding stops,” I told her, while Denise dabbed at my chin with a tissue.
Gabby insisted on spraying it with some kind of cat germ killer which she squirted at my wound like a madwoman.
“This might sting a bit,” she said.
It didn’t. It stung a lot.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As soon as I got home I made a beeline for the bathroom. In spite of (or maybe because of) Gabby’s spray, the cat scratch was red and angry. I rubbed some white ointment from the medicine cabinet on it until it was hardly noticeable.
When I went back downstairs Dad was just pulling into the driveway. He tapped the horn before he got out of the car, which is a signal for one of us to go help him bring stuff in. It’s usually me because, for some odd reason, the girls never hear the horn.
“Mom’s working a bit late so I’ll be the chef tonight,” he said, passing me a couple of bags to carry.
Considering some of the meals my dad has produced, I’m not sure he actually knows what a chef is. But, my philosophy is, if there’s going to be food, I’m good.
“Cool,” I said. “What are you making?”
“Thought I’d light the old barbeque and throw on some burgers and a few of those fat, spicy sausages.”
Dad doesn’t like to say “Italian” sausages. He thinks it sounds like an ethnic slur.
“Want some help getting stuff ready?” I offered. Anything to get the food on the table quicker. So, I ended up forming ground beef into patties, slicing tomatoes and dill pickles and setting out the ketchup and other condiments while Dad lit the barbeque and got ready to start grilling.
I like my dad.
That might sound like a weird comment to make out of the blue, but it’s true and I felt like saying it. He’s a good guy.
“Dad made barbeque,” I told Mom when she got home. She smiled and sniffed the air with the happy face of someone who doesn’t care what’s for dinner as long as she doesn’t have to make it.
“Should I set an extra place?” Paige asked. “Is Kim’s friend staying?”
That was something I’d been wondering too. Or, actually, I’d been wondering which friend was over. I’d heard voices in her room and was hoping it might be Steffie, but short of going up there and pressing my ear against her door, there was no way to find out. (I might even have done that if I’d been sure I wouldn’t get caught, but that is not the way my luck tends to lean.)
Mom sent Paige up to find out and a few minutes later when she came back, Kim was behind her. My mood took a nose-dive when I saw that the person with her was Riley.
Mom asked her if she wanted to stay for dinner.
“Um, maybe,” Riley said slowly, like she needed to think about whether or not she could do Mom this favor. “What are you having?”
When she heard it was burgers and Italian sausages, Riley’s lip curled in disgust. “Is there a gluten-free, vegan option?” she asked.
“Riley doesn’t eat animal products. Or gluten,” Kim added, as if we needed that explained.
“In case you’re wondering, the sausages aren’t actually made of Italians,” I said helpfully.
“Ignore him, Riley,” Kim said. “As you’ve probably noticed, he’s a moron.”
Dad chose that exact moment to come through the patio door with his meat-laden tray. “Another delicious dinner by Chef Dad,” he announced. Then, spying Riley, he added. “Oh, a guest. Hello there.”
Riley gave him a stiff nod and averted her eyes from the sizzling burgers and sausages he was transferring to a platter on the table.
“Thanks for inviting me, but I think I’d better go home,” she said, fading toward the doorway like a vampire avoiding the light.
Supper was amazing. Chef quality, even. The only thing that kept me from enjoying it one hundred percent was the thing I heard Anna mutter under her breath as Riley went out the door.
“Well, it’s not her, that’s for sure.”
Which told me I’d been right. She had suspected the truth about the stairway photobomb. It was only a matter of time before she figured out which girl had been the cause of my sappy-stunned look that day.
C
HAPTER THIRTEEN
I’m not exactly sure why, but I didn’t tell Steve about the picture Denise took of me and Skylah. Which meant he found out the same time everyone else did, less than twenty-four hours later, when photo number four made its way to the Strandz site.
He was not pleased when he showed up at my place the next afternoon. Even his knock sounded angry.
“Hi,” I said, letting him in. He threw me a quick glare, but didn’t answer and I watched as he stomped past me and straight up the stairs to my room. That was my second hint there was a problem.
I trudged along behind him dragging my feet and feeling a bit like a prisoner on his way to the gallows. Steve had turned to face me by the time I entered the room. His fists were white balls at his side and although I knew he’d never hit me — not seriously anyway — I kept my distance just to be sure.
“You want to tell me what you think you’re doing?”
I tried to look puzzled when I said, “You mean about the picture?”
“Yeah, Derek, I mean about the picture.”
“It was Denise’s idea,” I said.
“She overpowered you, did she? Twisted your arm?” Steve said, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He whipped out his phone and slid his thumb over the surface. A tap or two later and he’d brought up the offending image. I’d seen it earlier, but I stepped closer and leaned in for another look. The sight almost made me smile, but I managed to hold it back. Barely.
“Challenge met,” Steve said, reading the caption below the picture.
The grin got loose and I put my hand over my mouth like I was in a state of serious concentration.
Steve scowled and scrolled down to the brief write-up underneath the photo, which he read out loud.
“Sorry, girls — Derek’s first kiss has been claimed by Skylah the cat. She’s being smooched by the local photo star here at the animal shelter where she’s been living for more than a year. Although Skylah has won Derek’s heart, she’s still waiting for her forever home.”
The Rise and Fall of Derek Cowell Page 5