by Seven Steps
“This is our new dog.”
“New dog?” I didn’t know that anger and confusion could co-exist, but Daddy’s face showed both emotions perfectly. “Why do we have a new dog?”
“I, uh, found him. When I was walking home.”
“So, you brought him here? Why didn’t you call the cops?”
“I couldn’t call the cops,” I said as if it were the silliest thing in the world. The dog stilled, its eyes still on Daddy. I used the opportunity to make a fur mohawk with the soap.
“And why not?”
“They would have called animal control, and then animal control would have put him down. You like dogs, don’t you, Daddy?”
“Not dogs that crap right in front of doorways. I nearly stepped right in it!”
I grimaced. Even the dog sat down in the tub and lowered his head as if it knew what he’d done.
“I meant to clean that up.”
“I’ll bet.”
I paused, worrying my lower lip.
“So, I was thinking that we could give him a cool name, like Rex or Tiger or Python.”
Daddy held up both of his hands as he often did when he thought I was being crazy.
“We are not keeping the dog. Now, get him out of that tub while I call animal control.”
“You can’t. They’ll put him down if you do.”
“That’s not our problem.”
“You’re going to have this poor animal killed because he pooped a little in the living room. Is that the kind of person you are?”
“I’m sure they’ll find him a good home.” He leaned against the white, tiled bathroom wall, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and fumbled with the buttons. The light over the sink flickered a bit. Someone must’ve been vacuuming next door.
“No one is getting put down,” Daddy said, wiping at the sweat that pooled on his forehead. The bathroom steamed from the blackening bathwater.
“You don’t know that.”
“Sure I do, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. He only called me sweetheart when he was losing his patience with me. I had to act fast before he became completely unreasonable.
“Daddy, please. I’ll take care of it. I’ll walk it and I’ll feed it.”
“Feed it?” He pushed off the wall, and looked in to the kitchen where I had carelessly dropped all of bags. Oops. “You already bought supplies for this dog?”
My hands shook and I shoved the wet, slippery things in my pockets.
“I got a few things.”
His hairline reddened. It wouldn’t be long before his temper exploded. Daddy was a bit of a tightwad when it came to money. Sure, we were strapped but to hear him talk, we were one happy meal away from living on the sidewalk.
“You used the emergency credit card, didn’t you?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “How much, Bella?”
Well, the jig was up. If I didn’t tell him, he’d go online and find out himself. Best to just rip the band-aid off.
“Two hundred and seventeen dollars and fifty-eight cents.”
His eyes widened, as if he’d just seen a ghost. I smiled nervously.
The red in his hairline spread to his face. “You did what?”
“It was for a good cause. The dog was dying!”
“You are going to take back everything you purchased. Every scrap of it.”
“Daddy, you’re being ridiculous.” I stood up straight, and squared my shoulders. This dog would have died had it not been for me. I did something good. I helped this dog and I would not be made to feel guilty because of it. My reasons were solid. I knew it. I just had to make Daddy see that.
“I’m keeping him.”
“You most certainly are not. You can’t save every dog, cat, and roach in the city. We don’t have the room nor the money, and I definitely don’t have the patience.”
“When have you ever helped anything in your entire life? All you do is work and come home. When do you think about anything else?”
“I think about putting food on this table. I think about paying the rent. I think about your education. Your future.”
“Mom would have let me.”
His hand stilled, his fingers still on the keys of the phone.
I placed my hands behind my back and studied the blue and white tiles on the floor. The blue shower curtain. The soaked blue rug by the tub. Anything to keep from looking at my father’s distraught face.
Invoking Mom was a sore spot, but this was an emergency. The dog was on the street. If I didn’t save him, chances were that he would have died. I had to do something. Any decent person would have.
“You cannot mention your mother’s name every time you want something,” he said.
But I could already tell that the fight had gone out of him. His voice roughened, his back bent a bit. My father grieved my mother like the sun grieves the flowers in winter. Completely. Totally. Just the mention of her could send him spiraling in to a sink hole of depression for days. I tried not to speak her name often.
“I’m just stating a fact. Mom would have let me keep the dog.”
“Well, your mother isn’t here.” He paused, and I noticed the small tremor that ran through his voice. He swallowed.
I hated myself for hurting Daddy, but I had to do something. I couldn’t let the dog go back out on to the streets. I wouldn’t.
I stepped forward, and put one wet hand on Daddy’s bare arm. He wore work boots, black jeans and a black t-shirt. His standard work uniform.
“It’s just one dog,” I said quietly. “Not an army of rats or a giant rabbit.”
“We can’t have a dog.” His voice was softer, yet it still held on to some of its fatherly power. “You’re at school all day. I’m at work all day.” He turned away from me and put his hands on his hips. “And look at what he’s doing to the living room!”
The dog had found its way out of the tub, and was now trailing soap and water all over the house.
So much for being inconspicuous.
“Bella, I’m not doing this. I am not living in an animal house again. I’m not.”
I stepped in front of him, narrowed my eyes in righteous accusation.
“You say it like it was a bad thing. Mom loved animals. She always did.”
“I know that. But we cannot shelter this animal.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, we don’t know anything about him.”
“Yet.”
“For another, he had no paperwork. He could have rabies or fleas or bubonic plague.”
“We could take him to get shots.”
“Bella-”
“Daddy, it’s just one dog. Just one.”
He walked out of the bathroom and put his hands on the breakfast bar. His gray-streaked brown hair fell forward. Daddy was only forty-one, but when he was in a good mood, he looked way younger, with his thick hair, bright brown eyes and smooth skin. He was normally clean shaven, though lately, he’d been sporting a beard.
His resolve was weakening. I saw it in the way his shoulders drooped.
I moved in for the kill.
“Think of what a pet would mean for me. It could teach me responsibility. I’d walk him every day and feed him and change his water bowl.”
“I don’t want a pet,” Daddy said wearily.
“He’ll be my pet. You won’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of him.”
He sighed, and ran his hand through his thick hair, pushing it out of his eyes.
“The second I step on another pile of crap, he’s gone.”
My insides exploded in happiness and I clapped my hands, drawing a small grin from Daddy.
“What’s his name?”
“I thought that we could name him together. After all, he is part of the family now.”
Daddy and I looked up. The dog had lifted a leg and was peeing on the side of the couch.
“How about Whizz?” he asked.
“I was thinking more like Mojo.”
; Daddy frowned at me. Mojo had been the name of Mom’s horse. A gift from Daddy on their wedding day. Mom loved that horse. I was hoping that this small, scared creature could be a gift, too.
“Mojo, huh?”
I nodded.
Daddy let out a huff and stood up straight. He walked in to the living room, picked Mojo up and put him back in the tub.
“You’re on excretion duty,” he called. “I want all of it cleaned up by the time I get out of here. And set up his food and water bowls and his crate.”
I did a little dance and picked up the paper towels. Yes, Mojo’s pee smelled like asparagus, but the point was that he was staying. Our little family just got a bit larger, and it was all because of one destructive, scared little dog.
I couldn’t be happier.
3
I started out my day by taking Mojo on a long walk around Briar Park. Or rather, bribing him. The pup had apparently decided that, instead of walking, it would be more entertaining to sit on its little rump and blink up at me with uninterested eyes.
I did not find it entertaining in the least.
I tried gently tugging on the leash, but that only succeeded in moving Mojo an inch. He blinked again and looked away, a doggy eye roll.
He’s just a scared puppy, I told myself. He’ll come around.
Tamping down my frustration at my unmoving dog, I switched tactics. Dropping the leash, I crouched down to Mojo’s level and smiled.
“What’s wrong, Mojo?” I asked, my voice honey sweet and imploring. I scratched him behind the ears. “Don’t you want to go for a walk? It’s a beautiful day.”
At this point, most dogs would wag their tails and jump up and down. Maybe let out an excited woof or two. But not Mojo. My little brown pup proceeded to turn his entire body around so that his back was facing me and sat on his butt again. To add insult to injury, he let out a deep whine, as if I were frustrating him.
Me. The girl who brought him in to my home, cleaned up his runny dog poop and now was trying to walk him. I was frustrating him.
If anyone should have been frustrated, it was me. I sat back on my haunches and snorted. Where did this dog get so much attitude?
Shaking my head, I checked the time on my phone. The train would come in a little over an hour, and I still had to get dressed. But I couldn’t leave without walking Mojo. So, I did the only thing I could do. I picked Mojo up and carried him around the neighborhood, hoping against hope that he would let me know when he found a suitable tree.
It was a typical lower middle-class neighborhood, with long blocks of uneven sidewalks, tall trees and gated single-family houses. Every other yard seemed to have an angry pit bull or giant mixed breed. The miserable things jumped at the gate the second they saw Mojo. Any other dog would cower, but not Mojo. He barked and growled right back at them.
For a little dog, he did have spirit.
Mojo sat in my arms for three, chilly blocks. When he started to squirm, I put him down, let him do his business, picked up said business plus the dog and continued our walk. By the time we got back to my apartment, my arm was sweating and sore from holding him.
And what thanks did I get? What appreciation did I get from this dog whose poop I held? Who I just taxied around the neighborhood like he was some furry prince?
None. Nothing. Nada.
Mojo walked in to the apartment, had a bite to eat, went to sit on his doggy bed, turned toward the wall and fell asleep.
And just like that, my own dog, the one I’d had for less than twenty-four hours, dismissed me.
Great. Just what I needed. Someone else to ignore my entire existence.
I showered and walked back in to my bedroom to check my phone.
Jasmine had kindly texted me a picture of how she expected my hair to look, as well as suggestions for clothes. Cute tops, fitted jeans, little dresses.
Had she texted the wrong friend? I owned none of these items. I had some clothes, but it was all things an invisible would wear. Jeans that fit me in all the wrong places, tops that all seemed to have a hole in them, oversized sweaters.
I’d never really thought about my wardrobe before, but now, knowing that others would notice it, it looked drab and gross.
A vision of myself setting it all on fire rose sharply in my mind. I smiled. That would be nice. Then, Daddy would have to give me money for new clothes. Minus the two hundred bucks I spent on dog stuff, of course.
It wasn’t just the clothes that were drab, though. My room was bare except for a picture of The Avengers by my bed. There was no color, no personal touch. Just my twin bed, a desk with my laptop on it, my book shelf—and the stack of books next to it—and an end table with a lamp. The walls were beige. The carpets were beige. Even my sheets were an ugly brown color.
What happened to us?
When Mom was alive, everything was colorful. The living room walls were painted in bright pastels, the floors accented with colorful rugs. We even had red pots and pans. Then she died and everything turned kind of gray. There was no more color. No more life. Just Daddy and me trying to make it through each day without falling apart. Eventually, we sold our house and moved in with Daddy’s parents on their farm and after that, we came up here to this apartment that was smaller than my grandparents’ bedroom. We’d been here over two years and yet, there were unpacked boxes in the living room. No pictures had been hung. There were no colorful rugs, except for the blue one in the bathroom. The apartment was unloved. Barren. It wasn’t home. Just a place to sleep and eat and enjoy a laugh or two. Nothing felt like home since Mom died.
I felt the familiar lump in my throat and swallowed it down. I couldn’t break down this morning. I had to find something decent to wear and add some order to my hair before I missed my train. Today was a big day for me. Yesterday, Jake had just glanced at me. Today, he would look just a little bit longer.
I put on the radio. The chorus to “Style” by Taylor Swift blasted out of the speakers.
I took it as a sign, and straightened my hair.
4
By the time I got to school, I was already exhausted.
I don’t know how girls wake up and glamorize themselves every day. Doing hair, picking out clothes, painting nails, putting on makeup. The entire process was like running a 5K in your bedroom. But, it was worth it. Jasmine and Ariel gave me oohs and aahs of approval as we stood by my locker. I couldn’t remember them ever doing that before. I stuffed my army green jacket inside my locker, along with a few books, and soaked in the attention.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with straight hair before,” Jasmine said, gently touching my strands. “You look amazing!”
“Thanks!”
“You should bump in to Jake more often. You look stunning!”
I glowed under the light of her compliments. This new look took forever, and I might have given myself a few bald spots. Plus, the roots were already starting to puff back up from the humid air on the train. It was barely fifty degrees out and the subway felt like triple that temperature. Still, it was a nice surprise to see that my hair reached below my boobs. I’d worn it in braids or pony tails for so long that I’d forgotten how long it was.
I’d picked out a faded pair of jeans and, to my pleasant surprise, they actually fit me. I matched them with a sleeveless white camisole and a blue sheer pull over that fluttered when I walked. I reluctantly gave up my red sneakers for brown boots. Every piece I wore was from Goodwill, but I wouldn’t tell Jasmine that.
“You totally look like that actress, Zendaya,” Ariel said. “Doesn’t she look like Zendaya?”
“Totally.”
I smiled. Blushed. Compliments weren’t usually thrown my way. I had no idea how to react to them, so I didn’t say anything at all.
“Jake is going to trip over himself when he sees you,” Jasmine said.
Ariel held up her phone.
“I’m going to record it, so I can tag you in it on your first anniversary.”
My sto
mach clenched. An anniversary? Just the thought of it made me so nervous that I had to pee. I’d spoken to boys before, but never a boy like Jake. What would he say? What would he think of me?
I leaned against my locker.
“I’m nervous,” I said, my face squished in a grimace.
Jasmine gave me a reassuring smile.
“You can be nervous, as long as you try. It’s the trying that’s the important part, right?”
She bumped Ariel, who nodded her head vigorously.
“Right.”
The first period bell rang, signaling the start of our school day. In four hours, I would be asking Jake if he needed an English tutor. In four hours, I would speak my first words to him.
My whole body clenched in fear of the unknown.
“Dressing up to get good grades is against school policy.”
I turned to see Cole standing next to my locker. Well, his locker. It was only a few feet away from mine.
He slammed the metal closed and leaned against it, holding a bright yellow textbook in one hand.
His hair was smoothed back beneath a black knit cap today, revealing a widow’s peak that I hadn’t noticed before. He wore a dark t-shirt and one of those black, thick leather bracelets. All the black made his blue eyes stand out. Blue eyes waiting to argue with me, it would seem.
“Did you want something, Cole, or are you just doling out your daily dose of verbal torture?”
He shrugged.
“Just commenting. I’ve never seen you look so much like a girl before.”
My brows pinched. What was that supposed to mean? I know I may have underdressed but my look wasn’t boyish, was it? Drab and unkempt maybe, but not boyish.
“And what was I before?” I demanded.
He shrugged again. “A Michelangelo, I think.”
I drew in a sharp breath.
“Did you just call me a ninja turtle?”
A third shrug. A scratch to the back of his head.
“Drop dead, Cole. And in the meantime, don’t talk to me ever again.”
I whirled around and stormed away.
“So, you admit defeat then?” he called after me. “That’s not like you.”