Alpha Dog (22 page)

We were standing atop a long, built-in counter that flanked one side of the club’s seating area. Christine and I had climbed up there in order to dance—since the actual dance floor was crowded with lame poser types who just wanted to stand there and nod along to the beat.

I was having fun. Not just the “stand around with a polite smile and force yourself to laugh at people’s lame jokes” type of fun—I mean
fun.

New Bile was two songs into their three-song set and had the last slot in the competition. They were also, without a doubt, the best band there. They were freaking incredible—much better than I remembered them being at the party. But then, I hadn’t been my best that night either.

“This next song is brand-new and goes out to me lovely girlfriend,” Robot said, shielding his eyes from the overhead lights so he could stare out at Christine. “This one’s for you, love.”

“Ohhh. How sweet!” I exclaimed, clasping my hands together over my chest.

Robot had never really struck me as sentimental. I’d figured he was like Chuck in that department: the no-nonsense-type boyfriend who bought flowers only when the occasion required it—if then. But there he was, about to serenade Christine with her very own love song.

He strummed a couple of chords and turned toward the rest of the band. “One . . . two . . .” Lyle tapped his drumsticks together a few times, and then . . .

Wang! Boom! Bow, b-b-bow, bow!

Instead of a slow ballad, the band launched into an up-tempo number with a thrashing beat and jangly power-guitar melody.

Robot half screamed the lyrics into the microphone.

I got my ears pierced with needle and thread,
Got my nose pierced by a bloke named Fred,
But you pierced my heart with the things that you
said,
But I never bled.
Instead,
I knew . . .
That I fancied you . . . ooh . . . ooh.

“Yeah!” Christine shouted, pumping her arm in the air.

Everyone on the dance floor was hopping up and down. It seemed like the entire building was shaking to the beat. Christine and I danced on the ledge and hooted at the breaks. It felt as if all the stress I’d been storing up the past few weeks was rising up out of me.

Near the very end of the song, Kinky quit playing and Lyle’s drumming slowed to half tempo.

Robot gently plucked out the melody and began crooning hoarsely:

Fancy you, Fancy you,
Fancy that it would end up you . . . oooh . . .
I’ll always be true.

And then it was over. The crowd roared with applause and whistles, cameras flashed, and a few girls screeched loudly. I looked over at Christine, who was hunkered over slightly, wiping the corner of her left eye.

“You okay?” I shouted over the still-cheering audience.

“Yeah,” she said, straightening up. “It’s just smoky in here.”

I nodded back, not believing it for a second. His song had moved her, I could tell. And although his lyrics weren’t exactly Shakespeare or Keats, they seemed heartfelt. Even I was a little touched.

“You know, they were the best band by far!” I hollered. “I really think they’re going to w—”

“Don’t say it!” Christine held her hand out in front of me. “You know how Robot feels.”

I looked over at the stage and watched the guys take their bows, Robot keeping his gaze on Christine.
Yeah,
I thought.
I guess I do.

They did win that night. New Bile was treated like conquering heroes. After the official announcement, the guys pulled Christine and me onstage and we danced alongside Robot as they did a raw, semi-acoustic version of “Twist and Shout” for their encore. It was the most amazing time I’d ever had.

To top it all off, Seamus was sleeping peacefully at the foot of my bed when I got back. And I fell into the first blissful, uninterrupted slumber since I’d adopted him.

In a way, I felt like I had won, too.

11

“F
ancy
you, fancy you, fancy that it would end up
yo-o-ou . . . ,”
I sang out as I opened a can of Alpo Hearty Classics with Beef.

Seamus stood beside me, smacking his jowls.

I turned the can upside down and shook it. The contents slid out with a loud squelch and plopped on the plate, retaining their cylindrical shape.

As soon as I picked up the dish and turned toward him, Seamus stood on his hind legs and began dancing about, his nostrils quivering at top speed.

“Seamus, sit!” I commanded.

He sat down, licking his chops and keeping a close eye on the plate.

“Stay,” I said. I waited for a count of five and set the food in front of him. “All right. Go ahead.”

I’d splurged and bought him the special treat after doing so well in doggie class that day. We’d practiced lying down on command, and he’d been practically perfect. In fact, all the students were doing much better. Floyd the corgi was much less skittish. And Barry had been so proud of Natasha, he’d promised her a treat too—although I couldn’t imagine what that would be. A thirteen-ounce can of chopped meat would be like a Tic Tac to a dog that size. Maybe a rack of lamb? A couple dozen sausages?

Unfortunately Yoda the bassett hound and his wireless mommy had quit the class. Barry joked that she was so busy, she’d probably decided to send Yoda off to boarding school instead.

Come to think of it, Barry was also becoming less skittish.

Seamus scarfed down the glob in about three gulps, then proceeded to lick the plate so hard, he pushed it all around the kitchen with his tongue. After a while he stopped and looked over at me. His button eyes twinkled and his cotton-candy pink tongue hung out of his mouth slightly. He was the picture of bliss.

I sat down next to him and began stroking his wiry, unruly fur. “You’re my good boy, aren’t you?” I crooned. “That’s right. Who’s the bestest boy? You are!”

It was probably a good thing Christine and Robot had gone to the movies or I would have irrevocably squandered any cool points I might have earned with them.

Seamus snorted happily and flopped onto his back.

“Yes. That’s right,” I went on as I scratched his swollen belly. “You’re my superstar doggie! My super duper pooper! My—”

My fingers brushed over something hard, making me stop. I retraced my path and found it—something round and solid just above his stomach. At first I thought it might be a burr or blob of mud stuck in his fur, but as I examined it more closely, I saw it was a raised lump of skin.

Cold prickles raced down my spine. I remembered what Matt had said about the lump he found on Jessie. How the vet had tried everything, but she was just too sick. And the heart-wrenching decision he’d had to make . . .

In a burst of speed, I scooped up Seamus, cradled him against me, and ran across the hall to Matt’s door.

“Please be home. Please be home,” I chanted as I pounded on the door over and over.

A few seconds later Matt opened up. “What?” he said irritably. As soon as he saw me, his face fell slack with surprise. “Katie?”

“I was feeding Seamus and then I was petting him and he rolled over and then I found this thing on his stomach and now I’m scared he might be sick!” I babbled. Tears were seeping out of my eyes and my voice was all squealy like a scared puppy.

“Whoa. Slow down,” he said gently. “Why don’t you come inside?”

I stepped into the condo and Matt shut the door behind me. His place was even messier than the last time. Papers and books were strewn all over the coffee table and floor, and I noticed he had a ballpoint pen tucked over his right ear.

“Okay,” he said, laying a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I took a shaky breath and launched into the whole story again. I started out relatively calm, but by the time I said “lump,” my throat constricted and the rest of my words took on a shrill, nails-on-blackboard pitch.

When I had finished, Matt’s big, sleepy eyes were gazing at me with so much sympathy, I could barely look at him. I suddenly realized what I was doing to him by coming here. I was making him relive his worst memory ever.

“Show me the lump,” he said.

I set Seamus on the couch and held him down on his back. His legs were stiff and his eyes were wide and suspicious-looking.

“It’s okay, bud,” I said, keeping my left hand firmly on his chest. With my right hand I slowly stroked his belly until my fingers found the bump. I pushed the fur aside and pointed to the raised nodule. “Right there,” I said, my voice wobbly.

Matt poked it with his index finger a few times and then looked back at me. “Uh . . . I think he’s going to be okay,” he said. His mouth was quivering slightly, and a pale pink tinge was spreading across his cheeks. He seemed to be choking back some strong emotion.

“But how do you know?” I wailed.

“Because . . . because that’s his nipple.” Matt pursed his lips together. A small snort escaped through his nose, and then his whole body just seemed to cave in. His mouth burst open and peals of loud laughter came ringing out, rocking him backward and forward.

“Really?” I plopped onto the couch, half stunned.
His nipple?
I had no idea boy dogs even had nipples.

I felt both immensely relieved and utterly, squeamishly embarrassed. I closed my eyes and ducked my head, wishing I could just retract it, turtlelike, into my blue tunic top.

Matt flopped down beside me, still convulsing with laughter. “I’m sorry. Really,” he would say each time he came up for air, then he would break up all over again. Finally he stopped and let out a long, audible sigh. “Aw, man,” he said, wiping the wetness from his eyes. “That was great.”

“Glad I could help,” I muttered.

At this point Seamus had taken off away from the couch and was peering at us from the far side of the recliner. I couldn’t blame him. First I freak out over his nipple, and then Matt explodes like some crazed clown. If he’d known how, he probably would have dialed 911.

Matt grabbed my shoulder and shook it in a good-buddy sort of way. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have laughed so much. It was just . . . just . . .”

“Funny as hell?” I finished for him, smiling in spite of my humiliation.

“Yeah. That.”

I shook my head. God, I was such a dork. In fact, I was probably beyond simple dorkdom. I was a
Dorkus
maximus.
A
Dorkus rex.
I couldn’t imagine what Matt must think of me.

I thought of our last meeting in the park and a wave of guilt washed over me.

“Um, hey,” I said. “Sorry I was such a monumental bitch the other day. I don’t know why I went off on you like that.”

“
I
do. ‘Cause I was being a total ass.”

“But you were just trying to help.”

“Without being asked.” He shook his head. “I was awful. I’m sorry.”

“Okay, fine. We’re both sorry.”

“Yeah, we’re sorry, all right.” He smiled wryly.

God, he’s cute,
I thought. I stared at him until my cheeks felt warm and liquid, then turned away.

Something on the coffee table caught my eye— something familiar. It took me a moment to realize it was my own face grinning up at me. I slid the picture out from underneath some papers and held it up. It was a clipping from the
Austin Chronicle—
their story on the Battle of the Bands and a photo of me and Christine onstage with New Bile. Robot was “oohing” into the microphone, with sweat dripping down his face, and Kinky was bent furiously over his bass. Behind them you could just make out the top of Lyle’s bald head gleaming under the stage lights. And Christine and I were frozen in mid-dance, both of us sporting wide, openmouthed smiles.

“You saw this?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “I thought it was a good shot.”

Actually, I liked it too. If I didn’t know it was me, I’d think the girl in the photo led a charmed, carefree life. It made me feel . . . hopeful. In fact, I had it up on my wall next to the caricature of Seamus and me.

“You look happy,” Matt said, peering over my shoulder at the photo.

“I was,” I said. “I mean, I am.”

“Good.”

Maybe it was the carefree me in the photo, or maybe I was just a little intoxicated from the heady mix of emotions that had shot through me that day, but for some reason I was feeling incredibly bold—incredibly
alpha.
I could almost hear Mr. Willard’s flugelhorn voice urging me to take the lead.

“What are you doing this weekend?” I blurted out.

Matt looked surprised. “Uh . . . nothing. Why?”

“We’re all going to the lake for the Hill Country Music Fest. You want to come with us?”

“Yeah. That sounds cool.”

“Great.”

We grinned at each other and my heart skipped merrily about in my rib cage.
He’s coming!
I thought.
We have a date!

Was it a date? I wasn’t exactly sure. But the fact was
he was coming
!

Just then, Seamus started whining. He was standing at the door looking back at me dolefully.

“Uh-oh,” I said, rising to my feet. “Time for walkies again.”

I hurried over to Seamus and picked him up. Matt followed and opened the door.

“So,” he said as I walked out. “You want to maybe grab some coffee before we leave for the music fest?”

“Sure!” I replied, a tad too quickly and loudly.

“Cool. I’ll knock on your door around nine, then?”

“Okay. Sounds good. See you!”

“Bye.”

As soon as he shut the door, I hugged Seamus to me and danced like Snoopy all the way down the stairs. It was unbelievable. I was going out with Matt! He asked me to coffee and I asked him to the festival!

And at least one of those
had
to be a date.

You have
14
new messages.

“Huh?”

I hadn’t checked e-mail in forever. I’d been too busy. Besides, seeing how little mail I was getting these days always made me depressed. Now suddenly my in-box was full of postings from friends back home, all sent within the last two days. I clicked on the first one from Ariel.

OMG! Everyone is passing around
the
Chronicle
down here! How
cool that you know New Bile!
What’s the sitch with that? Can
I meet them?

She went on to relay some relatively lame gossip about Debby Ellis and Todd Haskins and then closed with another pitch to meet the band. I noticed she didn’t say a word about Chuck or Trina, which meant things must still be hot and heavy between them.

The next message was from Tracy, saying pretty much the same thing, followed by one from Bethany. She was at least subtler. She apologized for not having written sooner and wanted to know what I was doing for fun in Austin.

Oh, so
that’s
it,
I thought, hitting the Delete button. After almost three weeks of nonexistence, I’m suddenly back in the game because of a newspaper photo? I had no idea New Bile wielded such power.

I scanned the others relatively quickly. There were a few more from Ariel (just some forwarded jokes and a reminder that she’d be out of town the first weekend in August), a couple of invitations to parties this weekend (one even asking if I could get New Bile to play), another “sorry I haven’t written in a while” from Tonya Snodgrass, San Marcos High School’s biggest party girl (who, coincidentally, had never written to me before), and one from Mom giving me Aaron’s cell number and asking for the seven-thousandth time why we hadn’t met up yet.

Weird. I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t flipping all over the room in sheer relief. It was over, mostly. I had my status back. People deemed me worthy of contact once again. And yet, as I fumbled through my feelings, I realized I didn’t care all that much.

Ever since I got Seamus, I’d been too caught up in him to deal with the situation back home. And I had to admit, it hadn’t even crossed my mind the past couple of days. Maybe all the pressures of owning and training a dog had boiled my brain. Or did I not care about all this because I didn’t care about those people anymore?