My Boyfriends' Dogs (4 page)

Amber was staring wide-eyed over my shoulder. I figured Carly must be doing a number on me at her table.

“This seat taken?”

I looked up, and there he was. Green-eyed, Mystery-Godlike Guy.

I had entered an alternate reality, an alternate universe like I'd promised Amber would be waiting for her at college.

Green-eyes was asking me something. “You're saving it? The seat?”

I stared down at the empty space next to me as if it had magically appeared. Amber kicked me under the table. The guy was still standing, holding his tray.

I swallowed air. “This seat? The one I'm sitting in? It's taken. But this one”—I patted the bench—“is not.”

“Is now,” he said in a low voice as he slipped in and planted his tray next to mine. Our trays touched, and a shiver shot through me.

I took a bite of salad, but it had zero taste. It might have been because I'd forgotten the salad dressing.

He'd gotten salad, too, but he'd piled on breadsticks. “You don't like dressing? ”

“You don't really know me well enough to ask that.”

Amber gasped, then covered it with a cough. We both grinned at her.

“This is Amber,” I said.

He nodded at her. “Do you do any modeling, Amber? Back in L.A., I knew girls who would kill for a look like yours.”

Amber's perfect oval face reddened. She shook her head. Then she grinned and sat up straighter than I'd ever seen her at school, coming to her full height.

I put down my fork and stuck out my hand. “I'm Bailey. Bailey Daley.”

He took my hand, but didn't shake it. He held it. His hand was soft and firm at the same time, his fingers twice as thick as mine. “Bailey Daley. Seriously?”

“Very seriously,” I assured him, trying to keep my hand from sweating in his. “I come from a long line of very serious people who name people very seriously.” I was babbling, but all I could think of was my hand. In his hand.

“You're not making this up?”

“It's Bailey Daley,” Amber the reporter-to-be assured him. “You'd have to meet her mother to understand. Big D—that's what her mom lets us call her because she's tiny—she thought it would be a kick to have a kid named Bailey Daley.”

I nodded, trying not to let on how acutely aware I was of the intense heat of our hands together. “That's my mom. My dad had nothing to do with my name. Or with me.”

“Member of the divorced kid club?” he asked.

“Member in good standing,” I answered. “You?”

He nodded. Something passed between us, but I can't describe it. No matter how normal having divorced parents is—I think we're the majority now—I'm not sure we ever feel totally normal. But then who does, right? He squeezed my hand, shook it, but neither of us let go. “Went Smith.”

“Well, that puts an end to the Bailey Daley jokes,” I said. “How did you get a name like Went? ”

His green eyes stopped dancing and turned a full shade darker. “The day I was born, my father went away and left my mother. That night my grandparents died in a car accident. My mother told the doctor that when I came, everything else went. I guess she could have called me Came, but what kind of a name is that?”

Only then did he let go of my hand. And when he did, I felt like crying. That's how deeply I sensed the loss of it.

I filled lunch with witty chatter. But the truth was I didn't know how to talk to guys—really talk—any more than Amber did. Lunch was winding down, and I realized I hadn't learned much about Went Smith. “I still don't know why you're in Millet. I don't know much at all about you, Mystery Guy.”

“You will. We've got time.”

We've got time.
Had anybody ever said a nicer thing to me? It was all I could do not to shake hands with him again.

“Dad and I—and our dog—moved out here so Dad could work in Larkfield at the prison.”

“Wait. I thought your dad bailed on you when you were born.” I said it before thinking. What was wrong with me? This was too personal.

But he just smiled. “Dad bailed on Mom, but not on me. I did the every-other-weekend thing growing up, but I've been living with Dad since middle school. I guess I got to be a little too much for Mom to handle.”

“Where's your mom now?” Amber actually sounded at ease talking to Went.

“St. Louis. So I'll get to see her more often. We could use a second chance.” He turned to me. “You and your mom get along? ”

“With each other, yeah. With the rest of the world, that depends. Money's always tight in our house. We do okay, I guess. I have
got
to get a job, though.”

“Yeah. My dad wants me to get a job ASAP.”

“Bailey?” Amber frowned. “You're going to try to get a job in Millet? Man, what's left?” She turned conspiratorially to Went. I loved how he'd put my friend at ease without seeming to try. “Bailey can get jobs. Keeping them, that's another matter.”

I shrugged. It was the exact thing I'd been thinking about Mom earlier. Spooky.

Lunch ended, and Went followed us to the dump line. “Don't suppose you have English this hour?” he asked, studying his class schedule. I considered skipping history and going to English again.

“We've got history now,” said Amber the Big Mouth.

“Did you get Weaver?” I moved in beside Went so I could read his schedule. He smelled like a California breeze, a sandy beach, the Pacific at sunset. Somehow I knew this even though I'd never been farther west than Nebraska.

“Do you have Weaver
now
?” Carly's strident voice interrupted us, followed by her strident self. She strutted up on the other side of Went. “
I've
got Weaver now!” Carly made this sound like the most amazing coincidence since lightning had struck the same place twice. She slipped her arm through Went's, and they disappeared into the throngs.

Amber and I trudged in silence to history class, a funeral procession in the middle of a circus. “Well, Went was fun while he lasted,” she said. “Now that Carly's made her play, we'll probably never get a chance to get to know him.”

Know
him,
know
him,
know
him . . .

Amber was right. Even with my New Year's resolution, I'd never get a boyfriend like Went Smith.

In history class a dozen kids fired questions at me before our teacher so rudely interrupted with details, details, details about world wars and treaties. The rest of the afternoon people stopped me in the halls to ask about Went. I could have held court in study hall.

I was walking out of my last class when I was accosted by Meagan Bird, our very own head cheerleader. “Bailey!” She blocked my exit with her extraordinarily large breasts, her perfect bod, and her hair to die for. “Went says he's sixteen, but I think he's kidding me. He looks so much more mature than sixteen. We have math together.”

Went? Kidding Meagan Bird? In math class? Adding, subtracting,
multiplying
together? I didn't even want to think about it, but my mind was shooting images of them teasing, multiplying. Meagan was a sophomore, like us. Only she was seventeen because her parents had held her back in kindergarten. Twice.

“Pretty sure he wouldn't lie about his age to
you,
Meagan,” I said.

“Guess that means he's too young for you, huh?” said Amber My Best Bestfriend.

Meagan acted like she hadn't heard Amber's sage advice. “Went is just so funny!” she squealed.

“In math class?” Amber asked.

“Yes!” she assured us, emphasizing the word with a cheer-leading bounce.

“Well, you know how funny numbers can be,” I admitted. This whole conversation was giving me a stomachache, or chest pains. But I wasn't about to let her see that. I had a feeling she'd set her sights on Went Smith, just like Carly had. “I need to go to my locker, Meagan . . . if you'll move so I can.”

“I smell a Carly-Meagan catfight,” Amber whispered when we were out in the hall. “Unfortunately, I can't stick around for the show. Dentist's appointment.”

“Say hi to Mom. She's covering reception for Dr. Castor.”

“Will do.” Amber strode off, her long legs carrying her as gracefully as if she were on a model's runway.

With Amber gone, I felt more alone than ever. All afternoon I'd expected to run into Went. But I hadn't so much as glimpsed his golden locks. Not even once.

And then I did see him.

I was walking to my locker, and there he was. Not at
my
locker, but at Carly's. His back was to me, but Carly saw me. She waved. Went turned around and waved, too.

I ducked into the girls' bathroom. So much for alternate reality. Carly had her hooks into Went like she always did with guys. The universe was back in order.

Alone in the bathroom, I moved to the mirrors. The slap of my sandals echoed like broken applause. The light buzzed. I'd never noticed that before. I waited until Carly and Went—ugh, I hated saying those names together—had time to leave. Then I dashed from the building like it was on fire.

The second I reached the spot of my morning's fall, there was that little white dog. He barked and jumped and whimpered at my heels. I squatted to pet him, and he pounced on me so hard I almost spilled backward again. “Were you waiting for me?”

He jumped up and licked my nose.

“You think that's going to make me forgive you for this morning?” He licked my chin. It tickled. “Oh, all right. You're forgiven.”

“Are you trying to steal my dog?” Went Smith was standing over me, grinning, showing two dimples.

“
Your
dog?”

“Can't you tell by the way he likes me better than you?” Went asked. His dog was totally ignoring him. “Here, Adam! Here I am.” The dog, still dancing around me, didn't even turn toward Went.

I stood up and gave Adam a little push toward his master, but he bounded back to me. “Don't feel bad. I have this effect on dogs. You can ask anybody.”

He leaned down and stroked his dog. “I don't need to.”

I looked from Went to Adam. A breeze kicked up, making treetops sway and swish. Silver-tipped clouds sped through blue sky. A tiny flock of geese soared in the distance, their honking so faint I might have imagined it. Then everything came together. This green-eyed dog, Adam—this dog that had knocked me off my feet in the morning—belonged to this green-eyed boy, Went—the boy who'd been knocking me off my feet ever since.

And that's when it happened. I think the instant I'd seen Went strolling up the hall of Millet Central, I must have stepped one foot over that invisible line, the line that circles the whole world, the line of no return. And now, meeting Adam, hearing the geese, and gazing into Went's knowing eyes, I lifted my other foot and crossed over that line of my own free will.

I was going to make Went Smith my boyfriend, my first real boyfriend. And there was no going back now.

A new confidence spread through me as I faced Went. “Come with me. I'll give you a free tour of Millet, Missouri.” I took a couple of steps. Adam followed me. Went did not.

“I . . . uh . . . ” He glanced toward the drop-off and pickup lane.

“Is your dad picking you up?”

“Not exactly. Carly offered to give me a lift.”

The old Bailey Daley would have stared at her feet and felt like an idiot. She might have pulled out a funny line or two, but she would have escaped as fast as she could. Not the new Bailey. “Adam doesn't want to ride with Carly.”

Went laughed. “Adam said that?”

Carly's black Mercedes was edging through the mass of cars. The Mercedes was used, but still. It was a Mercedes. She honked the horn. Went squinted over at her.

I took hold of his hand. “Are you coming with Adam and me or not?” I held my breath. I'd crossed the line.
No going back. No going back.

Went broke into a smile. “Let's get out of here.”

We took off running up the sidewalk, away from the parking lot, away from school. Adam barked at my heels. I laughed so hard I could barely see where we were going—through the back lot, across the street, weaving through lawns.

Went was laughing as hard as I was. He didn't let go of my hand, or I didn't let go of his, or both. Adam ran circles around us, nearly tripping me twice.

“Where are you taking my dog and me?” Went shouted as we dashed through an overgrown playground with two broken swings and no kids. We slowed to a jog. Hands on hips, he leaned forward, like he was trying to catch his breath.

Maybe I was in better shape than I thought because I wasn't even breathing hard. Or maybe air was thicker over the line, in the alternate universe. “We're going job hunting. You said you needed one.”

“Actually, I think I said that's what my dad wanted.”

“It'll be fun,” I assured him. “Thrill of the hunt and all that.” I led Went to the only cinema in Millet. “Ta-da! The Millet Movies, where I had my first real job!” Even in sunlight, the old theater looked dark inside and out. The sidewalk out front suffered from jagged cracks.

“They still run movies here?” Went frowned up at the prewar marquee.

“Only on weekends. But we run two movies—count 'em,
two
movies—in different rooms at the same time. Actually, it's more like one big room with a thin wall down the middle. The advantage of this architectural design is that you can see one movie and listen to the other. Two for the price of one.”