Brave

by Jennifer Li Shotz

  “Yeah. I think it was fireworks.” Dylan had a feeling this line of questioning wasn’t going to help his cause—or Brave.

  “And he definitely doesn’t like the sound of the vacuum cleaner.”

  “I mean, who does?” Dylan knew it sounded silly the second the words exited his mouth.

  His mom’s face softened. “Honey, I get that you really like this dog, but he’s awfully skittish.”

  Dylan saw an opening. “Right now he is, but you should have seen him on the ranch today—he was great! He really got along well with Grace Garcia’s dog, Mustang, and Grace really knows dogs and she said—”

  “Dylan—”

  “—he’s a good dog but just needs some training and—”

  “Dylan—”

  “It’s just because he’s a stray, that’s all. He needs to get used to the new sounds and people. He just needs a minute—”

  “Dylan!” his mom said loudly. “Stop. That’s all great, but we don’t know for sure that he’s even a stray.”

  “Wait—no.” Dylan shook his head emphatically. “No way. He was living behind the taco place—”

  “Still.” His mom held up both hands to stop him. “What if he has a family who’s looking for him right this second? Wouldn’t it be best for him if we try to find out whether he has a home? Doesn’t he deserve to be with the people he loves and trusts?”

  Dylan looked down at Brave, who sat quietly as if he were listening to their conversation. His soft amber eyes locked on Dylan’s. Dylan held out a hand to the dog, who sniffed his knuckles—then gave them one quick lick.

  What if someone was looking for him?

  “So as soon as we’re done here,” his mom continued, “we’ll take him over to the shelter and see if anyone has been looking for him.”

  “Wait—the shelter?” Dylan gasped. “What? Why— Can’t we just keep him here and put up flyers or something?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “Because whether or not he has a family, Dyl, I think it’s very possible Brave has had some kind of trauma. And that means we don’t really know him, or what kind of dog he is.”

  Dylan flashed back to his first sight of Brave, cowering behind the dumpster. The dog had been terrified, it was true. But he was also quick to follow Dylan home, which meant he was trusting, and he responded to Grace, which meant he was trainable. “Mom—” he started to argue, but she cut him off.

  “We’re taking him to the shelter, Dylan.” She took a breath to calm herself. “Please don’t argue with me. It’s the right thing to do.”

  Dylan’s heart sank. “Is this because he’s not trained?” he asked, grasping at anything. “Because Grace said she’d help me train him—”

  “I mean . . .” His mom gestured at the remains of their couch. “I’m not going to lie. That’s a big part of it.”

  “I’ll train him—you’ll see!”

  “Dylan, enough! You know we can’t keep that dog.”

  “He’s not that dog, Mom. His name is Brave.”

  “Okay, fine, we can’t keep Brave. He’s already destroyed part of the house, and he could have another name and another family who’s looking for him, you know?”

  Dylan wanted to protest, but what could he really say?

  If he had a dog like Brave and they had gotten separated, he’d be heartbroken—and he’d want him to come home too.

  ★ Chapter 7 ★

  * * *

  * * *

  “Nope. No chip.” The woman at the animal shelter dropped the rectangular plastic scanner into her pocket. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t belong to someone. It could just mean that they never microchipped him. A lot of pet owners don’t.” She let out an annoyed snort. “I wish everyone would.”

  “So does that mean we should take him home?” Dylan asked hopefully.

  “Not exactly,” the woman said. “We can keep him here and see if anyone comes looking for him. But . . .” she hesitated. “We’re overloaded with hurricane dogs.”

  “Hurricane dogs?” Dylan wasn’t exactly sure what she meant.

  “Dogs that got separated or lost during the storm,” the woman said matter-of-factly. “It’s always a problem after a whopper like the one we had, but this time was especially bad. So we can only keep him for two weeks.”

  “And then what?” Dylan asked.

  The woman and his mom exchanged a look.

  “Let’s just wait and see,” Dylan’s mom said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Someone could come looking for him by then.”

  “Come on, pal.” The woman reached out to pick up Brave, but he pulled away from her and pressed himself against Dylan’s body. Without thinking, Dylan wrapped his arms around the dog, who shook with fear but didn’t fend him off.

  “Dylan, sweetie . . .” his mom said. “They’ll take good care of him here.”

  “I got him,” the woman said, slipping her arms between Dylan and the dog. Dylan had no choice but to release his hold on Brave and let the woman pick him up.

  Dylan reached out and stroked the top of Brave’s head, aware—and sad—that Brave was really starting to trust him just as they were saying goodbye.

  “Bye, buddy.”

  Brave looked up at him with an expression of such confusion and fear that it nearly broke Dylan’s heart. The woman turned and headed through a swinging door. She pushed it open with her shoulder and paused, turning back to speak to Dylan and his mom.

  “Make sure you leave your number at the front desk, and we’ll call you if anyone comes to claim him.”

  But Dylan barely heard what she was saying. He was too busy staring past her, into a room lined floor to ceiling with kennels. Each one had a metal gate latched tightly shut—and each one contained a dog that looked just as lonely and scared as Brave.

  The place was packed. There had to be dozens of dogs there, in cages just big enough for them to turn around in. It was the saddest thing Dylan had seen in his whole life.

  As soon as the swinging door opened, the dogs broke out in a series of barks so loud and insistent that it was nearly overpowering. Dylan’s hands flew to his ears, but not before he heard the single most desperate howl of all: the one coming from Brave’s throat. The dog was petrified, shaking and frantically scrambling to get out of the shelter worker’s arms.

  Horrified, Dylan turned to his mom. Her face was pale, and her jaw hung open.

  Mom, we can’t leave him here, he mouthed to her.

  She nodded. “I know.”

  * * *

  His mom steered the car out of the parking lot and glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

  “Two weeks—that’s it, Dyl,” she said.

  Dylan sat in the back seat with Brave. “Okay! Thank you!”

  “That means we can foster him for two weeks max, but you’re going to need to take care of him.”

  “I know, Mom. Thank you.”

  “That means you’re going to have pay for his food and any trips to the vet, too.”

  “I know, Mom.” Dylan was so happy that Brave was coming home with them that he would have agreed to anything in that moment.

  “And you need to get him trained. Like, right away, because I will not be losing another piece of furniture.”

  “I will. I told you—Grace is going to help me.”

  “Grace? You mentioned her earlier—you guys have been in school together for a long time, right?”

  “Right. She’s Mr. Garcia’s daughter. She’s really great with animals.”

  His mom raised an eyebrow but kept her eyes on the road. “And she’s just going to help you train him? That’s nice of her.”

  “Well . . .” Dylan trailed off. He hadn’t had a chance to tell his mom yet about the deal he’d made with Grace. “I kind of agreed to give her a hand in exchange. On the ranch.”

  They had stopped at a red light, and his mom twisted around fully in her seat to look at him. “You’re going to work on a ranch?” She grinned at him. “You won’t even
pick up the clothes on your floor.”

  His mom’s words stung, even though Dylan knew it was true. He wasn’t always great at staying on top of his chores and helping out around the house, and he and his mom argued about it—a lot. But this time, things were different. This time, he had a dog to save.

  This wasn’t for Dylan—it was for Brave.

  Plus, there was the second part of his plan, which Dylan was keeping to himself for the time being. If he could train Brave as much as possible in the next two weeks, his mom would see what a great dog he was and fall in love with him. Then they could keep him forever. If no one went to the shelter looking for him, that was.

  “I’m going to get him totally trained. Cross my heart! And cross Brave’s heart, too.”

  Dylan looked down at Brave, who was exhausted from his long, exciting day. He gave a quick wag of his tail and yawned, letting out a sleepy yowl. His eyes were bright, though, as if he were listening to every word they said. Brave didn’t understand what was going on, but he could sense that Dylan was excited about something, and that made him excited too.

  “You’re sure you know what you’re getting into?” Dylan’s mom asked.

  “How hard could it be?” Dylan said.

  “Famous last words, kiddo.” His mom shook her head. “But we have a deal. When does Grace want you to start?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Well, don’t forget to set your alarm. Ranch life starts bright and early, you know.”

  Dylan groaned. “Yeah, I know. Grace mentioned that already,” he said. “But you know me: early to bed, early to something.”

  Dylan couldn’t remember the rest of the expression, but it didn’t matter. They had pulled into their driveway, and he was already leading Brave inside, excited to share the good news with his dad.

  ★ Chapter 8 ★

  * * *

  * * *

  Dylan sat on his bed and patted the spot next to him for Brave to lie down.

  Brave circled the bed, sniffing and unsure.

  “It’s okay, boy,” Dylan reassured him.

  They stared at each other for a second. Finally, Brave hopped up and stood next to Dylan on the bed, scoping out the view from a new height. Dylan had done his best to give the dog a real bath, and he smelled clean for once—though Dylan had to admit that there was more water on the bathroom floor than on the dog. But he’d cleaned it all up and had even put all the wet towels straight into the washing machine. A promise was a promise, and he wanted to give his mom every reason to trust that he would live up to his end of their bargain.

  Brave nosed at Dylan’s pillow and scratched at the covers, bunching them up under his paws. He spun around a few times, then spun back in the other direction. Finally, he lay down at Dylan’s side. Dylan wanted to throw his arms around the dog and pull him in for a hug, but he resisted the urge. Instead, he tapped the little video camera icon next to his dad’s number. They tried to talk as much as possible, but it was sometimes tough to catch each other with school and mission schedules and time differences. They sent video messages back and forth a few times a week, but when something special came up, it was way better to have a live chat.

  And what could be more special than meeting Brave?

  Dylan framed himself and Brave in the camera while the line rang.

  There was a beep, a click, some scratchy noises, and then suddenly his dad’s face appeared on the screen. That first sight of his dad, in motion and full color, always made Dylan’s heart skip a beat. It was almost as good as seeing him in person. Almost.

  “Dyl! What the—”

  “Hi, Dad! I wanted you to meet someone.”

  His dad’s eyes bugged out. “Dude! There’s a dog in your bed! In my house! What is happening back there?”

  Dylan laughed. “It’s chaos without you.”

  “I can see that. Seriously—who is this fine feathered creature?”

  “He’s furry, for one. And his name is Brave.”

  “Brave. Huh.” His dad leaned forward and squinted into the camera. “Give me a better look at him, would you?”

  Dylan waved the phone around so his dad could see Brave from every angle. Brave half raised one paw, cocked an eyebrow, and checked out the phone suspiciously, like he couldn’t trust it.

  Dylan’s dad whistled. “That’s one fine-looking dog, Dyl. Is he . . . kind of bluish? Or do we have a bad connection?”

  “Nope, he’s blue all right. Blue-gray. He’s called a Blue Lacy.”

  “Oh yeah,” his dad said, sitting back in his chair. “The state dog of Texas. Hunters, right?”

  “So you knew about them too?”

  “Sure. But Dylan?”

  “Yeah?”

  His dad dropped his voice to a whisper. “Does your mom know there’s a dog in your room?”

  “Ha, funny, Dad.”

  “Seriously, though—I know how your mother feels about dogs. And it’s not great. So where exactly did this guy come from and how did you convince her to let him into the house? Tell me everything—go.”

  Dylan took a deep breath and, in one long stream of words, told his dad the whole story—from meeting Brave at the restaurant, to the torn-up couch, to Grace and the bull, to the depressing scene at the shelter, to his plan to train Brave while they fostered him. He left out the part about hoping his mom would get so attached to Brave that they could keep him. One step at a time.

  “I’m proud of you, Dyl,” his dad said.

  “You are?”

  “Sure. Not about the couch part—that’s not good at all, and we’re going to have to figure out a way for you to pay your mom back.”

  Dylan knew he was getting off easy on that count.

  “But you’re really stepping up to take care of Brave, and that’s a big commitment. I can tell how much you want to make it work. That takes effort.”

  There was a funny feeling in Dylan’s chest, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Being separated from his dad was the hardest thing in Dylan’s life, no question. But every once in a while, when they managed to steal a minute to see each other onscreen and talk in real time, it felt like they were together.

  “By the way, I think he likes you.” His dad pointed at Brave.

  Dylan looked down at his side. He hadn’t noticed, but Brave had fallen asleep next to him, with his head leaning against Dylan’s leg. He was snoring loudly.

  “Dogs snore?” Dylan stage-whispered to his dad, stifling a laugh.

  “Sure dogs snore.” His dad guffawed. “They’re exhausted just like the rest of us.”

  Dylan stifled a yawn just as his dad spoke.

  “Speaking of which,” his dad said. “Time for you to hit the hay, bud. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Dad. Talk to you later.”

  They clicked off the call, and Dylan lay there for a second, enjoying the feeling of Brave’s chest rising and falling. He started to replay the day, reliving everything that had happened since he and Jaxon had bought water balloons. But before he knew it, he was snoring too, the phone facedown on his chest, one arm resting lightly on the dog asleep next to him.

  ★ Chapter 9 ★

  * * *

  * * *

  Dylan’s arm was numb. He woke up to find it stretched out at an odd angle, with Brave snoozing soundly in the crook of his elbow. He eased himself out from under Brave’s head and shook out his arm, which quickly became all pins and needles. Brave’s ears twitched, but he otherwise didn’t move.

  The dream Dylan had just been having came back to him. He was a cowboy in the Old West, and Brave was his dog. Dylan had been riding a horse and lassoing cattle while Brave ran out ahead of him, nipping at a cow’s ankles. It was an awesome dream, and Dylan wished he could start it up again to see what happened next. He rolled over on his side. Brave was warm, and Dylan realized how relaxing it was to have a dog sleeping next to him. So relaxing that he thought maybe he should just go back to bed for a few
minutes. His eyelids slid closed.

  Dylan dozed for ten more minutes, until he was awakened by a muffled ding! from his phone, which had migrated underneath him during the night. He fumbled for it, opened one eye, and saw a text from his dad:

  Good luck on your first day of training! Love you.

  Training? Dylan thought, his mind still groggy.

  His eyes shot open. Training!

  Dog training!

  He’d totally forgotten.

  Dylan jumped up, and Brave tumbled out of bed after him. The dog went from asleep to alert and ready in an instant. As Dylan dashed around the room throwing on clothes, Brave followed fast on his heels, his tail up and wagging and his ears flicking at every new sound—a drawer opening, a closet door slamming. Dylan wasn’t used to having a dog, and he could already see that the dog reacted to his energy. The more excited he was, the more excited the dog became.

  They raced down to the kitchen. Dylan’s mom was already at work—she ran a research lab and had some experiments that often needed attention on the weekends. Dylan grabbed two breakfast bars—one for him and one for the dog.

  “Come on, Brave!” He ran to the sliding glass door and flung it open, expecting Brave to run through it. When he didn’t, Dylan turned to look back.

  Brave was in the middle of the kitchen, his ears up, his front paws splayed out and his chest lowered to the floor. His rump was up in the air and his tail wagged like it was supercharged. He jumped up to all fours, spun around in a circle, then lowered himself back down again.

  “You think we’re playing a game!” Dylan laughed. “We don’t have time for this, buddy. Come on—let’s go.” Brave whimpered in response, and his expression changed from playful to serious as he scratched at the floor with one front paw. Dylan studied him for a second, trying to interpret the message. He looked down at the breakfast bar in his hand, and it clicked. “You’re starving!” Dylan said. “Sorry, Brave, but we’re going to eat breakfast on the road today. Come on!”