Her mom’s excitement slipped into a frown. But before she could say anything to Hannah about her attitude, another woman approached them.
“Oh, hi there!” The woman sounded extra friendly, just like everyone else who made a point of introducing themselves to the new family in town. “You live in the yellow ranch house on Cedar Drive, right?”
“That’s us.” Hannah’s mom returned the woman’s warm smile.
“I’m Dana Lin,” she said. “We live in the blue two-story around the corner.”
“I wasn’t expecting to meet any of our neighbors in the produce aisle,” Hannah’s mom said.
Mrs. Lin laughed. “Well, it’s not a farmers’ market day.”
“I’m Lila Carson,” Hannah’s mom said. “This is my daughter Hannah—my oldest.”
“Hi!” Hannah said, forcing herself to sound as perky and nice as Mrs. Lin had. Her parents had always told her that being polite was the first step to helping people look past her birthmark.
Mrs. Lin turned toward Hannah for the first time, and her smile fell into a look of surprise mixed with a little bit of pity—and a lot of questions. Like most adults, she recovered quickly. “It’s so nice to meet you, Hannah. What grade are you in?”
“I’ll be starting sixth,” Hannah said.
“That’s my daughter’s grade.” She took her eyes off Hannah’s face to scan the produce section. “Sophia, come over here!”
A girl who’d been standing by the strawberries, typing on her phone, walked toward them without glancing up. She was slightly taller than Hannah, with long, thick black hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Her skin was clear and tan from the summer sun, with a dusting of tiny freckles across her nose.
“Sophia, these are our new neighbors,” Mrs. Lin said. “Hannah will be in your class this year.”
Sophia slowly looked up from her phone, her lips curving into a smile as she started to say hello. But when her gaze landed on Hannah, she froze, her mouth slightly open.
Heat crept up Hannah’s face as Sophia stared. She knew that blushing only made her birthmark worse. Now her whole face was probably blotchy, instead of just the ragged patch that looked like a stain spreading from her chin to her eyebrow.
Hannah wished she could hide behind the avocados. She didn’t want to have to explain that she had been born with it and it would never go away. She didn’t want to have to see how long it would take this girl with perfect skin to get used to looking at her—let alone get to know her. She wasn’t sure if Sophia would even try.
She knew she should ask Sophia about school or at least say it was nice to meet her. But her tongue lay like a fat marshmallow in her mouth.
“We should all get together back in the neighborhood,” Mrs. Lin said a little too brightly. “How old are your other kids?”
“Jenny is eight. And my twin boys are eighteen months.”
“Wow, you have your hands full! Sophia has a younger sister too, so it’ll be perfect.”
“Sounds great,” Hannah’s mom said. “Hannah hasn’t really met anyone since we moved here.”
Embarrassment flared across Hannah’s cheeks again. She tried to hide behind her hair, but it was too late. Sophia was back on her phone. She was probably telling all the other kids in their class about the new girl with the stained face and no friends.
“Why don’t you all come over for brunch on Saturday?” Hannah’s mom said.
Hannah flashed her a look, but her mom didn’t notice.
“We’d love to,” Mrs. Lin said.
* * *
“This is exciting,” Hannah’s mom said after Sophia and Mrs. Lin had headed toward the bread aisle. “You haven’t had a playdate since we moved here.”
“Mom, no one has playdates anymore,” Hannah grumbled. She dreaded a whole morning of Sophia staring at her over pancakes.
“You know what I mean.” Her mom sighed. “You’ve hardly left the house all summer.”
“Well, on the upside, I haven’t gotten a single sunburn this year.”
Hannah thought she’d get a lecture on putting herself out in the world, but her mom was distracted by a display of tortillas. The avocados must have inspired her to make tacos for dinner. Normally, Hannah would have been excited about taco night, but just then she heard Sophia and her mom talking down the next aisle.
“It’s hard to be the new kid in town,” Mrs. Lin said. “You can still see your friends later in the afternoon.”
“But what’s wrong with her face?” Sophia asked.
Her mom shushed her. “Don’t be rude.”
Their voices faded as they walked away. Tears stung Hannah’s eyes. The noises of the grocery store rose and fell around her—cash registers dinged and shopping carts clanged together. But even surrounded by the steady hum and buzz of the store, she felt lonely—separate from everyone around her, trapped behind the stain on her face.
Hannah missed her friends. They knew that the birthmark was just one small part of who she really was.
“Can we please go?” she asked quietly.
Her mom tossed a package of tortillas into the cart and turned to look at her. Hannah didn’t think she’d heard what Sophia said, but her mom saw the tears in her eyes. “Oh, honey. It always takes time to make new friends.”
“Jenny already has friends,” Hannah said, thinking about how her younger sister had it so easy.
“It’s different when you’re little.” Her mom brushed the hair back from Hannah’s birthmark. “You’ll see. Once people get to know you, it’ll be even better than before.”
Hannah pulled away from her mom. It was easy for her parents to say how great everything would be here. It had been their decision to move to some little town, a random dot dropped along the map of the California coastline. And they didn’t have people constantly asking what was wrong with them.
★ Chapter 2 ★
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Hannah sat on the giant Adirondack chair on the front porch, her legs tucked under her. Between texts to Linnea and rounds of Candy Crush, she glanced up and down the street. She hoped to spot a deer or a fox so she could send Linnea a picture of her new neighbors.
Hannah had to admit it was pretty out here, even if there was nothing to do. When the wind blew in the right direction, she caught the clean, salty smell of the ocean, and not far from town there were redwood trees so huge her whole family could hold hands and still not wrap their arms all the way around the trunks. And there was a ton of wildlife—so much more than the squirrels and raccoons they had in Michigan. Sometimes Hannah heard coyotes howling at night, and she’d even seen a bald eagle perched in the big fir tree across the street.
But today there was no wildlife in sight, just her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Gilly, slowly making her way down her driveway.
Mrs. Gilly’s walker glinted silver in the sunlight. According to Hannah’s mom, she had just had hip surgery, which explained why Hannah hadn’t seen her around much. She was a slight woman, older than Hannah’s parents. Her gray-streaked hair was knotted in a loose bun. She wore a light khaki vest with lots of small pockets, like a safari guide or a fisherman, and she had a leash looped around one wrist.
At the other end of the leash was a thick-chested, stocky dog with muscular legs. The pup wore a pale pink harness and blue collar. She had a blocky head, short light brown fur with patches of white, and one big spot over her eye and down the side of her face. She practically pranced down the driveway, and when she gazed up at Mrs. Gilly with her tongue hanging out, it looked like she was smiling. As the dog’s tail whipped back and forth, she seemed to be the happiest dog in the world.
Hannah had never had a dog of her own and had never really paid much attention to them, but she had to admit that this one was pretty cute. Her smile was simply irresistible, and something about her bright personality reminded Hannah of the California sunshine.
The dog stretched out her front legs and lowered her burly chest to the ground in a
playful bow, then leaped up again. Mrs. Gilly’s walker had tennis balls attached to the bottom of the front legs to help her glide around easily, but the dog seemed to think they were her toys. She dove for the tennis balls, tipping her head sideways and trying to gnaw on one of them.
“Poppy, no!” Mrs. Gilly cried. “Sit.”
The dog sat. But a second later she popped up and pounced on the ball again, nearly yanking Mrs. Gilly and her walker over. Without thinking, Hannah jumped out of her chair and ran across the yard. She snatched up the half-deflated soccer ball Jenny had left in the dry grass and skidded to a stop a few feet from the dog.
“Hey, Poppy!” Hannah sang in a friendly voice. The dog looked her way, the tips of her floppy ears dancing forward. Hannah rolled the soccer ball to her, and the dog pounced on it. Hannah held her breath, hoping Poppy wouldn’t pull Mrs. Gilly too hard and make her lose her balance. She didn’t want to make things worse.
Poppy wrestled the soccer ball with her front paws, then managed to pick it up between her teeth, even though it was as big as her head. The ball jutted out of her mouth, and she wagged her tail so hard that her whole body wriggled back and forth. She looked at Hannah as if thanking her for the toy. The dog was bursting with such happiness, Hannah couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“That was good thinking,” Mrs. Gilly said. “Would you mind helping me fix her leash?”
“Sure thing,” Hannah said. Her cheeks flushed hot again, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. This time it was something else—the funny feeling she got in her chest when she helped her mom with one of the twins or managed to cheer up a grumpy Jenny. It was a small swell of satisfaction.
“Do you see the little loop on the front of her harness?” Mrs. Gilly asked. Hannah nodded. “If you clip the leash to that, she can’t pull so hard. I should have done it that way, but I’m still getting used to this walker.”
“Oh, no problem!” Hannah said. She leaned down toward the dog, and Poppy dropped the ball to lick her face. Hannah laughed—trying to dodge the dog’s huge, slobbery tongue—reclipped the leash, and stood up again. Poppy was watching her closely, but it wasn’t anything like the long, awkward stares Hannah got from new people she met.
Poppy was looking at her as if she wanted to be friends.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Gilly said to Hannah. She dipped her fingers into one of her many vest pockets, pulled out a treat, and held it out to the dog. Hannah expected Poppy to snatch it from Mrs. Gilly’s fingers and gobble it down, but Poppy took it gently between her teeth and eased it into her mouth as if she were savoring it.
“She seems like a really good dog,” Hannah said. She ran her fingers over the patch of brown fur that covered half of Poppy’s face . . . almost like a birthmark. Her fur was smooth and velvety. Poppy finished her treat and licked Hannah’s hand.
“She is,” Mrs. Gilly said, giving Poppy a loving but exasperated look. “She just doesn’t know what to do with all her energy. She’s only six months old.”
“I could help you walk her,” Hannah blurted out before she even realized what she was saying. “I mean—if that’s all right with you.” She’d never actually walked a dog, but there was something about Poppy that made Hannah want to play with her.
“Are you sure?” Mrs. Gilly asked.
Hannah nodded, saying, “I’ll be right back,” as much to Poppy as to her neighbor.
She ran to her house, flung open the front door, and grabbed her Detroit Tigers baseball cap, pulling it low over her face. She put on sunblock every morning, but her face burned easily. “Mom, I’m going for a walk!” she called.
Her mom was in the kitchen, strapping Noah and Logan into their highchairs. She didn’t even turn around, and Hannah was back out the door before her mom could ask any questions. When Hannah returned, Poppy bounced on her front paws as if Hannah were her favorite person in the world.
Hannah grinned at the dog. “I told you I’d be right back.”
“I’m so glad. Here, take this.” Mrs. Gilly held out the leash to Hannah. Imitating the way Mrs. Gilly had held it, Hannah put her hand through the loop and grabbed onto the thick, woven rope farther down. The three of them started down the driveway. Poppy was excited to be on the move and clearly had some pent-up energy. Even though the harness kept her from pulling too hard, her leash was taut. Hannah had to lean back a little to slow Poppy down to Mrs. Gilly’s pace.
Poppy was curious about everything. Her tail slowed to a thoughtful sway as her nose explored a particularly interesting tree trunk or a patch of weeds. When she was done sniffing, she glanced at Hannah before forging ahead, her tail picking up speed.
“How come I’ve never seen you out walking with Poppy?” Hannah said to Mrs. Gilly.
“I had to board her while I recovered from surgery,” the older lady said. “But I missed her so much, I brought her home as soon as I could.” Mrs. Gilly looked down at her dog with a bit of sadness in her eyes. “Maybe too soon,” she added softly, almost as if she didn’t want Poppy or Hannah to hear.
They walked in silence for a few minutes. Mrs. Gilly fell a few steps behind, and Hannah led Poppy back toward her. They stopped in the shade of a tree at the edge of a neighbor’s yard, and Mrs. Gilly leaned against her walker. Poppy flopped down and rolled onto her side in the cool dirt, content and relaxed. Hannah sat on the ground next to her and stroked her silky fur.
“How do you like it here so far?” Mrs. Gilly asked once she’d caught her breath.
Hannah shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”
“New places always take some getting used to—I felt that way when I moved here,” Mrs. Gilly said. “Have you made any friends yet?”
Hannah frowned and shook her head, her face turned away. Poppy stopped chewing on the stick she’d found. She tilted her head to the side, as if she were listening in on their conversation. Hannah scratched the dog’s tummy.
“You and Poppy, I guess . . .” Hannah said before trailing off.
“Well, that’s sweet, dear. I bet when school starts, you’ll make lots of friends your own age,” Mrs. Gilly said. “I think you’re probably in the same grade as my granddaughter, and she has zoodles of friends.”
“I’m not so sure.” Hannah lifted her chin and met Mrs. Gilly’s eyes, giving her a good look at her birthmark. Was it possible she hadn’t noticed it?
Mrs. Gilly looked right into Hannah’s face without flinching. She gave a knowing nod. “Poppy knows what it’s like to be misunderstood.”
“What do you mean?” Hannah asked.
“People think she’s a bad dog just because she’s a pit bull. And people think pit bulls are mean.”
“Because of what she looks like?” Hannah asked, confused. Poppy had the biggest grin and hadn’t stopped wagging her tail for a second since she’d left the house. Even now, her tail brushed back and forth against the ground. “But she’s so friendly.”
“She is. But a lot of people won’t even give her a chance because of the way she looks,” Mrs. Gilly said.
Hannah tried to see Poppy the way other people might. She took in the dog’s square jaw and strong muscles, but those paled in comparison to her bright, sparkling eyes and kind face. Poppy’s tongue dangled out of her mouth as she looked up at Hannah and blinked a couple of times.
“Well, I think she’s a special dog,” Hannah said.
Mrs. Gilly turned to Hannah. For the first time since she’d moved to California, Hannah felt that someone was looking at her, and not at her birthmark.
“She is special,” Mrs. Gilly said. “And it takes a special kind of person to sense the goodness in Poppy and not just see her as a scary dog.”
Mrs. Gilly’s words went straight to Hannah’s heart.
Poppy put her head down on Hannah’s leg, gazing up at her with her soft brown eyes. As Hannah looked down at the dog, she realized that Poppy would never understand why people were scared of her; she only wanted people to like her. Hannah scratched Poppy behind the
ear—right by the brown patch of fur that spread across half of her face.
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★ About the Author ★
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Bianca Alexis Photo
JENNIFER LI SHOTZ is the author of Max: Best Friend. Hero. Marine and the Hero and Scout series, about brave dogs and their humans. Jen was a cat person until she and her family adopted a sweet, stubborn, adorable rescue pup, who occasionally lets Jen sit on the couch. Jen lives with her family in Brooklyn, loves chocolate chip cookies with very few chips, and still secretly loves cats. Please don’t tell the dog.
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