Walking away, I call over my shoulder, “Come on. There’s an animal shelter near the strip mall. I’ll bet they can give you stitches if you need them.” When he doesn’t follow right away, I look back. “I’m going to help you find your owner.” Guess that’s what he needed to hear, because he woofs and trots after me as if I’ve just promised him a juicy steak bone.
* * *
A woman with curly blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail greets me with a smile as I escort the Rottweiler into the front lobby of the Charlottesville Animal Shelter (aka CVAS).
“Hello, there!” She leans over the desk and eyes the Rottweiler sitting beside my feet. “Who do we have here?”
“I’m not sure.” I point to his swollen lip. “A kid with a slingshot got him good. I was hoping someone could clean his wound and give him stitches if he needs them.”
Her blonde eyebrows shoot up. “He’s not your dog?”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t have a tag, but he’s wearing a collar. Do you have a chip reader? I’m hoping he has one so his owner can be contacted.”
The woman grabs a hand-held device, then waves for me to follow. I shadow her steps into a short hall with two doors on each side. “I’m Sally. What’s your name?” she says over her shoulder before she turns into the first room on the left.
“Ethan.” I usher the dog into the exam room and he begins to pant once I shut the door behind us. I put my hand on his head and hold his wide-eyed, nervous gaze. “It’s fine, boy.”
When he sits and then leans against my thigh, Sally laughs and turns on the device she’s holding. “He might not be yours, but he sure listens to you well.”
I shrug. “He knows I won’t let anyone hurt him.”
Sally smiles as she runs the scanner along his back, looking for a chip. “Most animals get nervous when they come here because the smells remind them of going to the vet.”
Cracking a smile, I scrub behind the dog’s ear. “Well, there is that—”
The device beeps and Sally peers at the screen, then grins. “Ethan, we’ve got a number. Let me go check the registry.”
Once she walks out, I sit down on the bench pushed against the wall. The dog ambles up and lays his chin on my knee. I chuckle. “Oh, is that how it’s going to be? How are you supposed to look like a fierce dog if you keep giving me puppy eyes, hmmm?”
His only response is to tilt his head and lift his ears. I gently brush my fingers along his snout, inspecting the swelled skin. He whimpers but doesn’t pull away.
“You going to let me look?” I ask right before I gently lift his lip. The skin inside resembles ground up hamburger. The rock must’ve jammed his teeth against his upper lip.
The dog turns his head sideways, laying his jaw across my knee to give me better access. I’m glad the blood seems to have stopped. Carefully lowering his lip back into place, I pat his neck before digging my fingers into his fur to give him a good scratch. “I’m sorry this happened to you, big guy. I get what it’s like to be judged. Not any fun, is it?”
“You really have a way with animals,” Sally says from the doorway.
I adopt a wry smile. “I understand them better than people.”
“Rascal’s owner is relieved we found him. He only lives ten minutes from here and is on his way. He asked me not to tend to his wounds, since he plans to take Rascal straight to his vet. As for understanding animals better,” Sally bobs her head up and down as she walks into the room. “I totally get that. People are complex. Animals are—”
“Basic,” I interject before she can say “simple”. Animals are far from simple. I just get them on a fundamental level. People have way too much baggage to deal with.
She grins. “Yes, they’re basic. Well put. It’s amazing how one word—the right word—can say so much about them.” Interest flickers in her eyes as they flit over me. “Would you be interested in a volunteer position here, Ethan?”
Excitement stirs in my chest and I raise my eyebrows. “Working with the animals, right? I’m not so good with people.”
“Usually everyone has to work with the customers, but for someone with your natural ability, we’ll make an exception.” Sally does a little hop toward the door, then quickly looks back, eyes alight. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m going to get the application.”
This I can’t screw up like everything else in my life. Volunteering here is exactly what I need to distract me from myself. I spread my hands wide and nod. “I’ll be right here.”
* * *
I’m looking forward to History class. The other day, the class had been halfway through by time I got there. I slipped in during the movie being played and found my way in the dark to a seat in the back. Thankfully the teacher didn’t bother to introduce me. Makes it easier to just blend in as if I’ve always been there.
Today, I take my spot at the back of the room and watch the door, waiting for the girl from the office to walk in. Ms. Cresh had called her Nara. I dreamed about her last night, which is odd because I never dream about people I’ve almost met. Then again, she left a lasting impression that had stayed with me for two days straight.
The great thing about sitting in the back of the room is that you get to know a lot about your classmates without having to say a word to them. Facial expressions and body language tell many tales.
In the last forty minutes of History class on my first day, I learned that the two guys sitting in the left corner are a couple, the three football players in the farthest row on the right are dealing drugs, the two soccer players directly in front of me think of girls as walking blowup dolls, and the flighty cheerleader in row two, seat number five is smart, like brilliant smart, but she doesn’t want anyone to know, especially the other cheerleaders.
Despite learning all that, I hadn’t been able to glean much about the girl from the office. She faced forward the whole time and listened intently to the teacher’s lecture.
I don’t have to wait long for Nara to arrive this morning. The moment she walks in, I let out a long exhale and set my pencil down. I blink, surprised that her presence has such an arresting effect, but it does. For some reason I don’t feel the desperate need to draw the images from my dreams so urgently.
Maybe it’s because all the whispers flickering around in my head dissipate, or because taking in everything about her is pleasantly distracting. She’s wearing faded jeans, a pink hoodie and black boots. Today her hair is down, flowing past her shoulders. I want so badly to brush the straight blonde curtain aside so I can see her face better that I curl my fingers inward in my impatience.
When she pulls a purple pen out of her backpack, then glances around to make sure no one’s near before she begins writing something on her palm, my lips twitch. I like her retro ways. Most girls take notes on their cell phones, but not this one. By the deep furrow in her brow, whatever she’s jotting down is more important than some guy’s phone number. It can’t possibly be a homework assignment. She’s only been to Homeroom so far. Whatever it is, she’s got more than one thing on her mind. She writes several notes. I’m fully intrigued.
People start to file into the classroom. She looks up and I glance down, so she doesn’t catch me staring. My gaze freezes on the paper. I’ve drawn a light outline of her profile in the corner of my page. I stare at the pencil in my hand as if it has a mind of its own. I don’t remember picking it up.
The two soccer guys slide into their seats and the one with a buzz cut grabs my attention when he points to Nara and whispers to his friend, “I’m getting some of that.”
The guy with shaggy blond hair snorts. “Good luck competing with a quarterback who could break you in half, Nate.”
Nate’s dark brows pull together. “She’s with Jared?”
Who’s Jared? I wonder as the blond guy shrugs. “I think she’d like to be. I’ve seen Nara and her friend Lainey sometimes hanging out and watching them practice.”
“You want to do the redhead, Jake?” Nate asks, making a cru
de gesture.
Jake shrugs. “Sure I’ve noticed Lainey. Bet she’d be fire in the sack, but I can’t get her to give me the time of day. She’s all about the football players.”
“It’s the quiet ones that surprise you.” Nate nods toward Nara. “I’m so going to tap that, and I’ve got a plan to make it happen.”
The pencil in my hand snaps in half as I listen to these two douches. I glance away, but ache to punch the Nate guy in the mouth just to shut him up. My fisted hands are shaking so bad I have to lock my fingers under the edge of my chair to stay seated.
“So what’s your plan?” The Jake guy asks, drawing my gaze back to them.
Nate leans close to his buddy and whispers, “I’m going to be her hero.”
Jake chuckles. “And how are you going to make that happen?”
Nate takes on a smug look as he sits back in his seat. “An opportunity was laid out for me this morning. As I walked in late, I saw her back tire is almost flat. Must’ve caught a nail or something. By the time school’s over, it’ll be completely flat. Anyway, near the end of practice, I’m going to tell coach I have a thing and need to leave early. I’ll be there changing her tire for her when she’s done with practice.”
“You ah, need a jack and her spare to execute your grand plan. How’re you going to get to them?”
“Easy. I’ve never seen her lock her car.” Nate grins and holds his hand up in a high five. “She’ll be mine before next weekend.”
As the two asshats smack palms, my own itch to grab their necks and slam their skulls together. My gaze snaps to Nara, who’s completely oblivious of the scheming going on about her. I set my jaw. There’s no way I’ll let that jerk-off anywhere near her.
Chapter Four
In the afternoon I pull my car into a parking space far enough away from Nara’s car not to be noticed, but close enough to keep hers in my line of sight. Resting my wrist across the steering wheel, I watch as Nate shows up still in his soccer gear. When he walks around the back of Nara’s car and sees her back tire fully inflated, he lets out a string of curses and kicks the tire with his cleat. I savor the moment as he glares around the parking lot looking for the culprit who ruined his “look like a hero” plan.
After he stalks off to his car, I start the engine and pull out of the parking lot, heading to Mike’s Body Shop with Nara’s flat tire in my trunk. I’ll have the tire repaired and switched back out with her full spare before her soccer practice is done tomorrow afternoon. I might not be able to be a part of Nara’s life like a normal guy, but even something as small as keeping an eye out for her feels good.
Over the next couple of days, I catch glimpses of Nara interacting with her friends in study hall and outside of class in the locker hall. When I overhear her mooning over that Jared guy with her friend Lainey, I inwardly roll my eyes. I’ve seen Jared with his football buddies. He’s only marginally a step up from the two jerks who sit in front of me in History.
A part of me can’t help but wonder what it would be like to get to know Nara better, to be a friend she likes to hang with. I know my life would be better for knowing her. Nara shines. That’s the only word that comes to mind when I think of her. It’s not that she’s the perkiest person in the world, but she tries to see the best in people. I’d have written that redhead Lainey off a long time ago, but Nara sees something in her seemingly one-dimensional friend. She reaches deep for the good in others, which is an effort I gave up on.
Nara’s positive outlook draws me in, but it also makes me feel the need to protect her from herself. She’d have taken Nate’s sincerity about fixing her tire at face value without a thought that he had an underlying motive for his actions. It’s as if she’s never had anything bad happen to her, never had a need to build a protective wall. I’ve learned the hard way that sometimes defenses are necessary, more for the unknown dangers than the expected ones.
The way I’ve begun to feel about Nara scares me. After only a few days, I sense the moment she enters the room. I don’t even have to look up. It doesn’t matter that a roomful of people separate us, I’m suddenly more alert and my heart starts racing. She still calms me, but in a peaceful, clearing my head kind of way. Concentrating on my drawings becomes impossible when I know she’s present.
I’m viscerally attracted to Nara, but the difference between Nate and me is, I’d give anything to get to know the real her. The person she doesn’t project to the world. I have a feeling she runs much deeper. Those notes she writes on her hand tell me so.
Every time I convince myself to try to meet Nara’s gaze in the hall, I remember my issues and stare straight ahead. It’s been easier to forget them while I’m at school, since things seem to be a bit more manageable lately. I’ve only had a few spaced out episodes. I hate that I can’t control what’s going on with me. How can I hope to start a friendship with Nara and get to know more about her when nothing about myself is worth talking about? What’s the point of opening the door? It’s better to have never known what it’s like to have Nara look happy to see me then to have that look disappear from her eyes. Wishes by their nature might remain unfulfilled, but they can also never be taken away.
* * *
I walk in from school to the sound of the phone ringing. I rush to answer, mainly because I’m surprised to hear it. Our phone rarely rings. Over the past six months, my brother has taken to keeping telemarketers on the phone as long as possible. He’ll string them along for a good twenty minutes, then tell them he’s not interested and promptly hang up. Telemarketers must have their own “do not call” list reserved for special cases like my mocking brother.
“Hello?” I say quickly.
“Ethan?”
Everything inside me freezes. I haven’t heard my dad’s voice in a long time.
“You there, son?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and ignore my pounding heart as I take slow, quiet breaths. “Yes.”
My dad clears his throat. “Well, I’m calling because I see the check we sent you hasn’t cleared the bank yet. That’s a lot of money to just be floating around, Ethan.”
My pounding heart stutters, and resentful fire streaks along the inside of my chest. “Sorry to mess up your finances.”
“My finances—”
“Just consider the check void.”
“What!” My dad’s voice rises. “Now you listen to me, young man—”
“That’s the great thing about not living with you.” I squeeze the phone tight and the handset creaks against my palm. “I don’t have to listen.”
“Godamnit, Ethan—”
I slam the phone down so hard the handset breaks apart in pieces. The phone starts to ring again, but this time the ringer sounds sick, like it’s dying. The first phone call in two years and he doesn’t even ask how I’ve been? In one fell swoop, my dad has thoroughly snuffed out any hope that my parents still care. I clench my jaw and unplug the base from the wall while it’s still ringing. I was wrong. Wishes can be taken away if you’re stupid enough to open the damned door.
I wonder what my parents told the neighbors about my sudden disappearance. Probably that I was studying abroad for the rest of my high school career, trying to make me sound all worldly and cosmopolitan. God forbid the truth would come out!
The idea of staying home right now makes me twitchy, like I’m going to crawl out of my own skin. I don’t want to face Samson. Don’t want to explain the smashed phone. Don’t want to deal. At all. I quickly jot down a note to my brother, telling him I’ll be out late at the library.
When I pull out of the driveway, I crank up my new speakers as loud as I can take it. A few miles down the road, the music still isn’t enough to drown out the angry, resentful thoughts ricocheting in my head.
Even though I vowed never to go back to McCormicks, that’s exactly where I end up. And this time, Chance is late for practice—some kind of fender bender—so I hop on stage among the other band members and drown out my frustrations with a borrowed g
uitar.
The guys are amazed by my ability to add flair in their rock music with my own unique style. My fingers go numb with the speed I’m picking out the notes, but this time I don’t question it. I just close my eyes and let the music flow out.
By the time I come back to reality, Chance is there, playing the keyboards, adding even more depth to the Southern rock song we’re playing. Sweat trickles under my hair along my temples, and I realize it’s due to the hot stage lights that currently blare down on us. When did they turn them on? My arms feel like jelly as Duke and I end the song with hard, reverberating sounds.
The sudden roar of the crowd startles me and I blink against the bright lights. Holy shit! I’m performing? I thought we were still practicing. I stand and hit the mic someone has placed in front of me as I turn to hand the guitar to Ivan.
I’m ready to bolt, but he jerks his head back and forth in hard shakes. “No way you’re leaving now, man. They’re eating this sheeeit up!” Pointing one of his sticks at me, he says, “And no more holding back on us. That deep voice of yours has them squirming.”
Deep voice? I glance at the mic, then to Dom, who’s grinning. “Keep up those backup vocals, Adder.”
As Ivan begins to tap his drumsticks together to count out the tempo of the next song, my gaze snaps to Chance’s, who nods toward the guitar in my hand with serious eyes. “Get to it. We’re rockin’ a new sound tonight and we’ve got a crowd to please.”
I try not to think about the people watching beyond the spotlights as I drag a shaky hand through my damp hair and sit down with the guitar once more. Even though my voice is decent, I never sing. It’s too open, too personal. I start to strum the guitar and as the strings’ vibrations resonate, a surge of nostalgic familiarity—a sense of rightness—rises up inside me, but this time I vow to stay cognizant through the experience. At least I hope I can.
Ethan, YA Paranormal Romance Page 4
