12
SWEATY AND BREATHLESS, I ROUNDED THE parking lot by the school entrance and checked my watch. Seven minutes to spare before English. I grabbed my bag from the car, sprinted to class and made it a minute before the bell rang. Slick.
Ms. Leib closed the door behind me and I settled into the nearest available desk. Noah was there, looking as bored and careless and disheveled as ever. He sat at his desk without his book or notes, but that didn’t stop him from answering each of Ms. Leib’s questions correctly when she called on him. Show-off.
My mind wandered against the backdrop of the lecture. I had to do something about the dog. Help her, somehow. I’d just started to envision a dubious plan involving wire cutters, a ski mask, and mace when the bell rang. I made my way toward the door, anxious to get to my next class, but a throbbing mass of students had already assembled in front of it, crowding the exit.
When I finally escaped the confines of the classroom, I found myself staring directly into Anna’s face. Her nose wrinkled in disgust.
“Don’t you shower?”
I probably did smell ripe after this morning’s sprint, but I was in no mood for her garbage. Not today. I opened my mouth, ready to let the abuse fly.
“I vastly prefer the unshowered to the overperfumed, don’t you, Anna?”
That voice could only be Noah’s. I turned around. He stood behind me wearing an almost imperceptible smile.
Anna’s blue eyes went wide. Her face transformed from evil to innocent. Like magic, only more nefarious.
“I guess if those are your only two choices, Noah, then yes. But I’m partial to neither.”
“Could have fooled me,” Noah said.
That did not seem to be the response she’d been expecting from him. “Wh-whatever,” she stammered, refocusing her gaze in my direction and staring daggers before she walked away.
Fabulous. Now she and I were definitely going to have a Thing.
I turned to face Noah. He shot an insolent smile at me, and I bristled. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said. “I was handling it.”
“A simple thank-you would suffice.”
Rain began to spatter the roof of the walkway. “I really need to get to class,” I said, and picked up my pace. Noah matched it.
“What do you have next?” he asked lightly.
“Algebra II.” Go away. I’m smelly. And you bother me enormously.
“I’ll walk with you.”
Fail. I shifted my bag to my other shoulder, bracing myself for an uncomfortably silent walk. Out of nowhere, Noah tugged on my messenger bag, jerking me into a halt.
“Did you draw that?” he asked, indicating the graffiti on my messenger bag.
“Yep.”
“You’re talented,” he said. I looked at his face. No sarcasm. No amusement. Was it possible?
“Thanks,” I said, disarmed.
“Now it’s your turn.”
“For what?”
“To compliment me.”
I ignored him.
“We can continue to walk in silence, Mara, or you can ask me a bit about myself until we reach the classroom.”
He was infuriating. “What makes you think I’m at all curious about you?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he replied. “In fact, I’m quite sure you’re not at all curious. It’s intriguing.”
“Why’s that?” My classroom was at the end of the hall. Not much longer, now.
“Because most girls I meet here ask me where I’m from when they hear my accent. And they’re usually thrilled to have the pleasure of my conversation.”
Oh, the arrogance.
“It’s English, by the way.”
“Yeah, I caught that.” Only ten feet left.
“I was born in London.”
Seven feet left. Not going to respond.
“My parents moved here from England two years ago.”
Four feet.
“I don’t have a favorite color, though I strongly dislike yellow. Horrid color.”
Two feet.
“I play the guitar, love dogs, and hate Florida.”
Noah Shaw played dirty. I smiled despite myself. And then we reached the classroom.
I darted to the back of the room and planted myself at a desk in the corner.
Noah followed me in. He wasn’t even in this class.
Noah took the seat next to me, and I pointedly ignored the fit of his clothes on his narrow frame as he slid by. Jamie walked in and sat on my other side, giving me a long look before shaking his head. I took out my graph paper and prepared to calculate. Which meant that I doodled until Mr. Walsh came around to collect last night’s homework. He stopped at the desk Noah was now occupying.
“Can I help you, Mr. Shaw?”
“I’m auditing your class today, Mr. Walsh. I’m in desperate need of an Algebraic brush-up.”
“Uh-huh,” Mr. Walsh said dryly. “Do you have a note?”
Noah stood and left the room. He returned as Mr. Walsh reviewed last night’s homework, and, sure enough, handed the teacher a piece of paper. The teacher said nothing, and Noah sat back down next to me. What kind of school was this?
When Mr. Walsh began to speak again, I doodled furiously in my notebook again and ignored Mr. Walsh. The dog. Noah had distracted me, and I needed to figure out how to save her.
Thoughts of the dog consumed my morning. I didn’t think about Noah, even though he stared at me in Algebra with the single-minded focus of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn. I didn’t look at him once as I took notes, and didn’t notice his permanently amused expression while I fidgeted in my seat.
Or the way he ran his long fingers through his hair every five seconds.
Or how he rubbed his eyebrow whenever Mr. Walsh asked me a question.
Or the way he leaned his coarse cheek into his hand and just …
Stared at me.
When class finally ended, Anna looked primed for murder, Jamie booked it before I could say a word, and Noah waited as I gathered my things. He had no things. No notebooks. No books. No bag. It was bizarre. My confusion must have shown on my face because that delinquent grin was back.
I resolved to wear something yellow the next time I saw him. Yellow from head to toe, if I could manage it.
We walked in silence until a swinging door ahead caught my eye.
The bathroom. An ingenious idea.
When we reached it, I turned to Noah.
“I’m going to be in here for a while. You probably don’t want to wait.”
I only briefly caught the horrified expression on his face before I pushed open the door with overwhelming force. Win.
There were a few girls in the bathroom of indeterminate age, but they paid no attention to me as they left. I was glad to get away from Noah, so I stifled the part of me that wanted to know his favorite song to play on guitar. Jamie had warned me about this nonsense; Noah was toying with me, and I’d be foolish to forget it.
And none of this was important. The dog was important. During Algebra, while ignoring Noah, I’d decided to call Animal Control and file a complaint against Abuser Douche. I took out my cell phone. Surely someone would be sent to follow up on my complaint, and see that the dog was on the brink of death. Then they’d get her out of there.
I dialed information, asking for the number of the city’s Animal Control office and scribbled it down on my hand. The phone rang three times before a female voice answered.
“This is Animal Control Officer Diaz, can I help you?”
“Yes, I am calling to complain about a neglected dog.”
It was impossible to sit still during the rest of the day, knowing that after school I had to check on the dog to make sure she was safe. I fidgeted in my chair in every class, earning me extra homework in Spanish.
When school ended, I flew down the slick stairs and almost broke my neck. The rain had stopped, for now, but it had infiltrated the covered walkways, making my progress treacherous. I was halfway to t
he parking lot when my cell phone rang; it wasn’t a number I recognized, and I needed to concentrate on my footing anyway. I ignored it and jogged in the direction of the dog’s house. But lights flashed ahead as I rounded the corner. My stomach flip-flopped. It could be a good sign. Maybe they arrested the guy. Still, I slowed to a walk as I approached, my fingers trailing the crumbling wall on the opposite side of the chain-link fence. I listened to the voices and the tinny sound of the police radio in front of me. As I neared the house, I saw a cruiser with the lights on and an unmarked car.
And an ambulance. The hair stood up on the back of my neck.
When I reached the yard, the front door of the house was open. People stood next to the cars by the quiet ambulance. My eyes scanned the property, looking for the dog, but as they reached the lumber pile, my blood froze.
You couldn’t see his mouth at all, with the teeming mass of flies bubbling over it and the side of the pulpy mess that had been the man’s scalp. The ground under his caved-in head was completely black, and the stain blossomed red at the edges of his dingy wife-beater.
The dog’s owner was dead. Exactly as I had imagined it.
13
THE TREES, SIDEWALK, AND THE FLASHING lights spun around me as I felt it: the first unmistakable snarl in the delicate fabric of my sanity.
I laughed. I was that crazy.
Then I threw up.
Large hands grabbed my shoulders. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman in a suit and a man in a dark uniform approach, but they were out of focus. Whose hands were on me?
“Great, just great. Get her out of here, Gadsen!” the female voice said. She sounded so far away.
“Shut it, Foley. You could have set up a perimeter just as easily,” said the man’s voice from behind me. He spun me around as I wiped my mouth. He was also in a suit. “What’s your name?” he asked, with authority.
“M-Mara,” I stammered. I could barely hear myself.
“Can you bring the EMTs over here?” he shouted. “She might be in shock.”
I snapped to attention. No paramedics. No hospitals.
“I’m fine,” I said, and willed the trees to stop dancing. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself. Was this even happening? “I’ve just never seen a dead body before.” I said it before I even realized it was true. I hadn’t seen Rachel, Claire, and Jude at their funerals. There wasn’t enough of them left to see.
“Just to take a look,” the man said. “While I ask you some questions, if that’s all right.” He signaled to the EMT.
I knew it wasn’t a fight I could win. “Okay,” I said. I closed my eyes but still saw the blood. And the flies.
But where was the dog?
I opened my eyes and looked for her, but didn’t see her anywhere.
The EMT approached me and I tried to focus on not appearing insane. I breathed slowly and evenly as he flashed his penlight in both of my eyes. He looked me over, but just as he seemed to be wrapping it up, I overheard the female detective speak.
“Where the hell is Diaz?”
“She said she’ll be here soon.” The voice belonged to the man who’d been talking to me a minute ago.
“You want to go and tie up that dog better?”
“Uh, no?”
“I didn’t want to touch it,” the woman said. “I could see the fleas crawling in its fur.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, Miami’s finest.”
“Go to hell, Gadsen.”
“Calm down. The dog’s not going anywhere. It can barely walk, let alone run away. Not that it matters. It’s a pit bull, they’re just going to euthanize it.”
What?
“There’s no way that dog did it. The guy tripped and cracked his skull open on the stake by the lumber pile—see? Don’t even need to wait for the techs to tell us that.”
“I didn’t say the dog did it. I just said they’re going to euthanize it anyway.”
“Shame.”
“Least it’ll be put out of its misery.”
After everything she’d been through, the dog was going to be put to sleep. Killed.
Because of me.
I felt sick again. My hand trembled as the EMT took my pulse.
“How are you feeling now?” he asked in a quiet voice. His eyes were kind.
“Fine,” I lied. “Really. I’m all right now.” I hoped that saying it would be enough to convince him that it was actually true.
“Then we’re all done. Detective Gadsen?” The male detective and the suited woman made their way over to us, and the man, Detective Gadsen, thanked the EMT as he headed back to the ambulance. Other people milled about around it, some in uniform and some not, and a truck had pulled up, with the words MEDICAL EXAMINER stenciled on the back. A slimy fear coated my tongue.
“Mara, is it?” Detective Gadsen asked me as his partner took out her notepad. I nodded. “What’s your last name?”
“Dyer,” I answered. His partner wrote it down. The armpits of her tan suit were darkened with sweat. So were his. But for the first time in Miami, I wasn’t hot. I shivered.
“What brought you here this afternoon, Mara?” he asked.
“Um.” I swallowed. “I was the one who called in the complaint about the dog.” No point lying about that. I left my name and phone number with the Animal Control office.
His eyes didn’t waver from my face, but I noticed a change in his expression. He waited for me to continue.
I cleared my throat. “I just wanted to stop by after school and see if Animal Control had picked her up.”
At that, he nodded. “Did you see anyone else when you were here this morning?”
I shook my head.
“Where do you go to school?” he asked.
“Croyden.”
The female detective wrote that down too. I hated when she did that.
He asked me a few more questions, but I couldn’t keep my eyes from searching for the dog. The body must have been moved while I was being examined, because it was now gone. A metallic door slammed shut, and I jumped. I hadn’t noticed that Detective Gadsen had stopped speaking. He was waiting for me to say something.
“Sorry,” I said, as a few fat raindrops pelted the metal and tin scraps like bullets. It was going to pour again, and soon. “I didn’t hear you.”
Detective Gadsen studied my face. “I said my partner will walk you back to campus.” The female detective looked like she wanted to go inside the house.
“I’m really fine.” I smiled, demonstrating just how fine I was. “It’s not far at all. But thank you anyway,” I said.
“I’d be much more comfortable if—”
“She said she’s fine, Vince. Come and take a look at this, will you?”
Detective Gadsen eyed me carefully. “Thanks for calling it in.”
I shrugged. “I had to do something.”
“Of course. If you remember anything else,” the detective said handing me his business card, “call me anytime.”
“I will. Thank you.” I walked away, but when I turned the corner, I leaned against the cool stucco wall and listened.
One pair of footsteps crunched on gravel, soon accompanied by a second. The detectives talked to each other, and a third voice joined them, one I didn’t remember hearing. Someone must have been in the house before I got there.
“Best guess, he died about seven hours ago.”
“So around nine a.m., then?”
Nine. Just a few minutes after I’d left him. I couldn’t swallow, my throat was so dry.
“That’s my guesstimate. The heat and the rain don’t help. You know how it is.”
“I know how it is.”
I heard something then about temp and lividity and tripping and trajectories over the loud rush of blood pounding in my ears. When the footsteps and voices faded away, I chanced a peek around the wall.
They were gone. Inside the house, possibly? And from this angle, I could see the dog. She was tied loosely to a tire at the far end of t
he yard, her fur blending in with the dirt. The rain now fell steadily, but she didn’t even flinch.
I ran to her without thinking. My cotton T-shirt was quickly soaked through. I dodged garbage and car parts, stepping as gingerly as I could, grateful for the rain that masked the sound of my steps. But if anyone in the house was paying attention, I’d probably be heard. And I’d definitely be seen. When I reached the dog, the sky opened vengefully as I knelt and untied her lead from the tire. I tugged on it lightly. “Come,” I whispered by her ear.
The dog didn’t move. Maybe she couldn’t. Her neck was raw and seeping where they cut away the heavy collar and I didn’t want to pull on it. But then the voices grew louder as they approached us. We had no time.
I snaked one arm under the dog’s ribs and lifted her into a standing position. She was weak, but stayed up. I whispered to her again and pushed gently on her rump to urge her forward. She took a step, but went no farther. My cells buzzed with panic.
So I lifted her into my arms. She wasn’t as heavy as she should have been, but she was still heavy. I lurched forward, taking huge strides until we were out of the yard. Sweat and rain slicked my hair to my forehead and my neck. I was panting by the time we rounded the block. My knees shook as I set her down.
I wasn’t sure I could carry her all the way back to Daniel’s car. And what would I do then? I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but now the enormity of the situation I’d stepped in hit me. The dog needed a vet. I had no money. My parents weren’t animal people. I’d stolen something from a crime scene.
A crime scene. An image of the bright watermelon insides of the man’s skull spilling over into the dirt appeared again in my mind. He was definitely dead. Only hours after I wished it. Exactly the way I wished it.
A coincidence. Had to be.
Had to be.
The dog whined, snapping me back to reality. I reached down to pet her and took a tentative step forward, careful not to let the leash rub against her neck. It looked so painful.
I urged her forward and reached into my pocket for my cell phone. I had one new voice message. From my mother, at her new office. I couldn’t call her back yet; I needed to get the dog to an animal hospital. I’d call 411 to find a vet close by. Then I’d figure out how to break the news to my parents that—surprise!—we have a dog. They had to take pity on their screwed-up daughter and her pathetic companion. I was not above milking my tragedy for a higher purpose.
The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer Page 6
