Rules of the Ruff

by Heidi Lang

  “And this must be your husband.” Monique turned the force of her smile onto poor Uncle David, whose ears went red immediately. “I’ve heard so much about you, Don.”

  “D-David.”

  “Oh. Right. Yes.” Monique turned her smile up a notch. “Please, come in, come in.” She disappeared inside.

  “Maybe I should have worn that tie,” Uncle David muttered. Aunt Beatrice shot him a jagged look. “Kidding, Bea. Kidding,” he said, following her inside.

  “You coming?” Ann asked Jessie.

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Ann rolled her eyes and left Jessie there on the doorstep. It was still light out, the chill of night just starting to coat the air, the first few fireflies lighting up in the front yard.

  Jessie sighed, then eased herself inside, closing the door behind her.

  Immediately, the noise and heat of way too many people enveloped her, and she felt like she might suffocate. Was the whole town here? For a stupid party? Why? Just how many people did Monique know?

  Jessie slunk down the hall. It opened into a large dining room with hardly any furniture. No tables or chairs, just a counter covered in different bite-size foods. Jessie ducked around laughing adults and snagged a ham-and-cheese wrap and a couple of cupcakes. She was just reaching for a shrimp when a giant poster behind the food caught her eye.

  In bold purple letters were the words “Monique’s Buddy Walks!” And beneath that, in italicized script, it read, “First walk free,” with a little stylized illustration of a woman walking a pack of dogs.

  Jessie dropped her shrimp back onto the tray, her appetite gone.

  “Hey, you can’t just put food back, you know,” a woman scolded her. “That’s rude.”

  Jessie started to apologize to the woman and then recognized her as Angel’s owner. “You,” she said.

  The woman blinked. “Do I know . . . oh.” Obviously she’d just recognized Jessie, because she mumbled some excuse and shuffled away. As Jessie watched her go, she suddenly realized: This room was full of dog owners. Words filtered through the general noise, names like Rover and Mr. Fluff-butt, names that had to belong to dogs. This was a trap, this whole entire party, with the fancy food and the free wine.

  All these people were targets for Monique. All these people, and their dogs.

  How was her aunt friends with this woman? How could this happen?

  “Cute posters, aren’t they? It’s my sister’s design.”

  Jessie looked up, and suddenly she was face-to-face with her. With Monique. “Uh . . .” Jessie swallowed. This was terrible. She had to escape!

  “Hey,” Monique said slowly, her eyes widening. “I know you.”

  Oh no! Jessie froze.

  “You were running with that pit bull. I remember I was so impressed with your reflexes. You’re friends with Max, right?”

  “Uh . . .” That seemed to be all Jessie could say.

  “Monique, tell Rebecca here about your sister,” a woman cut in, and Jessie recognized her stick-straight blond hair and sharp nose. Sweetpea’s owner. The first traitor. “She doesn’t believe me.”

  “Your sister seriously walks dogs for Bianca? Like, the singer, Bianca?” the woman’s friend asked, gesturing wildly with her half-empty wine glass.

  “Oh yes.” Monique turned away from Jessie. “My sister is famous. A celebrity dog walker.”

  A celebrity dog walker? Was that a real thing? Shaking her head, Jessie backed away. And that pit bull? As if Monique didn’t know exactly who Angel was. What a faker! Still, that was close, too close. Jessie had to get out of here. Maybe she could sit outside until her aunt was ready to leave.

  She paused to grab one more cupcake. Her appetite might be gone, but these cupcakes had thick chocolate icing and raspberry filling. She snuck a quick glance around the room, then peeled the wrapper off and stuffed the whole thing in her mouth.

  “I saw that.”

  Jessie turned. It took her a second to recognize the boy in front of her; he looked strange without his normal hat, and wearing a polo shirt, of all things.

  “One bite, huh? Impressive,” Max said.

  Jessie chewed, chewed, swallowed.

  “You have chocolate all over your mouth.”

  She used her sleeve to hurriedly wipe the crumbs off her face. “Thanks,” she said. Then she remembered the last time she’d seen him, how he’d dropped her for Loralee that morning, and suddenly that cupcake felt like a lump of rage in her stomach. “Shouldn’t you be glued to your girlfriend’s side, as usual?”

  Max’s eyes widened. “I am not—”

  “There you are!” Loralee materialized at his side, practically glowing as she clutched possessively at his arm.

  Max’s cheeks flared bright red.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jessie said. She turned her back on both of them and slid through the crowd. She’d had enough Max and Loralee time for the day. And as she dodged elbows and avoided trampling feet, Jessie realized she’d had enough people time in general.

  She remembered what Wes had said, the day he agreed to teach her the Rules of the Ruff: The whole reason I became a dog walker was so I wouldn’t have to deal with people. Right here, surrounded by shrill laughter and loud conversations, Jessie suddenly understood what he meant; she had never felt more alone in her life. Dogs were way better company. They didn’t lie or make snide comments or gossip. They were easy to understand. They wouldn’t pretend to be your friend and then ditch you for Loralee.

  She thought of the glossy posters, of Monique’s “celebrity dog walker” family and beautiful smile, the way she could move to a new town and a month later throw the kind of party that everyone came to. How effortlessly she could get people to like her. Loralee was just like that. People liked her even when she was mean to them. Even when she didn’t care about them at all.

  And then Jessie thought of Wes, who was unpleasant and grumpy and would have been as comfortable at this party as a dog at a fireworks show. Wes, who cared more about dogs than anyone she knew, and who was losing those dogs, one by one, until he really would be alone.

  Jessie clenched the cupcake wrapper in one fist. She had to do something. Wes was wrong about Rule Number Three: There was never a good time to leave it. And she was here, in the lair of their enemy. There had to be something here she could use to their advantage. Maybe if she looked through Monique’s dog walking supplies she’d find . . . what? Jessie wasn’t sure, exactly. Some proof that Monique was a faker? That she didn’t understand the first thing about dog walking or the Rules of the Ruff?

  Jessie mulled it over as she tossed her cupcake wrapper in the gleaming trash can. Monique’s car would be the best place to look. She probably kept most of her leashes and things in there. And even if Jessie didn’t find anything she could use against the other dog walker, it would be good to at least know exactly what she and Wes were up against.

  The more Jessie thought about it, the more she liked that idea. She’d be taking action to help Wes and escaping this stuffy party. No one was paying attention to her, so she slipped down the hall and snuck outside. The sun had just begun creeping below the horizon, spilling red and purple in vibrant waves across the evening sky.

  Jessie quietly closed the front door behind her and walked over to the dark green Subaru parked at the top of the driveway. Her shoulder blades prickled. Any second now Monique would spring outside and catch her. Or her aunt would. Or someone.

  Jessie forced herself to breathe slowly. Calm and confident. She checked her surroundings; no one was outside. Now was her chance. Peering in through the car window, she noticed the tangle of leashes sprawled across the back seat, the roll of doggie poop bags beneath it. Definitely Monique’s car.

  Jessie reached for the door handle, then hesitated. What was she even planning here? She’d be in so much trouble if she got caught.

  But when she pictured Wes without any dogs, her chest filled with that same familiar ache she got whenever
she thought of her mom, like her heart was bleeding. She’d felt like that at the end of last summer, too, when Ann discarded her as easily as she’d shuck off an ugly sweater. That terrible, endless longing, the way it throbbed and throbbed inside until some days all Jessie could think of was what had been. She didn’t want to feel that way ever again, and she wasn’t going to let Wes go through that, either.

  Monique couldn’t be allowed to win. Not this time.

  Jessie made up her mind; there was no turning back now.

  She grabbed the door handle. Locked. But the front window was rolled down far enough for a skinny twelve-year-old arm to snake in and pull up the lock. Jessie held her breath as she opened the car door. No car alarm. She relaxed a little and slipped inside, hardly believing she was doing this.

  She glanced up at the house. The front door was still firmly shut, but she knew she didn’t have a lot of time before someone noticed she was missing. She had to move quickly, efficiently. She imagined herself as a spy, on a top-secret mission of international importance. She was doing recon for the Ruff. Immediately, Jessie’s chest loosened and she felt a lot better. Spies weren’t nervous about breaking into someone else’s car. Spies didn’t feel guilty. They just did their job and got out.

  Quietly humming the theme song to Mission: Impossible, she did a quick search of the car. The back seat had four leashes, the half-unrolled poop bags she’d seen from outside, plus another two rolls that were still sealed up, and a mangled tennis ball. The seat was partially covered by a blue-and-gray quilt liberally speckled with dog fur. In the front, Jessie found a small stash of granola bars (the gross kind with raisins instead of chocolate chips), a half-empty bottle of water, and a collapsible dog dish. Nothing too nefarious. Yet.

  She scooted over to the front passenger seat and opened the glove compartment. Immediately, a cascade of crumpled receipts and papers tumbled into her lap. “Oh, no,” Jessie whispered, grabbing them and trying to stuff them back in. It was like trying to shovel an avalanche back up a mountain; the more stuff she jammed back into the compartment, the more tumbled out around her. Now there were other things mixed in with the paper: a couple of pens, a hair tie, two packs of gum, a spare key, and a potato chip bag.

  Jessie glanced over at the house, just in time to see the front door opening. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she worked desperately, using one hand to gather the mound of junk and cram it into the compartment while her other hand blocked everything from tumbling out again.

  She closed it, shoving it until it latched, and then noticed the spare key was still out. Jessie groaned and picked it up. It looked like a car key, heavy and solid in her hand.

  “—fresh air with me,” a voice said. Max’s voice. “It’s too stuffy in there.”

  Jessie’s fingers clenched around the key and she dove into the back seat, then over the top of it, grabbing the quilt and rolling it over her as she settled in the trunk. Had he seen her? She squeezed her eyes shut and waited.

  “Don’t be gone too long,” a woman’s voice said. Monique’s voice. Jessie hated to admit it, but it was a lovely voice, deep and smooth and lilting. Hard to believe the owner of that voice kept a mountain of junk crammed inside her car. Just went to show you could never tell about a person.

  “We won’t be,” Loralee’s voice. Much less pleasant.

  Next thing Jessie knew, Loralee and Max were stomping even closer to the car, Loralee prattling on about something or other. “. . . don’t really feel like walking to the park,” she was saying.

  “Well, where else would we go?” Max asked.

  “I was thinking of somewhere a little closer . . .” Loralee purred. Jessie could hear the click as the front door opened. “And look at that, it’s unlocked. Must be fate.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Jessie held her breath.

  “The car?” Max asked. “Why would we—”

  Sounds trickled over to Jessie’s ears. Slurping sounds. Disgusting sounds. Kissing sounds. Jessie froze. Her ears burned and she tried to close them, but it was impossible.

  “The car sounds good,” Max said a few minutes later, his voice wobbly.

  Loralee chuckled. “I thought you’d agree.”

  There was the sound of cloth moving against seats, and more disgusting kissing noises. Jessie tried hard not to picture it, but her imagination was already painting images of Max pressed up against Loralee, of their lips mashed together. Jessie tried not to breathe, not to think. This was a terrible idea. She should have just stayed inside; being trapped in the car where Loralee and Max were making out was worse than any party would have been.

  “Ahem.”

  Jessie jumped. Was she caught? She felt equal parts terrified and relieved.

  “Weren’t you supposed to be getting fresh air?” Monique asked, and Jessie realized she wasn’t the one who was caught, after all.

  “Sorry, Monique,” Loralee said, her voice small and contrite. What a faker. The door opened. Were they leaving? Please say they were leaving, Jessie prayed.

  “Go on ahead, Loralee. I want to have a word with my son.”

  Darn it. Jessie rested her head against the floor of the trunk and listened to the sounds of Monique settling herself into the car, the door closing behind her. A long, tense, superawkward moment later, Max said, “Well? What did you want to say?”

  “I’m not about to scold you—” Monique began.

  “Good. Because I’m not doing anything wrong,” Max huffed. “I’m settling in, just like you wanted.”

  “And I’m so proud of you,” Monique said. “Loralee seems like a nice girl.”

  Jessie thought she might throw up. Nice? Seriously?

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Max said sullenly.

  Monique sighed. “Look, I didn’t want to move here, either. But your grandmother needs us, and Aunt Grace was right about the dog-walking business. It’s easy money.”

  Easy money? Easy money? Jessie already had calluses developing on her palms from holding multiple leashes, her hip still ached from a walk two days ago when Pickles had done a flying leap at a squirrel, and she’d lost track of the number of bruises and scrapes she’d gotten during enthusiastic dog greetings. And that wasn’t even counting the real work: somehow paying attention to the dogs and her surroundings while remaining calm and confident. Wes made it look effortless, but Jessie knew by now that properly walking a pack of dogs was about as “easy” as Loralee was “nice.”

  “So business is picking up?” Max asked, voice strained.

  “Business is definitely picking up,” Monique said. “I just signed two new clients tonight, in fact.” She laughed. “Grace’s suggestion of dog pictures and report cards was genius; the people around here are practically begging me to take their dogs out. At this rate, Wes will be folding up his business in no time. I’d almost feel bad for him, if he wasn’t so unpleasant.”

  “I guess that means we really are staying.”

  “Yes, honey, we really are staying.”

  Silence filled the car, as thick as the icing on Monique’s cupcakes. Jessie wanted to scream into it. Instead, she bit down on her knuckles.

  “So . . . is that all you wanted to talk to me about?” Max asked finally.

  “Well, I thought maybe you might want to help me—”

  “You said it was easy,” Max said sharply. “So why would you need help?”

  “It is easy. I mean, it should be. They’re just dogs. It’s just walking.”

  Jessie couldn’t feel the quilt around her, or the scratchy surface of the trunk beneath her cheek. She couldn’t feel anything at all, just the hard planes of those terrible words: They’re just dogs.

  “But I’m still not used to walking more than one or two at a time,” Monique continued. “Having an assistant would be a huge help.”

  “I told you no. I’m not helping you walk dogs.” The door opened again.

  “I wasn’t asking about you. I was thinking maybe your friend—”<
br />
  The door slammed shut, cutting her off. Jessie let out a breath. She was alone again. Finally. She lay there a long time listening to the thumping of her heart and the memory of those words repeating over and over in her head: “At this rate, Wes will be folding up his business in no time.” There was no denying what it meant. Monique wasn’t just taking a few dog clients. No, she was planning to take them all. This wasn’t just an invasion; it was a hostile takeover.

  She had to warn Wes. And unpleasant? Unpleasant? OK, yes, Wes might not be the friendliest person, but the contempt in Monique’s voice when she called him that . . . Jessie grit her teeth. That woman had no right to call Wes anything. At least he didn’t pretend to be nice and then insult people behind their backs.

  Jessie slowly crawled out of the car. She’d tell Wes first thing in the morning.

  But when she opened Monique’s front door, the sound of all those people smacked her in the face, the smell of too much perfume swirled all around her, and she froze on the doorstep. Across the room, she could just make out that large poster, the one that read “Monique’s Buddy Walks!” and beneath it in smaller letters, “First walk free.”

  They’re just dogs.

  Something inside Jessie broke, shattering like her mug the day Ann left her, and she knew she couldn’t go back inside. She couldn’t, and she wouldn’t.

  She took one last look at the stylized picture of a woman walking a pack of dogs, and then she turned around, closing the door behind her.

  Just dogs.

  Monique didn’t deserve them. She didn’t deserve any of them. And Jessie wasn’t going to let her take them away.

  CHAPTER 18

  Jessie knocked hard on Wes’s door and then put her hands on her knees and gasped for breath. After sneaking away from Monique’s house and wandering around for a few heart-stopping moments, she’d recognized Zelda’s house a few blocks down. Thanks to Rule Number Two she knew how to get back to Wes’s from there, but while it hadn’t seemed like such a far distance when she’d ridden in Wes’s car, on her own two feet, it was a whole different story.