by Kellie Bean
For one terrifying second, it looks like she’s going to keep going right past him and down the street, but Kent is ready. He grabs her around the middle and scoops the little dog up in one smooth movement. “That’s right...” he says, “...you’re my favorite girl. Yes you are.”
Reilly and I both laugh as we watch our sister’s boyfriend fawn over our temporary dog while Reagan stands back, seemingly mentally fawning over Kent, not at all offended that she’s been bumped down to the rank of Kent’s second favorite girl.
The striking green streak that used to decorate Kent’s hair is long gone, leaving his coarse hair all black and more normal looking than it did the first time I met him. At first glance, I probably wouldn’t have guessed that he was half-caribbean, especially not after meeting his very blond mother. Now that I know him and that I’ve even met his dad a couple times, I’m surprised I didn’t see it.
I’m also a little surprised that my dorkiest sister managed to get herself a guy this cute. Though to be fair, he’s pretty dorky himself.
“Wait, what time is it?” I ask out loud as my brain frantically tries to remember something it heard earlier today, something that feels super important.
At breakfast, Reagan said that Kent was coming over at two.
Crap.
The only reason I remember that at all is because I thought it was a random coincidence that he was coming over at the same time my first soccer practice started.
“Ten to two.” Kent answers me, completely unaware of how relieved I am to hear that he had been early instead of late for his date with my sister.
I exhale a sigh of relief. Ten minutes. I still have ten minutes to get to school.
The school that is usually about a fifteen-minute walk from home. Better make a run for it.
At least I’m already dressed and wearing shoes that are comfortable enough to sprint in.
“I’ve got to go. Do you guys have Molly?” I direct my question at Reagan since she already agreed she’d watch the dog while I was at practice. It still feels like I’m supposed to check in though.
“Yup. No problem. Go. Kick balls. Score points. All that stuff.”
I don’t even have time to come up with a retort. Instead, I’m already sprinting down the street.
Despite running hard, I slip into the back of the group after Coach Wasserman has already officially started practice. I would have made it if I hadn’t had to change into my cleats.
My lungs are screaming at me as the team starts to make their way around the track. I’ve done enough of this already! My new coach shoots me a look, promising she saw that I had been late for our very first practice. I push myself to run faster, not letting myself fall anywhere near the back of the pack.
Soon enough, my body is loving the familiar burn of working hard. I lose myself in drills and focus on my footwork.
God, I have missed this so much.
I’m not really sure how I made it through all of last year without throwing myself into soccer for more than one skirmish with friends at a time.
I’m back now. I plan to make up for lost time.
By the time Coach calls a break for us to go rehydrate, I’m sweating hard and wishing I could practice like this every day. Maybe one day I’ll be able to play for a university team, where soccer is my first and only real priority and school becomes the filler activity that really just marks time between practices.
Behind Emma, I trot over to the cooler and grab myself a bottle of water, slowly coming out of soccer mode and back to the real world. I hadn’t even realized we’d had an audience. A group of six guys sits near the sideline of the field. Most are chatting or on their phones, but one of them is looking right at me.
Noah.
Right away, I start moving toward him, taking a long sip of water as I move.
“Hey.” I say with a nod. “What are you guys doing here? I thought you had practice yesterday.” Technically, I guess I’m talking to the whole group. In reality, I’m only looking at Noah.
“We were nearby at Joel’s house, thought we’d come see if anyone was here.”
“Checking out the competition?” I say, joking. With Noah still staring right at me, I’m seriously struggling to come up with anything clever to say.
Someone nearby scoffs. I turn to find a lanky guy with dirty-blond hair and smoky-gray eyes making an incredulous face at me. “How are you guys our competition?” I think this guy might be Joel. I’ve been introduced to him a few times, but for whatever reason, his name isn’t one that has stuck with me.
I’m immediately not a fan of Joel.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Huh?” I say, making myself give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Girls team.” he says, jerking his head toward the group by the cooler. “Guys team.” He spreads his hands out in front of him, indicating his friends. “Not even in the same league.”
I hold up a hand, silencing him before he can say anything else. “Okay.” I take a breath, frantically trying to figure out what to say before my pause starts to lose effect. “I could have given you that you aren’t our competition. Thanks to high school sports rules, you will never have to know what it feels like to have us kick your asses. But… not in the same league? Come on.”
My heart still racing from practice, I stare Joel down, waiting to see what he comes back with. I’m mostly just hoping he lets it go. I’m not looking for a fight today, not when I’m having one of the best weeks ever.
“Don’t come on, me.” Joel’s friends snicker with laughter. I just roll my eyes. “There are some basic laws of biology in play here. You ladies just aren’t capable of the same level of skill that we are.”
I officially want to kick this dude. I’ll show him my damn skill level. Before I can even open my mouth, wanting to wipe the floor with him in every possible way, a whistle blows from across the field.
It definitely hasn’t been five minutes yet. Confused, I turn to follow the noise and see Coach Wasserman looking right at me. “Donovan!” she calls out. “Come here!”
“Saved by mommy.” Joel stage-whispers, easily still loud enough for me to hear.
I don’t even bother looking back, too tense with frustration to even really care about my missed opportunity to chat with Noah.
“You were late.” Coach says as soon as I stop in front of her.
“I’m sorry.” I answer, knowing better than to start making excuses. “It won’t happen again.”
“I hope not. I’ll let you off the hook for today because you are still on vacation. I know how hard it can be to regain your focus. I expect the absolute best from my girls this year. We’re too small a town for sports to ever have been a major focus, however we have a good group this year and I intend to make the most of it.”
I nod, trying to remain passive, or even deferential since I really don’t want being late today to hang over my head all season. I fully intend to give this team everything I have. I want to make sure my new coach knows it.
No matter what Joel thinks, I know Coach Wasserman is right that there is some serious talent on the girls team.
“Something the matter?” Coach asks, surprising me. “If you’re not willing to put in the work, tell me now. I won’t have anyone treating this as little more than a way to blow off steam and hang out with their buddies.”
I shake my head emphatically, wondering what my expression had shifted to so that the coach thought I was disagreeing with her hardline attitude or disapproval of my tardiness. “It’s not that.” I look back over my shoulder. The guys are still there, laughing and talking over one another. My jaw clenches with comebacks never spoken.
“Then what is it?”
With my mind made up, I look back at the coach.
“It turns out that some of the boys team is under the impression that they’re way more skilled than we can ever be, merely by merit of their…” I cut myself off just in time, before I can say something I really wouldn’t be able to take back. “B
ecause they’re guys and we’re not.” I finish pathetically.
Instead of looking annoyed at my slip, Coach Wasserman’s mouth has quirked up in an amused smile. Her expression quickly shifts to annoyance as she takes in my words. “Is that so? Funny enough, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that kind of sentiment.”
I nod, not sure what else to say.
“I had been planning to ease us in today, with team building and filling in any skill gaps that might have developed since last season.” I school my expression. I’ve been working my butt off since I arrived… this is what she considers taking it easy? Should be an interesting year. “Instead, I think it’s time we step things up. How about we show these fools what girls are really made of?”
Despite the fact that I’m already exhausted and that every one of my leg muscles are already aching, I find myself nodding enthusiastically. I like the way she thinks.
With no warning, Coach Wasserman blows her whistle again, signaling the end of our water break.
It’s time to get back to work.
Chapter 7
Four small puppies dash around an otherwise empty yard in a blur of brown and white.
I stand with my nose practically pushed up against the sliding glass door that separates John’s kitchen from the yard. He’s assured me it’ll be good for them to have a little time just to do their thing, without having humans hovering around always right behind them.
That’s more easily said than done.
“Reece…” John says softly from behind me. “They’re fine, I promise.” And I can see for myself that he’s right. Molly is busy tumbling around with one of her brothers while another tugs on her ear, trying to get in on the action. She’s having a great time.
“I know.” I say, making myself step away from the door, prying my eyes away from the backyard.
John is sitting at a small, wooden-slatted table. At his feet sits Poncho, a black dog who looks like some kind of retriever mix. The older dog snores on contentedly, probably glad for a puppy reprieve.
“I don’t get how you do this.” I admit, sitting down in the only other chair. While John hasn’t said so, I’m definitely getting the impression that only he and his mom live here–along with Poncho, two cats, a rabbit named Fredrick and for the next week or so, three puppies.
John tilts his head, but doesn’t ask the question out loud.
“Fostering. How do you get used to having a dog actually live with you, then having to say goodbye at the end?”
We’re past the halfway mark of our time with Molly. It’s killing me a little every time I think about handing her off to some new family and never seeing her again. It’s not like I can even ask them to send me updates just so I’ll know she’s okay.
Not to say that looking after her every waking moment when I’m home hasn’t been exhausting, it seems like that dog is always either eating, playing, or chewing on something she’s not supposed to. Even so, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for it to be over either.
John is still considering his answer. I’m fully expecting some sort of canned answer like he got used to it, or it’s all worth it because he knows they’ll be going to new homes.
“Honestly, it kind of sucks. This is more my mom’s thing. She's been doing it for as long as I can remember, pretty much since I’ve been old enough to know how to properly respect the animals in our house. I would have kept every single one of them.”
Okay, that doesn’t exactly make me feel better. I can definitely relate. I’m having a hard enough time going through this with just one dog, I have no idea how he manages with a steady stream of them coming in and out of his home all the time.
“Still, my mom always reminds me that every dog that goes to a new home makes room for one more whose life we may be able to save.”
There’s no chance to respond because without warning, Poncho jumps up from his spot under the table and sprints toward the front door of John’s open-floor-plan townhouse. A second later, I hear a key jiggling around in the lock and then a woman I don’t recognize steps through the threshold.
I know right away that this has to be John’s mom—and Kendra’s sister—but I never would have guessed. The woman walking toward us with a polite but slightly confused smile on her face is frail, with thin brown hair, hanging limp around her shoulders. A few visible lines run across her cheeks and out from the corners of her eyes. She has to be at least a decade older than my own parents, maybe even closer to two.
John stands up at once to take the grocery bags she’s holding and places them on the counter. “Mom, this is Reece, the girl I was telling you about. She brought Molly over for a playdate.” John turns to me before continuing, “She’s been obsessing over puppy pictures ever since the litter was dropped off. Reece, this is my mom, Carol.”
I put on a big smile, feeling myself shift into parent-mode. I want to make a good impression. But, Carol’s attention isn’t on me at all. She’s already looking outside at the puppies, squealing with a delight that makes her instantly seem far younger. “Oh she’s just perfect!” she says, her voice nearing a whisper.
“She really is.” I agree. At the sound of my voice, John’s mom turns toward me and reaches out to shake my hand. She has a surprisingly firm grip.
“I heard about your daring puppy hunt. It was such a good thing you did.” The older woman’s brown eyes are shining a little as she speaks, enough that I have to wonder if she’s on the verge of tears. “You may have saved those puppies lives.”
“I only did what anyone… It was no pro—thank you. I’m just glad I got there when I did.”
The three of us chat for nearly an hour, long after all four puppies have passed out in a pile in the yard, shaded from the summer sun by their neighbor’s oak tree. It turned out that John’s mother had been rescuing animals for years before her son was even born. It’s a passion she had shared with Kendra since the two of them were children, even though their younger brother was allergic to animals and neither one of them had pets of their own, until they had moved out.
Most of the stories are happy—saved lives, families finding their perfect furry companions—however, she hints at a few sadder stories as well. I make a point of not following up. There’s no way I’m in any sort of headspace to deal with sad stories about dogs or anyone else right now. Either way, I’m so beyond impressed. It’s easy to see just how much John looks up to his mother as well. From the sound of it, it has been just the two of them for a long time, with so much of their lives revolves around rescue work.
Eventually, I have to get going to do some rescue work of my own.
“Time for me to head home,” I say when the conversation finally lulls, moving toward the back door to go get Molly. “I have to drop this rugrat off at home and then go into the shelter for a few hours. I’d say we should do this again, but Kendra has already had dozens of applications for each puppy, so I’m guessing they’ll all be with their new families by next week.” I try to keep the quiver out of my voice as I speak, but I’m not sure how well it’s working.
Yeah. I don’t want to think about it.
I get home far later than planned. So much for going over to Tessa's house for dinner.
Simon, an orange tabby that has lived at the shelter for a couple of months now, managed to get into… something. Neither Kendra nor I could really guess what. He projectile vomited all over the cat room, so I was just lucky enough to have it happen during my volunteer shift. So, I got to clean it all up. For two hours.
Then he threw up again.
Yeah, I’m going to need a shower.
Even though it's just after eight at night by the time I get home, the house seems unusually quiet as I shut the front door behind me, kicking off my shoes.
I glance in the living room before calling out, seeing my dad fast asleep on the couch. Molly is curled up in a ball on his chest and seems to be dozing as well.
I tiptoe away again, hoping they will both stay asleep l
ong enough that I can make it all the way upstairs, turning on the shower before anyone realizes I’m back.
Instead, it's not the warm embrace of a hot shower that greets me when I make it up to my bedroom. Even though the room I share with Reilly is usually a mess, I can tell right away that something is different. This is bad, even for us.
Scraps of cloth and plastic lay just about everywhere, from the floor to my bedspread to the open door leading to the bathroom that separates our room from our sisters’.
Somehow, I don’t think it’s my sister that made the mess.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
Okay, first question. How did nobody notice this? Second question. Where is my family?
I catch sight of my mom’s favorite sunglass sitting in three different pieces at the foot of Reilly’s bed, knowing there’s no chance of me covering any of this up.
Going through the bathroom to the bedroom facing the front of the house, I quickly find a lump in Rhiannon’s bed that I assume is my sister. So that’s a total of half my family that’s accounted for, plus one puppy. So why is no one here and yelling at me for letting this happen yet?
More confused than anything, I head upstairs to the attic that we’re currently using as extra space for me and my sisters. We’ve set up a few extra couches there along with all of our computers. I find Reilly upstairs alone at her computer, large headphones on over her medium-brown hair—the same color that mine used to be before I started lightening it as a way to stand out from my sisters.
I try to make noise as I approach, but when I put my hand down on Reilly’s shoulder, she still jumps in surprise. Whipping her head around, Reilly’s eyes lock on my own and she instantly relaxes. “You scared me!”
“Sorry! I didn’t know how else to get your attention. Where is everyone?”
Reilly looks around as though only just realizing she’s alone in the room. “Uhh… Reagan is at Rosie’s house with Kent. Mom’s still at work. No idea about Dad and Rhi.”
