“Did you tell Mom?” I asked gently.
She shook her head and blew her nose noisily. “I’m too embarrassed.”
I didn’t know my sister could be embarrassed. But I completely related.
“So anyway,” she continued. “I told Sheena I’m done, not to call or text or anything. And don’t dare show up here again.” Her voice caught, and she dabbed at her eyes.
“You iced your BFF?” That was huge. Bigger, maybe, than the stealing thing. “What’d she say?”
“You know.” Regan waved her hand dismissively. “Tried to make excuses, said she had a disease! Can you believe her nerve? She promised to get help if I forgave her.”
“But you’re not going to—?”
Regan shook her head. “She violated our family. That’s unforgiveable. If you hadn’t caught her—”
“It was really Rex.” That came out of my mouth before I could stop it.
Regan snorted. “Maybe he should be a police dog instead of a service dog.”
“About that … about Rex, I have something to ask you,” I ventured. “You said Dad suggested training a service dog.”
“He did,” she confirmed, wiping away her tears. “Okay, maybe he was kidding when he said it would look good for my college application.”
“Did he know specifically about Canine Connections?” I asked.
“Of course. How do you think I came up with them?”
I guess “research” was out of the question.
“Do you know if—”
“What?”
“Did he ever, you know, have any of the at-risk kids train a dog, like as a life-lesson thing—to learn responsibility, empathy, helping someone worse off than yourself?”
“All the time.” Regan looked at me curiously. “I thought you knew that, and that the real reason you didn’t force me into doing it was because you wanted to continue Dad’s work.”
Her words hit me like a punch. I’d never thought about it like that. Guess I was the only one, because Mom knew about Dad’s involvement in the program. We shared a lot of stuff, me and my dad, but when I think about it, I realize it was always my stuff, whatever I was going through, or interested in. He never talked about his work. Not specifically. Had I ever asked? Had Regan? Is that why she knew about this?
For a fleeting second, I saw my sister differently. True, she’ll always be everything I’m not, inside out and outside in. Outside our house, what Regan is—beautiful, popular, extroverted, trendy—is valued. She’s the girl other girls wish they were.
No one, as far as I know, wishes she were me.
Inside our house, my dad made me feel like the special one. I always thought he valued the person I was over Regan. But as the days go by, I can’t get away from the feeling—the knowing—that my dad was okay with both of us. That he loved her as deeply as he loved me.
“Regan?”
“What?”
“Would it be okay if I helped with your college essay?”
She narrowed her still-moist eyes. “What makes you think it needs help?”
I fessed up. “You got a lot of it wrong—about the training, I mean.”
A real smile formed on her bow lips. A warm smile, a sisterly smile.
An “I win again!” smile.
16
A Wheel Scare
Dealing with homework, getting tutored, and actually paying attention in school left fewer brain cells devoted to obsessing about JJ. But whenever I did see him, the righteous anger in me fired up again. I counted six miserable times since he’d returned to Canine Connections with at least that many more to go. Worse was feeling pushed in one direction, pulled in another.
Rex pushed me to use class time to “get the truth out of him.”
The force of my fury pulled me farther away from him.
I dreaded what was coming next: my turn to work one-on-one with him. So far, LuLu and the others had taken turns helping JJ and Otis catch up.
On the last Friday in May, it was my turn.
I refused. On the grounds that I hated him.
“You’re not doing it for him,” LuLu reminded me. “Otis is a smart dog, and he has a good chance of passing the Public Access Test. He could give a disabled person a chance at an independent life. That’s our goal here.”
Hard to argue with that. But I found a way. “I have nothing against the dog. I’ll take him home for the weekend. Rex and I will work with him.”
I thought that was a brilliant compromise, but not so much. “Grace.” Lulu gave my shoulder a light squeeze. “That’s very generous of you, but you know there’s more to it. JJ’s participation in this program is crucial. Otherwise, he may end up in a juvenile facility.”
“Works for me.”
“Our job is to help him avoid that,” she said gently.
“I can’t be around him.” I folded my arms defensively. “Do you know how it even feels to see him in class?”
“I’m sure it’s been hard,” she said sympathetically. “Yet in spite of it, you and Rex are my shining stars. That says a lot about your character.”
I scowled.
She continued. “Everyone who’s worked with JJ says he’s a quick study, cooperative, no attitude. And I need you only a few hours on Sunday. I promise it’ll be in a public place. You won’t be alone with him.”
I pouted. Making me work with JJ was beyond unfair.
Rex, who had his own agenda, went straight for my weak spot. “It’s probably what your father would have wanted.”
I pointed a warning finger at the dog. “Don’t go there, Rex!”
I ignored LuLu’s bewilderment.
“I’m just sayin’ if your old man got this kid into the program, he probably wanted him to succeed.”
At least LuLu was true to her word. I did end up in a public place with JJ. Late Sunday morning, she met us in the parking lot of a CVS superstore in Jupiter. My mission was to help teach Otis to focus and function in a big, busy store. The lesson was like the one in the Gardens Mall and one we did in a grocery store, with one major adjustment: this time, we’d be in wheelchairs. We’d find out what it was really like to rely on a dog to help us shop.
LuLu provided wheelchairs and basic instruction in their use. “Remember, you can’t get out of the chair; your mobility is limited,” were her parting words.
If not for being stuck with JJ, I would’ve been psyched by the assignment, a real test for Rex and me. The only way to get through it was to focus on Otis, act like JJ wasn’t even there.
It wasn’t a viable plan. The dogs stayed close to each other—and they were strapped to our chairs by their leashes.
“Heel!” I told Rex.
Obediently, he positioned himself next to the wheelchair.
JJ mimicked me. Only one problem. The dog is supposed to be on your left and Otis was on JJ’s right. When that happens, you’re to say, “Side,” signaling the dog to walk around the chair. JJ didn’t know this. I could have not said anything, let him do it wrong. But the words were out of my mouth before I could debate it. “You need to tell him, ‘Side.’ He should be on your left.”
When Otis obeyed, I said stiffly, “You should praise him for doing the right thing.”
“Good boy,” he told Otis agreeably. He turned to me, his leg jangling. “So what do we do now?”
“We start.” I wheeled into the store through the automatic doors and pointed at the stack of small shopping baskets by the entrance. “Look,” I instructed Rex. When he focused on them, I said, “Bring it to me.”
The task wasn’t hard for Rex, who gingerly grasped the edge of the top basket with his teeth, lifted it out, and placed it on my lap.
“Whoa.” That was JJ. “Dude, your dog is amazing. It’s like he’s human or something. I don’t think this one can do that.” He flicked his eyes at Otis.
“If you’d been at the classes where we practiced, he might have a better shot,” I said.
He shrugged.
I
rolled my eyes.
Rex barked.
Otis, confused, sat down.
“Get his attention,” I said. “Then point at what you want and say, ‘Look.’”
At the sound of JJ’s voice, Otis got up. He seemed to understand but wasn’t as agile as Rex, and this was his first try at the task. He used his paws instead of his teeth, and knocked the whole stack over. Instantly, a customer who’d been watching us intervened. “I’ll help,” she offered, straightening the stack and placing a basket on JJ’s lap. He gave her a thankful grin.
I grimaced. We’d been taught that when the dog makes a mistake, you’re supposed to correct him, give him another chance. But this was probably a tough start for JJ and Otis, so I didn’t criticize him.
Next up: buying toothpaste, soap, aspirin, and shaving cream. When you can walk, you don’t think twice about shopping. When you’re in a wheelchair with a dog at your side, you become wider and the aisles suddenly seem narrow.
I went in front of JJ and stopped by the toothpaste. The idea was to pick one on a high shelf, and get the dog to bring it to you. I chose a tube of something that promised super whitening, then lined up the wheelchair and dog as close to it as possible. “Get it,” I said, pointing out the toothpaste I wanted. Rex dutifully got up on his hind legs and after several tries, managed to knock the right one to the floor, pick it up, and put it in the basket.
“Good job!” I praised him.
JJ’s eyes were wide.
“Tag, you’re it. Show Otis what you want.”
“This is weird, man,” he said. “I don’t like it.”
Honestly? I’d thought this was a cool assignment, but now that we were doing it, I agreed with him. It was hard! Worse, the looks of pity we were getting from the other shoppers reminded me too sharply of the way the kids at school looked at me right after Dad died. I hated it.
I also hated that I was stuck here, at least until we finished shopping. I determined to get through it quickly.
Rex did his part by helping Otis. At least I think that’s what my dog was doing. I’ll say this for the poodle. He didn’t get distracted by other customers, even when a kid came over to pet him. He looked at JJ for guidance. To his credit, he followed my lead.
Mostly, they did all right. Otis made a mess of the aspirin shelves, but retrieved the shaving cream and soap without too much collateral damage. And although he tried to mask it, JJ couldn’t hide the look of pride on his face.
We finished our shopping and it was time to pay. Rex and I had practiced this before. I demonstrated how to get the dog to pull the credit card out of your pocket, then give it to the cashier.
Rex performed with his usual panache, paws atop the counter, watching as the cashier scanned the card and returned it. Rex gingerly took it and dropped it, and the bagged items, in my shopping basket.
JJ and Otis were next. A line had formed behind him. When Otis didn’t retrieve the credit card from his pocket right away, JJ cheated—he pulled it out and gave it to him. Which is completely unhelpful if Otis ends up with someone without use of his hands.
I didn’t bother pointing that out. JJ had started to sweat as the line behind us got longer. I could see he was itching to get out of the chair and pay the normal way.
“Rex”—I leaned over the side of the chair and whispered to my dog—“show Otis how to give the card to the cashier.”
“I’m not supposed to,” he demurred, “but I’ll do it for you, Tracey.”
As we headed out to the parking lot to wait for LuLu, JJ asked, “What if you don’t have a credit card? How does the dog pay in cash?”
“You put the approximate amount you need in your wallet. The dog gives the wallet to the cashier.”
“How do you know the kid at the register isn’t going to take a few extra bucks for himself?” JJ queried.
“You don’t. Sometimes you just have to trust that people are honorable. That they’ll do the right thing.” Unlike you, I thought. “But it’s true that disabled people are vulnerable, easy targets sometimes. Which really stinks.”
On the sidewalk outside the store, JJ stood up and folded the wheelchair. “I’m done with this contraption.”
“You’re lucky you can,” I said obnoxiously—deliberately staying put.
JJ’s cell phone rang just then. I wasn’t trying to listen but couldn’t help overhearing him tell someone our location. “I’m getting a ride home,” he said to me when the call was over.
Like I cared. Unless of course it was the gang coming to get him. Then I cared very much. If LuLu didn’t show soon, I would call her.
Without a training exercise, JJ and I didn’t have anything to say to each other. Fine by me. He seemed jumpy, though, rubbing his palms together, shifting on his feet. Then he nodded toward his left. “There’s a vending machine around the corner. I’m getting a soda. You want something?”
A cold bottle of water would be good. But not from him. An idea popped into my head. “Come on, Rex,” I said, propelling myself in front of JJ, along the sidewalk until we rounded the corner. JJ and Otis followed. When we reached the vending machine, I said, “Might as well have Rex do it. Technically, we’re still working.”
JJ shot me an “are you nuts?” look. But I could tell he was impressed as Rex and I worked it. The dog pushed the correct button with his nose, retrieved the bottle of water when it landed in the basket.
“Why don’t you try with Otis?” I said. To make room for him, I backed the wheelchair off the curb, into the parking lot.
“I’ve had enough,” he said, depositing the coins in the slot. He kept his eyes on the soda can as it plunked into the catchall. “Just to get this straight, it doesn’t thrill me to be around you, either.”
At first, I didn’t get what he was talking about. As soon as I did, I nearly choked on my drink. “Excuse me?” I said, mopping my face with the back of my hand.
“I blew off those classes after … what happened.”
I started to boil. “By ‘what happened,’ you mean the night I got lost in your neighborhood and caught you in a lie? After your friends blurted that your brother is in jail? You were in that car all along and know exactly what went down. Is that what you mean?”
He flushed; sweat beads had collected on his forehead and he looked away.
I went on ranting. “You didn’t want to see me because you felt guilty—”
“And remorseful,” Rex cut in. “Now would be a good moment to ask him.”
“Ask him?”
JJ’s thick brow furrowed. Uh-oh, had I said that out loud? I coughed to cover up my embarrassment, and heard myself say stiffly, “So obviously, you knew my father.”
“You didn’t know that? Dude’s the only reason I’m here.” He took a gulp of soda.
So that was it. Confirmation. As if I still needed it.
Angry as I was, my voice came out whiny. “My dad worked with you. He tried to help you. Shooting him—that’s how you repaid him?”
JJ’s hands went up so fast, his soda can slipped to the ground. “Whoa. Chill. I didn’t shoot anybody.”
“But you know who did.” My heart started to pound.
He bent over to pick up the Pepsi. “It wasn’t supposed to go down like that. He wasn’t supposed to …”
JJ didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Neither of us saw the car coming, or even heard the blaring beat of the radio, until it was too late. The stealth shove came from behind me—the fender of the car smacked against the back of the wheelchair with enough force to flip it over and send it crashing to the ground. I felt myself toppling over as the dogs barked frantically. Through it all, I heard JJ’s panicked cries. “Stop it! No! Stop!”
I tried to break my fall with my hands. Still, I did a face-plant into the hot pavement. Instantly, Rex’s wet nose was in my face, and though it sounded like frenzied barking, his doggy voice was in my ear. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry! I tried to warn you! Oh, please, Macey, tell me you’re okay!�
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JJ quickly pulled the chair off me and helped me to my feet. “You hurt?” he asked anxiously. His expression was total shock—and fear.
Menacing laughter came from the car.
I brushed myself off. I’d skinned my palms and knees, and probably scratched my face, but luckily, I was in one piece. Rex pressed his trembling body against my leg. “Can you stand? Is anything broken? I wanted to warn you—”
I stroked his wiry head. “I’m fine, it’s okay.”
JJ turned furiously to the driver of the car. “What the hell, man—what’s the matter with you? You could’ve hurt her.”
“Down, bro—it was just a tap.”
I wasn’t surprised, but still, a chill went through my sweaty body as I identified the perps. Hector and Chris. Fear prickled up my spine like a skittering spider. Unsteadily, I pulled away from JJ and took a step toward them.
“Uh-oh, I think she’s gonna spit on me again. I’m really scared,” Hector heckled me. As if by some secret dog sign, Rex and Otis lunged at the open window of the car together, a tag team of teeth-baring terror. Before Hector could retract his arm, Rex had a juicy elbow in his jaw.
“Rex, no!” I cried. I wanted to do more than spit at them myself, but I couldn’t let Rex bite. I’d heard too many stories of dogs being put down for attacking people, no matter what the reason.
Luckily, the demonstration of canine ferocity scared them, or more likely, they didn’t want to attract any more attention to themselves. Panic edged into their voices. “JJ! Get in the car! Now!”
JJ looked torn, appalled even.
Not enough to turn his back on them, though. He took a reluctant step away from me.
I grabbed his arm. “Wait.”
“I can’t, man, I gotta go,” he said nervously.
“You said it wasn’t supposed to happen. With my dad …” I sounded desperate. I felt desperate. JJ shook my hand off him. It was too late. Whatever he’d planned to tell me was lost. He stepped off the curb, toward the car. Then swiftly, over his shoulder, he said—just loud enough so I could hear, but the boys in the car couldn’t—“The Jupiter Pier. Eight tonight.”
What the Dog Said Page 10
