Puppy Love Page 4

  I turned around. Standing behind the counter was Megan. She was holding Tallulah in her arms.

  “Oh,” I said. “It’s you.”

  “Yes, it’s me,” Megan said sarcastically.

  I looked around for my mother, who was busy in the back of the shop and hadn’t noticed Megan yet. I knew Megan was there to tell her what had happened, and I felt sick to my stomach. Behind me, Skunk was whining. He hated the smell of the rinse, and I wanted to get it off him. But first I had to get rid of Megan.

  “Listen,” I said. “About—”

  “I want to leave Tallulah here for the day,” Megan interrupted.

  I hesitated. “You do?” I said. “Here?”

  Megan sighed like I was wasting her time. “I don’t want to,” she said. “But you’re the only place around.”

  “What about Dapper Dog?” I suggested, naming the grooming salon a couple of towns over.

  “I thought I’d be nice and give you a second chance,” said Megan. “Anyway, you owe me. So here.”

  She thrust Tallulah at me. I had to take her. She looked at me and growled.

  “I’m going to the club for the day,” said Megan. “I’ll get her around four. Try not to lose her this time.”

  Before I could say anything, Megan left. As the door shut behind her, my mother walked up. She looked at Tallulah. “Another repeat customer,” she said as Tallulah dug her nails into my arm. “Great.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Really great.”

  I put Tallulah outside, where she immediately ran to the place where she’d dug under the fence. I’d filled it in, but you could still see that someone had been digging there. Tallulah scratched at it for a moment, then trotted off to take a toy away from Pythagoras. I figured that would keep her busy for a while, so I went back to finish bathing Skunk.

  As I dried Skunk, I asked myself why Megan would leave Tallulah with me after what happened. I didn’t for a second believe her claim that she was giving me a second chance. Megan Fitzmartin didn’t give people second chances. She didn’t even give them first chances. There had to be another reason. Very possibly, her business wasn’t wanted at Dapper Dog.

  I didn’t have long to think about it. Once Mrs. Trumble arrived with Charles, the day got crazy. It was one dog after another. As I helped my mother wash, dry, comb, and trim the parade of dogs, I went out back every few minutes to make sure everybody—especially Tallulah—was okay. A couple of times I caught her nipping at the big dogs, but as long as she didn’t try to escape again, I figured that was good behavior for her.

  At lunchtime I took a break to eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I’d made before coming to the shop. I was halfway through it when someone came through the front door. I stood up, trying to swallow the bite of sandwich in my mouth, and immediately started choking. I coughed loudly.

  “Are you okay?”

  I finally got the sandwich down, then looked up at the worried customer. “I’m okay,” I said. “Thanks for asking.”

  “No problem,” Jerkboy said.

  I couldn’t believe he had just shown up in my life. Again. It was like it was fate or something. And he looked so good. The dirty overalls were gone and he was wearing jeans and an untucked white shirt with the sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows. His tan looked great against the white material, and for a moment I forgot that he was a jerkboy. Then I came to my senses.

  “What are you doing here?” I exclaimed, and not very nicely.

  “Barkley needs a bath and a trim,” he said.

  I looked over the edge of the counter. Sitting at Jerkboy’s feet was a handsome springer spaniel. His black-and-white coat was dirty, and there were some tangles in his fur.

  “He likes to roll in mud,” Jerkboy told me, smiling.

  “I can tell,” I said, trying to sound cold shoulderish. “Okay, we can do that.”

  “Great,” said Jerkboy. “What time should I come back?”

  Never, I wanted to say. But I told him, “He’ll be ready at two.”

  “I’ll be back at two then,” he said. “Barkley, you be a good boy.”

  Barkley gave a little woof and Jerkboy patted him on the head. He handed me the leash, and I avoided looking at his eyes as I led Barkley to the back. For a second I thought Jerkboy was going to keep standing there, like he was waiting to say something. But when I looked back again, he was heading out the door.

  I put Barkley into one of the washing tubs and turned the water on. While I waited for it to warm up, I took Barkley’s collar off so that it wouldn’t get wet. As I laid it down, I looked at the tag hanging from one of the metal loops. It was shaped like a bone, and Barkley’s name was engraved on it. Beneath his name was another name and an address.

  “Jack McKenna,” I read. So Jerkboy had a name. Jack. “That’s pretty close to ‘jerk,’” I said to Barkley.

  Barkley behaved perfectly as I washed him. He didn’t even mind when I washed his head. Most dogs hate that. But he stood there as I covered his eyes with my hand and sprayed the water on his face. As I rinsed the rest of him, I said, “How can such a jerk have such a nice dog?”

  Barkley didn’t answer me, but he turned and looked at me with his big, sad eyes. “Don’t do that,” I told him. “Your friend Jack has eyes like that.”

  I dried Barkley, then I asked my mother if I could practice my trimming skills on him. She agreed, and stood watching while I worked. First I used the clippers to trim the hair on his neck, head, and muzzle. Then I switched to the scissors and worked on his ears before moving on to his feet. Feet are the hardest, especially on dogs with fluffy legs. Barkley had a lot of fur there, and it took me a long time to get it right. But finally I was done.

  “He looks good,” my mother said. “You might want to take some more off his hocks and trim the feathers on his legs a little more, but not too much. That hair takes longer to grow back than the rest of his coat, so you don’t want to overdo it.”

  I did what she suggested, and when I was finished, Barkley looked great, if I do say so myself. I was snipping the last stray hairs from his ears when Jerk—I mean Jack—came back.

  “Wow,” he said as he inspected Barkley. “You did this yourself?”

  I nodded. “I’m not that good,” I said. “I’ve only been doing it for about a year. My mom is the real pro.”

  “He looks fantastic,” Jack said. “Really fantastic.”

  “Oh, well, thanks,” I replied as I lifted Barkley down from the grooming table. “He held still. It helped a lot.”

  Jack knelt and ran his hands over Barkley. The dog shook himself, sending some little pieces of hair flying. Jack laughed and rubbed Barkley’s head. “You look great, buddy,” he said.

  Watching them together, I couldn’t help but smile. Jack clearly loved Barkley a lot, and Barkley loved him. Then I remembered that he’d snitched on me to Megan, and I got all businesslike. “That’ll be twenty dollars,” I said.

  Jack reached in his pocket and handed me a twenty and a five. “The five’s for you,” he said. “You know, a tip.”

  “Thanks,” I said, not really knowing what to do with the money. Finally I shoved it into my back pocket.

  Then Jack said, “I guess we should go. I need to hit the library before it closes. You don’t happen to know where it is, do you?”

  “Three blocks down,” I told him. “On Parson Street.”

  “That would be left or right when I walk out of here?” asked Jack.

  “Left,” I said.

  “Sorry for the stupid question,” said Jack. “I just moved here. I don’t really know where anything is.”

  “Where’d you move here from?” I asked him, surprised at myself. A second before, I’d wanted him out of the shop and out of my sight. Now I was asking him questions about himself.

  “Chicago,” he said. “Well, not really Chicago, but near it. It’s just easier to say Chicago.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “I thought you said left,”
he said, smiling.

  I laughed. He wasn’t just cute, he was funny, too. Then I reminded myself that I was mad at him, and I made myself stop. He is not charming, I told myself sternly.

  “I don’t suppose you know anything about the Oak Club, do you?” Jack asked me.

  “Sure,” I said. “My parents belong to it. Practically the whole town does. Why?”

  “My parents joined,” Jack explained. “They want me to go to this thing there this weekend so I can meet people. The Family Circus or something, I think it’s called.”

  “The Family Frolic,” I corrected him.

  “That’s it,” said Jack. “Is it as bad as it sounds?”

  “Worse.”

  “Great,” said Jack. He paused a second. “Are you going?” he asked me.

  “I don’t know,” I lied. What was with all the lying these days? “Maybe. Probably.”

  “Then maybe it won’t be all bad,” said Jack.

  Barkley whined. Jack looked at him. “I think someone needs a walk,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Bye,” I said. “Bye, Barkley.”

  The two of them left. When they were gone, I leaned against the grooming table. I couldn’t figure Jack out. On one hand, he was a total jerk for turning me in. And he’d been so condescending—like he knew more about dogs than I did! On the other hand, he was really sweet to his dog, and he’d been pretty nice to me too. It was like there were two different Jacks running around, one good and one bad. And both of them were really cute.

  “Who was that boy?” my mother asked, coming in with a pile of towels.

  “Oh, just some guy,” I answered. “He’s new here.”

  “He was very good-looking,” said my mother, folding a towel.

  “You think?” I said. “I didn’t really notice.”

  My mother looked at me and raised one eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything. I could feel my face turning red. “I think I hear Tallulah barking,” I said, needing an escape from the situation. “I should go check on her.”

  Tallulah, much to my amazement, was fine, and so were the other dogs. I sat down on the back steps and watched them run around. Pythagoras trotted over and sat beside me, leaning his big body against me. I put my arm around him.

  “You dogs have it pretty easy,” I said. “You just sniff each other and figure out who you like and who you don’t. It’s a lot harder for people.”

  Py put his head on my knee, leaving a long string of drool on the leg of my jeans. I sighed and patted his big back. I was so confused. Jack made me feel all weird and nervous whenever he was around. It was clear I couldn’t trust him. So why did I still think about him? And why did it make me happy that he’d said my being at the Family Frolic would make it less horrible?

  “I’m acting like such a stupid girl,” I told Py. “It’s really not acceptable. What am I going to do?”

  Py let out a big sigh and drooled some more.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You’re a lot of help.”

  Chapter Six

  The next day I was so busy at work that I barely had time to think about anything but dogs, dogs, and more dogs. In addition to the six dogs who came to day care, we had nine grooming appointments. From the minute I got there to the minute we closed at six I was washing dogs, brushing dogs, walking dogs, petting dogs, and sweeping up hair from dogs. I’d been afraid that Megan would show up with Tallulah again, but, thankfully, she didn’t.

  Even though I was so incredibly busy, I still managed to drive myself crazy by thinking about Jack. I tried not to, but every so often he’d just pop into my head. I couldn’t help myself. I kept replaying what he’d said the day before about my being at the Family Frolic: “Then maybe it won’t be all bad.”

  What had he meant by that? I wondered. Did he mean it would be nice to have someone he sort of knew there? Or did he think I’d do something embarrassing again? Was I simply amusing to him? Or did he mean hanging out with me was at least better than having to play a bunch of stupid games? Or did he mean something more? As in Something More.

  I stopped myself right there. Something More was too crazy to even think about. Still, I thought, he might have been hinting around at something else. But what might that be?

  There I was, giving Wendell and Walter their baths. They were both covered in soap, and they weren’t happy about it. They were taking turns trying to jump out of the tub, and grabbing them was like trying to hold on to greased piglets. But I wasn’t worried about them; I was worried about Something More.

  I’ve already revealed my tragic never-been-kissed status. But it was worse than that. I was also a member of the never-had-a-boyfriend club. The two things kind of go together, so that probably doesn’t come as a total shock. Sure, I’d had sort-of boyfriends when I was, like, seven. But basically that meant the guy would pull my hair during recess or call me “booger head.” They didn’t count. And I’d gotten Valentines from all the boys in my class, but so had everyone else. It wasn’t like a guy had ever given me one that was only for me.

  I knew that kissing was in my future, though, even if I didn’t know who else it would involve. And something that important needs to be perfect. You can’t go around kissing any guy who comes along, just to get it over with. You have to wait for the right guy. Because what if it’s all bad and you don’t like it? Then you’re not sure if it’s the guy, or you, or kissing in general. Who needs that kind of pressure?

  I bet guys don’t worry about this stuff. I bet they just find a girl, kiss her, and then think they’re all studly because somebody let them put their lips on hers. They probably don’t worry about bumping noses with a girl when they kiss her, or wonder how you know when to breathe. Guys are probably born knowing this stuff. Or maybe there’s some secret meeting where someone explains it to them. Maybe on that awful day when the gym teachers split you up and the girls get The Talk about periods and blossoming into young women, the boys are getting the lowdown on kissing. It’s so not fair. Not only do boys not have to get periods or wear bras, they don’t seem to have to worry about the whole kissing thing, either.

  Thinking about all the potential for major embarrassment, I decided I hoped Jack hadn’t meant Something More. I wasn’t sure I was ready. I needed some more practice time, like an athlete getting ready for the Olympics. Not that it is all that easy to practice kissing without a boy to do it with.

  I finished washing Walter and Wendell, and when Mrs. Dibberson came in to get them she couldn’t stop gushing about how great they looked. That was nice to hear. And she wasn’t the only one who was happy. Pretty much every single person who had a dog at Perfect Paws that day said how impressed they were with how their dogs turned out. By the time the last one left I was feeling really good about myself, and the whole thing with Jack didn’t seem like that big of a deal.

  That night, after dinner, I was in my room reading when the phone rang.

  “Allie, it’s for you,” my father called up the stairs.

  I went down and took the phone from him.

  “Hey, girlfriend,” said a familiar voice.

  “Shan!” I said. Actually, I sort of yelled it, because I was so excited to finally hear from her.

  “How are you doing?” Shan asked me.

  “I’m doing good,” I told her.

  “You mean you’re doing well,” Shan said in her best schoolteacher voice. Shan is big into grammar, probably because her father is an English teacher, and although it annoys me when she corrects mine, I let it go.

  “Why haven’t you called?” I demanded.

  Shan sighed. “I haven’t had two seconds to myself since I got here,” she said. “My grandparents have me running around all the time. We’ve ridden the cable cars, taken the tour of Alcatraz, and driven down the crookedest street in the world at least three times. Last Sunday we went to Chinatown for dim sum, and it took four hours because it turned out my grandfather and the owner of the restaurant knew each other in Hong Kong. You won’t belie
ve this, but he kept asking me questions in Cantonese, and when I couldn’t answer him, my grandparents decided I needed to take Chinese lessons! So now I have to do that two hours a day.”

  I laughed. “Have you learned anything?”

  “Ngoh m-ming,” said Shan.

  “What does it mean?” I asked her.

  “It’s either ‘I don’t understand’ or ‘I’m allergic to your pig,’” she said. “I get them mixed up. Anyway, what’s going on there?”

  “Well,” I said hesitantly. “There’s kind of this guy.”

  “A guy?” Shan said, sounding totally excited. “Who? When? How?”

  “His name is Jack,” I told her. “He’s new here. He’s, I don’t know, kind of cute, I guess.”

  “You guess?” said Shan. “That’s not exactly a two-thumbs-up endorsement.”

  “Okay, so he’s really cute,” I admitted. “But I don’t know. There’s sort of this problem.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  I explained the whole Tallulah incident to Shan. When I was done, she said, “That was a real jerkboy thing to do.”

  “I know,” I agreed. “But then other times he’s so nice. I don’t know what to think. He’s going to be at the Family Frolic this weekend, so maybe I’ll get to spend some more time with him and see.”

  “Well, I have news in the boy department, too,” Shan said.

  “Spill it,” I ordered her.

  “Well,” she said in a low voice, “there’s this guy who lives a few houses down from my grandparents. His name is Hector. He’s really funny.”

  “Why are you whispering?” I asked.

  “I don’t want my grandmother to hear me,” she said. “If she knew I was talking to boys, she’d have a fit. She acts like I’m still ten years old. Whenever Hector sees us, he always says, ‘Hello, Mrs. Chan,’ really politely, and she just looks at him like he might try to snatch her purse or something.”

  “How do you talk to him, then?” I asked her.

  “On my way home from Chinese class,” said Shan. “He sits on the steps outside his house. My grandmother always takes a nap in the afternoon, so I get to talk to Hector for a while before I have to go in.”