––––––––
Jasmine and Ariel are invisible, too, though for very different reasons.
Jasmine is the only Indian girl in our mostly white, super exclusive, super rich school. Anyone who says racism is dead is lying. Her father owns a pharmaceutical company based in New York. She has amazing grades and is on student council. Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, some jerky kids still assume that she doesn’t speak English. I want to kick those kids in their stupid faces.
Ariel’s father holds the leases to at least a hundred buildings in Manhattan—including the lease to our school—and she still can’t get a seat at the popular table. Or, won’t. I’ve always had a gut feeling that she isn’t popular because she doesn’t want to be, though I have no idea why she wouldn’t. She’s perfect for it, with her shiny red hair that hangs down by her butt and her big green eyes that always remind me of clear Caribbean oceans.
My two besties were less than thrilled about my Jake story, which was both disappointing and super irritating.
“So, he just looked at you?” Ariel asked. She loosely gripped her cheese sandwich, giving the thin yellow slices enough room to slip from the wheat bun.
“Right at me,” I replied.
The lunch room was wall to wall with loud, spoiled teenagers, each sitting at clean, long, white tables. It was actually kind of beautiful, with its glass and stone walls, famous food related paintings, and slightly dimmed lighting. The only bad part about it was the hideous black and green checkerboard floor tiles. The green wasn’t a pretty forest green or an interesting emerald green either. It was gross green. Like some kid had just puked up split pea soup all over it. And the black was ... well ... it was just plain depressing. Whomever the interior designer was really dropped the ball on the floor color scheme.
“Did he say anything?” Jasmine asked. Her cheese sandwich didn’t have mayo or mustard or anything else on it. It was just cheese and bread. Seriously, I don’t know how she does it. Cheese sandwiches are gross, but dry cheese sandwiches are even worse.
“He said, ‘my bad’. Then he kind of, just, looked at me.”
“Like, he checked you out?” Ariel asked.
"I think so."
Jasmine’s face tightened in disapproval as she eyed my t-shirt and greasy hair.
“In that outfit?”
I nodded, and shoved a green salad leaf in to my mouth. A small piece of it dropped on to the table. I’m not the most graceful of eaters. My table manners laid somewhere between toddler and trained monkey.
“I know. I look homeless,” I said, cringing at the thought of my hole-filled sweat pants, “but next time, I’ll be ready.”
“Do you think there will be a next time?” Jasmine asks.
“Well, my argument with Cole gave me an idea. I am going to ask Jake if he needs an English tutor.”
The two girls let out a collective gasp, drawing the stares of a few classmates who sat close by, including the annoyed gaze of the mayor’s niece.
“You’re serious?” Ariel asked.
I nodded, and took another stab at my salad.
“Super serious. It’s time that I stopped being invisible and actually did something for once.”
“Maybe you can start by doing your hair,” Jasmine said.
I rolled my eyes.
“And wearing non-Goodwill clothes?” Ariel added.
These girls were out of their minds if they thought I would give up my thrifting ways. It was cheap and good for the environment. Two things that were very important to me.
“Maybe.” Or maybe not.
“We should go shopping,” Ariel said. “Nothing says ‘look at me’ like new clothes.”
I frowned. Jasmine and Ariel were super rich, but I wasn’t. My grandparents paid for me to come here. St. Mary’s Academy was their alma mater, and they wanted it to be mine, too. How they went from wealthier than God to running a horse farm in North Carolina, I had no idea. I made a mental note to ask one day.
“I don’t think so,” I said, my smile dropping.
One of the reasons that I shopped at Goodwill was because Daddy didn’t have a ton of money. Unlike Ariel, Jasmine’s parents, and everyone else at this school, Daddy was middle class. He worked at a body shop in Brooklyn. We weren’t rich, or even super comfortable. We were making ends meet, with a little left over for ice cream and cookies once in a while. It sucked when Ariel and Jasmine wanted to do stuff that I couldn’t afford, but, mostly, we just hung out at one of our houses and watched movies or listened to music.
“It will be my treat,” Jasmine said. “We’ll go today after school.”
“Can’t,” Ariel said. “Swim practice.”
“And I have to study for my French test next week,” I added.
Jasmine looked heart broken. She loved to spend her father’s money on shopping sprees for others. She was the most generous person that I knew.
“Well, at least promise me that you won’t wear anything with holes in it,” she said.
I pretended to examine a piece of lettuce.
“What if they are ripped on purpose?”
“No holes. Try to look sophisticated. Maybe jeans, and a tight t-shirt. And not one of your weird movie quote t-shirts. A girly one with sparkles. Or, if you’re feeling daring, maybe a dress. Or,” she gasped dramatically, "dare I say it? Heels!"
I laughed out loud, drawing another irritated gaze from the mayor’s niece. I could deal with no holes, but not wearing my movie quote t-shirts was crossing the line. I had everything from, say hello to my little friend, to Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore, to my favorite, Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die. What could I say. I was a movie buff. And I won’t even get started on my music lyric t-shirts. There were at least twenty of those, most of them handmade by yours truly.
Still, I decided to humor Jasmine because she was one third of our best friend trio.
“I will try my best.”
Her eyes narrowed, the way my mother’s used to when she knew I was lying. Out of the three of us, Jasmine was closest to the den mother, giving us good advice, checking our clothes for stains and holes, and cheering us when we were down. I was grateful for the mothering, though I didn’t tell her that. If I did, she’d become impossible.
“Hm ... I think I should pay you a visit tomorrow morning before school. Just to make sure that you don’t wear that King Kong shirt that I hate.”
I shrugged innocently and took another bite of my salad. So what if it was a boy t-shirt? King Kong was the best out of all the monsters. Better than Godzilla or any other lizard out there. But Jasmine didn’t care about stuff like that. She was more interested in getting me to wear my hair straightened, or making me wear makeup—or worse, the color pink. I loathed the color pink. My official stance was that the color pink set the women’s movement back hundreds of years. Hundreds!
“Ladies.” Kenny Jenners slid in to the seat next to me. He was a skinny kid with floppy hair who always wore cargo pants and was never without his bookbag. His bony, disobedient limbs were constantly in motion, shaking, bouncing, and twisting when they should have been still. For some reason, he smelled like tacos, even though the lunch ladies weren’t serving tacos today.
“Looking for a little fun?” he asked.
We collectively rolled our eyes.
“Take your bag of loser, and scat,” I said.
He held up his hands in defense.
“Suit yourselves. No need to get testy.”
He swore at us under his breath before moving on to the next table to sell his backpack wares. I was glad he was gone. Kenny made my skin crawl.
It was a well-known fact that Kenny dealt drugs in the school. Nothing hard. Mostly weed. And, being the son of a senator, any complaints about him were officially wiped off his record. Eventually, everyone stopped complaining all together. Now, he was a staple of St. Mary’s Academy. The boy that kids called on Friday nights if they wanted to get high. Most kids didn’t buy anything from Kenny, and the ones that did were too rich to get in trouble for it.
The bell rang, announcing the end of our lunch period. I was happy about it. It meant that I was one period closer to going home and finding something to wear that would both catch Jake’s eye and meet Jasmine’s approval. Or, at least, Ariel’s approval, which was much more lax.
We threw out trays in the big, blue bin by the door and parted ways. Ariel and Jasmine went to leadership, and I went to the main office.
Due to my good behavior, excellent grades, and general lack of anything close to delinquency, I’d been selected to work in the main office as the Student Guidance Counselor.
It was the second best part of my day, after seeing Jake, of course. No grades to worry about, access to the teachers’ lounge with all its free soda and snacks, and getting to hear all of the popular kid’s dirty little secrets was a pretty sweet gig.
Mrs. Bernice, the office aide, greeted me with a smile. The old woman had been at St. Mary’s Academy for as long as anyone could remember. She was ancient, but also friendly and warm hearted. She was the type of old person who asked kids if they wanted candy and, if they said yes, she gave them Halls. I knew that Halls were not candy, but I took them anyway. If anything, they would keep my throat moisturized. Plus, I didn’t want to be rude to such a sweet old lady like Mrs. Bernice.
Every day during sixth period, I turned from invisible student to a student who gave other kids advice that they had no intention of listening to. Student Guidance was a program created by Principal Mann last year. The idea was that kids who struggled with personal issues would feel more comfortable talking to someone their own age instead of an actual guidance counselor. And so, with minimal training and a small soap box that I pulled out for special occasions, I listened as my fellow students told me about their parents’ divorces, cheating boyfriends, the stresses of popularity, and the pressure of trying to figure out who they were and who they wanted to be.
Today, Melanie Pleasant was waiting in my office. It was technically Mr. Mark’s office, but I claimed it now. Well, except the motivational cat posters. No one should claim anything that said, I Have a Case of The Meow-Days.
Melanie’s eyes were already wet with tears when I walked in, her skin turning more blotchy by the second. That could only mean one thing. She’d broken up with her boyfriend, again.
“He is such a jerk!” she said in to a crumpled facial tissue. I sat down in my chair and tried not to roll my eyes. “I caught him making out with Chrissy Tanner at a party yesterday, so I told him it was over.”
She blew in to the tissue, turning her red nose even redder.
To my count, this was Mel’s boyfriend’s sixth time cheating, and that was just in the last two months. The mystery boy had a habit of sticking his tongue down random girls’ throats and getting caught.
Mel sobbed hard, each tear tearing the snot-soaked paper apart. I handed her another tissue, which she took and promptly blew her nose again. I wrinkled my nose and pushed the floral box in her direction.
“Look, Mel, this cheating has been going on for a while now. Don’t you think it may be wise to consider breaking up with him for good?”
Her tears stopped. She looked at me with shock, and violently shook her head. I asked her to break up with her cheating boyfriend, and she looked as if I’d just asked her to repair the Sphinx’s nose.
“I can’t. He’s popular and cute. Plus, he...” Her eyes dropped back to my napkin. “There are things that he can do for me that other boys can’t. I ... I have to stay with him.”
She snatched another tissue from the box and dabbed at her eye. I examined her dark hair with the purple highlights, her black, super short dress with lace details in the arms. Her thigh high grey boots and fishnet stockings. Mel’s look was a cross between goth and glam. Funny, I always thought girls who wore all black were supposed to be tough, but this blubbering mess was quickly proving me wrong. I sighed, breathing in a mixture of potted plants and warmed up leftovers coming from the teachers’ lounge.
Eggplant. Eck!
I turned my attention back to Mel and leaned forward a bit.
“Look, Mel. This guy is a sucky boyfriend that makes you unhappy. No matter how popular or cute a guy is, he’s not worth your tears.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, anger flickering in her dark eyes.
“You don’t know anything. You don’t know what it’s like to be popular. To have everyone watching your every move. If I dumped him, I would have to go to the fall formal alone, like some sort of herpes infested loser. No thanks.”
“Mel-”
“You know, I don’t know why I come here.” She threw her tissues in the trash and grabbed her book bag. “You don’t understand the sort of pressure that I’m dealing with.”
“What pressure? To dump your cheating boyfriend?”
“No, idiot. One does not just dump their boyfriend. They dump up.”
Dump up? That was a new one.
Mel sighed and rolled her eyes as if I was the stupidest person in the world.
“If you break up with someone, do it so that you can hook up with someone even more popular. That’s the way the world works, which means that I’ll have to wait for the dating pool to open up before I can do anything.” She blew out a breath. “I’m trapped. Trapped like a super hot rat with big boobs.”
She was right. She did have big boobs.
“You don’t have to be trapped.” I leaned forward and put my hand over hers. Mel was stuck up and condescending, but, deep down, I believed that she was a good person. Just a little misguided. I wanted to help her. If only she would listen to me for once. “You are in control of your own destiny. No one can take that control away from you unless you allow them to. Will you at least try to remember that? You are in control.”
She looked out the window, away from me. I could tell that she wasn’t listening to a word I said. It made me feel like crap. Just because I wasn’t popular didn’t mean that I didn’t know about life. I knew plenty. And, if I had a boyfriend, I would not allow him to cheat on me, no matter how popular he was.
She stood and grabbed her bag, still dabbing at her eyes.
“It must be nice not having anyone see you, Brenda. Freeing. Maybe one day I’ll know what that feels like.”
“Bella. My name is Bella.”
But it was too late. She’d already walked out of the office, leaving me with my cat pictures and my seething anger.
I knew every mean thing her boyfriend did to her. I knew that her mother snorted cocaine first thing in the morning, and that her father ordered hookers over the internet. And yet, she couldn’t remember my name.
Now that I thought about it, when she did come to student guidance, which was nearly every day, she never looked me in the eye. Sure, she looked in my general direction, but she never made direct eye contact, and she never took my advice.
Just like the rest of them.
A sinking feeling pulled at my throat, making a lump form there. I clenched my jaw and sat back in my chair, hoping that no one else walked through the doors. I wanted to not care about the kids who walked through my doors, but I did. I wanted them to do well. Not just because they were popular, but because we all shared the same basic problems. We were all lost, looking for our voice. Even if that voice was our own conscience. That little person in our hearts who told us the right way to go. The one that told us we were worthy.
Mel was wrong about one thing. I did know the pressure she was dealing with. I was chosen to test out this whole student guidance thing because Mr. Mann thought that I was safe. In adult language, safe equaled boring. He mistook my smarts for blandness, and bland girls didn’t get in trouble. I guess he thought that if I could make girls more like me, then the school would be a better place.
I laughed shortly.
He should have let me tutor them, not mentor them. These girls didn’t listen to me. I could tell them not to swim with sharks and they’d do the exact opposite, for one very important reason. I was invisible. My advice was just air, easily dismissed though badly needed.
Maybe if I was popular then the other girls would listen to me. Respect me. Imagine the good that I could do if I had a voice. I could convince Mel to break up with her cheating boyfriend. I could convince Marcus Tyson that he didn’t have to be a football player just because his NFL father wanted him to. I could tell Lisa Grissel to sit down and talk with her parents about her passion for painting. I would tell Gerald Martin that it was okay to love Tillary Swanson, even if his parents would never accept her because she was black and he was white.
I could do so much good at this school if only someone would listen to me. If only someone would see me. But they didn’t. I was barely a blip on their radar. Being here was supposed to help the student body feel better, but it only made me feel worse.
Like I said, invisibility sucks.
I walked home alone, which wasn’t entirely uncommon. Ariel was on the swim team, and practiced after school four days a week. Jasmine always had family either visiting or leaving. Grandparents, cousins, nieces, nephews, uncles, and every other relation from around the world all stopped in at one time or another. They would stay for a few weeks or months, then leave, making room for the next relation to step in.
I’d often wondered what having such a big family was like. My family was small but tight knit. My mom’s parents were dead, and my father’s parents ran a horse farm in North Carolina. Mom was an only child. Dad had an older brother and sister, Uncle Sam and Aunt Liz, neither of which were married or had children. We saw them every year around Thanksgiving.
Seeing my aunt and uncles every year reminded me of better days.
The days when I wasn’t invisible. When I was semi popular, back in my hometown of Pikes Peak, North Carolina. When things were simple and life went on in unbroken lines.
But that was a long time ago.
Exactly five years, eleven months, twenty-four days, two hours, and fifteen minutes ago, my mother, Leslie French, drew her last breath on this Earth and shattered my entire existence. My mother, who looked at me with love and patience. Who listened to the tales of my life as if they were part of the holy cannon of scripture. Who noticed when my hair was different, or my shirt was untucked, as it often was. Whose lap I crawled in to when I got home from school every day, though Daddy told me I was too old for such things. My mother, my life, was unfairly stolen from me. Breast cancer ravaged her body, rendering her unrecognizable. For six months, she warred with it, until one frosty winter morning in December, when she drew her last breath and took me with her in to the oblivion.
I missed my mother. I missed her laughter and her smile. I missed how she always smelled of Sunflower perfume. I missed how Daddy and she used to dance in the kitchen while she cooked dinner. I missed being happy. Missed the time when I was unfettered by sadness and this strange shield of invisibility. Her death was like a jail sentence, damning me to walk with bitterness, confusion, and an ever-present sense that I was missing a part of myself.
They say that time changes everything, and they, whomever they are, were right. After six years, I can finally recall my mother without bursting in the tears. I can remember the happy times without falling apart. Like her dancing around the house to eighties music—Mom’s favorite. Or us sneaking up on Dad in the winter and pelting him with snowballs as he shoveled the driveway. And the animals. Mom loved animals. It was one of the reasons she’d married Daddy. Not only was he handsome and funny, kind and strong, but he came with his own horse farm, and, God, did Mom love horses. Their romance was practically written in the stars. Her, a sweet hearted, sassy, black woman from Charleston, and Daddy, a corn-fed, white farm boy from Connersville. They truly loved each other, and I was a product of that love.
But now Mom was gone, leaving behind Daddy and me, two broken pieces just trying to hold each other up. We didn’t always succeed, but we tried. It was what Mom would have wanted. For us to keep trying. For us to not give up.
A shuffling to my left pulled my attention. I looked down. There, in a box marked Free Puppies, was a single, small dog.
Just one.
I read the messy scribble on the side of the box again.
Free puppies. Not Free Puppy or Free Dog. Free Puppies, as in more than one.
I looked around, searching for the person that might have left the box. People passed me, their feet stomping the sidewalk, their shoulders bumping in to me, their eyes on the ground in the classic way that New Yorkers walked.
But no one stopped. No one paid attention to me or the dog that was now peering up at me with big, black, curious eyes. Its once brown coat was covered in patches of mud, or, at least, what I hoped was mud. It whimpered a little and backed up in to a corner of the box.
I looked around again, but no one seemed to care about me, or the dog.
How long had it been here? Hours? Days? I didn’t remember seeing it before. I would have stopped if I had.
I crouched down, and I reached in to the box, intending on patting the shaking creature on a small spot that was clear of the crusted black gunk. The dog wouldn’t allow it. It pushed itself even deeper in to the corner of the box and howled.
The poor thing was terrified! I didn’t blame it. I’d be terrified, too, if I was left to die in a box in the middle of New York City.
I pulled my hand back and gave the animal a big, reassuring smile.
“You don’t have to be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”
The dog let out a bark, but it was weak. The poor thing was all crusty fur, skin, and bones. When was the last time that it’d eaten? Or had a bath? Or love?
I let out a breath and took another look around.
Still no one noticed me, or the dog. If the dog died in that box, no one would care. The creature was invisible. Like me.
“You’re not invisible anymore,” I whispered to it. “I see you.”
I picked up the box, sending the dog rolling out of its corner. The smell was disgusting. Like poop and vomit and dog and dirt and everything else vile. I held my breath, pity crushing my heart. This poor animal had been left in this filthy box with its horrendous smell by some heartless person. How could they do that? How could they live with themselves knowing that this animal might die here?
People sucked sometimes.
“You don’t have to worry anymore. You have a home now, and a family.”
The dog still looked nervous, but didn’t howl again. I walked faster, toward the subway station, anxious to relieve this poor creature from its misery.
He’d have to suffer a little while longer, but it would be worth it.
In that moment, I felt closer to Mom than I had in a long time. It was like she’d handed this puppy to me. This small, innocent creature, afraid of the world, jaded by love. Invisible.
Just like me.
The puppy laid in the box, its little paws digging in to the bottom for dear life. I crossed the street and walked in to the subway station. Half an hour later, my new, stinky puppy and I emerged in to Briar Hills, Brooklyn. Cool air snaked in to my jacket, chilling me. I could only imagine what the dog felt like.
“Don’t worry, baby. You’re going to be warm soon.”
I stopped by the pet store and used my emergency credit card to buy supplies. A crate, a comfortable mat, bowls, food, flea collar, shampoo. Everything ended up costing over two hundred dollars.
My dad was going to be pissed.
My stomach tightened painfully, but I wouldn’t let that stop me. I handed the cashier the credit card and held my breath while he ran it through. Daddy would just have to understand that this was an emergency. This poor creature needed a home. Yes, that little doggy jacket may have been a bit of a luxury, but he needed some luxury after what he’d been through.
I discarded the disgusting box in a trash bin, and put the dog, who by now was covered in fresh poop, in the crate. It trembled as it walked in, looking through the wires at me. It was a pretty cute dog. It would be cuter when it was clean, but there was something about its eyes, some friskiness that I liked. This dog had spirit. Someone just had to love it, and let it out.
That someone would be me.
I handed it a few kibbles from the food bag, and hoisted everything up on my overburdened arms.
Only two blocks and one elevator ride and I’d be home with what was sure to be my new best friend.
A soft breeze blew, and I imagined that my Mom was there, hurrying me home with the new gift that she’d given me.
Thanks, Mom.
By the time Daddy came home an hour later, things had taken a turn for the worst.
“What the- Bella, did you poop in front of the door?”
No, but at this point, I might as well have.
I briskly scrubbed the dog’s stubborn coat and waited for my father, Maurice French, to pop his head in to the bathroom. I don’t know what I dreaded more. Him seeing that I had the dog, or him seeing that the dog had pooped all over the house. Or maybe it was the two hundred dollar credit card bill that he’d see in another week. Either way, I was sure that a grounding was coming. But I didn’t care. I’d done the right thing. If that earned me a grounding, then so be it.
When Daddy found me a minute later, I was in the bathroom, trying to wrangle a still dirty dog under the detachable shower hose. I could smell his cinnamon gum from across the room. Daddy always chewed cinnamon gum.
“What is going on here?” he cried. “What is this?”
The dog, who had been fighting me for an hour as I tried to wash him, stopped his thrashing and looked at my father. He gave him an innocent expression. So did I. A bit of soap dripped off the tip of my nose. At this point, I was probably just as dirty as the dog.
I gave my father my best smile and hoped he was in a good mood.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Don’t hi Daddy me. What is going on? Whose dog is this?”
He was not in a good mood, but I would not be deterred. Not when I’d come so far.
I held my hands over the dog, drastically presenting it.
“This is our new dog.”
“New dog?” I didn’t know that anger and confusion could co-exist, but Daddy’s face showed both emotions perfectly. “Why do we have a new dog?”
“I, uh, found him. When I was walking home.”
“So, you brought him here? Why didn’t you call the cops?”
“I couldn’t call the cops,” I said as if it were the silliest thing in the world. The dog stilled, its eyes still on Daddy. I used the opportunity to make a fur mohawk with the soap.
“And why not?”
“They would have called animal control, and then animal control would have put him down. You like dogs, don’t you, Daddy?”
“Not dogs that crap right in front of doorways. I nearly stepped right in it!”
I grimaced. Even the dog sat down in the tub and lowered his head as if it knew what he’d done.
“I meant to clean that up.”
“I’ll bet.”
I paused, worrying my lower lip.
“So, I was thinking that we could give him a cool name, like Rex or Tiger or Python.”
Daddy held up both of his hands as he often did when he thought I was being crazy.
“We are not keeping the dog. Now, get him out of that tub while I call animal control.”
“You can’t. They’ll put him down if you do.”
“That’s not our problem.”
“You’re going to have this poor animal killed because he pooped a little in the living room. Is that the kind of person you are?”
“I’m sure they’ll find him a good home.” He leaned against the white, tiled bathroom wall, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and fumbled with the buttons. The light over the sink flickered a bit. Someone must’ve been vacuuming next door.
“No one is getting put down,” Daddy said, wiping at the sweat that pooled on his forehead. The bathroom steamed from the blackening bathwater.
“You don’t know that.”
“Sure I do, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. He only called me sweetheart when he was losing his patience with me. I had to act fast before he became completely unreasonable.
“Daddy, please. I’ll take care of it. I’ll walk it and I’ll feed it.”
“Feed it?” He pushed off the wall, and looked in to the kitchen where I had carelessly dropped all of bags. Oops. “You already brought supplies for this dog?”
My hands shook, and I shoved the wet, slippery things in my pockets.
“I got a few things.”
His hairline reddened. It wouldn’t be long before his temper exploded. Daddy was a bit of a tightwad when it came to money. Sure, we were strapped, but to hear him talk, we were one happy meal away from living on the sidewalk.
“You used the emergency credit card, didn’t you?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “How much, Bella?”
Well, the jig was up. If I didn’t tell him, he’d go online and find out himself. Best to just rip the band aid off.
“Two hundred and seventeen dollars and fifty-eight cents.”
His eyes widened, as if he’d just seen a ghost. I smiled nervously.
The red in his hairline spread to his face. “You did what?”
“It was for a good cause. The dog was dying!”
“You are going to take back everything you purchased. Every scrap of it.”
“Daddy, you’re being ridiculous.” I stood up straight, and squared my shoulders. This dog would have died had it not been for me. I did something good. I helped this dog, and I would not be made to feel guilty because of it. My reasons were solid. I knew it. I just had to make Daddy see that.
“I’m keeping him.”
“You most certainly are not. You can’t save every dog, cat, and roach in the city. We don’t have the room, nor the money, and I definitely don’t have the patience.”
“When have you ever helped anything in your entire life? All you do is work and come home. When do you think about anything else?”
“I think about putting food on this table. I think about paying the rent. I think about your education. Your future.”
“Mom would have let me.”
His hand stilled, his fingers still on the keys of the phone.
I placed my hands behind my back and studied the blue and white tiles on the floor. The blue shower curtain. The soaked blue rug by the tub. Anything to keep from looking at my father’s distraught face.
Invoking Mom was a sore spot, but this was an emergency. The dog was on the street. If I didn’t save him, chances were that he would have died. I had to do something. Any decent person would have.
“You cannot mention your mother’s name every time you want something,” he said.
But I could already tell that the fight had gone out of him. His voice roughened, his back bent a bit. My father grieved my mother like the sun grieves the flowers in winter. Completely. Totally. Just the mention of her could send him spiraling in to a sink hole of depression for days. I tried not to speak her name often.
“I’m just stating a fact. Mom would have let me keep the dog.”
“Well, your mother isn’t here.” He paused, and I noticed the small tremor that ran through his voice. He swallowed.
I hated myself for hurting Daddy, but I had to do something. I couldn’t let the dog go back out on to the streets. I wouldn’t.
I stepped forward, and put one wet hand on Daddy’s bare arm. He wore work boots, black jeans, and a black t-shirt. His standard work uniform.
“It’s just one dog,” I said quietly. “Not an army of rats or a giant rabbit.”
“We can’t have a dog.” His voice was softer, yet it still held on to some of its fatherly power. “You’re at school all day. I’m at work all day.” He turned away from me and put his hands on his hips. “And look at what he’s doing to the living room!”
The dog had found its way out of the tub, and was now trailing soap and water all over the house.
So much for being inconspicuous.
“Bella, I’m not doing this. I am not living in an animal house again. I’m not.”
I stepped in front of him, narrowed my eyes in righteous accusation.
“You say it like it was a bad thing. Mom loved animals. She always did.”
“I know that. But we cannot shelter this animal.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, we don’t know anything about him.”
“Yet.”
“For another, he had no paperwork. He could have rabies or fleas or bubonic plague.”
“We could take him to get shots.”
“Bella-”
“Daddy, it’s just one dog. Just one.”
He walked out of the bathroom and put his hands on the breakfast bar. His gray-streaked brown hair fell forward. Daddy was only forty-one, but, when he was in a good mood, he looked way younger, with his thick hair, bright brown eyes, and smooth skin. He was normally clean shaven, though, lately, he’d been sporting a beard.
His resolve was weakening. I saw it in the way his shoulder’s drooped.
I moved in for the kill.
“Think of what a pet would mean for me. It could teach me responsibility. I’d walk him every day and feed him and change his water bowl.”
“I don’t want a pet,” Daddy said wearily.
“He’ll be my pet. You won’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of him.”
He sighed, and ran his hand through his thick hair, pushing it out of his eyes.
“The second I step on another pile of crap, he’s gone.”
My insides exploded in happiness and I clapped my hands, drawing a small grin from Daddy.
“What’s his name?”
“I thought that we could name him together. After all, he is part of the family now.”
Daddy and I looked up. The dog had lifted a leg and was peeing on the side of the couch.
“How about Whizz?” he asked.
“I was thinking more like Mojo.”
Daddy frowned at me. Mojo had been the name of Mom’s horse. A gift from Daddy on their wedding day. Mom loved that horse. I was hoping that this small, scared creature could be a gift, too.
“Mojo, huh?”
I nodded.
Daddy let out a huff and stood up straight. He walked in to the living room, picked Mojo up, and put him back in the tub.
“You’re on excretion duty,” he called. “I want all of it cleaned up by the time I get out of here. And set up his food and water bowls and his crate.”
I did a little dance and picked up the paper towels. Yes, Mojo’s pee smelled like asparagus, but the point was that he was staying. Our little family just got a bit larger, and it was all because of one destructive, scared little dog.
I couldn’t be happier.