Despite her attitude, I think Lila may have been listening after all. Or maybe it’s just the baby carrots Beth brought home from the store. Either way, she does start making progress.

I remember Beth said that I should start with something simple, so I try and teach her “Come” again. On my own this time.

We practice in my room while Mrs. McGraw watches one of those home makeover shows in the next room. She has a loud, witchy cackle that she lets out whenever one of the hosts says something funny. I’m glad she’s entertained enough that she ain’t bothering us.

To get started, I let Lila try one of the carrots first, so she can remember how much she likes them. Then I take a few steps away, holding another carrot in my hand. “Lila! Come!”

She sorta just looks at me at first, tilting her head like she’s asking “Why?” until I hold out my hand and she sees the carrot. Then she bolts toward me so fast she nearly knocks me over as she snarfs the little orange snack out of my hand.

“Careful!” I scold, even though I’m laughing a little bit. “But … yeah, kinda like that. We’ll try again.”

Teaching her is a whole lot easier without Beth looking over my shoulder, telling me what to do. It only takes the afternoon for Lila to pick it up. Turns out, Lila’s real smart. I even get her to start coming to me without bribing her with carrots. I’m beginning to think this whole training thing is gonna be a lot easier than I thought.

I’m so excited by our afternoon’s work that I run into the living room as soon as I hear Beth pushing open the front door when she gets back from work. I think I startle both her and Mrs. McGraw, who lets out a surprised gasp when Lila and I barrel into the room.

“Hadley!” Beth says, voice pitched up with surprise. “I’m glad to see you up and about.”

“I got something to show you,” I tell her. “Lila learned something today.”

“Already?” Beth asks.

I nod.

“Okay.” She sets down the bags of groceries next to the couch, then smiles at me. “Show me.”

“Is that what you’ve been up to all afternoon? Training the dog?” Mrs. McGraw asks. “Well, that’s real nice. Can I watch, too?”

“If you want,” I say. Honestly, I’m glad for the audience for once. I can’t wait to see how impressed they are with the work Lila and I have put in.

I tell Beth where to stand, making sure there’s a decent bit of room between her and Lila, who’s lying on the carpet with a paw over her face. Like she’s trying to ignore the three people in the room. That’s fine. She won’t be ignoring us for long.

“All right,” I say, hurrying over to sit on the couch with Mrs. McGraw. “Now, Beth, tell her to ‘Come.’”

“Okay.” Beth clears her throat and puts on her talking-to-dogs voice. “Lila … Lila, come!”

Lila don’t move. Not an inch. She doesn’t even twitch.

“Try again,” I say, frowning at the stubborn pit bull across the room.

Beth does, but nothing changes. She even fishes a bone-shaped dog treat from her pocket and holds it out when she calls, but she might as well be invisible for all Lila pays attention to her.

“I’m not so sure she’s listening to you, Beth,” Mrs. McGraw says with just a touch of amusement in her voice.

I stand up, my hands balling into fists at my sides, and I grit my teeth. “She was doing it earlier, I swear. She was real good at it, too.”

“I believe you,” Beth says. But that ain’t good enough. I don’t want her to believe me. I want her to see it herself.

“Stupid dog,” I mutter.

“Well, is that language really necessary, young lady?” Mrs. McGraw asks.

I scowl at her.

“It’s all right, Hadley,” my sister assures me. “Training dogs takes time. And Lila’s here because she’s proven to be difficult. But the fact that she’s listening to you—learning anything from you—proves that Vanessa was right. We made the right call. I’ve been working with this dog for months and it’s always been like this. If you’ve made any progress today—even just a little bit—that’s huge for Lila. She’ll get there. Just keep trying.”

So I do, but I don’t get quite as excited about it after that day.

Over the next two weeks, Lila and I both hold up our end of the bargain. I go to my mobility lessons—where I still ain’t allowed to take home my cane—and Lila learns how to “Sit” and even “Stay.”

At least, she learns to do it for me. When there ain’t nobody else around.

“Why do you gotta be like that?” I ask her one night after another failed attempt to show Beth what I’ve taught her. This time, I was the one giving the command, Beth was just in the room watching. But when I told Lila to “Sit,” she looked over at me, looked over at Beth, then just turned and walked out of the room. I hollered after her to “Come” but she ignored me. And a second later I heard the springs on my bed creak, meaning she’d climbed up for one of her many dog naps.

We’re sitting on my bed now, me leaning against the headboard with my legs folded, her lying at the foot, with her chin resting on her paw. Her eyes are open as she stares at me.

She’s got real sad eyes, I think. Maybe that’s a silly thing to think about a dog, but I can’t help it. There’s something about them that just seems lonely.

“You wouldn’t be so alone if you let people see what you’ve learned,” I tell her. “Some real nice family would probably be happy to adopt you if they saw how smart you are. But you gotta show other people, not just me. Why won’t you try?”

She don’t answer, of course. But as soon as I ask, I realize she don’t need to. Because I understand.

Truth is, I feel awful lonely, too. I know that don’t make no sense. Beth’s here and is always wanting to spend time together. Mama calls and tries to talk to me every day. Joey and Maya are always texting me, asking how I’m doing, what my new house is like, and Mrs. McGraw tries real hard to make conversation with me or get me to watch TV shows with her when she’s here during the day. I’ve got people who want to be around me. It’s me pushing them away. I’m lonely, but trying to do anything to fix it just feels too tiring. So I just keeping ignoring people or, like with Beth, lashing out. It ain’t something I like about myself right now, but it’s all I can seem to do these days.

I shift onto my knees and crawl to the foot of my bed, stretching out on my stomach with my head on Lila’s back. She turns her face for a second, licking my cheek, before resting her chin on her paws again.

“I guess … I guess at least we got each other,” I say. “I mean … I ain’t a dog person. Not at all. But you ain’t half bad.” I reach up and scratch behind one of her ears as I speak. “I know it’s tough. Everything feels tiring or annoying. But the rescue ain’t gonna be able to keep you if you don’t learn some stuff, Lila.”

She picks up her head and turns it away, staring in the opposite direction. Like she don’t wanna hear what I’ve got to say.

“I know, I know.” I sigh. “But it’s for the best. Do it for me, at least?”

You’d think I’d feel ridiculous, talking to a dog like that, like she could understand a word of what I was saying. But I don’t. Talking to Lila feels easier than talking to anyone else. Maybe it’s because she don’t talk back, don’t try to give me advice or comfort me with words that mean nothing. Or maybe it’s those sad eyes. I ain’t sure.

But I am starting to think she understands more than I give her credit for.

Because on Friday, something changes.

I come home from my fourth mobility lesson, and this time, Cilia lets me take the cane home with me.

“I trust you to be responsible with it,” she tells me before Mrs. McGraw picks me up from the community center. “You’ve done a very good job so far, but I want you to get some practice at home. Use it when you go out with your sister. Next week we’re going to start doing some routes outside, now that you’ve got the hang of using it indoors.”

I don’t tell her that I hardly ever leave the house, even when Beth asks me to go places with her. Instead, I just nod. My wrist is aching from the repeated motion of using the cane for the past hour, and even though Cilia keeps saying that’ll get better once I practice more, I ain’t so sure I wanna deal with it.

Still, Beth makes a whole thing out of this, like it’s some sort of big accomplishment and not just a stick I get to bring home. She badgers me about what my favorite food is because she wants to make a nice dinner to celebrate.

“It’s nothing to get worked up over,” I tell her, irritated. “It’s just a cane. Little kids get to bring theirs home. It ain’t special.”

“I’m just proud of you,” she says, sounding defeated. “But okay. If you don’t want to have a nice dinner, we won’t.”

“I don’t.”

She sighs and plops down on the couch. I know I’ve disappointed her, and I feel a little bad, but I don’t know what to do about it.

So instead I look over to Lila, who’s lying on the carpet again.

“Lila, come,” I say, not thinking much about it. I just wanna pet her. But when she gets up and walks over to me, I hear Beth take in a sharp breath.

I look over at her, confused, but then realize what’s just happened.

Beth doesn’t say anything, just watches us.

“Lila …” I say slowly. She’s standing right in front of me, looking me dead in the eye. “Lila … sit.”

She does.

I look at Beth again, who’s got her hands over her mouth.

“Lila … stay,” I say. I walk away from her, moving toward the doorway. The dog’s head swivels to follow my movement. I pause for a minute, then say, “Come.”

She stands up and walks to me, walks right past Beth, not at all shy about her being there.

I can’t help myself. I grin at my sister.

“Looks like I have both of y’all to be proud of,” Beth says.

I reach down and scratch Lila’s ears. She gives two quick tail wags, which, for her, is a lot.

It’s like she knows. Like she remembers our bargain. She knows I’ve made progress with my training, so she’s got to, too.

“Beth?”

“Yeah?”

“My favorite food … it’s pulled pork sandwiches. Can … can you make that? For dinner tonight?”

I can hear the smile in Beth’s voice when she replies. “I think I can manage that.”