She nods feverishly.
I settle in back next to Johnny.
“That was weird,” he murmurs.
I sigh. “Is it awful that she drives me nuts?”
“Colleen or Gretchen?”
I let out a low chuckle. “Well, both, I guess.”
He clears his throat. “Hey, I was thinking we could go to the tech rehearsal dry run next week to take some photos, and maybe you could do a review in listicle form.”
“Sure,” I say. “Count me in.”
He holds his palm out like it’s a notepad and makes a fake check mark with his pointer finger. “Counted.”
He’s a total nerd. A very cute nerd.
After school, I ride home with Matt and pick up Grandma Lou’s car before driving to work. Grandma Lou is lying down and taking a nap, so I leave her a note on the fridge to let her know when I’ll be back. Outside, I take the steps two at a time, practically floating to the car.
“You know,” Miss Ella shouts from the mailbox as she thumbs through junk mail. “Your grandmother stood me up for cards this morning and then had the nerve to come over and borrow some creamer this afternoon. She didn’t even apologize! I’ve got a bone to pick with the woman.”
I roll the car window down as I shut the door behind me. “I’m sorry, Miss Ella. If it means anything to you, she’s taking a nap. I’m thinking she’s not feeling too good today.”
Miss Ella grumbles and waves me off.
At work, Dr. Bryner is huddled in a circle with the morning-shift vet techs, both of whom should be gone by now, leaving just a small window of time that the doctor is here by herself. “I just can’t imagine what happened to them.” She chews on the cap of her pen. “I guess I can imagine.”
“Vigilante assholes,” says Marcos, a short guy in royal-blue scrubs.
“They weren’t hurting anyone,” says Cheryl.
“Who knows?” Dr. Bryner asks. “Maybe those awful developers did something with them.”
“With who?” I ask, dropping my bag on the counter.
Dr. Bryner looks up to the ceiling, like the answer to my question is there or like . . . or like she’s trying to hold back tears. “The feral dogs at the edge of town, in the woods by Russo’s Creek, went missing.”
“What?” I ask. “How do we know for sure?”
“Kit goes running over there, and she hasn’t seen a dog in two weeks, so I gave Cooper Mills a call. He’s the guy over at the humane society who works on the catch-and-release program. He went out there every day for four days. With food even. And nothing. Not even a bark or a yip.”
“Maybe they went somewhere? Like for the winter.”
Marcos shakes his head. “I’ve lived in this town for thirty-five years, and that pack has been a year-round Glenwood staple. Something happened to them.”
He grips Dr. Bryner’s shoulder and Cheryl gives her a quick hug before the two of them put on their coats and pass the torch to me.
“Are you okay?” I ask Dr. Bryner. I’ve never seen her so startled before, and it actually freaks me out a little bit.
She nods and then shakes her head. “I’ve lived here my whole adult life. I know it’s ridiculous. We make tough choices every day. We see the best and the worst, but those dogs . . . something about seeing them when I’d go for a walk. They were free. And now they’re gone.”
I know exactly what she means. Obviously, I love domesticated animals. If Grandma Lou would allow it, I’d have a whole zoo in our house, and someday when I have my own apartment, I will. I usually feel bad for animals I see out on the streets, and I’ve been known to dedicate hours of my life trying to catch a stray cat, but those dogs had been out there for years and they thrived. Everyone in town had an opinion on them, and most of the horror stories surrounding them were urban legend, but how could they just disappear?
I spend the next few hours cleaning cages and sorting through more missing animal alerts that have come through.
When I get home, Lyla Peterson, the woman who lives at the end of the street with her husband and daughter, is walking down the sidewalk with a stack of papers and a stapler.
I park in the driveway just as she presses her stapler into the utility pole outside Grandma Lou’s house. “Hey, Mrs. Peterson,” I say. “Everything okay?”
She sniffles and taps under her eyes with the heel of her palm. “It’s Gus-Gus,” she says. “We let him outside to do his business this morning and he got out.”
“He was in the backyard?” I ask.
“Yes.” She hands me a flyer, and on it are three big pictures of Gus-Gus, a floppy Saint Bernard who is adored by the whole street.
“Did he dig out?” I ask. There’s no way he got over the fence. They’ve got a tall and fairly new fence.
“The latch on our gate was open. It was like someone let him out. But why would anyone ever do that?”
“I don’t know,” I say, my words slowly dripping out as I try to piece this puzzle together in my head. The overstuffed bulletin board at work lingers at the forefront of my brain. “Can I have a few of those?” I ask. “I’ll put some up at the shelter and look around the neighborhood.”
“Of course,” she says, wiping another tear.
“Maybe leave some clothes with your scent on the front porch,” I tell her, “so he has an easier time finding his way home.” I reach into my bag and jot down a few names on a scrap of paper. “Here. Try these groups online. They’re like missing-animal back channels for the whole Twin Cities area.”
“Thanks, Faith,” she says, taking the paper.
“We’ll find Gus-Gus. I swear,” I say, offering a promise I know I might not be able to keep.
10
I love a good montage. Makeover, training, whatever. I love them all. Getting ready for this party with Matt would make the ultimate montage, though. He brings over a suitcase full of clothes while Ches sprawls out on my bed, reading us our latest star charts while Matt swatches lipstick colors on her forearm. She came over dressed since she’s smaller than Matt and me and can’t wear our clothes.
After Matt settles on the perfect navy lipstick for Ches, he and I toss shirts and jeans and skirts back and forth until our wardrobes (his admittedly much better curated than mine) blur together in a pile on the floor.
“I think this is it,” I say, twirling in front of the mirror in a glittery black jumpsuit that definitely belongs to Matt. The top is sleeveless and fitted and the cropped wide legs add the perfect amount of volume.
Matt nods in appreciation. “I love you enough to let you wear something I’ve never even worn before,” he tells me.
“Where were you going to wear a disco jumpsuit?” Ches asks.
“To coffee. The grocery store. Target. Does it matter?”
“Oh and hello, ladies!” says Ches, cupping her own boobs.
I look down at the deep V. “Is it too revealing?” I ask, unable to hide the desperation in my voice.
“Only if you think it is,” Matt chimes in.
“You’re like superhot right now,” Ches confirms. “But yeah, what he said.”