“I can’t walk him,” I repeat. I put my headband on the counter and pull my hair into a ponytail so I can splash my face with water from the kitchen sink and remove the drool. All my makeup comes off along with it. My first instinct is to run upstairs and fix it, but Jonah will hate me with or without mascara and sandstone eye shadow.
“Don’t be a baby. He needs a walk—” Her cell rings. “And look, there’s Topher, so I can’t do it. Have fun. I’ll listen for the AAA guys.” Evy zips out of the room, cell phone to her ear, cooing to her boyfriend in a tone similar to the one she used with the dog.
“I can’t,” I say to Jonah.
“He’s just a dog. You’re the owner. Tell him what to do and he’ll do it.”
Like it’s that easy.
Never hasn’t listened to a command from me since he was actually lap sized. The woman at obedience school kept correcting Mom and Evy, telling them to speak softer—that my normal-volume instructions wouldn’t be effective if Never got used to obeying commands at a yell. But they didn’t listen and she was right. By the time he was knee height, all the cookies, cheese, and peanut butter in the world couldn’t convince him to sit or stay for me.
Jonah holds the leash out, but I just shake my head.
“Fine. I’ll walk him then. What’s a good loop so I don’t get lost? Everything in this town looks the same.”
He’s wrong—of course—not only do things not look the same, but all the streets in Cross Pointe are laid out in a grid. I don’t understand how it would be possible to get lost. I open my mouth to give him a route, then change my mind.
“You know what, I’ll come with you.”
If he were any of my guy friends, I’d link my arm through his, but Jonah would flinch or say something scathing. For now anyway.
Seeing him with Evy has given me hope; he’s not a 100 percent miserable all the time. He will like me. I just need to figure out how to get him to take the chip off his shoulder and give me a chance.
“You’re great with Never. Maybe you can teach me how to walk this beast without getting trampled.” I offer the flattery in a “my hero” voice and pair it with a smile. He stares for a second, then turns and walks out the front door, dog by his side.
We head down the driveway, the automatic lights flickering on one by one as we trigger their motion sensors. He casts a forlorn look at his car as we pass.
I can’t think of anything to say except things that would sound lame or like I’m sucking up: You’re so good at walking the dog. Don’t feel bad about the car; anyone could make that mistake. Did you know your shoulders are really broad?
My cheeks blaze, but at least it’s dark and he can’t see them or read my thoughts. He’s staring again though.
“You don’t look anything like your sister.”
“Really? You think?” I smile. He’s initiating conversation; we’re already doing better than earlier. “Evy and I used to be mistaken for twins when we were younger. My mother took total advantage of this by dressing and styling us alike for holiday photos until Evy rebelled.”
“Twins? She’s all curls and curves and flash. You’re …”
The smile freezes on my lips. “I straighten my hair.” Also, she wears push-up bras and too much makeup.
“Your hair’s curly like that?” Jonah sounds astounded. “God, you won’t even allow your hair to have personality. I’ve never met anyone as repressed as you.” His expression of disapproval is illuminated by a streetlight as he stops to let Never sniff.
My hair? He’s even critical of my hair? “You know, most people like me. Or, if they don’t, they’re not rude enough to tell me.”
“Rude, or honest?” Jonah asks.
“Rude,” I insist.
Jonah snorts. It’s the most infuriating sound I’ve ever heard.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You think people lie about liking me?”
“You said it, not me.”
“No, you said it first. You said rude, or honest. So tell me your version of the truth—I dare you.”
“You dare me?” He laughs and shifts the leash to his other hand while considering this. “All right. If you really want to know, people like you because there’s nothing there to dislike—that’s not a compliment. You’re vanilla ice cream. People like to build their sundaes on top of you because you go with everything. But vanilla on its own is boring.”
“I’m boring?” Now isn’t a good time for my Teflon coating to fail, but I can’t make this insult not hurt.
“Look at you.”
I do. Khaki capris, a navy pin-tuck tank. I’d worn light gold sandals to school, but traded them for white flip-flops for the walk. It’s an outfit I bought straight off a mannequin in Cross Pointe’s most popular boutique—I’m sure their stylists know fashion a little bit better than Jonah.
Never’s pulling at the leash, so he and the dog continue down the sidewalk.
“I am not boring!” I call after their shadowy shapes. I make my hands into fists. One of my nails hits a tender spot from earlier, but I keep forcing them tighter. “And I like vanilla!”
Jonah’s laughter drifts back. “Are you coming?”
“I’ll prove I’m not boring!” I stomp to catch up. “Turn left here, there’s somewhere I want to go.”