So, contrary to web advice, I hunted for home-care tips. Initial treatment seemed to be geared toward keeping the dog hydrated and preventing secondary infections. I was thankful for our pilfered medical supplies. With the IV bags and antibiotics, we were nearly as capable as a vet.
Every site recommended encouraging the dog to eat, though most advised against solids at first. Some suggested a cooked hamburger-rice mixture once the patient could keep food down. I decided to try the recipe that night.
Our game plan had to work. It was the best we could do.
Tears threatened as I thought of Coop's chances.
Stop. You won't be that girl crying in the library.
I gathered my printouts and shoved them in my backpack.
While closing the web browser, a thought struck: Coop was half-wolf. How would parvo affect a wolfdog? Would being partly feral change his diagnosis?
My fingers flew over the keys. Five minutes of searching killed any optimism I might have felt. Parvo was equally deadly for wolves and wolfdogs. Coop's mixed heritage changed zilch.
Disheartened, I pulled up images of wolfdog puppies. The playful little rascals put a smile on my face in no time.
Which is how they snuck up on me.
CHAPTER 17
"What's with the doggy show?" The voice was inches from my ear. "Is this why you skipped the party?"
Twice! Never sit with your back to the door!
I remained eyes-forward until my voice-recognition software identified the speaker. A huge pit opened for business in my stomach.
I turned.
Jason Taylor crouched behind me, examining the web page I'd been viewing. He wore the standard Bolton male regalia: griffin-crested navy sport coat, striped "power" tie, blue button-down shirt, tan slacks, loafers. Everything neatly ironed, tucked, knotted, creased, and polished. And right side out.
Fast as a synapse, I closed Firefox. Too late.
"Seriously, Tory, you should spend less time ogling pooches and more time rocking the boat. In this case, literally."
My mouth opened but nothing came out. What was he talking about?
"The yacht party, Victoria." The corners of Jason's eyes crinkled. "Saturday? Text message? Ring any bells?"
Of course.
One day, I won't be so dense. Please?
"Sorry, I'm a bit spacey right now. Thanks for the invite." I tried for witty. "Did you manage to stay afloat?"
"I guess. It wasn't that sweet, actually. You didn't miss much." Then, mock-stern, waggling a finger. "But you still should've come."
"The marina's a bit of a hike for me."
"I know. How's Gilligan's Isle these days?" Jason dropped into the seat recently vacated by Hi.
Jason's style tended toward flippant. I reminded myself he was one of the nice guys.
"A nonstop thrill ride," I said. "How's Mount Pleasant?"
"Same old."
The Taylor clan inhabited a house in Old Village, one of the classiest neighborhoods in the pricey burb. The estate had a private dock directly accessing Charleston Harbor. Not too shabby.
Pointing at the screen, Jason changed the subject. "Why the wolfdog photo album? Wait. First, what's a wolfdog?"
Nice job, genius. Not a "criminal mastermind" move.
Had reporters already broken the story of an island wolfdognapping? I had no idea. Yet, there I was, browsing wolfdog images on a public computer.
Dumb. Unlike Jason, who could put two and two together.
"Oh, nothing." I sounded way too casual.
Get it together!
"Honestly, I don't know what that was," I lied. "I'm looking for information on wolves. For an English paper."
Pure babble. My improv sucks.
Jason lost interest. "Too bad it's not for bio. We could've worked together." A mischievous grin.
Uh-oh.
Though Jason was a sophomore, we had AP biology together. I'd been assigned to his workgroup my first day. Being a freshman in an upper level course was no picnic. Lucky for me, Hi and Ben were also in the class.
In some ways, Jason was my most important ally at Bolton Prep. He seemed to like me, and that kept some of the other jerks off my back. At least in his presence.
But lately he'd taken a more direct interest. I wasn't sure why, but the attention made me nervous. Jason was great, but he just didn't do it for me.
Now, his buddy Chance . . .
Jason interrupted my thoughts. "What will you write about your four-legged friends? Growl poetry?"
My search for a comeback was cut off by new arrivals.
Ugh. Frying pan to fire.
"Jason, are you coming?" Courtney Holt was blonde, skinny, and impossibly dumb. I was amazed she could even find the library. Courtney wore her cheerleading uniform, though no game was scheduled that day. Classic.
Courtney wasn't alone.
"We're going to scope out Madison's new Beamer." Ashley Bodford had a Prada bag draped over one tan arm. With her free hand she fussed her perfect black hair. "Her dad finally stopped being a jerk about grades."
Beside Ashley was Madison Dunkle, blonde only by diligent and expensive effort. I guessed Madison's earrings cost more than my townhouse.
The three formed an ongoing tableau of carefully manufactured perfection. I'd nicknamed them the Tripod of Skank.