Anger at Deacon for watching me in the parking lot like a stalker.
Anger at Marco for driving to school drunk.
The shirtless basketball players are hanging out against the wall as I walk up the sidewalk to the rec center.
One of them whistles, and another grabs his crotch and calls out, “I’ve got something for you over here, baby. And they don’t have any of this in the Heights.”
The tightrope I’ve been walking—between holding myself together and losing it—snaps.
I whip around and face the idiots. “Let’s clear up a few things. First, I don’t live in the Heights. Second, I’m sure they have plenty of that in the Heights.” I point at his shorts. “Third, if I wanted any of that, I’d get it from someone else. By the way, do you guys even know how to play basketball?”
The three losers burst out laughing, but they don’t say anything.
I’m almost at the glass doors when I hear barking and growling, followed by a piercing howl.
Cyclops.
I sprint toward the side of the building. A dog has Cyclops cornered, and the cat’s fur is matted with blood. Not just any dog—the husky mix that chased Cyclops the first day I saw him. The dog advances, and the one-eyed cat turns, limping on an injured back leg.
Cyclops doesn’t look like he’ll survive another round. Without a hose and serious water pressure, there isn’t much that will send a dog running once it’s in attack mode.
Except …
I grab the biggest rock in sight. I’m not going to throw it, but the dog doesn’t know that, and I need to establish the alpha position fast. With my arms raised to make myself look as big as possible, I shout, “Get away from him! Get away!”
The dog’s head jerks in my direction, but I keep yelling. The husky has to think I’m not afraid. It growls, watching me.
It isn’t working. What if the dog turns on me?
I’m seconds away from panicking when the husky backs away. In a last-ditch effort, I wave my arms and yell louder. “Get out of here!”
The dog turns and bolts down the hill toward the parking lot.
My knees buckle and I drop down on the grass, trying to catch my breath.
People shout behind me and a couple of guys wearing weightlifting belts tear after the husky and chase it down the street.
Miss Lorraine runs up beside me. “Are you all right?”
I nod and point at the cat. “Yeah. But he isn’t.”
Cyclops lies on his side, watching us from his eye. I crawl toward him, hoping he’ll sense that I’m trying to help. The second I move, he hisses and lashes out with one of his paws.
“He won’t let anyone near him except Marco.” Sofia rushes over with Daniel.
I kneel in the dirt next to the cat. “We have to get him to a vet, or he might not make it.”
Miss Lorraine studies Cyclops. “I’m not sure how to move him without getting our eyes scratched out.”
The cat makes a low sound in his throat and rests his head in the dirt.
“We need a box to carry him in,” I say.
The other kids from my group are outside now. Kumiko cranes her neck to get a better look at Cyclops. “What you need is a cage.”
“Or a milk crate,” Sofia says. “If we slide something under the crate, it will work like a cage.”
“I’ll find the stuff we need.” Carlos runs back to the building.
“A milk crate has holes in it.” I look over at Sofia and Daniel. “He’ll claw us through them if we try to pick it up.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Daniel says.
The cat’s legs twitch.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper to Cyclops. “We’re going to take you to the hospital, and they’ll patch you up.”
Carlos and Kumiko return carrying a blue milk crate and a huge cookie sheet. Daniel follows, wearing boxing gloves and a thick canvas work jacket that’s way too big. He punches the tops of the gloves together like a prizefighter. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Sofia smiles at him.
“How are we getting Cyclops to the vet?” Kumiko asks.
“Will you take him?” I ask Miss Lorraine.
“Wish I could, but I can’t leave the rec center until it closes.”
If Miss Lorraine is out, I need someone else to drive. “Sofia, call Cruz and see how long it will take her to get here.”
Sofia pulls her cell out of her back pocket. “I can try calling Mar—” She stares at the ground. “Sorry. It’s hard to remember that you’re not together anymore.” My heart squeezes. He must have told her.
I touch her shoulder. “He’s your brother. You can still say his name around me.”
It takes three of us to hold the milk crate in place and slide the gigantic cookie sheet under Cyclops—plus two extra pairs of boxing gloves. I end up wearing the gloves and the work jacket Daniel borrowed, because our makeshift cage requires someone to hold it together. Cyclops thrashes at first, until the pain wins out and he slumps against the side of the crate.
Ava and Cruz pull into the parking lot. Cruz takes one look at me wearing the red boxing gloves and carrying the crate, and shakes her head. “You can’t bring that thing in my car. If it gets loose, it will tear us up—and my leather seats.”