Chapter Six Max
Chapter Six
Max
There was a notification on Max’s phone screen when he parked in front of the animal shelter on Sunday.
He was terrified to click through. His Prevention and Treatment professor had posted the results of this week’s quiz.
The one he hadn’t studied for. The one he’d figured he’d be safe from until at least Monday morning, when the world sucked anyway. He thought wrong, obviously.
Max tapped his screen—and winced.
He knew his grades were bad. He hadn’t realized they were in the toilet.
Were they all this way? He honestly couldn’t say, so he clicked out and poked around his other classes. Two Cs, a B minus. One A in Strength and Conditioning because the only assignment in there was a syllabus acknowledgment. It was amazing he hadn’t been benched yet.
He shifted in the driver’s seat and fought the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel.
This scholarship application was going to be the death of him.
Volunteerism and extracurriculars wouldn’t matter if he was on academic suspension.
He’d have to do the majority of the work there, in class and on tests, to come anywhere close to the mystery girl Dr. Goff seemed to favor.
Sighing, he stretched his neck and caught a glimpse of the clock.
“Shit,” he said, and rushed inside.
He’d been spending his Sundays at the animal shelter since freshman year. He felt closer to his dad, who’d been a dog groomer until recently, when he was doing something they both loved. Home seemed a little closer when Max was parked in the back lot of Ash Mountain Shelter and Rescue.
It didn’t matter if Max’s life was falling apart: rain or shine, he was here every Sunday. Dogs always made it better.
Before the dogs, though, he had to go to the back room to check in with the lead volunteer, Tricia.
A pale woman in her early fifties, Tricia’s face showed signs of life lived outdoors. Life lived, in general. Sunspots and freckles on what was visible of her forehead, crow’s feet reaching for her hairline. Her shaved blonde hair was obscured by the bandana of the day, paw-print patterned.
The familiarity tugged up the corner of Max’s mouth, lifting his spirits after the peek at his grades.
Tricia greeted Max with an outstretched fist.
He bumped it. “Sup?”
“Gonna be a fun shift for you.” Tricia eyed him, leaning back in her chair. It creaked loudly. The shelter hardly had money to cover vet expenses, let alone new office furniture. “New volunteer.”
Max grunted. Tricia knew he hated new volunteers, mostly sorority girls who wanted to pose with doodles for Instagram while simultaneously fulfilling their community service requirements. They usually lasted two weeks—or one, if they stepped in something unsavory. “Can’t wait.”
Her smile lines smoothed out as her head tilted the slightest bit off center. “You doing okay, kid?” Hesitation colored her words. Sadness, too.
Pity.
Max hated pity most of all.
“Been better, been worse, here now.” It was something his dad said.
Max hadn’t realized he’d adopted the habit until now.
Warmth flooded his veins, and a smile tugged at his mouth before he forced it away and shrugged.
“How are things looking today?” If anything could distract Tricia, it was talking shop.
She glanced at her computer. “I’ll need you to take inventory later. I’m making a bulk order soon. For now, the new girl’s out in the dog run if you want a laugh. Make sure you bring them all in when you’re done, though. It’s too cold right now to stay out much longer.”
Max could picture it: the latest Nikes stepping in piss, fur Velcro-ed to $90 lululemon leggings. His day was looking up already.
He took his time on the way to the dog run, stopping in to see his favorite long-term rescues.
Champ was an aging mastiff with no teeth, which meant he required a special extra-wet diet that stunk to high hell.
He was also a spoiled little baby, which meant if he saw a human at all, he would only entertain that extra-wet food if it was hand-fed to him.
Farah Pawcett, on the other hand, was a Chihuahua with an attitude problem and wasn’t allowed out in gen pop or near new volunteers until they’d been fully briefed. Max gave her a wave. Farah bared her teeth and growled.
It was good to be back.
Biscuit, a one-eyed bulldog-boxer mix and unabashedly Max’s favorite, wasn’t in his pen, which meant he was probably out in the run with the new volunteer.
Max would pay money to see that. Biscuit was a bit of a terror who chased anything that moved, especially shiny things.
And then he’d slobber on it, hump it, or fall asleep on top of it.
Sometimes all three within the same minute.
Max let himself out the side door and waved to Georgie, one of the other volunteers. They opted for a jerk of the head as opposed to removing their hand from their pocket to wave back. Max couldn’t blame them. The cold bit at his skin and made him regret leaving his heavier winter coat at home.
Most of the dogs were inside—their barks echoed for half a mile—but a few played out here with miscellaneous toys scattered across the patchy, dead grass. A new golden he hadn’t gotten a chance to know yet, two mixed breeds he couldn’t distinguish from this far away.
And Biscuit, exactly where Max hoped he would be: causing problems for the new girl.
She crouched, wrestling her shoe from Biscuit, and Max heard the commotion even over the barking and whistling wind.
“No, actually, if you wouldn’t mind, that’s my—okay, you can have it.”
Georgie stifled a laugh against their shoulder, and Max fought a smile of his own as Biscuit whipped the tennis shoe back and forth.
When Max’s toes started to tingle from the safety of his thickest socks, he figured enough was enough.
He whistled, and the dogs came running, Biscuit included. The shoe still dangled from his mouth. He’d probably been drawn to the metallic emblem on the side. Max deftly stepped out of the way of the stampede, grabbing the shoe when Biscuit dropped it to barrel through the doggy door.
The slimy, frayed lace smacked against Max’s wrist. They weren’t the brand-new Nikes he was expecting. Paint speckled the toe box, and the midsole was stained fresh-grass green. While they wouldn’t win any sprints, couldn’t jump hurdles, they were good for this.
Georgie gestured to the shoe with an elbow, hands still shoved in their pockets. “Want me to take care of that?”
Max shook his head. “I’ve got it.”
With a nod, they headed for the door, but turned back at the last second. “Remember the rule about hazing.”
“Don’t get caught?”
Georgie grinned. “Exactly.” They jerked a thumb over their shoulder as they crossed the threshold. “Don’t keep her out here too long. She’s been alright so far.”
Max looked to the field again. The new volunteer hobbled over, head ducked against a strong blow of wind. The breeze hit Max in the face too—then stiffened his spine. Biscuit had serious digestive issues.
When she was within speaking distance, he figured now was as good a time as any.
“Hey,” he said, except it came out a little too harsh, because he recognized the ink-blotted pinkie dangling at her side. The wind blew again and he only smelled her now—peppermint.
The girl from the counselor’s office.
His competition for the scholarship.
He clenched his teeth so hard one of them clicked. Of all the volunteer opportunities in town, she had to pick this one.
Not only would he have to see her here every week—he’d probably have to listen to her talk about how perfect she was, too. How everything had gone exactly right for her since the second she’d been born, how Max had no chance.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
She looked up then, her golden-brown waves of hair catching on the wind. He took in her heart-shaped face, her big round eyes, and—
Familiarity reached its fist into his lungs and stole his breath.
“Keely?” he rasped. She was ten years older, but he’d know her face anywhere.
The last time he’d seen it, she was standing at his seventh-grade locker with wet lashes, clutching an algebra book to her chest. He remembered thinking he’d do just about anything to ensure that look never crossed her face again.
Of course Keely was going out for Pursue Your Passions.
The overachiever vibe fit her perfectly.
The only thing surprising about the situation was that someone like Keely—with her color-coordinated notebooks and folders, her class schedule memorized on the first day of school, her outfits picked out the night before—would wait until the last minute to secure a scholarship.
She seemed the type to have things figured out well before they were relevant. Her backup plans had backup plans.
But what did he know? Maybe she’d changed in the years they’d been apart.
Keely blinked at him, and her blue-speckled eyes went wider and rounder. The tip of her nose was pink.
He didn’t know why he noticed that.
He coughed. “I’m not sure if you remember—”
“Max. Of course I remember you.”
For a stretching second, they only stood there, staring at each other from ten feet apart. The sharp breeze kept blowing her scent his way. Seriously, why did she always smell like peppermint? Did she keep them tucked in her jaw or something?
It doesn’t matter.
Pushing his tongue into his cheek, he held up her shoe. “I believe this is yours?”
“Thanks,” she said, walking over, gaze trained on the ground. “Um, hi, I guess. It’s been. . . forever.”
She took her trainer, wobbled as she slid it on.
He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Feels like it.”
To her credit, she only winced a little at Biscuit’s damage. If they were Max’s shoes, he’d be buying new laces. When she stood again, a new determination lit her face.
Or an old one. He remembered it on every version of her.
The first time they’d met, some hazy, undefined day in fourth grade when their teacher stuck them together on a math assignment and she’d finished the entire thing before he had time to read the third question.
In fifth grade, on the second day of school, when they’d decided each other’s presence was preferred to sitting alone at lunch. When Max traded his pudding for Keely’s chips, and they kept a shared pack of floss in his locker when they got braces within two weeks of each other.
Their sixth-grade year, once they’d moved to middle school.
She joined the science club and he started enjoying gym class, the one subject he excelled at.
It was the beginning of their end, but for a while, it was nice.
At the very least, it gave them something to talk about besides who was holding hands or, God forbid, kissing.
By seventh grade, he was gone, and she stayed, and they weren’t friends anymore.
The girl who stood before him now wasn’t a girl at all. Her body had filled out to soft, sloping curves, and even though she was almost an entire foot shorter, she still had the uncanny ability to look down her pink-tipped nose at him.
Was she cold?
“Would you rather talk inside?” he asked.
She studied him for a second, then shrugged one shoulder beneath her thick winter jacket. “Sure, thanks.”
The ever-present fist around Max’s lungs eased its grip. “No problem.” She settled in place beside him as they walked to the door. “It kinda worked out that we’re volunteering together. I’m glad we’ve got another shot at reintroductions, especially after last week.”
Keely skidded to a halt. “Wait. What happened last week?” Her words were drenched in accusation and mistrust.
Shit: apparently he’d stepped in it.
He turned to her. It was probably best to get this out in the open. Maybe she’d laugh about it like he wanted to, and they could start making up for lost time. Small world, right? Would you want to get coffee?
He was still gathering his words when her eyes transformed from baby blue to deep ocean, the skin around them tightening in turn. Her lips, rosy like her nose, pressed tight and flat.
“At Dr. Goff’s office. That was you.” She let out a sharp laugh, mumbled something that sounded an awfully lot like of course it was, and crossed her arms, her jaw set in a hard line. “You dumped your smoothie on my laptop.”
“It was a protein shake, actually, and you knocked it out of my hand.” He rocked back on his heels, a spark catching and igniting in his bloodstream. “And I never got a chance to apologize.”
“I don’t need your apologies, Max.” Apologies, plural? Did he owe her more than one? “I need to do this community service. You know, I think I changed my mind. I’d rather not talk at all.” She beelined toward the door and pulled it open so hard the spring recoiled.
He wrapped his palm around the edge before it hit her in the face.
He wasn’t sure where her hostility was coming from, but he wasn’t an asshole. Not completely, anyway. “Look, does the laptop not work or something? I can replace it.” It would dip into his nonexistent funds, but he didn’t want this weird tension hanging over them for months to come.
But she only mumbled, “It’s not about that,” and stepped into the chaos. It did little to help him make sense of anything, least of all why Keely despised him.
He caught her lightly by the elbow, and she turned to him with murder in her gaze. Across the room, Tricia and Georgie watched them. The dogs noticed them and danced around their ankles, twining between their legs. He needed to choose his next words carefully.
“What is it about, then?”
Her pupils telescoped in the bright lights, lips parting the tiniest sliver.
“Forget it,” she murmured, stepping backward and nearly tripping over Lucette, a Boston terrier with a severe underbite.
He reached for Keely again, but she pulled away this time, rubbing at her arm. She slipped around the perimeter of the room, avoiding the dogs—Biscuit, namely—with a wide berth. He watched her until Lottie and Milo, a bonded pair of German shepherds, bounded over to him.
“I’ll forget it if you will!” He raised his voice as a tug-of-war started and dogs vied for his affection. “I’m here every weekend!”
“Well, great.” Some of the color had receded from her face when she looked back. “As of today, so am I.”
Great indeed.