Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Corey Roberts stood at the front of the band room, baton in hand, trying to maintain his composure while three sophomore drummers argued passionately about tempo.
The rest of the ensemble sat in varying states of attention, some tuning their instruments, others scrolling through their phones while they waited for the debate to resolve itself.
"Mr. Roberts," one of the drummers—a lanky kid named Matthew—called out. "Tell Jordan that the snare comes in on beat three, not four."
"It's beat four," Jordan insisted, his sticks crossed over his chest like he was ready to defend the honor of percussionists everywhere. "Listen to the recording."
Corey raised his baton slightly, and the room fell silent. It was a small gesture, one he'd perfected over his years of teaching, but it carried enough authority that even the most energetic students paid attention.
"Jordan's right," Corey said evenly. "It's beat four. Matthew, check measure thirty-two in your part. There's a note from the arranger."
Matthew flipped through his sheet music, found the measure in question, and deflated slightly. "Oh. Yeah, okay."
"Good," Corey said, turning back to face the full ensemble. "Let's take it from the top of the Christmas medley. And remember, this isn't a race. We're telling a story, not sprinting to the finish line."
He raised his baton, waited for the students to ready their instruments, and brought them in with a clean downbeat.
The music started beautifully. The flutes carried the melody with a lightness that made Corey's chest warm with pride, while the clarinets wove in harmony beneath.
The trumpets entered exactly on cue, their bright sound cutting through without overpowering.
For a glorious forty-five seconds, everything came together in the kind of musical moment that reminded Corey why he'd become a teacher in the first place.
Then Emily, one of his flute players, gasped and pointed toward the windows.
"Mr. Roberts! There's a puppy outside!"
The music collapsed into chaos as half the ensemble abandoned their instruments to rush to the windows that lined the far wall of the band room. Corey lowered his baton with a sigh that was equal parts exasperation and concern.
"Everyone, back to your seats," he said, but he was already moving toward the windows himself.
Sure enough, a small tan puppy was racing across the grass outside, moving so fast he was almost a blur.
He looked young with oversized paws that he hadn't quite grown into and a white blaze on his chest. As Corey watched, the puppy executed a sharp turn that would have made a race car driver jealous, then took off in the opposite direction at top speed.
"He's so fast!" one of the students exclaimed.
"He's heading toward the parking lot," David, one of the tuba players, said with concern.
Corey made a quick decision. "All right, everyone stay here. I'm going to go get him before he runs into the road."
"Can we come?" at least five students asked in unison.
"No," Corey said firmly, already heading for the door. "You're going to stay here and practice measures twelve through twenty of the medley. I'll be back in five minutes."
The disappointed groans followed him out into the hallway, but he knew his students well enough to know they'd probably spend the entire time watching through the windows instead of practicing.
The November air was crisp when Corey stepped outside, carrying the bite of the approaching winter even here on the coast. He was glad he'd worn a jacket over his button-down shirt.
The puppy was still visible, now investigating a patch of grass near the edge of the parking lot with intense focus, moving at what seemed like twice the speed of a normal puppy.
"Hey there, buddy," Corey called, keeping his voice calm and friendly as he approached slowly.
The puppy's head whipped up, ears perked with interest. For a moment, they regarded each other. Corey stood still about twenty feet away, the puppy sat in the grass with his tail starting to wag tentatively.
Then the puppy took off like a shot.
"Wait!" Corey called, but the little dog was already halfway across the lawn, moving faster than seemed physically possible for something with such short legs.
Corey gave chase, feeling slightly ridiculous as he jogged after a puppy who clearly thought this was the best game ever invented. The puppy would stop, wait for Corey to get close, then zoom away again, his tail wagging the entire time.
"You think this is funny, don't you?" Corey said, slightly out of breath.
The puppy barked once, which Corey took as a yes.
They continued this dance for another minute before the puppy made a tactical error. He ran toward a corner formed by the building and a fence, effectively trapping himself. Corey approached slowly, hands out in a non-threatening gesture.
"That's it," he said softly. "Good boy. Stay right there."
The puppy tilted his head, considering his options, then seemed to decide that being caught might actually be more fun than running. He sat down and waited, tail thumping against the ground.
When Corey was close enough, he crouched down, and the puppy immediately launched himself forward, trying to lick every available surface of Corey's face while his entire body wiggled with excitement.
"Well, hello to you too," Corey said, laughing as he gently restrained the enthusiastic greeting.
He ran his hands over the puppy's small body, checking for injuries and looking for a collar.
The dog seemed fairly healthy if a little worse for wear.
But there were no tags, no identification of any kind. "Where'd you come from?"
The puppy's only answer was to try to climb higher in Corey's arms, apparently deciding that Corey's shoulder was the perfect spot.
A quick scan of the area revealed no obvious answers.
The school was relatively isolated, surrounded by maritime forest on two sides and a small residential neighborhood on the other.
Someone's pet could have gotten loose, or the puppy could have been dumped here.
Corey hated to think it, but he knew it happened.
The sound of tapping on glass made him look up. Through the band room windows, he could see his entire ensemble pressed against the glass, watching him with the puppy. Several students were waving enthusiastically. Emily had her phone out, probably taking pictures.
Corey shook his head, fighting back a smile. So much for practicing measures twelve through twenty.
He scooped the puppy fully into his arms and headed back inside. The little dog settled against his chest immediately, as though he'd been waiting his whole life to be held exactly like this. Corey felt something in his chest tighten.
The students erupted into cheers when he walked back into the band room, the puppy still cradled in his arms.
"Can we keep him?" a freshman asked immediately.
"Absolutely not," Corey said, though his tone was gentler than his words. "He belongs to someone, and we need to figure out who."
"There's no collar," Matthew pointed out, leaving his drum kit to join the crowd gathering around Corey's desk.
"Maybe he's a stray," Jordan suggested.
"He's so fast," Emily said. "He was like a little rocket out there."
"Prestissimo," Corey murmured, the musical term coming to him naturally. The fastest tempo marking in music. It fit perfectly.
"What?" Emily asked.
"Nothing. Just thinking." Corey set the puppy down on his desk, keeping one hand on his back to prevent any escape attempts.
The little dog sat perfectly still for approximately three seconds before spotting Corey's coffee mug and trying to investigate whether it contained anything edible.
"We should call the animal shelter. They'll know what to do. "
"My family adopted our cat from there last month," Emily said, already pulling out her phone. "The lady who runs it is really nice."
While Emily looked up the number, Corey found himself studying the puppy with more attention than he probably should have given a stray dog. There was something about the way the little guy looked at him with complete trust and affection, like Corey was the most important person in the world.
He'd never been particularly drawn to dogs.
His condo didn't allow pets, a rule he'd never questioned because his lifestyle didn't leave room for the responsibility of caring for an animal anyway.
Between teaching, concert planning, and the occasional evening tutoring session, he barely had time to keep his apartment clean, let alone walk a dog twice a day.
But there was something about this puppy. Maybe it was the way he'd run straight to Corey without hesitation. Or the warmth of the small body that had settled so trustingly against his chest. Or those soulful dark eyes that seemed to see right through him.
"I've got the shelter on the line," Emily announced. "They said someone can come pick him up. Her name's Gayle."
"Great," Corey said, though he felt an unexpected reluctance at the idea of handing the puppy over. Which was ridiculous. He couldn't keep a dog. "Tell them we're in the band room at the high school."
Emily relayed the information, then listened for a moment.
Her expression shifted to something that looked like concern.
"Oh. Okay. Yeah, I'll tell him." She hung up and looked at Corey.
"She said she'd come as soon as she can, but...
she sounded stressed. She said the shelter is completely full right now and she's not sure where he'll go. "
Something uncomfortable twisted in Corey's stomach. "What does that mean?"
Emily shrugged. "I don't know. But she didn't sound happy."
Corey looked down at the puppy, who had given up on the coffee mug and was now attempting to chew on the corner of a stack of sheet music. He gently extracted the papers from the puppy's mouth, earning a look of profound betrayal in response.