Strays Read online

  Oak, Talbot, and I were at the animal shelter, peering into all of the kennels, looking for Roman. I couldn’t help but think how being stuck in a shelter was quite possibly the worst thing for a dog who was working so hard to overcome his past. Who would be brave enough to pick him as their ideal pet when the place was filled with younger, sweeter-looking dogs with all four legs intact?

  The smell of the building, a strange mix of urine and bleach, each alternately overpowering the other, was reason enough to hate this place.

  “What if they’ve adopted him out already?” asked Talbot.

  “That should be the least of your concerns,” said Oak.

  “I forgot,” she said, “you know everything.”

  I couldn’t take their bickering. And the nonstop barking was enough to give anyone, human or animal, an anxiety attack.

  “Can we remember for one second that this is about Roman and not about you two?” I couldn’t believe they were getting into it at a time like this.

  “Here he is!” shouted Talbot. Oak and I ran quickly to catch up to her.

  Roman was in the very last enclosure, huddled in the corner, but he rose quickly and wagged his tail as soon as he heard our voices.

  A big sign with the word AGGRESSIVE in block letters was hanging outside his cell. He had been labeled, like me. I thought about how even my own best friend had grown fearful of that label.

  I reached my hands through the bars of his cell to pet him.

  “Hiya, boy!”

  He licked the salt off of my skin.

  A husky, uniformed guard came running over to us. “Miss, I’m going to have to ask that you refrain from placing your hands in the cell. You never know with a dog like this. They can snap.”

  “Oh, they’re old friends,” said Talbot.

  “Then maybe you’d like to consider adopting him? Once dogs are brought in, they don’t have long before—well, you know,” said the guard.

  “Before what, exactly?” asked Oak.

  “Before he’s euthanized. Put down,” he added, as if we didn’t know what euthanized meant. “It’s shelter policy. He’s lucky he ended up here. The one over in Capitola has a standing order of just three days for unclaimed dogs.”

  “Well, how many days does he have left?” I asked, but the guard just shrugged.

  My heart sank. In a matter of days, Roman, my rescue, would be killed, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  “Can you take him home?” asked Oak.

  “There’s no way,” I said. “We can’t have animals at our place.”

  “My mom’s really allergic,” he said. “She can’t get anywhere near dogs. She’d never be able to come in my room.”

  “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” said Talbot.

  “Sorry,” said Oak.

  We both turned to Talbot.

  “Don’t look at me. You know I’d take all of them if I could. But I have an orange RV with my name on it that I’ll be driving across this country in three hundred and sixty-five days, and bringing a dog with me on the road isn’t part of the vision.”

  I was getting angry. Not at the fact that neither my friend nor my quasi-boyfriend would adopt Roman, but infuriated by how helpless the situation was.

  “Is there any way we can hang out with him?” I asked the guard.

  “Sure, you can have ten minutes in the visiting room. It’s really only supposed to be for people who are considering adopting an animal. But you all seem like a nice bunch.”

  “We’re not that nice,” joked Talbot under her breath. I shot her a look, not wanting to jeopardize any time with my dog.

  The guard brought a leash over to Roman, who retreated, shaking back into his corner when the cell was unlocked.

  It was awful to see him like this. It made me think about how environment really was everything. How was an animal supposed to survive in a cage? I thought about the one day I had spent in jail and imagined what it would be like to be stuck there for days on end. What if no one had come to pick me up? What kind of life was it when there was no one to bail you out?

  *

  “He’s scared,” I said. I could practically read Roman’s thoughts at this point.

  When the guard started heading toward Roman’s neck to hook the leash, Roman barked viciously, making the guard jump.

  “I don’t think it’s gonna happen today. Not worth getting my arm bitten off,” the guard said to me.

  “May I try?” I asked.

  “She’s really good with him,” said Oak.

  “It’s against policy,” said the guard.

  “Sometimes, policies suck,” said Talbot.

  Before the guard could respond, Roman was at my feet, begging.

  “See?” said Talbot.

  “All right, but don’t tell them up front.” The guard handed me the leash, and I easily clipped it to Roman’s collar.

  “Walks well on a leash. I never would have guessed that,” said the confounded guard as he escorted us to the end of the hall, then led us to a room with a few beaten-up dog toys.

  “I trained him,” I said proudly.

  “You have ten minutes,” the guard said and left us alone.

  Once the guard shut the door, Roman’s personality came out. He wasn’t scared or defensive but loving and playful, tugging on a rope and digging at a plastic tube filled with dog treats.

  “He doesn’t belong here,” said Talbot.

  “We need to find Sebastian’s dad. It’s the only way,” I said.

  “Who’s Sebastian?” asked Oak.

  “The kid, from the park,” I said. “The one with the kite. If he could learn about who Roman really is, how much he means to all of us…”

  “It’s never gonna work. That guy hates dogs. He really believed that Roman was going to attack his kid,” said Talbot.

  I couldn’t take my gaze off of Roman.

  “Well, it’s the only choice we have,” I said.

  After Roman had tired himself out running around he nuzzled in close to me, leaning his face up against my knee as I stroked his head. He breathed a few deep breaths, like a dog who had the whole weight of the world on his shoulders.

  “You’re gonna be okay,” I whispered, not believing my own words. But maybe, if he heard them, he’d sleep better tonight.

  And then, as if life was racing by at warp speed, the guard was at the door telling us our time was up.

  “I’ll let you put the leash back on,” he said.

  I obliged and led Roman back to his cell.

  “We love you, Roman,” said Talbot.

  “We miss you,” added Oak.

  I lowered my face down to Roman’s, and for the first time I saw that we were two similar beings, struggling to contain our anger. Struggling to be understood.

  “We’ll get you out of here,” I said, handing the leash over to the guard, who opened the door and made sure Roman was locked back inside.

  *

  We spent all of Saturday hanging out at the grassy knoll at Natural Bridges, desperately waiting for Sebastian and his dad to show up. Even Shelley and Randy joined us.

  “I can’t say I even like that dog, but I like you,” Randy said to me; my cheeks reddened.

  It was all to no avail. Tons of kids passed through with Frisbees, their own dogs, jump ropes, and picnics. But no sign of the boy.

  The clock was ticking.

  “Let’s follow the ice cream cart,” said Shelley.

  “I’m not worried about eating ice cream right now,” said Talbot, annoyed.

  “Not to eat, you fool,” she said. “The ice cream cart is like the Pied Piper for little kids!”

  She had a point—everywhere that cart went with its ringing bell, kids came running. Unfortunately, just not the kid we were looking for.

  “What are we going to do?” Talbot asked.

  My brain was racing with ideas. I had always been a good student, able to critically think. Why, then, was I completely frozen when it came to
this dog rescue?

  “We could talk to Kevin?” suggested Talbot.

  “Again?” I said. “We’ve bugged him about this like ten times. He won’t budge. He thinks that dad has a right to his opinions as much as we have a right to ours.”

  “He doesn’t want to jeopardize his organization,” said Oak.

  “Maybe we could break into the pound and get Roman out?” said Talbot.

  “No way I’d risk it. One more infraction for me, and I’m gonna get real jail time instead of this community service stuff,” said Randy.

  “Randy’s right. We can’t break the law again. It would be the ultimate irony,” I said.

  “You and your big words,” said Shelley.

  We were exhausted, sunburned, and stressed out. Everyone wanted to go home, but no one wanted to be the first to admit it.

  Finally, Shelley said, “I have another babysitting gig tonight,” prompting all of us to stand up and gather our things. I thought about Conor and Hunter, the boys I was supposed to have been sitting over the summer. I wondered who their new sitter was and if they liked her more than me.

  “I have another hot date,” said Randy.

  “I have an obligatory family dinner. Anyone jealous?” said Talbot, rolling her eyes.

  I was, but I didn’t say anything.

  “You two? Any plans?” asked Talbot.

  “We do, actually. Big plans,” said Oak.

  I looked at him. We hadn’t talked about having plans tonight. In fact, unless the conversation had been about Roman, we hadn’t really talked at all since the bonfire.

  Once everyone else had left, I didn’t want it to be awkward to be alone with Oak, but it was. I tried to diffuse the situation by talking about Roman again.

  “There’s gotta be something more we can do,” I said.

  Oak was looking deeply into my eyes. “You’re such a good person, Iris.”

  I blushed. It was good being this close to him. And just when I was about to return the compliment, he leaned in to kiss me. His lips were soft.

  I pulled back. “Have you noticed we only kiss when the sun is setting?”

  “What can I say?” said Oak. “I’m picky about mood lighting.”

  “Or maybe we’re vampires,” I offered.

  He bared his teeth and then went in for another kiss.

  “So you still like me?” I asked sheepishly.

  “Yeah, you can’t scare me away that easily,” he said.

  “I’m sorry about how I reacted before,” I said, hoping Oak would understand me. “It’s this thing I do. I’m not good at accepting help.”

  “I know. I get it. But remember, taking some help isn’t the same as being rescued.”

  I nodded, and we kissed some more. And just as I was about to get lost in the moment, an idea came to me.

  “We have to go,” I said.

  “What just happened? What did I do?”

  “Nothing, it’s not you. It’s just…I think I’ve figured out a way to save Roman’s life!”

  “But we’ve exhausted every possibility,” said Oak, frustrated.

  “You’re forgetting one small detail,” I said. “You’re a computer bad-boy genius!”

  “What does that have to do with—”

  “Can we go to your house?” I asked. “I have an idea.”

  *

  By the time we arrived at Oak’s house, the fog had come creeping in, and we could barely see three feet in front of us. I removed my bike from the back of his truck, and, for the first time, I got to see his house, which was on the south side of town, near the beach, across from the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk—not very far from me.

  “Hot beverage?” he offered.

  “Have any coffee?” I asked.

  “I have something better.”

  “What could be better than coffee?” I asked. It wouldn’t hurt to skip the coffee so late in the day.

  “Green tea.”

  I made a face, but minutes later, I took the cup of hot tea. It smelled like twigs.

  “Not bad, right?” Oak said, watching me sip the tea.

  “I guess,” I said, unsure whether I enjoyed the nuttiness of the tea.

  “You’re drinking something over four thousand years old!” Oak said. The history buff was coming out. “You know, there’s a legend that this guy was out walking in the countryside, boiling a pot of water under a tea tree, and some leaves fell into the pot. He tasted it and loved it and could sense it had medicinal properties and just like that, we got green tea!”

  I could only finish some of it.

  “Maybe it will grow on you?” Oak said, placing the half-empty mug in the sink.

  I tried to stay in the moment, but my thoughts kept returning to Roman.

  “So, we’ll need your computer,” I said, trying to get us back on track.

  “Okay, it’s in my room. Follow me.”

  I walked with Oak into his bedroom, which was a converted garage. There was lots of original artwork, posters of CD covers, and robotic-looking computer pieces arranged artistically across his wall. On another wall was a big world map covered with pushpins with yellow heads at various locations, perhaps of places he wanted to go or places he had been.

  Oak removed his sweatshirt, his body warmed from the tea. It was the first time he’d taken it off in front of me, and I tried to hide my curiosity in seeing a full view of his neck for the first time. I laughed to myself about how silly it was that I was getting so excited over a neck. But when he shifted in the other direction to turn on his computer, he revealed a large, jagged scar on the right side of his neck.

  “What happened?” I asked involuntarily.

  Oak realized his reveal and immediately reached up to the scar, covering it with his palm. It was as though he had forgotten it existed until I reminded him.

  “Oh, fishing accident. I was ten. The hook was supposed to be cast out to the ocean, but I was a spastic ten-year-old and I was running all over that boat. It got me instead of some fish. There was a lot of blood.”

  I slowly walked over to Oak with my fingers reached out toward the raised scar on his neck. I thought about how much people have to go through in their lives. Dying parents. Bloody accidents. At times it felt like it was all too much.

  But here Oak was, in front of me. Fine. Recovered. The scar his only evidence of the accident. Up close, it looked like a magnified section of a snowflake—the flesh of the scar a prominent pink protruding against his olive skin.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said as I ran my finger down the scar.

  “Well, no one’s ever said that before.”

  “That’s because no one’s ever seen it before. You’re always hiding it.”

  “I just don’t want to answer all the questions,” he said.

  “I know what you mean.”

  We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the whir of his computers. “Hey, computer genius,” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “So here’s my idea. It’s pretty vague at this point, but I don’t want to risk you having to get into trouble.”

  “For you, I’m all in,” said Oak.

  “So, there must be some way to hack into the pound’s computer system, right?”

  “I might be able to do it. But even if I could, then what? Transferring funds is way easier than transferring a dog in cyberspace.”

  “That’s it!” I yelled.

  “What?” he asked.

  “What you said about funds. You can change numbers, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty good at that.”

  “Go to the pound website.”

  His fingers clacked across the keyboard, its letters faded from so much frantic typing. The site popped up on the screen in a matter of seconds.

  “Bingo,” Oak said. “Now what?”

  “Find Roman.”

  Oak clicked through the pages of dogs listed, each with a photo of the dog, a short description of its estimated age plus its breed—and then, in red
lettering, the days until the dog was to be euthanized. It was heartbreaking to see the staggering number of dogs waiting on the chopping block, with no way they could all be saved in time. What a life to live, suffering through neglect or abuse only to end up in a place like the pound, where you’re given a warm meal and attention and, just when you think things are getting good again, your life is ended.

  “Got him!” shouted Oak.

  Up on the screen was Roman, looking courageous, the pain seeping through his eyes. Underneath his photo, the unlucky number one showed how many days he had left to live.

  “Shepherd mix.” Oak read his breed description. “Are they kidding?”

  “It’s what they call all pit bulls. No one wants to adopt them because of their bad reputation. And no mention of his missing leg! Guess they want someone to fall in love with him on the website and then show up and not care that he only has three legs.”

  “Like you did,” said Oak.

  “Exactly.” I thought back to the first time Roman and I met and how much I was turned off by his appearance and the way he just seemed so angry. Not at all the way I thought of him now that I understood him.

  “You sure you’re up for this?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure what I can do,” Oak said. “I mean, I want to help. You know I’d do anything for Roman.”

  “Right, for Roman.” I had to remind myself that of course it was all for the dog.

  “And for you,” he added.

  I felt my cheeks warm. This was no time for romantic interludes. I had to snap out of it. “I need you to work your magic.”

  “What magic is that?” he asked.

  “Oak, the computer-hacking wonder of the northern hemisphere—I need you to hack into that site and switch the days Roman has left to live.”

  A huge grin spread across his face.

  “I think you’re the one who’s the computer genius,” he said. “But there are a few kinks in your plan.”

  I felt short of breath all over again. If this didn’t work, Roman would be killed tomorrow.

  “This is the site for viewers, like us, interested in looking for a dog,” he said.

  I wasn’t following.

  “The employees probably don’t even look at this page. We need to hack deeper…”

  “Get to the interior calendar and files.” I was finally catching on.

  “Exactly!” Oak said.