Chaos Theory by M Evonne Dobson

our first rule too. I should warn them off. I don’t.
    â€œWhat’s the plan?” Sam asks.
    I climb into EB. “I’m heading there.” Protection would be nice. For that matter, what reason do we have to be at the park? None of us are skateboarders. Inspiration hits as I turn my key in the ignition; something that handles both problems. Sandy lives in the neighborhood near Riverside Park. She can stop there on her way. “Pick up Brute. Meet me there.”
    Brute is Sandy’s giant black and white Newfoundland—more pony than dog. As a puppy, he was a cute, clumsy, and shaggy thing with bronze soulful eyes. He still has the eyes, but now they are inside one monstrous dog. He won’t hurt a flea, but with his hundred-plus-pound body as part of a defensive front, those three goons would think twice before coming after us.
    I slam EB into reverse, back her up, and then gun her out of the school parking lot with a loud squeal from her tires. That’s when I remember band’s two skip rule; pep band just become history. And damn it, hot and sexy grown-up Gavin is on that bus too. I’d blown him off again. Daniel so owed me.
    ***
    Coming down Sixth Street, the unmarked cop car is parked by the railroad underpass. Driving above the speed limit, I hit the brakes to slow and check it out. No one’s inside the car. I turn into the parking lot and park next to Daniel’s unoccupied Mustang.
    Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I wait, anxious for Sam and Sandy to arrive. Breaking the safety rule is one thing; being stupid is another. Then Sandy’s dark green rusted pickup turns into the parking lot. Inside and squashed between her and Sam is the huge excited dog. Only Brute is happy with the cramped quarters. He’s got his Frisbee in his mouth.
    Brute drools—a lot, Frisbee or not. Sam swipes at the flying slob on his cheek. They park and unload. The dog plows over the top of Sam, who manages to grab his leash. Sandy’s glowing with excitement. Team Daniel she’s not, but action queen she is. She also smells like baby powder again. She must have hugged her baby sister.
    â€œSo how do we handle this?” Sam the Cautious asks. From his shifting feet to his wide eyes, it’s obvious he doesn’t want to be here. I modify my original plan a bit.
    â€œI walk across to Daniel. You guys stay here with Brute.”
    Sandy says, “Nope. Besides, Brute wants to be the hero.”
    She hadn’t seen Daniel’s beaten body. NCSI fan Sandy is wearing a TV flak jacket as strong as tissue paper. “This is serious, Sandy. Stay here. Look natural. Toss Brute’s Frisbee here in the parking lot.”
    â€œAre you kidding? I’m coming with you to Broken Bone.”
    Sam the Uncertain stammers, “If Sandy’s going, then I am too.”
    I give in and we head up the little hill to Sixth Street, wait for traffic to clear, and enter the area west of the skate park. Sam the I’m-just-in-the-park-with-my-dog, nope-no-interest-in-drug-deals grabs the sopping Frisbee and tosses it before Sandy has the leash unhooked. Brute drags her three feet before she lets go. The Newfoundland races for the Frisbee, picks it up, and returns to sit in front of his new BFF, still trailing the leash.
    Sam takes the wet Frisbee and shakes the slobber off it. “I don’t have to love your dog, do I? It’s not part of the bargain if we’re dating?”
    Sandy laughs and drops a kiss on his cheek. Sam grins and lofts the wet Frisbee again—long and hard. It hits the railroad embankment. Brute charges off.
    Inside Broken Bone, Daniel’s doing warm-ups, making those long, leisurely passes around the three concrete bowls. No goons in sight. Had I gotten kicked out of band AND missed my nuclear-hot date with Emerald Green Eyes for nothing?
    Sam points up toward the railway bridge. “Why’s there a homeless guy up