Nobody's Dog by Ria Voros

You’re not scared.”
    I pull off a salmonberry leaf and shred it. “I’m not.”
    She watches the pieces fall to the ground. “I know. It’s obvious.”
    â€œWhat is?”
    â€œThat you’re not scared.”
    I throw up my hands. “Man — are you like this with your friends?”
    She goes back to her drawing.
    On our way home from the creek, Libby starts going on about feminism and pop art as if I’m actually interested. I try to smile and nod, but after a while I can feel a headachecoming on. I just want to get home, so I suggest we take a short cut.
    â€œThat’s where my mom’s new boyfriend lives.” She points down the street. “The blue house with the brown roof.”
    â€œWhat’s he like?” I ask, not really caring, but happy that a question has made her stop the art lecture.
    â€œHe’s really nice. He has this cool dog. We took it for a walk yesterday.”
    My stomach tightens, even though it could be any guy and any dog. What are the chances? J says the chances are pretty good. We’re only three streets up from my house.
    â€œWhat kind of dog?” I ask, my heart already hammering in my chest.
    Libby walks down the lane. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
    She stops in front of a chain-link fence. I try to breathe normally as I come up beside her. The grass stretches from the fence to the back of the blue house. On the lawn are dog toys — bones and ropes and balls. Inside a big cardboard box, the kind used for fridges or stoves, is a black and white dog. He lies on his side, asleep.
    â€œHis name’s Chilko,” Libby’s saying. “He’s huge but Patrick says he’s not dangerous. Big dogs freak me out sometimes, but Chilko seems nice. Do you want to meet him?”
    His name’s Chilko. His owner’s name is Patrick. Patrick’s dating Soleil.
    My life just got more complicated in a million ways.
    â€œUh — no,” I say. “I’m not a dog person. I like cats better.” J keeps feeding me lies, but I clamp my mouth shut.
    Libby looks at me. “Are you sure? He’s not a mean dog.”
    â€œI just don’t like dogs that much.”
    Footsteps crunch behind us. I freeze.
    Libby turns around with a smile. “Oh, hi, George.”
    A skinny blond guy is standing there. He looks too old for the skater T-shirt and jeans he’s wearing.
    â€œHi,” George says. “Libby, right?”
    â€œYeah, and this is —”
    â€œI’m J,” I say, putting my hands in my pockets.
    â€œAre you here to walk Chilko?” Libby asks.
    George opens the gate and nods. “Yup. You guys want to come in?”
    I say no at the same time Libby says yes.
    George blinks. “Whatever. I’m just going to get his leash.” He walks across the lawn, whistling to Chilko. I wish I’d thought of doing that when we were out at night. Chilko springs up when he hears the whistle and comes bounding over to George. His tail makes a circle behind him.
    â€œAre you nervous?” Libby asks, touching my hand that grips the chain-link fence.
    I pull away. “Why would I be nervous? I just think we should go.”
    But Chilko’s seen us. His ears are up. His eyes lock onto mine. It takes him two seconds to cover the distance between us.
    He almost knocks me over with his paws and Libby jumps back. It’s her turn to look scared.
    â€œWhoa, he really likes you,” she says. “I only saw him act like that with Patrick.”
    I don’t meet her gaze.
    Chilko’s wagging his tail for me, sniffing my clothes and turning around so I can scratch his back. He moans a little in his wolfy way. I bury my fingers in his fur, feeling like I haven’t seen him in a year. And how great it would be if Icould walk him in daylight.
    â€œYou make him crazy,” George says, walking up with the leash. “Do you know