When Dogs Cry by Markus Zusak

good,’ I nodded, and I reached out and held it in my right hand.
    â€˜It does,’ she agreed.
    We went to the same park as the first night I came, but this time we didn’t sit on the splintered bench. This time we walked over the dewy grass and ended up stopping by an old tree.
    â€˜Here,’ I said, and I gave Octavia the words I wrote the previous night in bed. ‘It’s yours.’
    She read them and kissed the paper and then held onto me for quite a while. During that time, there were so many questions I wanted to ask her. I wanted to know what stories were in her house, what she did with Rube, why he never got inside, and whether she had brothers and sisters like me. Instead, I asked nothing. There was a definite wall set up and although I knew I’d have to face it one day, I didn’t dare to do it so early.
    I told her I loved the howling sound of her harmonica. That seemed to be the limit of my courage that night, and even those spoken words had to struggle their way out of my mouth. It’s all very well for words to build bridges, but sometimes I think it’s a matter of knowing when to do it. Knowing when the time’s right.
    When we made it back to the gate, I said something to her almost by mistake. My voice just seemed to say it.
    â€˜Maybe soon,’ I said, ‘you can tell me more aboutyou.’ There was no hesitation in my voice. No feeling of doubt at all.
    She looked at her house, into the blunt light spread across the window. ‘Okay.’ Her face was kind. Honest. ‘I s’pose, I can’t have it all my own way, can I? You can’t drown in a person unless they let you.’ She was right. ‘Will I see you Sunday?’
    â€˜Of course.’
    I kissed her hand soon after that and left.
    At my place, when I returned, I was shocked to find Steve on our front porch, waiting for me.
    â€˜I was wondering how long I’d have to sit here,’ he fired when I showed up. ‘I’ve been here an hour.’
    I walked closer. ‘And? Why’d you come?’
    â€˜Come on,’ he said, standing up. ‘Let’s go back up to my place.’
    I’ll just go in and—’
    â€˜I already told ’em.’
    Steve’s car was parked further along the street, and after getting in, there were very few words spoken in the car. I turned the radio up but don’t remember the song.
    â€˜So what’s this all about?’ I asked. I looked at him but Steve’s eyes were firmly on the road. For a while I was wondering if he’d even heard my question. He let his eyes examine me for a second or two, but he said nothing. He was still waiting.
    When we got out of the car, he said, ‘I want you to meet someone.’ He slammed the door. ‘Or actually, I want her to meet you.’
    We walked up the stairs and into his apartment. It was empty.
    â€˜She’s still in the shower,’ he mentioned. He stood and made coffee and put a cup down in front of me. It still swirled, taking my reflection with it. Taking me down.
    For a moment, I thought we were about to go through our usual routine of questions and answers about everyone back at home, but I could see him deciding not to do it. He’d been at our place earlier and found out for himself. It wasn’t in Steve’s nature to manufacture conversation.
    I hadn’t been to watch him at football for a while, so I asked how it was going. He was in the middle of explaining it when Sal came out of the bathroom, still drying her hair.
    â€˜Hey,’ she said to me.
    I nodded, giving her half a smile.
    That was when Steve stood up and looked at me, then at her. I knew right then that at some point, like I’d suspected, he did tell her about Rube and me. I’d imagined it on the park bench in Hurstville for some reason, and I could hear the quiet tone of Steve’s intense voice practically disowning his brothers. Now he was rewriting