She scooted to the edge of the bed and handed me her phone. An old article from ESPNU illuminated the screen, and the headline in big, bold letters readstandout clayton university baseball star brooklyn keller dismissed from team following drug allegations.
She’d actually gone ahead and searched him, and while I should have been frustrated that she kept poking and prodding when I’d asked her not to, it was frustrating for a different reason—thatthatwas the first thing that came up when anybody searched him. It didn’t seem fair.
The lack of surprise on my face when I handed Nikki her phone back was enough to throw her for a loop, and she tossed her hands up. “You knew?”
“Yes, I knew,” I replied steadily, gathering the clothes on my floor. “He told me.”
“And you didn’t think to tellme?” She clapped her hands to her sternum.
“I obviously did not.” I shot her a stern look. “It’shisbusiness, and therefore not my place to share it.”
Nikki scoffed and sat back on my bed, leaning against the wall. “That’s why he was at Otter House, wasn’t it? Damn, this whole time I thought he’d been visiting someone. You think you know a guy.”
“Now you know.” I groaned as I bent over to pick up a stray sock that had fallen out of the wad of clothes in my arms. “Now,please.Laundry. Wash. Things.”
With a dramatic sigh, Nikki slid off the bed as if she were melting onto the floor. “In a minute. I need to lie here and reflect on my deteriorating snooping skills.”
“You do that.” I nodded before maneuvering myself out of my room, trying not to drop any more stray clothes.
I was hanging halfway into our washing machine to load it when through the walls and the splattering of the rain outside, Nikki called my name. As I lifted my head out of the drum of the machine, I realized she’d actually been screaming.
With my heart in my throat I ran out of the laundry room, nearly slipping on the wooden floor in my socks as I darted up the steps two at a time.
“Nikki?” I called into what felt like the void. The darkness of the upstairs hallway lit up in a flash of lightning.
“In here!” Her voice cracked as she called back from Mom’s room. Nikki was on her knees on the bed, hovering over Gracie, who was sprawled across the thick white comforter.
“She’s not moving,” Nikki croaked. Her shoulders heaved up and down as strained breaths came from her tiny frame. I trod across the carpet carefully, avoiding imaginary landmines as if the wrong step would blow us all sky-high.
Gracie’s breath came out in short, ragged spurts, and her eyes remained closed even when I eased myself onto the bed.
“Come on, girl,” I whispered to her. “What’s wrong?”
And even though her responses were always in my head, even there it was silent.
“Okay.” I got off the bed and stood rigid, desperately trying to keep it together in front of Nikki. “Okay. Okay. Okay.”
I repeated it until I believed it.
“We have to get her to the vet.” I forced the words past the tangled knot of tears in my throat.
“How?” Nikki bawled. “She’s, like, a hundred pounds. I can’t—” She took a wheezing breath, wrapping her arms around her waifish, trembling body. “We can’t move her.”
I slipped my phone out of my pocket and tried Mom, but I knew she kept her phone on Do Not Disturb during classes. My thumb twitched as I hovered over my text message thread with Brooklyn—still radio silent since yesterday—before quickly hitting the Call button next to his contact. It rang only twice before he answered.
“Hi.” He sounded a little breathless, and a little surprised. I’d never outright called him before.
“Hi.” I tried to stay cordial and not let the panic seep through my voice. I could keep it together. Ihadto keep it together.
“Hi.” This time I could hear him smile.
I took a measured breath before continuing. “Are you, uh, are you busy?”
“No, I’m not.” There was a pause. “Everything all right?”
“Um, well, no.” I breathed out. “It’s my dog. She . . . she’s breathing but she’s not moving. She won’t get up. We need to take her to the vet, but she’s big. We can’t carry her.”
This time there was no hesitation. “I’m leaving now.”
