Page 40 of Second Chance Summer

“Sure,” I said, even though I would have very much preferred someone else handle it, as my experience with dogs had been pretty much limited to watching Top Dog. I started to leave, to begin the process of talking to the neighbors, when I caught a glimpse of my sister still standing on the porch. When I was her age, I rarely just hung around the house. I always had something going on with Henry or Lucy. But, in fairness, Gelsey hadn’t been here since she was little, and she wasn’t the greatest at making friends. I glanced at the house next door and remembered the girl I’d seen. “Gelsey, come with me,” I called to her. “And bring the cookies.”

Chapter seventeen

WE HEARD THE ARGUMENT BEFORE WE MADE IT TO THE FRONT steps. It was impossible not to hear it—there was just a screen door, and the words carried all the way out to the gravel of the driveway, where Gelsey, the dog, and I all paused.

“You knew what this would do!” a woman’s voice, shaking with anger, rang out. “I told you back when we were undercover. You’ve killed Sasha with this, you heartless bastard!”

I looked at the front door again, then took a small step in front of my sister. Undercover? Who had ended up next door to us? “I’m not sure,” I said quietly, starting to take a step away. “Maybe—”

“You can’t blame this on me!” a man’s voice rang out, sounding equally angry. “If you’d done what you were supposed to in Minsk, we wouldn’t be here!”

The woman gasped. “How dare you bring up Minsk!” she yelled. “It’s just…” Silence fell, and then, sounding perfectly calm, she said, “I don’t know. It’s a little too much, I think.”

Gelsey frowned at me, and I just shook my head, totally lost, but thinking that there might be a better time for us to ask these people if they were missing a dog. And we didn’t even have the oatmeal raisin cookies with us. When we went to bring them, my mother had told us she’d tossed them out after a week when it became clear they were never going to be eaten. “Let’s come back later,” I said, taking another step away. Gelsey tugged on the dog’s collar, using the makeshift leash—a length of pink satin ribbon, the kind she used for her pointe shoes.

“Hey there!” I glanced up and saw a woman standing in the doorway on the front porch. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties, and was dressed casually, in jeans and a T-shirt that read IN N OUT. She had long, pale blond hair and shielded her eyes from the sun. “What’s up?”

“What’s going on?” a guy came to stand next to her, smiling when he saw us and raising a hand in a wave. He was African-American and looked around the woman’s age. He was dressed almost identically, except that his T-shirt read ZANKOU CHICKEN.

“We, um,” I said, taking a step forward, looking at them closely, still trying to make sense of the argument I’d heard. They didn’t look like spies. But really good spies probably didn’t. “Had a question. But if this isn’t a good time…” They just stared at me, looking blank. “It sounded like you might have been in the middle of something,” I tried to clarify. “I didn’t want to disturb.” They still were just staring, so I prompted, “Minsk?”

“Oh!” The woman burst out laughing. “I hope you didn’t think that was real. We were just working.”

“Working?” Gelsey asked, finding her voice and taking a tiny step forward. “Are you actors?”

“Even worse,” the guy said, shaking his head. “Screenwriters. I’m Jeff Gardner, by the way.”

“Kim,” the woman said, waving, a ring on her left hand flashing at me in the sun.

“Hi,” I said, incredibly relived that there was not international espionage going on next door. “I’m Taylor, and this is my sister Gelsey. We live right there,” I said, pointing through their tree hedge to our house.

“Neighbors!” Jeff said with a big smile. “So nice to meet you, Taylor, and…” He paused, looking at my sister. “Did you say Kelsey?”

This happened a lot with her name, and when it did, it was the one time I was grateful to have a name everyone knew and had no problems spelling. My mother hadn’t thought it would be a problem—when she’d named my sister for a famous ballerina, she obviously thought a lot more people would be familiar with it. “Gelsey,” I repeated, louder. “With a g.”

“It’s great to meet you both,” Kim said. Her eyes lingered on my sister for a moment, and she smiled before she turned her head and called into the house, “Nora!”

A second later, the screen door banged open and the girl I’d seen a few days before stepped out onto the porch. She had black curly hair and skin the color of my coffee after I’d added enough milk to make it drinkable. She was also glowering, which was in direct opposition to her parents, who both seemed thrilled to have met us. “This is our daughter, Nora,” Kim said, nudging her until Nora was standing by her side. “These are two of our neighbors,” she said. “Taylor and Gelsey.”

In succession, Nora frowned at me, at Gelsey, and at Murphy. “What’s wrong with your dog?” she asked.

Gelsey frowned right back at her, pulling the ribbon, and the dog, a little closer to her. “Nothing,” she said. “What do you mean?”

Nora just nodded at him, wrinkling her nose as though it should be obvious. “It’s all matted,” she said.

“That’s actually why we’re here,” I said quickly, trying to head off Gelsey, who had just taken a breath as though to launch into an argument about the merits of the dog’s grooming habits. “We’ve noticed this dog wandering around recently. There’s no address on the tag, so we didn’t know if he might be yours.”

Jeff shook his head. “Not us,” he said. “Have you tried the house on the other side?”

Also known as Henry’s house. “Not yet,” I said brightly. “I guess we’ll ask them next.” We all just stood around for a moment, nobody really quite sure what to say. I saw Kim glance back into the house and realized that she probably wanted to get back to work. “So,” I said, as the silence was starting to edge toward uncomfortable, “screenwriting, huh? That’s cool.” I didn’t know much about screen-writing except for what I’d seen in, ironically, the movies, where writers seemed to be either going out to power lunches or throwing balled-up pieces of paper against the wall.

o;Sure,” I said, even though I would have very much preferred someone else handle it, as my experience with dogs had been pretty much limited to watching Top Dog. I started to leave, to begin the process of talking to the neighbors, when I caught a glimpse of my sister still standing on the porch. When I was her age, I rarely just hung around the house. I always had something going on with Henry or Lucy. But, in fairness, Gelsey hadn’t been here since she was little, and she wasn’t the greatest at making friends. I glanced at the house next door and remembered the girl I’d seen. “Gelsey, come with me,” I called to her. “And bring the cookies.”

Chapter seventeen

WE HEARD THE ARGUMENT BEFORE WE MADE IT TO THE FRONT steps. It was impossible not to hear it—there was just a screen door, and the words carried all the way out to the gravel of the driveway, where Gelsey, the dog, and I all paused.

“You knew what this would do!” a woman’s voice, shaking with anger, rang out. “I told you back when we were undercover. You’ve killed Sasha with this, you heartless bastard!”

I looked at the front door again, then took a small step in front of my sister. Undercover? Who had ended up next door to us? “I’m not sure,” I said quietly, starting to take a step away. “Maybe—”

“You can’t blame this on me!” a man’s voice rang out, sounding equally angry. “If you’d done what you were supposed to in Minsk, we wouldn’t be here!”

The woman gasped. “How dare you bring up Minsk!” she yelled. “It’s just…” Silence fell, and then, sounding perfectly calm, she said, “I don’t know. It’s a little too much, I think.”

Gelsey frowned at me, and I just shook my head, totally lost, but thinking that there might be a better time for us to ask these people if they were missing a dog. And we didn’t even have the oatmeal raisin cookies with us. When we went to bring them, my mother had told us she’d tossed them out after a week when it became clear they were never going to be eaten. “Let’s come back later,” I said, taking another step away. Gelsey tugged on the dog’s collar, using the makeshift leash—a length of pink satin ribbon, the kind she used for her pointe shoes.

“Hey there!” I glanced up and saw a woman standing in the doorway on the front porch. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties, and was dressed casually, in jeans and a T-shirt that read IN N OUT. She had long, pale blond hair and shielded her eyes from the sun. “What’s up?”

“What’s going on?” a guy came to stand next to her, smiling when he saw us and raising a hand in a wave. He was African-American and looked around the woman’s age. He was dressed almost identically, except that his T-shirt read ZANKOU CHICKEN.

“We, um,” I said, taking a step forward, looking at them closely, still trying to make sense of the argument I’d heard. They didn’t look like spies. But really good spies probably didn’t. “Had a question. But if this isn’t a good time…” They just stared at me, looking blank. “It sounded like you might have been in the middle of something,” I tried to clarify. “I didn’t want to disturb.” They still were just staring, so I prompted, “Minsk?”

“Oh!” The woman burst out laughing. “I hope you didn’t think that was real. We were just working.”

“Working?” Gelsey asked, finding her voice and taking a tiny step forward. “Are you actors?”

“Even worse,” the guy said, shaking his head. “Screenwriters. I’m Jeff Gardner, by the way.”

“Kim,” the woman said, waving, a ring on her left hand flashing at me in the sun.

“Hi,” I said, incredibly relived that there was not international espionage going on next door. “I’m Taylor, and this is my sister Gelsey. We live right there,” I said, pointing through their tree hedge to our house.

“Neighbors!” Jeff said with a big smile. “So nice to meet you, Taylor, and…” He paused, looking at my sister. “Did you say Kelsey?”

This happened a lot with her name, and when it did, it was the one time I was grateful to have a name everyone knew and had no problems spelling. My mother hadn’t thought it would be a problem—when she’d named my sister for a famous ballerina, she obviously thought a lot more people would be familiar with it. “Gelsey,” I repeated, louder. “With a g.”

“It’s great to meet you both,” Kim said. Her eyes lingered on my sister for a moment, and she smiled before she turned her head and called into the house, “Nora!”

A second later, the screen door banged open and the girl I’d seen a few days before stepped out onto the porch. She had black curly hair and skin the color of my coffee after I’d added enough milk to make it drinkable. She was also glowering, which was in direct opposition to her parents, who both seemed thrilled to have met us. “This is our daughter, Nora,” Kim said, nudging her until Nora was standing by her side. “These are two of our neighbors,” she said. “Taylor and Gelsey.”

In succession, Nora frowned at me, at Gelsey, and at Murphy. “What’s wrong with your dog?” she asked.

Gelsey frowned right back at her, pulling the ribbon, and the dog, a little closer to her. “Nothing,” she said. “What do you mean?”

Nora just nodded at him, wrinkling her nose as though it should be obvious. “It’s all matted,” she said.

“That’s actually why we’re here,” I said quickly, trying to head off Gelsey, who had just taken a breath as though to launch into an argument about the merits of the dog’s grooming habits. “We’ve noticed this dog wandering around recently. There’s no address on the tag, so we didn’t know if he might be yours.”

Jeff shook his head. “Not us,” he said. “Have you tried the house on the other side?”

Also known as Henry’s house. “Not yet,” I said brightly. “I guess we’ll ask them next.” We all just stood around for a moment, nobody really quite sure what to say. I saw Kim glance back into the house and realized that she probably wanted to get back to work. “So,” I said, as the silence was starting to edge toward uncomfortable, “screenwriting, huh? That’s cool.” I didn’t know much about screen-writing except for what I’d seen in, ironically, the movies, where writers seemed to be either going out to power lunches or throwing balled-up pieces of paper against the wall.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com